Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,84

I have in mind.”

Forty

The road up and the road down

is one and the same.

HERACLITUS

lasping a linen bundle in one hand and her sewing basket in the other, Elisabeth started downhill toward home, drawn by the toll of the kirk bell floating on the early evening breeze.

Her feet knew the path well by now. In four weeks she’d finished as many gowns, the latest for Sally’s mother, Mrs. Craig, the head laundress. For her own entertainment Elisabeth made one small alteration in each gown’s design. An extra set of pleats here, an embroidered buttonhole there, a deeper placket to hide the fastenings—nothing Lord Jack would notice or care about.

She’d seen little of him the past week, though he’d sent a thoughtful note on Saturday’s dinner tray, thanking the Kerrs for their hospitality. After reading the note to Marjory and Anne, Elisabeth had tucked it into her apron pocket. Later, when no one was looking, she read it again, smoothing her thumb across Lord Jack’s signature.

But his spoken words were hidden in her heart. Can we not be friends, madam, at least at Bell Hill? What did that mean? That he’d prefer not to be seen with her in public? Or that he was lonely and wished to enjoy her company while she labored beneath his roof?

Of this she was certain: small gifts had begun to appear at her workroom door. Squares of toffee, which quickly appeased Anne’s sweet tooth. Two pints of berries. A basketful of roses snipped from the garden. Then today’s fresh wheaten rolls, a specialty of the cook. “Mrs. Tudhope baked more than were needed for dinner,” Mrs. Pringle had told her earlier, leaving the linen bundle on the mantel, where Charbon couldn’t poke at them with his nose.

Elisabeth suspected Lord Buchanan was behind such blessings, meant to look merely like perishables given away rather than thrown away. Whatever the source, whatever the reason, the Kerr women were grateful.

She was walking down the steepest part of the hill when the clip-clop of approaching horses caught her ear. Elisabeth slowed her steps so the riders could pass by.

Instead the horses drew to a stop. “Afternoon, madam.”

Elisabeth turned to find Lord Jack gazing down at her, his face framed in blue sky. He was dressed in a black riding coat and breeches, but without a neckcloth or waistcoat—rather scandalous attire for an admiral. She arched her brows. “You are not bound for town, I see.”

“Nae, madam. I’m off in search of ancient ruins. Care to join me?” He nodded at the horse beside him, led by one of Bell Hill’s grooms. “Belda should suit you. She’s well mannered yet with spirit.”

Elisabeth eyed the golden mare, with its cream-colored mane and rich leather sidesaddle. “She is lovely,” Elisabeth confessed, though she’d not ridden in many seasons. Dare she try it?

“Davie will carry your things home for you.” He nodded at the groom, who handed the reins to his master, then came round and relieved Elisabeth of her bundle and basket. “Davie, kindly tell Mrs. Kerr in Halliwell’s Close that her daughter-in-law will arrive home by sunset, having had her supper.”

“Aye, sir.” The groom took off at a sprint.

Elisabeth stared after him. “Lord Buchanan, I am … not certain …”

“You are to call me Lord Jack,” he reminded her, dismounting in one graceful move.

“This outing you are suggesting.” She turned to look at him. “Is it quite proper for us to travel unescorted?”

“You mean because I’m an old bachelor and you are a young widow?” He cleared his throat. “Madam, I have been closely watched from the moment I entered this parish. I suspect you have been as well. Such scrutiny tends to keep people on their best behavior. I have no plans to misbehave. Do you?”

She laughed. “I do not.”

“Good.” He offered his hand. “Let me help you mount her, for ’tis not easily managed in a gown.”

She stood beside the mare, smoothing a gloved hand along the horse’s sleek, warm neck. “Be gentle with me, lass,” Elisabeth murmured, taking long, slow breaths to calm her nerves. “The last woman I saw riding sidesaddle was Lady Margaret Murray of Broughton.”

“A Jacobite, I believe,” he said evenly.

Elisabeth gritted her teeth. Why had she mentioned such a thing? Probably because she was nervous. Was it riding the mare that frightened her? Or riding with the admiral?

Without ceremony, Lord Buchanan fitted his hands round her waist and lifted her onto the saddle with ease, then politely lowered his gaze as she hooked her right