Here Burns My Candle by Liz Curtis Higgs

Author:Liz Curtis Higgs [Higgs, Liz Curtis]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-307-44659-6
Publisher: The Doubleday Religious Publishing Group
Published: 2010-12-28T05:00:00+00:00

Forty-Two

There exists no cure for a heart

wounded with the sword of separation.

HITOPADESA

M arjory could not take her eyes off her sons, even though her heart was breaking. Mounted on fine horses, their shoulders squared and their heads held high, Donald and Andrew were as bonny as the young prince they served and every bit as courageous.

My sons.

Had they truly fit in her arms once, their heads nestled in the crook of her elbow? Had they climbed into her lap and pressed their sticky hands against her cheeks? Marjory could barely imagine it, looking at them now.

She sensed their father, Lord John, standing beside her, admiring the fair-haired, blue-eyed lads they’d nurtured to manhood. They look like soldiers, milord. They look like you. Marjory valiantly fought back tears, gladly enduring the cold and the dark for one more minute with her precious sons.

They were hardly alone. A vast throng filled the palace grounds to witness the end of the rebel occupation. Thousands had come on foot, in carriages, on horseback to shout, to cheer, to weep.

Above the clamor rose the voice of her sons’ commanding officer. Not as old as Donald and certainly not so handsome, David Wemyss, Lord Elcho, was nonetheless impressive with his large, dark eyes and smooth brow. At the moment he was directing his men into orderly lines, no doubt anticipating the prince’s appearance and a swift departure for Musselburgh.

“I must go, Mother.” Andrew shifted his seat on his mount. “My brother is a far better correspondent. Look to his letters for news.”

“So I shall.” Marjory gave him a brave smile, reaching up to touch his sleeve. “I will pray for you both,” she promised. Had she not done so every night since their enlistment? Nae, since their birth. Guard them and guide them, according to thy will.

When Janet stepped forward to bid her husband farewell, she was dry-eyed and stoic. “See that you come home, Mr. Kerr.” She lifted up her gloved hand for a parting kiss, then rested her hand on her waist in a none-too-subtle manner.

Janet styled her delicate condition “a possibility,” but Marjory recognized the signs. A summer baby, she’d decided, and bound to thrive. Even though her daughter-in-law would be seven-and-twenty, Janet was in excellent health.

“Mother?” Donald nudged his horse a step closer, then touched the brim of his tricorne. “May I count on you to look after Elisabeth?”

“Aye,” she quickly agreed. Anything to ease his mind. “You’ll write as oft as you can?”

“I shall, though do not expect a letter soon. I’ve little knowledge of our route and even less of our destination,” he confessed. “Some believe we’ll follow the east road toward Northumberland. Others say we’ll cross to the west and take Carlisle.”

Marjory shuddered. Take. The reality of what lay ahead came into sharper focus.

“You will be cautious?” she pleaded, no longer caring if her eyes grew wet with tears. Donald’s musket, his sword, his dirk were not meant for adornment. He would hold them in his hands; he would use them.

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