Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [136]
Elisabeth tried not to smile. “You know very well I cannot entertain such a notion, and neither can Lord Buchanan.”
The lass tossed her russet hair, making her cap dance about. “Say what ye will, ye’ll be married afore lang. And not to the Hielander wha’s sewing for the lads.”
“Nae,” Elisabeth agreed, “though I’m curious why you say so.”
Sally’s voice dropped a notch. “At oor supper on Saturday last, the tailor didna take his eyes aff ye. But ye niver once leuked at him.”
Elisabeth could hardly argue with so keen an observation.
“Is he the reason ye’ve not stepped oot yer door a’ day?” Sally asked. When Elisabeth nodded, the bonny maidservant added, “If I see Mr. MacPherson walking doon this hall, I’ll tell him ye’re busy. Which ye are.” She winked, then quit the workroom with a skip in her step, leaving Elisabeth with her chalk-marked slates and her scattered thoughts.
Only when the distant kirk bell began tolling the hour of six did Sally reappear, bearing a note in her hand and a rueful expression. “Mr. MacPherson bade me gie ye this, so I couldna say nae.”
“Of course.” Elisabeth tucked it inside her pocket to read on the way home. “A good eve to you, Sally.”
The maidservant eyed her pocket. “And to ye, mem.”
Elisabeth did not open the letter until she was halfway down Bell Hill, well out of anyone’s sight, Rob’s in particular. Just as Sally had said, Elisabeth felt his eyes on her all the time, watching her come and go.
She paused at a wide spot on the road and broke the beeswax seal. The letter was brief, the paper inexpensive, but the Gaelic words chilled her heart.
Monday, 1 September 1746
Madam,
You say you do not love me, but I know you better than you know yourself.
Elisabeth’s heart sank. Oh, Rob. He did not know her at all. Nor did he listen to her. Cannot love you. That was what she’d said.
When I spoke our Highland tongue this morn, your eyes rose to meet mine, and I saw the truth.
What truth, Rob? He saw only what he wanted to see.
As you did, Bess, with Donald? She winced, stung by the realization. Aye, she had lied to herself, denied the truth of her husband’s affairs, pretended he was a changed man when he was not. She knew about looking into a beloved’s eyes and imagining what she found there.
No Lowlander will ever make you happy. But I can.
She shook her head, saddened by Rob’s conviction. Would he never accept her refusal?
When Michaelmas comes, I shall sail to the Americas. My father left a small inheritance, enough to buy passage for two. Come with me, Bess. We can make a future together.
Nae, Rob. We have no future. Not together.
She folded the letter, intending to slip it in the coal grate the moment she reached Anne’s house. ’Twas best if no one else knew of Rob’s delusion. She would handle this herself and spare her old friend any more embarrassment than necessary.
Elisabeth looked across the western sky, where the sun had all but disappeared, leaving only a faint wash of orange glowing behind the hills. However uncertain the days to come, she knew the Lord had not forgotten her. Anne had thought herself a stayed lass, yet Michael had come round with his heart in his hands. Marjory had given up ever knowing the love of another man, yet Gibson had stepped forward with God’s leading and the minister’s blessing. Though the two had no definite plans, their love for each other shone clear and bright upon their faces.
Might the Lord not have a future in mind for her as well? Elisabeth hoped so. Nae, she prayed so. She continued downhill, quickening her steps now that night was falling. One name beat inside her, warming her through, carrying her home.
Fifty-Nine
Our patience will achieve
more than our force.
EDMUND BURKE
ack paused outside the open door to Rob MacPherson’s workroom, watching the man labor over a pair of trousers. His movements were swift and efficient, his expression intent, his finished work exemplary. Were it not for the Highlander’s preoccupation with Elisabeth, Rob would make a fine