Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,110
evident. Better not to dwell on the subject. “Your daughter accompanied her mother-in-law to Selkirk, where they reside with a distant cousin, Anne Kerr.”
When Fiona turned to look at him, her eyes were filled with pain. “I didna ken whaur the lass went. For I’ve not had a letter from Bess syne I married nigh a twelvemonth ago.”
Jack stared at her, confused. “How can that be? I was told she wrote you regularly.”
She slowly shook her head. “I’ve had nae letters. But then I didna expect them. Not after what I did with the last one she sent me the day afore my wedding.” Fiona could not meet his gaze. “She begged me not to marry Ben Cromar. Said she’d left Castleton because he … because he frightened her.”
Frightened? The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Was it something he said, Bess? Or something he did? Jack nodded at the letter beside her teacup. “Feel free to read it at once, Mrs. Cromar, so you might put your mind at ease.”
Jack’s own mind was racing down very dark paths. A frightening man. A lass barely old enough to marry, fleeing from her mother’s house. Letters posted but never received. Aye, something was amiss. Jack had no intention of leaving Castleton until he uncovered the truth.
Her mother, in the meantime, was engrossed, her lips moving as she read silently, her eyes awash with tears. “She luves me still. My sweet, sweet Bess!” She clutched the paper with trembling hands. “September last, when I didna like what she wrote about Mr. Cromar, I tossed her letter in the fire.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But I should have listened to her. I should have heeded what she said. I didna ken! I didna ken—”
When the door to the cottage flew open, Fiona leaped to her feet, stuffing the letter in her apron pocket. “Ben! Come … come meet oor guest from … from …”
Ben Cromar swaggered across the threshold, then shut the door with a thunderous bang. “Weel, sir. D’ye make a practice o’ visiting ither men’s wives while their husbands are hard at wark?”
Jack stood, refusing to acknowledge the coarse remark. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the man. “I am Lord Jack Buchanan of Bell Hill in the Borderland.”
“Is that so?” Cromar moved forward, his footsteps muffled by the dirt floor. No older than forty, he had the stocky build of a blacksmith, with thick arms and massive thighs and shoulders broad enough to wield a sledgehammer. “What business d’ye have in my hame?”
Jack avoided any mention of the letter hidden in Fiona’s pocket. “Your stepdaughter is in my employ. Since I was shooting grouse on the Mar estate, a visit to her mother seemed in order.”
“In yer … employ?” Cromar muttered. “Is that what gentlemen call it noo?”
“Sir, you do her a great disservice.” Jack clenched his fists, struggling to keep his temper in check. “Elisabeth Kerr is a virtuous woman and a fine dressmaker.”
Fiona found her voice at last. “She was aye guid with a needle.”
“Indeed.” Jack stood his ground, waiting for Cromar to move one step closer, make one more untoward comment. However muscular, Cromar was decidedly shorter. A half foot, Jack wagered. Though he took no pleasure in fighting a man, if they came to blows, Jack would not hesitate to defend Elisabeth’s honor or to protect Fiona from her brute of a husband.
As if sensing his resolve, Ben Cromar edged away from him. “Have ye finished here, then?”
“Not quite,” Jack said. Not even close. “Mrs. Cromar tells me she’s not received a letter from her daughter the whole of your marriage, though they’ve certainly been written and posted. Might you know anything about that?”
His skin turned a mottled red. “I dinna ken o’ such letters.”
Jack knew a lie when he heard one. He could easily imagine Cromar intercepting the posts out of sheer cruelty. But without solid proof, he could hardly press the matter.
“Letters dinna aye reach a Jacobite’s hoose,” Fiona was quick to say.
Whether she spoke the truth or was protecting her husband, Jack could not be certain. He tried another tack. “Perhaps I might carry a letter to Elisabeth on your behalf, Mrs. Cromar?”
“Oo aye!” A moment later she was seated at the pine table, her quill scratching across a thin sheet of paper. She bent over her words, shielding them from view.
Jack watched her even as he kept a wary eye on her husband. Speak the truth, madam.