Mine Is the Night A Novel

Sixty-One

My day is closed!

the gloom of night is come!

JOANNA BAILLIE



efore the kirk bell tolled the hour of six, Elisabeth flew out the servants’ entrance, anxious to reach home. The skies were black with clouds, the sun had all but disappeared below the horizon, and the temperature had plummeted since she’d left Halliwell’s Close that morning. A storm was coming hard and fast from the west.

Why had she refused his lordship’s kind offer of a coach? Too late now, for she did not care to interrupt him with the Murrays expected. Rain was merely water, she reminded herself.

Elisabeth hastened across the lawn, clutching her hat in one hand and her sewing basket in the other. She’d promised to alter one of Anne’s gowns that evening after supper and would not disappoint her. Then she looked down and realized her scissors weren’t dangling round her neck. Nae!

She spun about, thinking to return to her workroom, until she remembered Anne’s small lace making scissors. Aye, those would do. Elisabeth started for home once more, practically running by the time she reached the road leading west toward town.

Dark, dark. And in the distance a roll of thunder.

Though she had no lantern, the lights of Selkirk beckoned her forward. Elisabeth well knew the steep, narrow track, having traveled it twice daily throughout the long summer. She started downhill, hair blowing in her face, her steps cautious. She could see her outstretched hand, but no farther. The air had a hollow sound as more thunder rumbled overhead.

At the first broad curve rested an enormous boulder the size of his lordship’s carriage. She’d nearly reached the other side of it when a large man stepped into her path.

“Oh!” She exhaled, bending forward as if she’d been punched. “Goodness, Rob, you startled me.”

The tailor took her arm rather firmly and led her round the boulder to a small patch of grass where clumps of spiny gorse stood guard and Rob’s small traveling bundle lay waiting. “I couldna speak with ye at the hoose, so I thocht to do so here.”

“Here?” She stared at Rob, his eyes blacker than the sky. “But the storm—”

“Sit with me, Bess,” he said, almost as if he’d not heard her.

Elisabeth was not afraid, but she was confused as she gingerly sat on the cool ground. Rob joined her, grunting slightly. Whether on purpose or by accident, he sat on her gown, pinning her in place.

When he spoke again, he looked straight ahead, his voice low but sharp. “Whatsomever were ye thinking dining with his lordship?”

Is that what this is about? “Rob, it was a meal. We were surrounded by servants—”

“I see the way he leuks at ye. I ken what’s on his mind.”

“You misjudge him,” she insisted. “Lord Buchanan is a good man, a righteous man—”

“Then ye mean to marry him.”

“Marry? Have you forgotten I’m in mourning?”

“Nae.” He turned to her. “But ye have.” His hand circled her forearm, drawing her closer. “I’ve waited a lang time for ye, Bess. I’ll not lose ye to anither.”

When she saw the hardness in his features, the darkness in his eyes, fear began seeping into her heart as surely as the cold had begun seeping through her skirts. Yet she clung to her resolve. “If I’m to marry again, the Almighty will choose my husband.”

“Micht he not choose me?”

“I’ve never seen you in kirk,” she reminded him even as he tightened his grip on her. “Not on all the Sundays we lived in Edinburgh.”

He snorted. “This from a lass wha hails the moon.”

“Not anymore,” she said fervently. “I belong to God.”

“Nae, Bess.” He pulled her against his chest and held her there. “Ye belong to me.”

She tried to wriggle free from his rough embrace. “Rob, please …”

But he was too strong for her. He pushed her back against the ground, the weight of his body almost more than she could bear. She could not move. She could not breathe.

“Stop it, Rob!” she cried, her voice thin, pinched.

Then his mouth was on hers, demanding a response.

Help me, Lord! Please, please. With great effort she finally escaped Rob’s brutal kiss, her skin burning as her cheek scraped against the stubble of his beard.

But Rob did not relent. With his breath warming her ear, he made clear his intentions. “Ye’ll not deny me, Bess. I’ve luved ye too lang and kenned ye too weel.” He kissed the curve of her neck, hard, without tenderness or affection, then reached for her skirts.

“Nae, Rob!” She bucked against him, lifting her shoulders, trying to throw him off balance. “You do not … mean … this …”

“Aye, but I do,” he growled, holding her down by the sheer bulk of him. “If I canna marry ye, then I’ll have ye just the same.”

“Please, Rob,” she begged him, beginning to weep as he forced her knees apart. “Please … don’t …”

He was no longer listening. He no longer cared.

But God was listening and cared very much. “Father!” she cried. “Father, don’t let him hurt me …”

Rob cut her off. “Yer faither is deid.”

She drew a ragged breath. “But my heavenly Father is not.”

Neither of them moved, though the wind roared and the thunder bore down on them.

Then, with his head turned, Rob finally released her and rose to his knees and then to his feet, while she hastily rearranged her gown, her hands trembling.

Rob stood with his back to her now. His rage appeared to be spent. Even in the darkness she could see the sloped line of his shoulders.

Standing, Elisabeth touched her face, her neck, certain she would find bruises in the morning. But she was not badly injured. She was not defiled. Thank you, Father.

Suddenly her knees felt weak, and her limbs began to shake. Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks as she slowly backed away from Rob, her emotions spinning. Fear, relief, anger were all jumbled inside her.

For a moment she thought she might faint or be sick. More than anything she wanted to run, to put as much distance between them as she could. But her legs would not carry her yet. And there were things she had to say.

“You must leave at once,” she told him, her voice raw with pain. “Not only Bell Hill. Not only Selkirk. You must leave Scotland and never return.”

She heard nothing but the wind, whipping the grass round their feet.

Then he spoke. His words were low, broken, and filled with remorse. “I niver meant for it to happen, Bess. I niver meant to hurt ye.”

She believed him. But it changed nothing.

“Listen to me, Rob.” She lifted her head, feeling a bit stronger. “I’ll not tell Lord Buchanan until you are well away. But I will tell him. And he will hunt you down unless you are beyond his reach.”

Rob slowly turned, his face haggard. “Why, Bess? Why would ye spare me?”

“Because you were my friend once. And because the Lord spared me when I foolishly worshiped another.”

The rain began at last. A few large drops, then more. In another minute they would both be soaked through.

“Go,” she urged him, raising her voice above the steadily increasing patter. “Go to the Americas just as you planned. Start a new life.”

He shook his head, not meeting her gaze. “I canna live without ye.”

“But you must, Rob.” She collected her hat and basket, her thoughts fixed on Halliwell’s Close, on home. “You’ll not be alone. The Lord will be with you.”

He looked at her at last. “Are ye sure, Bess?”

“I am.” She lifted her face to the heavens, letting the rain wash away her tears.