Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [112]
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,