Grace in Thine Eyes by Liz Curtis Higgs

Author:Liz Curtis Higgs [Higgs, Liz Curtis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-05-12T15:21:59+00:00

Davina awakened late on the Sabbath morning, dismayed to find a downpour pelting Kilmichael’s windows. Ill weather for traveling to Lamlash Bay for kirk.

Nan Shaw stood by Davina’s open bedchamber door. “I didna wauken ye earlier, thinkin’ ye’d not want tae mak a lang raik a’ by yerself on sae dreich a day.” The maidservant deposited a pitcher of steaming water and fresh towels on the washstand. “The captain is off tae the mainland and not expected hame ’til Friday, and me mistress is abed wi’ a worrisome cough. The ithers left for kirk lang syne.” Her point was well made: If the kirk in Lamlash had a bell, it would have already rung. “I’ll fetch a goun for ye,” she said, then closed the door behind her.

Davina sank back on the pillows, miserable with herself. Mother never missed a service on the Sabbath due to bad weather, let alone from oversleeping. And what would the Stewarts think of her not appearing at kirk? There was no afternoon service in light of the distance churchgoers were required to travel; Kilbride parish included the entire eastern half of Arran, fourteen miles from Lochranza to Dippin. On the first dry day she would visit the manse and make amends. And come next Sunday she would be sure Nan roused her early.

At least her Sabbath duties did not include providing entertainment for the duke’s guests. Or playing unexpected musical duets with Somerled. Or avoiding his relentless gaze.

Two days away from him would give her time to think.

Please consider my offer of marriage.

Was a hurried wedding her only option? If the truth of her unchaste state remained hidden, might she not return to Glentrool at Lammas and resume her life? Should a suitor come calling, she’d need some reason to refuse him; no gentleman wanted a sullied bride. But it might be managed.

Except then she would have no husband at all and no children to call her own.

You may still refuse me, Miss McKie. That remained to be seen.

Davina eased back her bedcovers, determined to honor the Lord’s day as best she could. The drawing room shelves were lined with devout books, waiting to be read. And she’d write to her parents, for if they received letters from the MacDonalds, they’d expect to hear from her as well.

Whatever would she tell them? Only the truth, and precious little of that; a very short letter indeed. I have met a gentleman from Argyll. A guest of His Grace. A talented musician. He has shown me favor. Of the worst kind and in the worst manner, though that truth would not find its way into her letter. Nor would the words she longed to write: Help me. Save me. It was too late for that.

Davina bathed her hands and face in haste, knowing Nan would return shortly. The less time the woman had to see her bruises, the better. The ones Davina could spot were no longer quite so purple but remained painfully visible. She was prepared to mimic a fall from a horse if an explanation was demanded of her.

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