Mine Is the Night

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  Every day the Kerrs had eaten breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper and wanted for nothing because of God’s provision. Aye, she could accept the gift of Jane’s two glasses without embarrassment. If her pride was gone, was that not just as well?

  At the sound of footsteps on the stair, Marjory sighed, relieved to have her daughter-in-law home. Elisabeth was moving slower than usual, Marjory noticed. Who wouldn’t be weary after walking two miles in the rain? She gave her turnip soup a final stir, then moved toward the entrance, calling out a cheerful greeting.

  But as the door creaked open and Elisabeth entered with her head bowed, Marjory knew something was wrong. “What is it, Bess?”

  When she looked up, Marjory nearly fainted at the sight. One of Elisabeth’s cheeks was red and raw, and her lips were badly swollen. “My dear girl! Did you fall?”

  Elisabeth shook her head and quietly closed the door, then lifted the white linen kerchief tucked round her neck

  “Bess!” she cried softly. “Who did this to you?”

  Tears spilled from her eyes. “R-rob,” she managed to say.

  Marjory gasped. “Rob MacPherson?” When Elisabeth nodded, Marjory’s hands began to tremble. “I knew it, I knew it. Did I not say he was dangerous, Annie?”

  Her cousin nodded, too shocked to speak.

  “He did not violate me,” Elisabeth said in a low voice. “But … he meant to.”

  “My poor, sweet Bess!” Marjory swallowed hard, her stomach lurching. “This is my fault. I should have told Lord Buchanan what sort of man he’d hired.”

  “Do not punish yourself, Cousin,” Anne said gently, helping Elisabeth ease out of her gown. “None of us could have imagined such behavior from the man.”

  “I could have,” Marjory said darkly, “and should have.” She quickly filled the wash basin with hot water and added her treasured bar of lavender soap.

  Still dressed in her chemise, Elisabeth began to dab at her body with a wet cloth, wincing everywhere the linen touched. Her arms, her chest, her neck, her shoulders. “By morn,” she said in a thin voice, “I fear my bruises will look far worse. I pray my clothing will cover them all.”

  Marjory cautiously touched her cheek. “And what happened here?”

  Elisabeth looked away. “His beard was … rough.”

  “Oh, Bess …” Marjory could hold back her tears no longer. She sank onto the nearest chair, then clasped Elisabeth’s hand and stroked it over and over, rocking as she did. “I am so sorry … so very sorry …”

  Anne sniffed, attending to her damp eyes and runny nose. “Come,” she said at last, “let me dress you for bed.” She slipped a clean nightgown over Elisabeth’s head, then lightly draped a plaid round her shoulders. “Can you eat something?”

  Elisabeth shook her head. “Tea perhaps.” She sat beside Marjory at the oval table. “I was much … stronger … before. But on the walk home …”

  “Of course,” Marjory said. “We can only be brave so long. Still, you must have been very brave to make him stop.”

  “ ’Twas the Lord’s doing,” Elisabeth said, “not mine.” In halting words she described her terrible encounter, taking long drinks of tea whenever her throat grew parched.

  When Elisabeth ran out of words, Anne stood and reached for her wool cape. “I shall call upon Reverend Brown tonight,” she declared. “He will summon the sheriff in the morn and inform Lord Buchanan. By noon Rob MacPherson will be locked in the tolbooth—”

  “Nae.” Elisabeth’s tone was quite firm. “I sent Rob away. Told him to leave Scotland and never return.”

  Anne looked at her aghast. “But he deserves to be punished!”

  “Aye, and he will be,” Elisabeth assured her. “Every time he thinks of me. Every time he remembers what he did. Every time he aches for his Highland home. Every time he sees my bruised face in his mind’s eye. As to further chastisement, I leave that to the Almighty.”

  Anne fumed, “But Lord Buchanan—”

  “Would kill him,” Elisabeth said without hesitation. “And I cannot bear to have that on my conscience. Or on his lordship’s. I’ll stay home tomorrow and see to my wounds. That will buy Rob one day before I must explain to Lord Buchanan what happened to his tailor.”

  Marjory plucked at her apron strings, uncertain of her feelings. Proud of Elisabeth on the one hand, fearful for her on the other. “How do you know Rob MacPherson will not come looking for you again? The man cannot stay away from you, Bess.”

  “Where he is bound, a return trip would be difficult.” Elisabeth rose, her tea having grown cold. “Just now sleep might be best.”

  Marjory was on her feet at once, shaking out the sheet on the hurlie bed. She smoothed it in place, then plumped up the thin feather pillow. “Come to bed, dearest.”

  When Elisabeth stretched out on the small bed, her long legs did not fit until she drew them up, knees to chin. Marjory draped first one plaid, then another across her daughter-in-law’s bruised body and gently tucked her in like a child. And she was a child—her child—whom she loved with all her heart. “Sleep well, dear Bess.”

  “I will,” she murmured and closed her eyes.

  Marjory tiptoed away, motioning Anne to follow her. Their supper was brief, their exchanges mere whispers, and they parted company earlier than expected.

  Standing at the door, Anne confessed, “I wish I could be there when Bess tells his lordship.”

  Marjory shuddered. “Not I. Whatever Bess may think, Lord Buchanan will not rest until justice is done.”

  Sixty-Three

  He who tries to protect himself from deception

  is often cheated, even when most on his guard.

  PLAUTUS

  ack paced the length of his drawing room, staring out at the gray, wet morning. Rain had fallen through the night and showed no signs of abating. Last evening Elisabeth had said, “ ’Tis an easy walk.” But now she was climbing uphill in the rain. However accustomed she might be to traveling about in any weather, her discomfort weighed on him. Should he send the carriage for her? Or would she fuss at him for worrying too much?

  When he heard a brief knock at the doorway, Jack turned, hoping to find Elisabeth standing there. Instead it was Roberts.

  “Lord Buchanan, I’ve some rather unfortunate news for you. Unexpected as well.”

  Jack heard the tension in his voice. “Go on.”

  “I’m afraid our tailor has quit Bell Hill. Without a word.”

  “Mr. MacPherson is … gone?” Jack frowned, uncertain whether to be concerned or grateful. “I trust he has not taken anything.”

  “Only what he brought with him, milord.”

  “Which was very little.” Jack recalled Rob MacPherson arriving at his front door less than a fortnight ago with only a small bundle in his hands.

  “He left his workroom tidy and his bed made,” Roberts informed him. “The unfinished garment he was sewing is draped over a chair.”

  Jack exhaled, not knowing what to make of it. “Strange business, aye? I suppose I must see to another tailor. Someone from town.” When the weather cleared, he would dispatch a letter to Michael Dalgliesh and seek a recommendation. For all his talents with a needle, Rob MacPherson was easily replaced.

  His conscience prodded him. Admit it, Jack. You’re glad he’s gone. If it meant Mr. MacPherson would no longer pursue Elisabeth, then aye. He was very glad.

  Jack arranged to have breakfast in his study, then started for the hall. “And do let me know the moment Mrs. Kerr arrives.”

  Breakfast came and went. His mantel clock chimed eight times, then nine, then ten. Still no sign of Elisabeth. Jack tossed aside his household ledger with its rows of dull numbers and strode into the hall, thinking she’d arrived some time ago and Roberts had simply forgotten his request.

  “Mrs. Pringle,” he called out, catching sight of her at the far end of the corridor. “Kindly send Mrs. Kerr to my study.”

  The housekeeper hastened toward him, her expression troubled
. “She’s not here, milord.”

  “Not here?” He couldn’t hide his dismay. “Do you imagine the ill weather has delayed her?”

  “I cannot say, milord, though Mrs. Kerr has walked to and from Bell Hill on many a rainy day.”

  “You will let me know the minute—nae, the very second—she appears?”

  Mrs. Pringle offered a nervous sort of nod, bobbing her head many times before she hurried off to her tasks.

  Jack returned to his household accounts, only to abandon them a short time later, his powers of concentration having vanished. Just as Rob MacPherson had vanished. And now Elisabeth.

  He stood at the window, willing her to come running up the walk, full of apologies, none of them necessary. Anything might have happened, he reminded himself. A crisis at Halliwell’s Close. An ailing family member. A neighbor who needed her.

  He refused to consider the possibility that Elisabeth too had quit Bell Hill without a word. Yet with each passing moment, the facts pointed in that direction.

  Please, Bess. You cannot have run away with this man.

  The thought made Jack’s blood run cold. To lose her would be devastating enough. But he could not bear losing her to an ill-tempered, ill-mannered tradesman.

  Then another possibility came to him, even more disturbing than the first. What if Elisabeth had not gone willingly? What if Rob MacPherson had simply taken her? Clansmen of old had abducted brides against their will. Who was to say this Highlander was above such a heinous crime?

  Undone, Jack pressed his forehead to the window glazing. Come to me, Bess. Let me know you are safe and well and nowhere near Rob MacPherson.

  When a man behind him cleared his throat, Jack spun round and was surprised to find Roberts standing in the doorway with Gibson.

  Jack crossed the room to greet him in record time. “Have you news for me?”

  “Aye, milord. I beg yer pardon for not being free to come sooner. I bring ye a message from Halliwell’s Close. From Mrs. Kerr.”

  Jack steeled himself, preparing for the worst. “Mrs. Elisabeth Kerr?”

  “Aye, milord. She’s not weel this morn and begs yer forgiveness for missing a day o’ wark.”

  Relief washed over him like the rain falling on his gardens. “She’s at home, then. She’s …” Safe. Bless you, Lord. “But not well, you say?” Jack didn’t like the sound of that. “Shall I summon a physician from Edinburgh?”

  “Nae, nae. A day o’ rest will set her to richts.”

  Jack studied his expression. “You are sure of this?”

  “Verra sure, milord. Leuk for her early on the morrow.”

  “And have you heard our news at Bell Hill, Gibson?” Jack glanced at Roberts, who shook his head. “We’ve lost our tailor. Rob MacPherson took his leave rather abruptly. Mrs. Kerr might wish to know that.”

  “Aye.” A light shone in Gibson’s eyes. “She weel might.”

  Jack was awake, bathed, and dressed by seven o’ the clock on Friday, anticipating Elisabeth’s arrival. He’d sent Gibson home with an assortment of jams and teas from Mrs. Tudhope’s stillroom, along with a brief note: Wishing you well. Not particularly clever, but at least it was sincere.

  To keep his mind occupied, he worked on a stack of correspondence, signing each letter with a flourish. When he heard Elisabeth’s voice in the hall soon after eight o’ the clock, he left his quill on the blotter and quickly stood.

  “Mrs. Kerr,” he said, not caring if he sounded elated to see her. He was elated. “Come and tell me how you are feeling.”

  Elisabeth moved as gracefully as ever, though she kept her head bowed as she sat on the chair opposite his desk. “We must speak, milord. In private.”

  He closed the door after sending Mrs. Pringle off with strict orders not to tell the others. “I will not have my household thinking ill of Mrs. Kerr.”

  “Certainly not, milord.”

  When Jack returned to his desk, Elisabeth was seated with her gloved hands in her lap, still wearing a light wool cape draped round her shoulders and a cloth bonnet he’d not seen before. He didn’t much care for it since the wide, protruding brim nearly covered her lovely face.

  He considered sitting in his desk chair, then decided against it and instead sat next to Elisabeth. Whatever she had to share, a large wooden desk between them would not make it easier. He thought of a dozen questions, all of them inane, and so he simply waited for her to speak.

  “Lord Jack,” she began, “I am the reason you no longer have a tailor.”

  “Oh.” He’d not expected that. “Why, Bess?”

  Her voice was low, yet filled with conviction. “I asked him to leave Bell Hill.”

  A knot began forming inside him, twisting like a midshipman’s hitch. “When did you last speak with Mr. MacPherson?”

  “Wednesday eve. He was waiting for me on the road, not far down the hill, behind the large boulder.”

  The knot inside him drew tighter. “Did he intend to walk you home?”

  “He did not.”

  Jack leaned closer, fearing what he could not see beneath her cape, beneath her hat. “Please, Bess. Please tell me he did not harm you.”

  She said nothing for a moment. Then she tugged on the ribbon that held her bonnet in place and let it slip into her lap. “He did not mean to hurt me. But he did.”

  Jack stared at the scarlet mark on her face, rage building inside him. “What … caused …”

  “The stubble of his beard.”

  “Nae!” Jack shot out of his chair, startling them both. “How … dare … he!” He ground out the words, fighting for control, knowing Elisabeth needed his compassion. He forced himself to sit, to breathe, to think only of her. If he thought of Rob MacPherson, he would hurt everything he touched.

  “Bess, Bess …” He took her hands in his, though he could not look at her. “Forgive me.”

  “You are not to blame, milord.” Her voice was low, the words broken.

  “I am entirely to blame. I should never have engaged his services. I should never have allowed him to stay—”

  “You couldn’t know this would happen,” she was quick to say. “In truth, I never saw him behave as he did Wednesday eve.”

  Jack swallowed with some difficulty. “Men are capable of terrible things when they do not get what they want.”

  “Aye,” she said softly. Though her eyes glistened, she held her tears in check.

  Jack was grateful, knowing her weeping would unleash his anger afresh. “Why did you not come to me at once?” he asked as gently as he could. “Surely you were not ashamed?”

  Her eyes cleared, and her voice grew stronger. “Nae, Lord Jack. I was in pain.”

  He gripped her hands, then realized he was holding them too tightly. “I am no help at all,” he said, frustrated with himself. Twenty-odd years on a ship filled with men had ill prepared him to comfort a woman. “ ’Twas courageous of you, Bess, to ask him to leave Bell Hill.”

  “I did more than that,” she confessed. “I asked him to leave Scotland.”

  Jack straightened in his chair, feeling the knot tightening further. “Is there something you’ve not told me?”

  “There is.”

  He could not form the words. “Did he …”

  “He did not. Though he tried.”

  Jack closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the images flashing through his mind, each more terrible than the one before. My poor Bess. “What the man did is no less a crime.”

  “I know.” She swallowed. “So I sent him somewhere you could not find him.”

  He looked at her, his every feature knotted in confusion. “Why, Bess?”

  “Because you would have killed him.”

  Her words shocked him. Not because she said them, but because they were true.

  Elisabeth held him with her gaze. Her clear, warm, blue gaze. “It was not Rob MacPherson I wanted to spare, milord. It was you.”

  Oh my sweet Bess. He bent forward and kissed her gloved hands. “How is
it you know me so well?”

  “I know you are an admiral,” she said softly, “and therefore well accustomed to thrusting swords into the hearts of your enemies.”

  She knew him very well indeed. When he rose, a new resolve filled him like wind swelling a topsail. “No man will ever threaten you again. I will keep you safe at all hours and at all costs.”

  Elisabeth tipped her head. “But how—”

  “Belda is now at your disposal. Ride her to and from Bell Hill and anywhere else you choose. I will see to her upkeep in a stable near Halliwell’s Close.”

  For the first time that morning, hope shone in here eyes. “Truly, milord?”

  “Truly.” It felt good to offer her more than sympathy, though she deserved a large measure of that too. “Every man in my employ will be sworn to protect you—”

  “As well as the other women of Bell Hill,” she insisted.

  How like you, Bess, to think of others. “Aye,” he promised her. “Another tailor will be engaged, though he’ll not reside here.”

  “Not all tailors are like Rob MacPherson,” Elisabeth said gently. “ ’Twas his obsession, not his profession, that made him dangerous.”

  “Indeed.” Jack exhaled, as if breath alone might drive out the fear, the anger, the guilt that lingered inside him. “Yesterday morn I imagined you might have gone with him.”

  “Never, milord,” she whispered. “My heart is here at Bell Hill.”

  He lifted her hands and lightly kissed them once more. “I am glad, Bess.” More than you know. More than I can say.

  Sixty-Four

  There is a secret drawer

  in every woman’s heart.

  VICTOR HUGO

  lisabeth’s fingers trembled as she tried to pin another cuff in place.

  My heart is here at Bell Hill. Without meaning to, she’d all but confessed her fond affection for his lordship. No wonder he’d responded as he did. The tenderness in his voice, the warmth of his touch, the attentiveness of his gaze left little doubt of his mutual regard.

  But ’tis too soon, milord. Much too soon.

  She’d retreated to her workroom in haste, needing time to sort through her feelings. Keep thy heart with all diligence. Aye, she must. The only two men who’d ever professed to love her had also wounded her, savagely. She’d not offer her heart again until she was sure—very sure—he was not simply a good man but also the man of God’s choosing.