Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [143]
At the sound of footsteps on the stair, Marjory sighed, relieved to have her daughter-in-law home. Elisabeth was moving slower than usual, Marjory noticed. Who wouldn’t be weary after walking two miles in the rain? She gave her turnip soup a final stir, then moved toward the entrance, calling out a cheerful greeting.
But as the door creaked open and Elisabeth entered with her head bowed, Marjory knew something was wrong. “What is it, Bess?”
When she looked up, Marjory nearly fainted at the sight. One of Elisabeth’s cheeks was red and raw, and her lips were badly swollen. “My dear girl! Did you fall?”
Elisabeth shook her head and quietly closed the door, then lifted the white linen kerchief tucked round her neck
“Bess!” she cried softly. “Who did this to you?”
Tears spilled from her eyes. “R-rob,” she managed to say.
Marjory gasped. “Rob MacPherson?” When Elisabeth nodded, Marjory’s hands began to tremble. “I knew it, I knew it. Did I not say he was dangerous, Annie?”
Her cousin nodded, too shocked to speak.
“He did not violate me,” Elisabeth said in a low voice. “But … he meant to.”
“My poor, sweet Bess!” Marjory swallowed hard, her stomach lurching. “This is my fault. I should have told Lord Buchanan what sort of man he’d hired.”
“Do not punish yourself, Cousin,” Anne said gently, helping Elisabeth ease out of her gown. “None of us could have imagined such behavior from the man.”
“I could have,” Marjory said darkly, “and should have.” She quickly filled the wash basin with hot water and added her treasured bar of lavender soap.
Still dressed in her chemise, Elisabeth began to dab at her body with a wet cloth, wincing everywhere the linen touched. Her arms, her chest, her neck, her shoulders. “By morn,” she said in a thin voice, “I fear my bruises will look far worse. I pray my clothing will cover them all.”
Marjory cautiously touched her cheek. “And what happened here?”
Elisabeth looked away. “His beard was … rough.”
“Oh, Bess …” Marjory could hold back her tears no longer. She sank onto the nearest chair, then clasped Elisabeth’s hand and stroked it over and over, rocking as she did. “I am so sorry … so very sorry …”
Anne sniffed, attending to her damp eyes and runny nose. “Come,” she said at last, “let me dress you for bed.” She slipped a clean nightgown over Elisabeth’s head, then lightly draped a plaid round her shoulders. “Can you eat something?”
Elisabeth shook her head. “Tea perhaps.” She sat beside Marjory at the oval table. “I was much … stronger … before. But on the walk home …”
“Of course,” Marjory said. “We can only be brave so long. Still, you must have been very brave to make him stop.”
“ ’Twas the Lord’s doing,” Elisabeth said, “not mine.” In halting words she described her terrible encounter, taking long drinks of tea whenever her throat grew parched.
When Elisabeth ran out of words, Anne stood and reached for her wool cape. “I shall call upon Reverend Brown tonight,” she declared. “He will summon the sheriff in the morn and inform Lord Buchanan. By noon Rob MacPherson will be locked in the tolbooth—”
“Nae.” Elisabeth’s tone was quite firm. “I sent Rob away. Told him to leave Scotland and never return.”
Anne looked at her aghast. “But he deserves to be punished!”
“Aye, and he will be,” Elisabeth assured her. “Every time he thinks of me. Every time he remembers what he did. Every time he aches for his Highland home. Every time he sees my bruised face in his mind’s eye. As to further chastisement, I leave that to the Almighty.”
Anne fumed, “But Lord Buchanan—”
“Would kill him,” Elisabeth said without hesitation. “And I cannot bear to have that on my conscience. Or on his lordship’s. I’ll stay home tomorrow and see to my wounds. That will buy Rob one day before I must explain to Lord Buchanan what happened to his tailor.”
Marjory plucked at her apron strings, uncertain