Mine Is the Night A Novel

Seventy-Five

Thinkest thou that I could live, and let thee go,

Who art my life itself?—no—no.

THOMAS MOORE



ousin, you must tell him.”

Marjory saw the determined spark in Anne’s eye and knew any argument would be offered in vain.

Even Elisabeth, whose every thought now centered on Lord Buchanan in Edinburgh, told her, “Gibson deserves to know, dearest.”

Marjory had little time left to make a decision. Neil was coming for dinner at one o’ the clock, with all three Kerr women waiting to greet him. Two of them were convinced he would accept Lord Buchanan’s provision as a gift from the Lord, allowing the couple to marry without delay. Marjory was less certain.

What if, presented with this clear opportunity, Neil suddenly balked? Some men, after all, were more in love with the idea of marriage than the fact of it.

Or what if, when she suggested they wed, her boldness offended him or wounded his manly pride? She couldn’t bear to think of hurting him.

Distraught, Marjory poked the mutton simmering over the hearth, then jabbed the potatoes baking in the grate, hoping if she turned her back toward her family, they might let the subject rest.

They did nothing of the sort.

Anne sidled up to her first, flashing the silver band round her ring finger. “You could have one of these,” she said smugly. “Once the reverend has read the banns three Sabbaths in a row, Gibson would be yours.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Marjory fretted. Which upset her even more, because she hated fretting. Even the Buik said, “Fret not thyself.” Yet, here she was again, fretting.

Then Elisabeth appealed to her heart, which was patently unfair. “Gibson loves you, Marjory,” her daughter-in-law said, circling a hand round her elbow, tugging her away from the hearth. “Think how grieved he would be if he heard the news of this blessing from someone else.”

Marjory spun round. “Bess, you wouldn’t—”

“Never,” she assured her. “I only meant that Lord Buchanan might say something in passing, certain Gibson already knew. And what will happen when you start spending this money? Gibson is a canny man, Marjory. He will guess its source and be heartbroken you didn’t tell him.”

Marjory sighed. “But it amounts to a proposal of marriage.”

“Precisely!” Anne cried happily. “Elisabeth insisted I propose to Michael, and look how well that turned out.”

Elisabeth squeezed Marjory’s arm. “And weren’t you the one who suggested I present myself to Lord Buchanan? Although we cannot be sure of the outcome, I’m most hopeful.”

Marjory could not dispute their claims. Perhaps it was her turn.

“All right,” she said with a groan. “But I cannot do this with an audience—”

“Certainly not.” Anne took Elisabeth by the sleeve, pulling her toward the stair. “We’ll take Peter for a nice, long walk. ’Tis a dry day, and his father will be glad for an hour’s peace.”

“Dinner will keep,” Elisabeth assured her, opening the door, “but Gibson will not.”

“What willna I keep, lass?” Neil Gibson stood on the landing, wool bonnet in hand.

“Oh!” Elisabeth blushed to her roots. “Well … I believe Marjory has … good news that will not keep. We’ll be back shortly.” Both women quickly skirted round him, then hastened down the stair, leaving an awkward silence in their wake.

Marjory dried her hands on her apron. Give me the words, Lord. Give me the courage.

Neil entered the house, an expectant look on his face. “Will they not be staying for dinner, then?”

“ ’Tis just us,” Marjory said, stretching out her hands to welcome him.

Neil, it seemed, would not be satisfied with handholding.

He crossed the gap between them in three strides and took her in his arms. “Marjory, my luve.” His voice was rough, his kiss tender. “I canna wait ’til I have mair money. Say ye’ll marry me, lass. We’ll make a go of it somehow …”

“Oh, but, Neil, I …”

He kissed her again, then pressed his brow to hers. “I ken ye should be the one asking, Leddy Kerr, because o’ yer station. But I must do the asking, because I luved ye first.”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” she managed to say round the lump in her throat. “I loved you before I could put words to it.” She stepped back so she might look into his eyes. “If you are the one asking, Neil Gibson, then I am the one answering. Aye, a thousand times, aye!”

Then she kissed him, giving him her whole heart, her whole self. He responded in kind, throwing prudence to the winds.

When at last she tucked her head beneath his chin, Marjory said with a smile, “Have I told you how much I love you, Neil Gibson?”

“Ye have. But I’ll not mind hearing it again.”

So she told him several times. And kissed him several times more. And then she remembered the news that would change everything and drew him to her table.

“I’ve nae appetite for dinner, Marjory, if that’s what ye’re thinking.”

She laughed. “I mean to serve you something other than mutton.”

After putting an empty wooden plate before him, she hurried to find the stocking in her trunk, then returned with a bank note in her hand and hope in her heart. “The Almighty has sent a generous gift our way.” She served up the note, worth far more than her meat dish, however well seasoned.

He stared at it, eyes and mouth agape. “Five hundred pounds? How did … Whaur did …”

Then she told him the truth. About her foolish gift to Prince Charlie, to a lost cause. And about Lord Buchanan’s generosity. “I believe with all my heart this is from the Lord’s hand.”

Neil shook his head in disbelief. “Ye say there are … mair?”

She brought out her stocking and poured the rest onto his plate, thinking if he saw it all, he would understand.

“ ’Tis a miracle,” he finally said. “And those only come from God.”

Marjory sighed. “What a wise man I am marrying.”

He curled his arm round her waist and pulled her onto his lap. “And I get a rich woman in the bargain.”

“Not rich, but we’ll not starve.” She looked about the house. “When Bess and Lord Buchanan marry, which surely they will, we can live here, if you like.”

“We can indeed, but I still must wark at something,” he cautioned her. “I canna be a kept man.” He kissed her, lightly this time. “The reverend will read oor banns on Sunday. And marry us three weeks hence, aye?”

Three weeks. She nodded, overwhelmed by the thought.

“On the Sabbath,” Neil said firmly, “in the manse. If the Almichty means for us to marry, then let us honor him from the start.”

“Aye,” she said without hesitation, then stood, remembering dinner. “Might I offer you meat before you return to your labors?”

“Ye may.” He let her go, though he did not take his eyes off her.

She felt him watching her closely as she went about her tasks. Slicing the juicy meat. Cutting open the hot potatoes. When a moment later she joined him at table with their plates in hand, she asked, “Are you imagining what it will be like, day after day, seeing me cook?”

His mischievous smile told her otherwise. “I was imagining ye all richt. But not at the hearth.”

“Neil Gibson!” she exclaimed, pretending to be shocked, though she was secretly delighted. They were not young, but they were not dead.

“I must think of a praisent for ye,” he said, then bit into his mutton with a satisfied groan.

She brushed the hair from his brow. “You love me, dear Neil, with all my faults and weaknesses. That gift will last me a lifetime.”

“I mean it to, lass. A lang life, full o’ a’ that is guid.”

She watched him now, as he’d watched her, and forgot everything she ever knew about fretting.