Mine Is the Night A Novel

Two

The brave find a home

in every land.

OVID



top!” Marjory threw her arm in front of Elisabeth, shielding her from the British dragoon with his ill-mannered words and his insolent gaze. “That is enough, sir.” Her heart pounding, her patience long abandoned on the road south, Marjory practically shouted at the man, “If my daughter-in-law says she has no rose, then she has no rose.”

“I do not own a single one,” Elisabeth said evenly, stepping back.

Marjory lowered her arm but didn’t move, still glaring at the captain. Did the scoundrel think she’d simply stand by and watch while he took liberties with her daughter-in-law? The very idea.

When the captain did not respond at once, his men grew restless, murmuring among themselves. Finally he offered a careless shrug. “Madam, I did not intend—”

“I beg to differ,” Marjory retorted. “Your intentions were abundantly clear and wholly dishonorable. Perhaps I should write General Lord Mark Kerr and inform him of your vile behavior.” She saw the flicker of fear in his eyes and was secretly pleased.

He shifted his stance. “You are … acquainted with his lordship?”

“Very well acquainted.” Marjory kept the rest to herself: Lord Mark was not only Honorary Governor of Edinburgh Castle; he was also a distant cousin of her late husband’s and a heartless military man who’d done her family many a disservice. She would not correspond with General Lord Mark Kerr if he were the last man on earth.

“We’ve been delayed long enough,” she said, then turned toward the carriage, sensing her bravado beginning to flag. Never in her life had she spoken so boldly to a man, let alone to a dragoon, though he certainly deserved it. Perhaps the Almighty had rescued them just as Elisabeth had said he would.

Marjory held out her hand, amazed to find she was not trembling. “Mr. Dewar?”

“Aye, mem.” He guided her into the coach and cast a withering glance over his shoulder. “Weel, Captain, ’twould appear ye’ve met yer match.”

The dragoon backed away. “If these women are not Jacobite rebels, I have no use for them.” He gestured to his men. “Find your mounts, lads. We’re finished here.”

A grin spread across Mr. Dewar’s ruddy face. “So ye are.”

As the dragoons scattered, the coachman helped Elisabeth into her seat, then shut the carriage door with a firm bang. “I’ll have ye hame afore dark, leddies. Though I doubt either o’ ye have onie fear o’ the nicht.” He clambered onto his seat, then called out to his pair of horses, while the mounted dragoons galloped down the road, their hoofbeats soon fading.

Both women exhaled and sank back against the worn leather upholstery.

“You were very brave,” Elisabeth said at last.

“Or very foolish.” Marjory pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and patted her damp cheeks. “The next soldiers we meet may not be so easily dissuaded.”

“Indeed.” Elisabeth stretched out her long legs. “Nor so short in stature.”

Marjory glanced at her daughter-in-law’s gown. “Remind me, where are your silk roses?”

“Stitched inside the hem of my petticoat.” A smile played at the corners of Elisabeth’s mouth. “Had the captain examined me further, he’d have found a whole row of Jacobite rosettes. But I spoke the truth when I said I don’t own one.”

Marjory wagged her head. “My clever Bess.”

In years past Marjory had not appreciated her daughter-in-law’s ingenuity, thinking her secretive and untrustworthy. How she’d misjudged her! Though Elisabeth was lowborn and Highland bred, she’d grown into a gentlewoman by any measure, with courage and tenacity to spare. And the lass was only four-and-twenty!

Marjory sighed inwardly. Had she ever been so young?

“ ’Tis good we bade the Hedderwicks farewell in Galashiels,” Elisabeth said. “Had they still been with us, they might have talked themselves into an English prison.”

“Might have?” Marjory scoffed. “I’ve never known two men who spoke more and said less.” The father and son who’d traveled south with them from Edinburgh had boasted endlessly of their Jacobite sympathies, though neither had been willing to bear arms for Prince Charlie.

Unlike my brave sons.

As Marjory tucked her handkerchief inside her sleeve, Donald’s parting words echoed in her heart: May I count on you to look after Elisabeth? Naturally Marjory had promised to do so, never imagining a day when she’d have no home and no gold. How would she look after Elisabeth now?

Gazing upward, Marjory pictured the small, heavy trunk strapped atop the carriage, bearing the massive family Bible with its comforting words: They that seek the LORD shall not want any good thing. Could she trust the Almighty to provide for them? Or would he continue to burden her with further losses? In truth, there was nothing left to take.

When Elisabeth reached out to close the curtain, Marjory stayed her hand. “No need, my dear. The rain has finally stopped.”

Beneath the gray evening sky, a dense mist hovered near the ground, rising and falling like a living creature, giving them brief glimpses of the town above them. Stone houses thatched with straw and sod. Windows lit by candle and hearth.

Elisabeth clasped her hands in her lap, her blue eyes glowing. “I’ve waited a long time to see Selkirk.”

“Too long.” Marjory opened the curtain on her side of the carriage, ushering in what light remained. “Welcome to your new home, Bess.”

Home. Ten years had passed since Marjory had looked upon Selkirk parish. Yet so little had changed. The rolling hills tumbled over one another, forming the grassy banks of the Ettrick Water, swollen from the rain. “More than a thousand souls reside in Selkirk,” she said absently. Would any of them remember her? Extend a hand of greeting? Or, once they heard of her disgrace, would they close their doors, shutting her out of all good society?

Nae. This was her childhood home. Surely she’d find sympathy here.

As they crossed a new stone bridge spanning the Ettrick Water below the mill, Elisabeth gazed up at the sprawling burgh. “ ’Tis larger than I’d imagined. I do hope Gibson had no difficulty locating Cousin Anne.”

“Gibson once lived here,” Marjory reminded her. “He knows where Anne resides.”

Earlier in the week Marjory had sent ahead their butler, Neil Gibson, bearing a letter for their cousin with an urgent request for lodging. Marjory touched the hanging pocket tied round her waist, knowing very well her purse was empty. Hadn’t she bartered her last knife and spoon to purchase their midday meal? They couldn’t pay for a bed at the Forest Inn even for one night. Cousin Anne had to be home, had to make room for them.

The carriage began the precipitous ascent toward the town center, pressing the women back against their seats. Hearing Mr. Dewar urging his team forward, Marjory said, “ ’Tis a long pull for the horses.”

Elisabeth nodded. “And for Gibson. Do you suppose he arrived yesterday?”

“Or this morn.” Marjory felt guiltier with each turn of the carriage wheels. She’d forgotten what a daunting hill this was, especially for a man of sixty after a long journey on foot.

Not many pedestrians were abroad at that hour. A few men in ragged clothes trudged by, walking sticks in hand, dogs at their heels. They glanced in the carriage windows long enough to satisfy their curiosity but didn’t acknowledge the Kerrs, only plodded forward.

“Gibson climbed the steep streets of Edinburgh many times a day,” Elisabeth reminded her. “We’ll find him drinking tea at Cousin Anne’s table. I’m certain of it.”

But Marjory was not at all certain.

Doubts and fears she’d held at bay the whole of their journey suddenly overwhelmed her. What if Anne had turned Gibson away at the door, unwilling to shelter her tainted relatives? What if she’d married after all these years and moved to a different house in town? Or what if—heaven forbid—Anne no longer resided in Selkirkshire?

Nae, nae, nae. Fretting accomplished nothing, Marjory reminded herself. Had she not learned that by now? Determined to put on a brave front, she focused her attention on the changing scenery. “Once through the East Port, we’ll not travel far before we reach the marketplace and Halliwell’s Close.”

Her daughter-in-law inched forward, gripping her seat. “I do hope Anne will be happy to see us.”

“Aye.” Marjory swallowed. Let Gibson be there. Let Anne be home. Let all be well. She sent forth her prayers like winged messengers as she peered ahead through the mist and gloom.

A moment later the coach gingerly maneuvered through the town gate and onto Water Row. Both sides of the main thoroughfare were crowded with houses and shops, just as Marjory remembered. She could still make out the Borderland names painted over each lintel. Tait. Shaw. Elliot. Murray. Scott. Anderson.

Clasping the edge of the open window, she pulled herself closer, each familiar landmark tugging at her heart. Mr. Fletcher, the cabinetmaker, lived in a whitewashed cottage hard by the road. Mr. Fairbairn, the merchant, sold his goods beneath a canvas awning not a stone’s throw from their carriage wheels.

Unbidden, a distant memory swept over her. Two fair-haired, blue-eyed lads skipping up Water Row, singing out the various trades in a kind of rhyme: Cooper, souter, tanner, sawyer, dyer, spinner, potter, saddler. Donald, with his long legs and slender frame, leading the way. Andrew, smaller and frailer, trying his best to keep up.

Had it not always been thus, even to the very end?

My beloved Donald. My precious Andrew.

“Oh, Bess.” Marjory sank against the window. “I never …” Her voice broke. “I never imagined I’d return home without my family.”