Mine Is the Night (37 page)

He frowned. “I thought it was Castleton …”
Well done, Jack. As if Scotland had only one castle town
.

“Castleton of Braemar,” she said. “I wonder if you might …” She paused. “If you might deliver a letter to my mother. Unless ’tis an inconvenience. I write her almost every month and know the cost of my posts must be a burden to her.”

“ ’Twill be my pleasure,” he said, glad for any chance to serve her.

“I do wonder if ’tis wise to travel north,” she said, “with the Duke of Cumberland still menacing the Highlands.”

“The king’s son has no quarrel with me,” Jack assured her. “In any case, I will have a gun in hand and Dickson by my side. We are to lodge with Sir John and his manservant at the Mar estate, owned by a Mr. Duff.”

“William Duff.” She sighed pensively. “I suppose you’ll be safe enough there.”

Any thoughts of red grouse or fresh salmon vanished when he realized she was concerned for his welfare. Emboldened, he took her hand. “You can be sure I’ll return in one piece.”

“One can never be certain of such things,” she said. “I thought my husband would return from war, and he did not.”

Lord Donald Kerr
. In all their many discussions, they’d shared few words about the man who’d loved her, married her, then left her a widow. Did she love him still? Would she mourn him always?
Is there hope for me?
That was the question Jack most wanted to ask but could not.

“What might you tell me about Lord Donald?” he inquired at last, letting her decide how much, or how little, to reveal about her marriage.

She did not withdraw her hand, though her tone grew cooler. “My husband was everything a gentleman should be. Well read, well traveled, well educated, well mannered. He was also one thing a gentleman should never be.”

Jack waited, his heart thudding in his chest.
What is it, Bess?
He sorted through his memories of their conversations. Perhaps she’d hinted at this before. Was Donald Kerr a drunkard? A gambler? A liar? A coward? Thinking to put her at ease, Jack assured her, “Whatever his weakness, I will not think less of the man. Nor of you for marrying him.”

She turned her head away as her limp hand slipped from his grasp. “My husband was unfaithful to me. Repeatedly.”

Jack stared at her, certain he’d misunderstood. “You do not mean he—”

“Aye.”

He shook his head, trying to make sense of it. “It is not possible,” he finally said. “No gentleman with you by his side would ever look anywhere else.”

“Nonetheless, he did, milord.” Elisabeth rose, casting aside her sewing. “He confessed as much to me, both in person and on paper. And I met one of his … women. I can assure you, ’tis more than possible.” She moved to the hearth, then stood with her back to him, her shoulders bent from the weight of her burden.

Go to her, Jack. Do something, say something
.

He was on his feet and walking toward her before he had time to think of what he might say or do. He wanted to kill the man, but Donald Kerr was already dead. He wanted to take Elisabeth in his arms, though for all the wrong reasons. He wanted to—

“Forgive me, milord.” She turned round just as he reached her, then, startled, lost her balance and began falling backward toward the fire.

“Bess!” He caught her in his embrace, meaning only to spare her. For an instant he felt her heart beating against his chest and her warm breath on his cheek.

“Pardon me,” she murmured, quickly pulling free. “I did not realize you were so close.”

Jack looked down at the floor, at his boots, at Charbon. Anything to clear his mind. The last thing Elisabeth Kerr needed was a gentleman making advances toward her, however unintentionally. “Your husband’s behavior was unconscionable,” he said in a low voice, fighting to control his emotions. “Not all men are unfaithful.”

After a long silence she said, “At least my father honored his vows to my mother.”

Jack nodded, his anger and frustration beginning to abate. “I would have expected no less from the man who fathered you.”

She reclaimed her chair and began sewing again, her needle moving in and out of the fabric. The steady rhythm seemed to calm her. Perhaps his
fortnight in the Highlands would be a blessing for Elisabeth. A relief simply to sew and not have a retired admiral seeking her company at every turn.

Watching her, Jack tallied her labors thus far. Nine gowns were finished. Nine gowns remained.
And then what, Lord? Shall I find her more work come Saint Andrew’s Day? Or must I bid her farewell?

No decision was required at the moment. He would go a-hunting in Braemar and perhaps learn something of her family. “I shall depart two days hence,” Jack told her, trying to gauge her reaction, “and will return long before month’s end.”

Elisabeth’s hands stilled. “Then you’ll not be here for Saint Lawrence Fair.”

“I’m afraid not. But with the marketplace below your window, you and your family won’t miss a moment.”

“Nae, I suppose not.” Her needle began moving again. “But we will miss you, milord.”

lisabeth gazed down at the flood of strangers pouring into Selkirk and imagined eight days of eating and drinking, bartering and trading, dancing and merrymaking. Lord Jack was right: they could hardly miss the fair with its colorful sights, pungent smells, and riotous sounds hovering over the town like a low bank of thunderclouds, charging the air with electricity.

Anne joined her at the window, her shoulder pressing against Elisabeth’s arm. “The town council threw open the ports at dawn and will not close them again ’til Monday next.”

“However will we sleep at night?” Elisabeth wondered.

“With the windows closed,” Marjory said firmly, “and wool in our ears.” Standing at the hearth, she neatly turned over a barley bannock, despite working with a hot
girdle
and a thin cake the size of a dinner plate.

“I’ll not mind the wool,” Anne agreed, “but ’tis too warm for closed windows.”

Elisabeth moved toward the washstand and away from the fire. She was already overheated, and the August day had barely begun. They’d not don their gowns until absolutely necessary—one of the advantages of living in a house with three women. Stays, chemises, stockings, and shoes were covering enough for the moment.

As she splashed cool water on her face, Elisabeth thought of Lord Jack doing the same in some sparkling Highland
burn
. He’d already been gone a full
week, though it seemed even longer. Bell Hill felt empty without him. So did the kirk yesterday morning. Elisabeth tried not to speak of him, lest someone misunderstand. They were simply friends. Good friends. Very good friends.

The same could not be said of Cousin Anne and Michael Dalgliesh, who’d traded friendship for courtship nearly two months past. Michael came calling most evenings, bringing Peter along with a treat from the market to add to their supper. A new spice. Honey in a clay jar. A handful of carrots. Five juicy plums. Marjory seemed pleased to have a man at their table and a boy even more so. Peter had grown at least an inch since they’d arrived in Selkirk and would attend the parish school in the fall, just down the close from his father’s shop.

Elisabeth looked at Anne pulling out her lace making supplies, her small hands and nimble fingers well suited to the work. Since Michael had begun to court her, a smile was seldom far from Anne’s lips. Michael already grinned round the clock, but the heated look in his eyes whenever he took Anne’s hand was enough to make Elisabeth blush and turn her head.

Whatever was the man waiting for? Michael was already a successful tailor, and Anne would make him more so. His son adored her, and the lodgings over their shop could easily accommodate another. Elisabeth could think of no impediment to marriage, save one: Michael was afraid of losing a second wife and of Peter’s losing a second mother. Elisabeth could not fault the man for his caution. But she could pray.

Let him trust in you, Lord. Let him take a leap of faith
.

She smiled, looking across the room at Anne, thinking of them together, certain they were meant for each other. In her heart of hearts, Elisabeth felt only joy and not an ounce of envy. Well, perhaps a tiny bit when it came to Peter. What a charming companion he would be at the fair! If she asked nicely, the wee lad might let her hold his hand again.

“Breakfast,” Marjory sang out, pouring three steaming cups of tea.

The women were soon seated at table, enjoying warm bannocks with Michael’s gift of honey, fresh from the comb.

“When shall we venture out?” Marjory wanted to know.

“The earlier the better,” Anne insisted. “As the day goes on and the whisky flows, ’tis a less sanguine place for a woman on her own.”

“But we’ll not be alone,” Elisabeth reminded her. “The Dalgliesh men will see that we’re safe.”

Anne winked at her over her teacup. “Too bad a certain admiral is away. There’s not a man in Selkirkshire, or any county round, who would challenge Lord Buchanan.”

Elisabeth couldn’t agree more and said absolutely nothing.

“Odd,” Marjory mused, “that the sheriff is off hunting in the Highlands during Saint Lawrence Fair. Should he not be here keeping the peace?”

“ ’Tis not necessary,” Anne replied as she folded her bannock with care, honey trickling over her fingers. Between dainty bites she explained the rules of the fair. “There are no restrictions on who can trade, and no one is to be arrested, except for some terrible crime, which never happens with so many witnesses.”

Elisabeth glanced toward the window, sensing the size of the crowd swelling. “Those are the only rules?”

Anne laughed. “It is rather carefree. One year the fair was canceled, when the plague struck in June, but that was more than a century ago. In my lifetime it’s been a grand place to meet folk from neighboring counties. Our fair is proclaimed from all the mercat crosses round. Hawick, Jedburgh, Kelso, Melrose, even as far away as Linlithgow.” She downed the last of her tea and stood. “I, for one, am getting dressed.”

Elisabeth and Marjory followed her lead, grateful for the light fabric of their gowns on so warm a day. The house was tidied and the table scrubbed before Michael came knocking at ten o’ the clock.

“Leuk!” Peter cried, holding up a wooden pinwheel that spun round while he circled the room as fast as his little legs would carry him.

“Easy noo.” Michael scooped up the boy and tucked him under his arm. “ ’Tis meant for a hill, lad. Not for a hoose.”

Undaunted, Peter held out his new toy so the Kerr women could inspect it. “ ’Tis from the chapman on the corner,” he said with pride.

Elisabeth dutifully looked it over, admiring the wooden stick, the tiny pin, and the curls of stout paper that made it whirl. “If you carry this in one hand, Peter, I wonder if I might hold the other?”

His little features quickly knitted into a frown. “But what about Annie? Wha’ll hold her hand?”

Michael parked him on his feet. “I think I can manage it, lad.” He took Anne’s hand in his to prove it.

“I suppose I’ll hold no one’s hand,” Marjory said with a dramatic sniff.

Elisabeth knew better. On the first day of the fair, Gibson would have the morning free. If he did not appear on their threshold before they left, Marjory would beat a path to the manse and coax him out. Elisabeth was not at all surprised a few minutes later when they walked to the end of Halliwell’s Close and found Gibson heading in their direction.

“ ’Tis every couple for themselves,” Anne declared, as they were swept into the throng.

Elisabeth bent down to be certain Peter heard her clearly. “Promise you will not let go of my hand?”

“I’ll be guid!” he said, nodding emphatically, then pulled her toward the chapmen’s stalls for another look at the toys.

Elisabeth had expected Saint Lawrence Fair to be a larger version of their market day. But it was far more than that. Booths stretched down every street, including Back Row, with bright flags advertising the wares sold at each stall. Woolen and linen cloth in stacks taller than even Lord Jack beckoned for Elisabeth’s silver shillings. But she’d not part with them easily with three mouths to feed and rent to help pay. Saint Andrew’s Day, her last in the admiral’s employ, had seemed a long way off in May. Not so now.

The meal sellers came next, with ground oats, barley, and wheat. She’d planned to do some shopping but hadn’t thought to bring a basket. When she turned toward the house and considered carrying back each purchase, Elisabeth
realized how foolish that would be. She could not see the mouth of the close, let alone reach it without weaving through the masses. On the morrow she would shop. Today she and Peter would play.

“What do you want to see next?” she asked him when he finally tired of the chapmen’s stalls with their many temptations.

“Swords!” he exclaimed at once, pulling her along Cross Gait, holding up his pinwheel like a standard bearer marching into battle.

Elisabeth followed him, hanging on to his hand as tightly as she could without crushing his little fingers. At the weaponry stall his eyes grew round at the basket-hilted swords, the studded targes, and the slender dirks. She was glad his hands were occupied, lest he touch one of the sharp blades and cut himself. “Might we look at the saddlery next?” she asked, deciding leather was a safer choice than steel.