Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,31
“He’s not far ahint. Climbing the brig road. A man o’ sixty years, I’d say.”
Gibson.
By the time she reached Shaw’s Close, Marjory was running.
She had not run in many years, but she was running now. Past the houses and the tradesmen and the shops, hearing her sons sing out in rhyme: Cooper, souter, tanner, sawyer, dyer, spinner, potter, saddler. Soon she could see the arch of the East Port, where several men on horseback were entering the town. Behind them came a lone traveler walking at a brisk pace. A man in brown clothing with the carriage of a gentleman.
She could not see his face, but she did not need to.
“Gibson!”
At the sound of her voice, he took off on a run. By the time he reached her, tears were streaming down both their faces.
“Leddy Kerr, Leddy Kerr!” When he held out his arms, she threw herself into his embrace.
“You are safe,” she cried. “You are home.” He smelled of heather and sweat and earth and stream. His beard was ten days grown and his hair matted to his brow. Marjory did not mind, not for a moment.
When he finally released her, his face was ruddy. “I beg yer pardon, mem. I didna mean … I shouldna …”
“I was the brazen one,” she reminded him, making use of her handkerchief. “And I’ll not apologize for a moment.”
Gibson smiled. “Aye, mem.”
She tried not to stare, yet here he was, her beloved servant, standing before her, healthy and whole.
“We’d best go,” he said, “afore the toun folk start to blether.”
Marjory drew him to her side and began walking toward the marketplace. “Let them gossip all they wish. The man I thought was dead is alive and well.”
“Bethankit!” he said, then patted her hand, as he oft did when she took his arm. “I’m only sorry I made ye wait so lang.” His step was light, yet she heard the weariness in his voice. “Whan we reach the hoose,” he promised, “I’ll tell ye what happened to yer auld servant.”
Marjory gently admonished him, “Neil Gibson, you cannot leave me on tenterhooks. Will you not tell me where you’ve been all this time?”
“In Edinburgh, mem.” His blue gray eyes met hers. “Locked inside the tolbooth, chained to the wa’.”
Sixteen
Beware, so long as you live,
of judging men by their outward appearance.
JEAN DE LA FONTAINE
earing his voice on the stair, Elisabeth could not cross the room quickly enough. “Hurry, Cousin!” she cried, flinging open the door. “ ’Tis Gibson!”
Anne was beside her in a trice as Elisabeth clasped Gibson’s hands and pulled him across the threshold. “At last, at last.” She kissed his cheek, her heart filled to overflowing. “We feared we’d never see you again.”
“Aye, weel …” Gibson was clearly embarrassed. “I hope ye’ll not mind the leuk o’ me.”
“Mind?” Elisabeth laughed, a mixture of joy and relief. “After traveling forty miles on foot, you look surprisingly well.” His clothes were rumpled and torn, but such things were easily remedied. “What say you to a comfortable chair and a cup of tea?”
Only then did Elisabeth glance at her mother-in-law, close by his side. Marjory’s color was high, and she was smiling, but her eyes bore a strange light. Something had frightened the woman. Nae, terrified her. Had Gibson come bearing grim tidings?
“What is wrong?” Elisabeth murmured as Marjory eased past her.
Her mother-in-law’s response was cryptic. “You’ll know shortly.”
“Come and sit,” Anne was saying as she lifted Gibson’s leather bag from his shoulders. “You must be exhausted. Can it be ten years since I last saw you? ’Twas at kirk on a Sabbath morn, I’ll wager.”
Gibson eased into one of the upholstered chairs, and Marjory claimed the other while Elisabeth poured his tea from the kettle on the hearth. She placed the wooden cup in his hands, then perched on the creepie, her mourning gown pooling round her feet. “Please, Gibson,” Elisabeth urged him, “tell us what kept you from Annie’s door for so long.”
A cloud moved across his face. “ ’Tis not a bonny tale, but I suppose ye must hear it, as Leddy Kerr already has.” Gibson shifted in his seat, taking care not to spill his tea, while Anne drew her wooden chair nearer. “Ye’ll remember I left Milne Square on a Tuesday,” he began. “Whan I reached the Nether-bow Port, the guard wouldna let me through ’til he’d searched my bag. O’ course, he found Leddy Kerr’s two letters.”
A chill ran down Elisabeth’s spine. “Did the porter not see how harmless those