Mine Is the Night (60 page)

“I confess, I had an accomplice. Your mother-in-law employed your measuring tape one night while you were sleeping.”

Very canny of you, Marjory
. Elisabeth would have to think of some way to repay the woman for being so secretive. Put salt in her sugar bowl, perhaps, or stitch her pockets shut. Or she could thank her profusely when next she saw her. Aye, that seemed best.

“Milord?” A footman came forward bearing a thick letter.

Jack accepted it, then broke the seal at once, though his expression showed some misgivings. “ ’Tis from Archie Gordon, the man I sent to Castleton.” When he unfolded the letter, another one fell into his hands. He palmed it for a moment, quickly reading through the first letter, then sighed. “This one is for you.” He held the second out to her. “From your mother.”

Seeing his face, Elisabeth unfolded the letter with misgivings of her own. Had something else happened to her mother, some further tragedy?
Please let her be in good health, Lord
. Then she read the few Gaelic lines and understood.

Elisabeth nodded as if her mother were standing there in the garden.
I believe he will be, Mother. Just as your first husband, my father, was to you
.

Oh my dear Jack
. Elisabeth gripped the letter, overcome by his kindness. Alas, she knew her mother well. Fiona would never leave the Highlands.

A great sadness welled up inside her.
I wish I could see you, Mother. I wish I could tell you about the Almighty and all he has done for me
. Would she never have the chance?

Elisabeth’s sorrow began to ease. She would write her mother every week. Nae, twice a week. All was not lost.

My first child
. Seeing it written in her mother’s familiar hand stirred hope anew in Elisabeth’s heart. Though she’d not borne a child for Donald, might the Lord still bless her womb?
Please, Father. For Jack’s sake
. Aye, and for her own.
A braw wee lad. A bonny daughter
.

Elisabeth slowly folded the letter, then looked up. “You are so generous, Jack. Offering my mother a place in your home.”

“Our home,” he reminded her.

“Just to be able to write her and know she is willing to write back.” She sighed, then drank in the fresh breeze, scented with dried leaves and ripe apples. “ ’Tis a beginning.”

“This day is all about beginnings.” He drew her to his side as they walked along the garden bed, Charbon leading the way, twitching his gray tail. “Our guests will not arrive until noontide,” Jack reminded her. “What say we enjoy this fine weather and discuss our plans for the future. Have you any improvements in mind for the household?”

Her smile returned. “I do.”

ate afternoon sunshine poured through the freshly scrubbed windows of Bell Hill as Jack strode through the halls, stopping only to confer with the musicians, making very certain all was in readiness. Reverend Brown was waiting by the fireplace, and the two newest brides in the parish, Anne Dalgliesh and Marjory Gibson, were seated in the front row with their husbands. Now if he just had his own bride, the ceremony might begin.

He’d not spied Elisabeth since Sally had spirited her away. “Ye’ll see her in the drawing room at four o’ the clock but not afore,” she had told him. Rather firmly, for a maidservant.

Dickson came round the corner and immediately frowned. “Whatever have you done to your neckcloth, milord?”

“Nothing,” Jack insisted.
At least not on purpose
. He stood still while Dickson righted the thing but kept one eye on the broad, open stair where Elisabeth would descend.

“We’ve had no correspondence from Lord Mark in Edinburgh?” Jack inquired, expecting Dickson to shake his head, which he did. “And nothing from London?” Jack was not prone to worry, but until Elisabeth spoke her vows, His Majesty could still intervene. Should King George protest a marriage, any Church of Scotland minister, including Reverend Brown, would be required to honor his sovereign’s wishes, signed agreement or no.

Is there any impediment to this marriage?
Jack could not wait to get past those dreaded words.

“Milord,” Dickson murmured, “ ’tis your lady.”

Jack looked up just as Elisabeth started down the stair. Even with her wide hoops and full skirts, she moved effortlessly from one step to the next. Her dark hair was a crown, piled high on top of her head and studded with pearls. But it was her smile that captured him, pinning him in place until she reached his side.

“Lord Buchanan,” she said with a tilt of her chin, “I wonder if you might escort me to the drawing room.”

He smiled down at her. “With pleasure.”

Jack immediately noticed the scent of lavender wafting from her gown and the quickness of her step. “Madam is in a hurry,” he murmured.

Blushing, she tugged him closer. “I’ll not deny it.”

“I shall be waiting for you,” he assured her when they reached the door. Then he slipped into the drawing room and took his place by Reverend Brown.

“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.

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?”

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’s mirth among the kin when the
howdie
cries, ‘A son!’ ”

A son
. Elisabeth would have gladly cradled a lad or a lass with equal affection. But Jack would be pleased to know his heir was born. And when she delivered a daughter into his arms someday, her stalwart husband would surely weep with joy.

When Mrs. Scott was satisfied the lad was fit to be seen, she brought him to Elisabeth, his wee body tightly wrapped in clean white linen, with only his pink features showing.

Elisabeth started to reach for him, then saw the look on Marjory’s face. “Let Mrs. Gibson hold him first.”

“Nae, Bess,” Marjory protested, “he’s your son.”

“Have you forgotten the promise I made? That any babe I ever bore would be nestled in your arms?” Elisabeth motioned to Mrs. Scott, who honored her wishes.

Marjory received the child with a look of wonder, touching his tiny nose with her fingertip. “The Lord is faithful,” she whispered. “And so are you, dear Bess.”

Elspeth Cranston looked on with pride in her eyes. “It does me good, Marjory, to see you with a son in your arms. ’Tis like you are one-and-twenty again, holding Donald.”

“I remember,” Marjory said, her voice thin.

“I do too,” Anne said on a sigh, “though I was a wee lass myself.”

The others gathered round, admiring the child, declaring him the most handsome baby boy in Christendom.

“I did not know your sons,” Mrs. Pringle confessed, “but I do know Lady Buchanan. She has surely been better to you than any mother-in-law could hope for.”

Marjory gingerly placed the newborn babe in Elisabeth’s waiting embrace. “No one will ever know all that my Bess has done for me.” Marjory bent
down and pressed a kiss to her brow, her lips wet with tears. “The Lord bless you, dear girl.”

A sudden knock made them all jump. “Lady Elisabeth?”

Her heart quickened at the sound of her husband’s voice. “Come in, milord.”

Jack was through the door before Sally had time to dry her mistress’s face or comb her hair, though he did not seem to notice. “How beautiful you are,” he said, fervently kissing her on the lips, dry and cracked as they surely were. When he finally looked down, his strong chin began to wobble. “And who is this fine lad?”