Mine Is the Night A Novel

Seventy-One

Daughter of hope, night o’er thee flings

The shadow of her raven wings,

And in the morning thou art flown!

ANNE HOME HUNTER



lisabeth’s hands turned to ice. “King George.”

“Aye,” Jack said grimly. “Because you and your mother-in-law supported the Jacobite rebellion, you can never be truly safe without the king’s pardon.”

She stared at him, hearing the words, yet not understanding. “You’ve known this all along.”

His skin took on a ruddy tint, visible even in the dimly lit study. “I have, Bess. But I could not say anything until …” He looked down, clearly distraught. “Until now. Until the possibility of marriage was raised.”

“The … possibility?” Elisabeth felt herself sinking into the chair. Her shoulders, her body, her heart. “Might the king withhold his mercy?”

“He might,” Jack confessed, then looked up to meet her gaze. “But I’ve been preparing your case for months. Since the Common Riding, when Reverend Brown informed me of your treason.”

“I see.” Elisabeth did not know what to say, how to respond.

“As a retired admiral and peer of the realm, I am in … shall we say, a unique position to seek the king’s mercy on behalf of my bride.”

His bride. Elisabeth closed her eyes, overwhelmed. With her bold proposal, she’d now forced him to defend her. “Jack, I should not have—”

“Aye, you should have.” He bent forward and kissed her, his mouth warm against hers.

When he slowly pulled back, she saw in his eyes the answer to every question that mattered. He loved her. And he meant to save her.

Jack was still holding her hands, more firmly than ever. “I need only travel as far as Edinburgh,” he explained, “where I will meet with the king’s representative at Edinburgh Castle.” He paused before adding, “Dickson and I shall depart at noontide.”

Elisabeth hesitated but a moment. “There’s something I must do before you go.” She ran her fingers along the hem of her gown until she found the row of white silk rosettes stitched inside the hem of her petticoat. “Have you a pair of scissors, Jack?”

He retrieved a paper knife from the table beside them, the slender, curved blade designed to slice open the folded pages of bound books. “Will this do?”

“Aye.” She gripped the ebony handle and, using the sharp point of the knife, began picking apart the stitches holding her hidden roses in place. “If you are willing to stand before God and king to seek my pardon, then ’tis time I put aside my past.”

Elisabeth sensed his gaze on her as she removed the roses one by one. She felt no sorrow, no regret, only relief. When all her flowers were in hand, she tossed them into the nearby fire. The flames quickly consumed the silk, leaving not a trace.

After a quiet moment Jack said, “No tears, Bess?”

She looked up at him so he might see that her eyes were dry and her soul at peace. “No tears,” she assured him, “for I’ve a whole new life ahead.”

“Indeed you do.” Jack slowly stood, then pulled her to her feet. “At the moment we must get you home before someone sees you and sends rumors flying.”

They crossed the room together, then she stepped to the side while Jack checked to see if the hall was deserted. He opened the door no more than a crack before closing it again, just as quietly. “Footman,” he whispered.

Elisabeth’s heart quickened as Jack drew her back into the recesses of the room.

He explained in a whisper, “Roberts stationed one of his men outside my study in case I might have need of him in the night. He’s fallen asleep, I’m afraid, with his shoulder against the door. We’ve no choice but to tarry here until he wakes and finds his way to bed.”

She looked about the study. “Do you mean for me to spend the night in this room … with you?”

“Can you think of another solution?” he asked.

In truth, she could not. “Perhaps I might sleep over here,” she said, standing to consider an upholstered chair by the window.

“I can do better than that.” He quickly gathered a dozen plump, down-filled pillows from round the room, then built a tidy nest for her next to his reading chair. “Will this suffice?”

She sank onto them, knowing very well she’d not be able to sleep. In this gown? At his feet? Not for a single moment. “Very cozy,” she assured him.

Jack added a fresh log to the fire, extinguished the only candle in the room, then settled into his chair with its thick, rounded upholstery. Unfolded, his plaid blanket draped over them both. “Perhaps we might take turnabout,” he said softly, “so we do not both oversleep. If we rise well before dawn, we can be halfway to Selkirk before the household stirs.”

Elisabeth propped her head on the footstool, looking up at his shadowy form. “You first, milord.”

“Jack.”

“Aye.” She smiled in the darkness. “Jack.”

He shifted round a bit, trying to get comfortable. Then again. Yet a third time. “ ’Tis more challenging than I’d expected,” he murmured. “Because of the chair?”

“Because of the company.”

His hand found hers beneath the plaid. “Have I told you why I love you, Bess?”

She clasped his hand more tightly. “Not yet.”

“Ah.” His voice caressed her like the firelight. “I love your kindness, Bess. Your generous nature. Your courage. Aye, and your sense of humor.”

Elisabeth closed her eyes, undone by his words. She’d not thought it possible to be loved for herself and not merely her appearance. Still, she could not resist teasing him. “All well and good,” she said lightly, “but what about my hair? My face? My form? I thought that was all men prized in a woman.”

“Some men, perhaps. Not this one.” He drew her hand close enough to brush his lips across her skin. “Though I have taken note of your beauty. By the hour, truth be told.”

“I see.” She did not mind that so much.

Jack changed position once more. “Come, Bess, we must sleep while we may.”

“I shall try,” she promised, her eyes wide open.


With muted chimes the mantel clock marked each quarter hour through the night.

Elisabeth heard them all.

Jack slept off and on, for which she was grateful. He had a long ride ahead of him that day and much to prepare for. Whoever the king’s man might be, Jack would have no easy task convincing him the Kerrs were worthy of his pardon.

In those long, quiet hours, Elisabeth remembered something Donald had said to her on their last night together, promising he’d return from battle a changed man. A different husband will cross your threshold. A husband who is faithful. Donald did not return. But he did speak the truth, without knowing how God might bring it to pass. Lord Jack Buchanan was entirely different than Donald Kerr. And utterly faithful.

At half past five she heard the scrape of a chair at the door and footsteps fading down the hall. With dawn only an hour away, Elisabeth quickly rose and smoothed the wrinkles from her gown. Jack was awake as well, pulling on his riding boots.

“Have you no other shoes?” he asked, frowning at her brocade slippers.

“Aye, with my gown in the servants’ hall.”

He nodded, his expression intent. “Make haste to the drawing room and leave by the outer door. I shall stop by the workroom for your clothing, then meet you beneath the tall oak near the stables. Do you know the one I mean?”

She nodded, her pulse quickening. “And if I am seen? If I am questioned?”

“Pray you will not be.” He bent down and kissed her again. A brief touch but so very tender, warming her to her toes.

They were almost at the door when he caught her wrist. “Give me your reticule, Bess.”

She slipped it over her hand, not questioning him for a moment. It contained all of a ha’penny, and he was welcome to it.

Jack unlocked his desk drawer, pulled out a fistful of bank notes, stuffed them inside her reticule, and returned it to her, bulging at the seams. “For your mother-in-law,” he explained, then slowly opened the door to the hall and looked out.

She held her breath until Jack beckoned her forth. Be with me, Lord. Cover me with your wings. Let me not be seen.

Without a word they hurried down the turnpike stair, then went their separate ways, he to the servants’ stair, she to the drawing room. The house was utterly dark and absolutely silent. She took off her shoes, tiptoeing as quietly as she could, and still she felt like a Highland coo stomping through the halls, so loud was the swish of her satin.

A minute later Elisabeth entered the drawing room, watching the door to Mrs. Pringle’s private office. If anyone would be up at this hour, it would be Bell Hill’s loyal housekeeper. Lord willing, the servants would soon be informed of their marriage plans. But not now, not like this.

The well-oiled hinges did not protest when she unbolted the door and pushed it open. A damp, chilly breeze rushed over her bare skin, making her shiver. Her warm wool cape and sturdy leather shoes would be most welcome. She closed the door, thanking the Lord for safe passage thus far, then hastened across the lawn, hearing the whinnying of horses in the stables. Hyslop would not question his master, not even when Jack claimed both Janvier and Belda at this early hour.

When Elisabeth reached the oak tree, she leaned against the rough trunk, catching her breath, calming her heart. In all her five-and-twenty years, she had never known such a night nor encountered such a man as Jack Buchanan. I adore you. He’d spoken those words with such conviction, leaving no room for doubt or fear.

And I love you, Jack. More than I realized. More than I could possibly imagine.

By the time he’d crossed the lawn with their mounts and reached her side, she was trembling all over.

“Cold?” he asked, sweeping her wool cape round her shoulders.

“A bit,” she admitted, pulling on her gloves. He lifted her onto Belda’s saddle with ease, then exchanged her slippers for sensible shoes before draping her black wool gown across the back of the saddle.

“You’ll need new attire,” he said, “now that you’re no longer in mourning.”

She hadn’t thought of that. Hadn’t thought of a great many things. “I shall have time to sew a new gown for myself, now that I’ve finished dressing all your maidservants.”

“So you have.” He threw himself onto Janvier’s back, then sent both horses trotting forth with a simple command. They were soon through the park and onto the drive leading them away from the house and toward town, the sun still a half hour below the horizon.

Jack looked at her beneath the velvety blue sky, riding as close as he dared. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your employment, Mrs. Kerr. I’m afraid I must dismiss you as my dressmaker.”

She pretended to be greatly offended. “Lord Buchanan! Is this how you repay my many hours of service?”

“Even worse, madam, I insist you marry me within the month.”

Elisabeth laughed softly. “I believe I was the one who proposed marriage.”

“So you did, my dear.”


The night was drawing to a close by the time they reached Mr. Riddell’s stables. Jack tarried some distance away while Elisabeth turned over the reins to a sleepy lad with hay sticking out of his hair. Once the groom tottered off with Belda, Jack joined Elisabeth once more, letting Janvier poke his nose in a bucket of water, while the two of them stood in the deserted street.

Elisabeth looked up at him, finding it hard to bid him good night. Or was it good morning? “How long will you be in Edinburgh?” she finally asked.

“If all goes well, I shall be home Saturday afternoon.”

“And if it does not go well?”

His response was long in coming, and his gaze did not quite meet hers. “Bess, I need to know that you trust me.”

“Trust you? Jack, surely—”

“Listen to me.” His voice was low and rough with emotion. “You’ve trusted men before who threatened you and frightened you, who betrayed you and lied to you, who bruised you and tried to violate you.” When he looked at her, the intensity of his gaze stole her breath. “I am not like those men, Bess. I could never hurt you. And want only what is best for you.”

“I know.” She touched the strong line of his jaw, felt the faint stubble of his beard. “That is why I trust you completely. Did I not lie at your feet through a long, dark night?”

“Indeed you did.” He placed his hand on hers, holding it against his cheek. “Though I wonder if you actually slept.”

“Not a wink,” she confessed.