Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [120]
Marjory waited until he sat down, her heart beating so hard against her stays she was not certain she could breathe, let alone speak. When she turned to him, their knees almost touched. When he took her ungloved hands in his, she thought she might faint.
“Gibson, I—”
“Neil,” he said softly, never taking his eyes off hers. “ ’Tis time ye called me by my given name.”
Neil, my dear Neil. Could she say it aloud without blushing? “Neil,” she finally managed. “And you must call me Marjory.”
He smiled at that. “I’ve called ye Marjory in my heart syne I first clapped eyes on ye in May. Whan ye pressed yer wee head against my neck and told me, ‘Ye’re hame.’ I canna tell ye what that meant to me.”
Overcome with emotion, she bowed her head and whispered, “And to me.”
He gently lifted her chin. “Dinna hide from me, lass.”
“Lass? I’m hardly a girl—”
“Wheesht!” he said with a low chuckle. “Ye’re a lass from whaur I’m sitting.” He lightly kissed the back of her hand, then said, “Noo, what was it ye were so keen to tell me?”
She described her meeting with Reverend Brown, leaving out any mention of Lord Buchanan for the moment, and watched Neil’s expressions change with each revelation.
“So, ’tis only a sma’ measure o’ happiness ye’re wanting?” Neil teased her. “Nae mair than a farthing’s worth?”
“You know me very well,” she reminded him. “Am I a woman who settles for so little?”
“I’ve niver seen ye do so,” he agreed, looking more serious. “ ’Tis why I must ask if ye’re sure … if ye’re verra sure …”
“That you’ll make me happy?” When he nodded, she looked into his eyes lest she lose her courage. “Neil Gibson, I cannot imagine a future without you at the center of it.”
“Och, Marjory.” He hung his head, clasping her hands tightly in his as if he might never let go. “Ye ken I have naught to offer ye. Not a hame, nor a horse, nor a purse full o’ guineas. And I dare not ask for yer hand ’til I do.”
“My dear Gibson …” She caught herself. “Neil … I have no such expectations.”
He lifted his head. “But I do.” His eyes shone like candles in the murky sanctuary. “D’ye remember me saying in Edinburgh, ‘Ye’ll aye be Leddy Kerr to me’?”
“I remember it well.” So very well.
“A leddy like ye deserves a’ the best the world has to offer. I’ll not see ye go without because o’ me.”
When he started to release her, Marjory drew him closer instead. “Listen to me, Neil Gibson. Possessions mean nothing to me now. Surely you, of all people, know that.”
“Aye, but—”
“The Buik tells us only faith, hope, and charity truly matter.” She lifted his hands, his strong, callused hands, praying as she did. “My faith has been renewed,” she assured him, gently kissing one hand. “My hope has been restored,” she promised, kissing the other. “And my regard for you is certain.”
When he smiled, she caught a glimpse of the darling boy of ten he’d surely been. And of the strapping lad of twenty, who must have stolen every maidservant’s heart. And of the handsome man of forty, who’d served her at Tweedsford. But none could match the mature man who sat beside her now, with love in his eyes and laughter in the curve of his mouth.
“I canna see my way through just noo,” he confessed to her, “but if the Almichty means for us to be thegither, then thegither we shall be.” He kissed each hand, as she’d kissed his, then slowly stood, drawing her to her feet. “ ’Tis time I walked ye hame.”
She started up the aisle with him, in no hurry to leave their quiet sanctuary. “I can only imagine what Reverend Brown will say when you return.”
After a moment Neil said, “He’s a guid man, wha cares about his flock. As it happens, the reverend and I have a surprise for ye, though ’twill have to wait ’til Michaelmas.”
“Ah.” She smiled. “We’ve much to look forward to this autumn. Anne and Michael’s marriage, of course, and Lord Buchanan’s return from the Highlands. I do hope he’ll not be delayed. ’Twould be a shame for him to miss Annie’s wedding.”
Fifty-Two
My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart’s in the