Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [182]
“Treat her well,” the minister said gruffly, “or you shall answer to me.”
“We are of the same mind,” Jack assured him, never taking his eyes off the massive wooden door, slightly ajar.
When the fiddler struck his first note, Elisabeth entered with a dramatic sweep of satin. Her smile grew with each step until at last she reached his side. My love, my Bess.
Reverend Brown offered a word of greeting and a few solemn thoughts on marriage. Jack had heard them yesterday at the Gibsons’ wedding yet listened intently.
Then the minister lifted his head and asked, “Is there any impediment to this marriage?”
“None,” Jack said firmly, producing the marriage agreement. “By order of His Majesty.”
Whispers swept through the room as Reverend Brown examined the paper. “Very well, then,” he said, putting it aside. “Do you, Lord Jacques Buchanan, take this woman, Elisabeth Ferguson Kerr, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Jack clasped her hands, never more certain of anything in his forty years. “Even so,” he said in a clear, strong voice, wishing his words might carry to all the corners of the globe he’d traveled. “I take her before God and in the presence of his people.”
He looked down at her, hoping his eyes said the rest. Oh, sweet Bess, with all my heart do I take you and gladly. You are the one I waited for. You are the one the Almighty chose for me. You are the one I love.
The minister continued, “And do you, Elisabeth Ferguson Kerr, take this man, Lord Jacques Buchanan, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do,” she said, gazing up at him. “Even so, I take him before God and in the presence of his people.” In her eyes he saw the rest. I trust you, Jack. And I love you completely.
Reverend Brown finished with conviction, “What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.”
Jack’s throat tightened. Not even a king. Then he kissed her, sealing their vows, pledging his heart. No one but you, Bess. Now and always.
Voices circled round them as the wedding psalm began.
Thy wife shall be a fruitful vine
By thy house sides be found
Thy children like to olive plants
About thy table round.
Amid the joyous clamor, Elisabeth stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, “I do hope I might give you a son, dear husband. Beginning this very night.”
Her breath warmed his skin; her words warmed everything else. “I will be delighted to do all that is necessary to ensure that happy outcome.” He winked at her, then offered his arm. “In the meantime, Lady Buchanan, shall we dance?”
Eighty-Two
What joy is welcomed like
a new-born child?
LADY CAROLINE NORTON
Bell Hill
Ten months later
lisabeth had never heard a sweeter sound.
Not a soft whimper, but a lusty, ear-piercing cry.
She fell back against her pillow, drenched in sweat from the August heat and the hours of effort. “Water,” she moaned, and a cup appeared, offered by the women who’d surrounded her birthing bed: Marjory and Anne, Sally Craig and Mrs. Pringle, Elspeth Cranston and Katherine Shaw.
Tradition had brought them to her door. A woman never gave birth without other women present to give counsel and advice and to pray for mother and child. Though at the moment it was the child’s father Elisabeth longed to see.
“Jack,” she called out, sounding rather pathetic.
The women laughed. Katherine Shaw, who’d borne four daughters, said, “D’ye plan to gowf the man for putting ye through a’ this? Or shall we take care o’ that for ye?”
Elisabeth mustered a faint smile. “Nae, don’t slap my dear husband. He’s suffered enough, walking the halls of Bell Hill for a day.”
Marjory pressed a cool cloth to her brow. “Lord Buchanan only suffered when you did, Bess. Now, let Mrs. Scott finish her duties, and we’ll tuck your babe in your arms.”
Elisabeth glanced down at the sturdy midwife from Back Row, whose kind demeanor and gentle hands had seen her through the long and painful hours. “Bless you, Mrs. Scott,” she murmured.
“Ye ken what the auld wives say,” the woman answered softly. “There