younger version of herself.
“I’ve learned this much,” Andrew began, shifting forward in his chair. “While we gathered at the Tron Kirk for service, the Gentlemen Volunteers convened in the College Yards and were summarily marched to the Lawnmarket.”
“By whom?” Marjory wanted to know.
“George Drummond.”
“I see.”
Elisabeth wasn’t surprised at Marjory’s sharp tone. One spring Drummond had pursued the dowager with marked interest. Flattered atfirst, Marjory had welcomed Drummond’s advances until she learned how many other wealthy, available widows he’d courted over the years.
Marjory was frowning now. “Captain Drummond found it necessary to muster his troops on the Sabbath?”
“So he did,” Andrew told her. “Our Volunteer forces are to engage the rebels before they reach Edinburgh.”
Elisabeth’s heart sank. The Volunteers were young, untried, and poorly trained. “How near are the Highlanders?”
“Eight miles hence in Kirkliston. The Lord Provost rang the fire bell to summon reinforcements.”
Janet arched her brows. “And sent us all running into the street.”
“An unfortunate choice for a signal,” her husband agreed. “By now the whole of Edinburgh is at sixes and sevens.”
Elisabeth could bear it no longer. “But what’s become of Lord Kerr?”
Andrew’s features softened. “Forgive me, milady. Truly, I’ve nothing else to report.” He rose and began slowly pacing before the fire. “As you well know, my brother is not easily dissuaded. He won’t return home until he’s certain of the situation. I could, of course, go in search of him—”
“What?” Marjory protested. “And leave the three of us here alone and unguarded?”
“’Tis not so bad as that, Mother.” Andrew paused to consult his watch. “Gibson is here. And the city will be well defended. Hamilton’s dragoons are expected from Leith within the hour.”
Elisabeth pictured Donald’s carefully rendered map of Edinburgh and its environs: the village of Kirkliston to the west, the seaport of Leith to the north. He’d commissioned maps of Berwickshire, of Roxburghshire, of Selkirkshire. But nowhere in the house could be found a map of Aberdeenshire, her own county to the north. Nor a painting of the grass-covered glens she’d loved as a child. Nor a sketch of the lofty hills surrounding Castleton of Braemar, the Highland clachan she’d once called home.
She’d left in haste, and for good reason. Now that all was resolved, she longed to visit her mother’s heather-thatched cottage with its tidykitchen garden by the door. To clasp the hand of her younger brother, Simon, and climb the steep slopes of Morrone. To meander among the ancient pines and share secrets, as they once had.
Yet each time Elisabeth mentioned the possibility of a journey north, her mother-in-law found some reason to object. The considerable distance. The unpredictable weather. The miserable condition of the roads.
Any suggestion that her family travel south to Edinburgh was met with further resistance—their cramped lodging being the chief impediment. “Wherever would your mother sleep?” Marjory fretted when the subject came up again last month. “I would be the worst of hostesses with only a drawing room to offer her.”
In spite of Elisabeth’s assurances that a pile of blankets near the hearth would suit Fiona and Simon Ferguson very well, Marjory would not hear of it. “Perhaps next summer,” her mother-in-law had said. As she always said. And so Elisabeth dreamed of the hills and glens of home and woke with tears in her eyes, then brushed them away before anyone noticed.
She was dry-eyed at the moment, though her thoughts were far from easy. Rather than hear Hamilton’s dragoons march through the city, she longed to hear Donald’s footsteps on the stair. She gazed at the coals nestled in the grate, willing her husband home. Please, Donald. Soon .
Janet was still complaining about the morning’s
“I’ve learned this much,” Andrew began, shifting forward in his chair. “While we gathered at the Tron Kirk for service, the Gentlemen Volunteers convened in the College Yards and were summarily marched to the Lawnmarket.”
“By whom?” Marjory wanted to know.
“George Drummond.”
“I see.”
Elisabeth wasn’t surprised at Marjory’s sharp tone. One spring Drummond had pursued the dowager with marked interest. Flattered atfirst, Marjory had welcomed Drummond’s advances until she learned how many other wealthy, available widows he’d courted over the years.
Marjory was frowning now. “Captain Drummond found it necessary to muster his troops on the Sabbath?”
“So he did,” Andrew told her. “Our Volunteer forces are to engage the rebels before they reach Edinburgh.”
Elisabeth’s heart sank. The Volunteers were young, untried, and poorly trained. “How near are the Highlanders?”
“Eight miles hence in Kirkliston. The Lord Provost rang the fire bell to summon reinforcements.”
Janet arched her brows. “And sent us all running into the street.”
“An unfortunate choice for a signal,” her husband agreed. “By now the whole of Edinburgh is at sixes and sevens.”
Elisabeth could bear it no longer. “But what’s become of Lord Kerr?”
Andrew’s features softened. “Forgive me, milady. Truly, I’ve nothing else to report.” He rose and began slowly pacing before the fire. “As you well know, my brother is not easily dissuaded. He won’t return home until he’s certain of the situation. I could, of course, go in search of him—”
“What?” Marjory protested. “And leave the three of us here alone and unguarded?”
“’Tis not so bad as that, Mother.” Andrew paused to consult his watch. “Gibson is here. And the city will be well defended. Hamilton’s dragoons are expected from Leith within the hour.”
Elisabeth pictured Donald’s carefully rendered map of Edinburgh and its environs: the village of Kirkliston to the west, the seaport of Leith to the north. He’d commissioned maps of Berwickshire, of Roxburghshire, of Selkirkshire. But nowhere in the house could be found a map of Aberdeenshire, her own county to the north. Nor a painting of the grass-covered glens she’d loved as a child. Nor a sketch of the lofty hills surrounding Castleton of Braemar, the Highland clachan she’d once called home.
She’d left in haste, and for good reason. Now that all was resolved, she longed to visit her mother’s heather-thatched cottage with its tidykitchen garden by the door. To clasp the hand of her younger brother, Simon, and climb the steep slopes of Morrone. To meander among the ancient pines and share secrets, as they once had.
Yet each time Elisabeth mentioned the possibility of a journey north, her mother-in-law found some reason to object. The considerable distance. The unpredictable weather. The miserable condition of the roads.
Any suggestion that her family travel south to Edinburgh was met with further resistance—their cramped lodging being the chief impediment. “Wherever would your mother sleep?” Marjory fretted when the subject came up again last month. “I would be the worst of hostesses with only a drawing room to offer her.”
In spite of Elisabeth’s assurances that a pile of blankets near the hearth would suit Fiona and Simon Ferguson very well, Marjory would not hear of it. “Perhaps next summer,” her mother-in-law had said. As she always said. And so Elisabeth dreamed of the hills and glens of home and woke with tears in her eyes, then brushed them away before anyone noticed.
She was dry-eyed at the moment, though her thoughts were far from easy. Rather than hear Hamilton’s dragoons march through the city, she longed to hear Donald’s footsteps on the stair. She gazed at the coals nestled in the grate, willing her husband home. Please, Donald. Soon .
Janet was still complaining about the morning’s
Similar Books
