Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [170]
The ten men round the table chuckled in agreement.
Jack smiled but for a very different reason. You are safe, Bess. And you are mine.
With steady hands and a calm voice, he held up both documents and announced, “You are witnesses this day that I have leased the land that once belonged to the heirs of Lord John Kerr and his widow, Lady Marjory Kerr, who will reside at Tweedsford for the next forty years or until she stands at heaven’s gate.”
The officers nodded in approval.
“Moreover, I have hereby obtained permission to marry Elisabeth Ferguson Kerr, widow of Lord Donald Kerr.” My beloved Bess. He swallowed, hard. “Upon our marriage Lady Buchanan will reside with me at Bell Hill in Selkirk, the parish of her late husband, without fear of the king’s reprisal for her former allegiance to the Jacobite cause.” Jack whisked the last traces of sand from the documents, then bowed. “So you have witnessed, and so it is done.”
Men on both sides of the table applauded, their duty dispatched, while General Lord Mark Kerr attended to his gold.
Jack took his leave and quickly, lest the general change his mind. Only when the two men reached the portcullis gate did Dickson slap him on the back. “Well done, milord.”
“Well …” Jack exhaled. “Done, at any rate.”
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