Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [98]
“Mrs. Pringle is not one to be bullied,” he agreed. “Since the dragoons were not expected, she’d not have made them welcome. Had they been sailors, perhaps, but not soldiers. Still, they will no doubt pay me a second visit in the morn.” He glanced at Elisabeth. “All the more reason for you to remain at home.”
She nodded. “At least I have my sewing basket and can finish my gown.”
“I shall look forward to seeing you wear it,” he said. “Ladies, forgive me, but I’ve two horses that need their supper and a good grooming. I shall keep you abreast of any news.” He bowed and was gone, pulling the door shut behind him.
Marjory could not read her daughter-in-law’s expression as she watched the admiral take his leave. Was Elisabeth developing an attachment for the man? If so, ’twas far too soon. Donald would not have wished Elisabeth to mourn her whole life, but he deserved a twelvemonth.
My son loved you, Bess. And I know you loved him.
Marjory tossed and turned through the night, haunted by dreams of her husband, of her sons, of Tweedsford. By intent she’d not been to the estate since they’d returned to Selkirk. She tried not to think of it, not to walk through the rooms in her mind, not to punish herself with memories.
When the gray light of morning began filtering through the curtains, Marjory rose long enough to add coals to the grate. Tempted to slip back into bed, she glanced out the window and discovered a steady drizzle of rain, the kind that might continue for hours. Good weather for napping but little else.
She eyed her daughter-in-law, well asleep in her chair, her head tucked into the corner where wing and back met. You deserve a proper bed, lass. Marjory felt guilty for not taking her daughter-in-law’s place. Yet her own back would never bear sitting upright to sleep.
At least today Elisabeth would not have to climb Bell Hill in this dreary rain.
Marjory eased back onto the hurlie bed and wrapped the linen sheet round her. Closing her eyes, she waited for sleep to fall across her like a soft woolen blanket. Come, come.
“Marjory!” Elisabeth was bending over her, shaking her gently awake. “Lord Buchanan has brought us news. Terrible news, he says.”
Marjory tried to sit up, clutching the sheet round her neck. “Is he … here?”
“His lordship is on the stair, waiting for us to dress.” Elisabeth practically lifted her from the bed. “I’ve brushed your gown and have a cup of tea waiting for you at table.”
Marjory dressed in haste, feeling disoriented. Was it still morn? Aye. Was it still raining? Aye. How long had she slept? Too long. When she fastened the last hook, she nodded to Anne, who ushered Lord Buchanan into the house.
“Many apologies, milord,” Anne murmured before curtsying.
“Think nothing of it.” He bowed, then looked at each of them in turn before sharing the news none of them wanted to hear. “Those dragoons paid me a visit early this morn. The new owner of Tweedsford sent them in advance of his coming.”
“Nae!” Marjory cried softly. “It is done, then.” She sank onto the chair at table and stared at her tea, already gone cold.
Elisabeth spoke up. “I don’t understand, milord. What did this new owner want from you?”
“He assumed that, as a peer in residence, I would have knowledge of any enemies of the king who might live in Selkirk. Dissenters, rebels …”
“Jacobites,” Elisabeth finished for him.
He nodded grimly. “He seems to think he alone can quash the last vestiges of the rebellion. But remember, you have advocates here, chief among them Reverend Brown. And I will vouch for your loyalty to the king. At the highest level, if necessary.”
Marjory lifted her head. He means before the king himself. “So who is this new owner?”
Lord Buchanan eased onto the seat beside her, compassion in his eyes. “Someone you well know, I’m afraid, from your days in Edinburgh. General Lord Mark Kerr.”
Forty-Two
Though it be honest,
it is never good to bring bad news.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
ae.” Marjory stared at him. “It cannot be Lord Mark