Here Burns My Candle (11 page)

But not yet.

Just beyond the Tron Kirk stood the town guardhouse, a low, shabby building erected in the middle of the High Street. The “black hole,” some called it, a disreputable place for all its civic importance. Elisabeth always gave it a wide berth. Several decaying guards usually hung round the door in threadbare uniforms and rumpled tricorne hats, sharing a pint of ale.

But not this morning.

Elisabeth’s steps slowed, and her eyes widened. ’
Tis not possible
.

A company of soldiers surrounded the guardhouse: armed, silent, and alert. Even in the murky light, she recognized their belted plaids and short coats, their broadswords and targes, their blue bonnets and white cockades.
Highlanders
.

Her heart began to thud.

The prince’s men are here. In Edinburgh
.

Elisabeth could not move, could hardly breathe. For weeks all had waited for the rebels to come charging through the West Port. Now they stood before her on a dark Tuesday morning, having quietly overtaken the town.

Tears stung her eyes as an ancient pride welled inside her. Think of it! Highland clansmen guarding the capital and a Stuart king returning to the throne. How many Jacobite Risings had there been in years past, with no success? Two? Three? Now it seemed as if there might be a chance.

Emboldened, she drew close enough to hear the soldiers’ voices, rich with Gaelic. To a man they were built for warfare, with broad shoulders and sturdy legs. No wonder the dragoons had galloped off at the sight of them.

Her candle, exposed to the capricious morning breeze, was quickly snuffed out. Still, she could see the men well enough. And they could see her. A gruff voice demanded in English, “State yer business, lass.”

She spoke as boldly as she dared. “I am bound for the tailoring shop of Angus MacPherson.” If they knew of his Jacobite ties, his name alone might keep her safe.

The men consulted one another, eying her as they did. She heard Angus’s name repeated several times along with that of Lochiel, chief of Clan Cameron. These were his men, it seemed, from the western Highlands.

Elisabeth studied their ruddy faces, weathered by years on the mountains and moors. Strong, square jaws set off their prominent features. Untamed hair poked from beneath flat bonnets. And a fierce glower darkened each gaze.

Their spokesman appeared to be an officer, with his greatcoat and tartan trews. When he addressed her again, his voice had lost its rough edge. “Aye, we ken the name MacPherson but canna tell ye whaur to find him.”

Only then did the thought strike her: Simon might be a stone’s throw away. ’Twas unlikely he was part of Lochiel’s contingent. But if he was. Oh, if he was…

She braved a second question. “What of my brother, Simon Ferguson, from Castleton of Braemar. Does he stand with you?”

The officer looked to his men. All were shaking their heads. “Beg pardon, lass. We dinna ken yer brither.”

Disappointment seeped into her soul, chilling as the morning mist. “I’m sorry to have troubled you.”

“Och! A bonny lass is the best sort o’ trouble,” one of the soldiers called out. The others round him laughed.

Elisabeth lifted her chin, a retort on the tip of her tongue. She’d not been addressed in so coarse a manner in many seasons. Her title, however, would not serve her well this morn, nor would her pride. She slipped the cooled candle stub and holder in the hanging pocket round her waist and turned to go.

“Bess!”

Startled, she spun round to find Rob MacPherson heading toward her, a looming mass in dark brown serge with a broadsword strapped to his side. His club foot altered his gait but did not slow his steps.

Elisabeth hurried to meet him. “Mr. MacPherson, did you know—”

“Aye,” he admitted, taking her arm and steering her away from the guardhouse. “An hour ago
my faither
waited on this side o’ the Nether-bow Port for a detachment o’ the prince’s army approaching from the east. The porter, as daft as they come, opened the gate to let a carriage through.” Rob grinned. “Nae Hielander worthy o’ his plaid would’ve missed such a chance.”

“How many men?” she asked.

“Two dozen at the gate with nine hundred on their heels. Captain Macgregor led them through the port with drawn swords and a
fricht-some
shout.”

Elisabeth nodded as the pieces fell together. “Their battle cry woke me.”

Rob looked up at the rows of shuttered windows. “Still the toun slumbers.”

“But you’ve not slept.”

He shrugged, his eyes bleary, the shadow of a beard darkening his cheek. “Wha could on such a
nich
?”

As they started downhill together, Elisabeth asked, “Have you any news of Simon?” When he shook his head, she explained, “I thought that might be why your father summoned me to the shop.”

“Aye…weel…” Rob cleared his throat, his face turning ruddy. “’Twas not my faither’s idea.”

“But—”

“I meant to be waiting at the foot o’ yer stair,” Rob said in a rush of words. “To escort ye to Netherbow Port so ye might watch the Hielanders enter the toun and
mebbe
catch sight o’ yer brither. But the army slipped through the gate sooner than we
thocht
…” He shrugged, clearly embarrassed. “Forgive me, Leddy Kerr. I didna mean for ye to be alone on a murky street with Lochiel’s men.”

“I was not alone for long,” Elisabeth reminded him.

Rob glanced back over his shoulder. “Keppoch, Ardshiel, and their
clansmen are gathering at Parliament Close. ’Twill be a rude awakening for the magistrates.”

And for the Kerrs
. Elisabeth gathered her cape about her. “I must away, sir.”

“So ye must.” He glanced up at the sky, growing lighter by the second, then turned his dark gaze on her. “Make haste, milady, or ye’ll be missed.”

Fourteen

All is to be feared
where all is to be lost.

GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON

H
ome. Home. Home.

The words pounded in Elisabeth’s heart as she fairly flew down the High Street toward Milne Square. She could not delay, or the household might wake to find her gone.

Nae, a hundred times nae!

Only now did the gravity of her situation sink in. A married woman of quality always traveled with a chaperone, not only for her own safety, but also to guard her husband’s good name. Yet she’d dashed into the street without giving either concern a passing thought. Elisabeth weighed those things now, hastening across the empty courtyard. However would she explain her absence?

Mr. MacPherson sent an urgent summons
. No need to mention which MacPherson.
With the rebel army upon us, our visit could not wait for dawn
. That sounded plausible, did it not?
I thought it might concern my Highland family
. Surely the Kerrs would be sympathetic, unless the dowager demanded to know where her daughter-in-law’s loyalties rested.

The first light of day followed Elisabeth up the forestair: a pale wash of gray lapping at her skirts. She turned at the landing and tarried beside Mr. Baillie’s doorway, letting her eyes adjust to the darker steps ahead, wishing her candle still burned.

All at once the merchant flung open his door, startling Elisabeth out of her wits.

“Leddy Kerr,” he cried, “I thocht ye a bluidy rebel!” Mr. Baillie sank against the doorjamb, knocking his nightcap askew. His gray hair stuck out like pins in a cushion, and his chin bore two days’ worth of stubble. “Pardon my appearance, mem. I feared the Hieland army had slipped into toun like
reivers
in the nicht.”

“So they did,” she confessed. “A small company took the guardhouse.”

Mr. Baillie groaned. “Here at last, then. But are there not thousands o’ men?”

Rob MacPherson’s tally came to mind, but she thought better of sharing it. Instead, she repeated Donald’s words. “Not so many as that.”

“Whatever the number, we’ve an unchancie day afore us.” The merchant wagged his head. “’Twas kind o’ ye to bring yer auld landlord the news.”

Elisabeth fell back a step. Mr. Baillie thought she was abroad for his benefit! How else to account for her appearance at his door? She held her tongue, rather than speak a lie into the cool morning air.

“Awa
with ye now, Leddy Kerr.” He glanced up the stair with a weary smile. “Ye’ll be wanted at hame.”

Elisabeth lifted her skirts and dashed up the stone steps, her heart pounding like a brass clapper, as the bells of Saint Giles tolled the hour of six.
Too late, too late
. Why had she tarried in the street and on the stair? Gibson and Mrs. Edgar were surely awake by now, though without Peg’s assistance, they might be slower in attending to their morning duties.

When at last she eased open the front door, Elisabeth held her breath.
Let the house be dark. Let the Kerrs be sleeping
.

But her silent pleas were not answered.

Candles blazed in every corner, and voices echoed in the adjoining rooms. Gibson met her in the entrance hall, his voice as thin as watery porridge. “Leddy Kerr,” was all he said as he gave a timid bow. Nearer the kitchen Mrs. Edgar curtsied, her face pallid.

Elisabeth slowly closed the door behind her. “Is Lord Kerr—”

“He is.” The dowager stood at the threshold of the drawing room. Her hands were by her side, clenching her skirts.

Elisabeth waited for her mother-in-law to say more. To chastise or scold or belittle. Finally Elisabeth could bear the silence no longer. “I had business with Mr. MacPherson that could not wait.” Her rehearsed words sounded like nonsense to her now. “Do forgive me—”

“It is not my forgiveness you need.” Marjory’s features were stony. “Your husband is the one who discovered you’d abandoned his bed without a word of explanation. What were we to think? That you’d run off to Gray’s Mill to conspire with the enemy?”

“Nothing of the sort,” Elisabeth protested even as a measure of guilt rose inside her. She
had
spoken with the prince’s men, and much closer to home.

Marjory moved forward, her eyes narrowing. “Or was your nighttime outing more personal in nature?”

Elisabeth gasped. “Nae!”

“That’s quite enough.” Donald entered the room, stepping round his mother as if she were a statue. “My wife is home now. ’Tis all that matters.”

Elisabeth felt the hardness of his gaze, the coolness of his touch as he clasped her hand and drew her to his side. “Forgive me, Donald,” she murmured, not caring who overheard her informal address. “I meant to return long before this.”

Marjory made a
st-st
sound against her teeth and showed the couple her back, marching into the drawing room with a single command. “Breakfast.”

While the servants hurried to do their mistress’s bidding, Elisabeth remained in the quiet entrance hall with a husband who had every right to be furious with her. She turned to face him, searching for the right words. “Donald, I—”

He kissed her, his mouth hard against hers, muting her apology. When he finally eased away from her, his eyes bore a faint sheen of tears.

“Please, Donald—”

“Listen to me.” His voice was rough with emotion and dangerously low. He pulled her into a corner where the household could not see them. “I know you’re a grown woman, capable offending for yourself. But when I woke…when you were gone…” He gripped her shoulders as if he might shake her. “Elisabeth, you cannot imagine… you cannot fathom what I thought.”

“Oh, Donald!” she cried softly. “I never meant—”

“Don’t you see? I thought I’d lost you.”

Her mouth fell open. “Lost me?”

“To the Jacobites. To the Town Guard. To some…lothario, some seducer of women.” Donald released her, his expression one of pure agony. “You do not know what men are capable of, Bess. You do not understand.”

“But I do.”
Oh, dear husband, I do
. “I am truly sorry I left without telling you. Foolishness on my part, nothing more.”

“You are many things, Bess, but foolish is not one of them.” After a moment he brushed a kiss across the crown of her head, then lifted the wool cape from her shoulders. “So, what was this vital errand that coaxed you from my bed?”

Elisabeth hesitated, not wanting to anger him afresh. “You’ll remember Rob MacPherson approached me in Parliament Close yesterday. He asked me to come to the shop before dawn. And to tell no one.”

Donald frowned. “You were most obedient on that count, milady.”

“I thought it might be news from home,” she hastened to explain. “Simon is eighteen now. Old enough to follow his convictions.” Would Donald grasp her meaning? Perhaps she’d best speak plainly. “Simon came out for Prince Charlie.”

Donald arched his brows. “Your brother intends to fight?”

“He does. I thought the MacPhersons might know Simon’s whereabouts, might take me to him.” She touched his arm. “Donald, I
had
to go, don’t you see?”

“Not entirely.” His scowl seemed mostly for effect. “Why didn’t you let me escort you to MacPherson’s door?”

“Because you are Lord Kerr,” she said simply. “I thought it best not to involve you in Jacobite matters.”

“Guarding my reputation, were you?”

“As it happened, Rob met me near the town guardhouse.” Elisabeth paused, certain he’d not heard the news. “I discovered the prince’s men there, standing at attention.”

Donald’s scowl faded into a look of disbelief. “You saw the rebel army?”

“I did.” Elisabeth took his arm and nodded toward the drawing room, glad to be back in her husband’s good graces. “Suppose we have breakfast, and I’ll tell you what’s transpired while Edinburgh slept. Auld Scotland is about to have a new king.”

Fifteen

But who the pretender is, or who is King—
God bless us all—that’s quite another thing.

JOHN BYROM

S
tanding in the forecourt of the palace, Marjory longed to cover her ears, so deafening was the drone of the bagpipes. But she could not risk letting go of Donald for fear of being trampled. The music, the shouting, the constant huzzahs made conversation difficult. They could only nod at one another or raise their voices like common folk.