Mine Is the Night Read online

  PRAISE FOR

  Mine Is the Night

  “Mine Is the Night was everything I hoped it would be—the crown of the series! I loved the historical setting, the details, the love stories, the characters who change and grow. The pace and story lines kept me turning pages; I couldn’t put it down.”

  —FRANCINE RIVERS, author of Redeeming Love

  “Few authors stir my emotions more deeply than Liz Curtis Higgs. One does not merely read her novels; one forges a bond so deep with her characters that reader and story become one, embarking on a journey that both inspires and transforms. But be warned—Mine Is the Night will steal your night from the first page to the last, and never will hours be better spent. It was an absolute pleasure to read.”

  —JULIE LESSMAN, author of A Hope Undaunted

  “Liz Curtis Higgs has once again combined her extraordinary skill as a storyteller with her elegant writing style to weave a grand Scottish tale, one that transports us back to the past in an emotional and unforgettable journey. I was reluctant to see the story of the Kerr women end—but what an ending it is!”

  —BJ HOFF, author of The Emerald Ballad series

  “Liz Curtis Higgs does it again! Mine Is the Night delivers a compelling story of intrigue, adventure, and love. With extreme attention to detail and historical accuracy, Liz creates a love story to last the ages.”

  —TRACIE PETERSON, author of Embers of Love

  “Liz Curtis Higgs brings the book of Ruth to life in Jacobite Scotland with Mine Is the Night, a page-turning, emotionally intense, gloriously researched, and soul-stirring read. I was in eighteenth-century Scotland with characters I did not want to leave. Simply brilliant.”

  —LINDA WINDSOR, author of Healer

  “Stunning from start to finish! Sharply witty, charming, romantic, captivating. Liz Curtis Higgs delivers a finale that satisfies in every way. Her best yet!”

  —TAMERA ALEXANDER, author of Beyond This Moment

  PRAISE FOR

  Here Burns My Candle

  “Higgs’s latest richly detailed, leisurely paced novel about two women whose faith brings them closer together is a compelling tale of love, loss, faith, and forgiveness that is certain to please both inspirational readers and fans of well-crafted historical fiction.”

  —BOOKLIST

  “The characters are remarkably flawed … Higgs is a stickler for period authenticity and has done her homework on history and dialect. Fans have been waiting … for this novel and will not be disappointed.”

  —PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

  “Based on the story of Naomi and Ruth but vividly evoking its 18th-century Scottish setting, Here Burns My Candle is a memorable tale of divided loyalties and endurance in the face of tragedy, with flawed, convincing characters and abundant historical detail.”

  —HISTORICAL NOVELS REVIEW

  “Christy Award winner Higgs (Whence Came a Prince) has a faithful following … The author’s broad appeal makes this a winner for those who love period detail in their historicals.”

  —LIBRARY JOURNAL

  “Higgs’ latest novel is stunning in its prose and its historical accuracy. The author transports the reader to another time and place while paralleling the book of Ruth. Readers will anxiously await the second part of the story.”

  —ROMANTIC TIMES Inspirational TOP PICK

  OTHER BOOKS BY LIZ CURTIS HIGGS

  HISTORICAL FICTION

  Thorn in My Heart

  Fair Is the Rose

  Whence Came a Prince

  Grace in Thine Eyes

  Here Burns My Candle

  CONTEMPORARY FICTION

  Mixed Signals

  Bookends

  NONFICTION

  Bad Girls of the Bible

  Really Bad Girls of the Bible

  Unveiling Mary Magdalene

  Slightly Bad Girls of the Bible

  Rise and Shine

  Embrace Grace

  My Heart’s in the Lowlands

  CHILDREN’S

  The Parable of the Lily

  The Sunflower Parable

  The Pumpkin Patch Parable

  The Pine Tree Parable

  Go Away, Dark Night

  MINE IS THE NIGHT

  PUBLISHED BY WATERBROOK PRESS

  12265 Oracle Boulevard, Suite 200

  Colorado Springs, Colorado 80921

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version.

  The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2011 by Liz Curtis Higgs

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House Inc., New York.

  WATERBROOK and its deer colophon are registered trademarks of Random House Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Higgs, Liz Curtis.

  Mine is the night / Liz Curtis Higgs. — 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-45888-9

  1. Scotland—Social life and customs—18th century—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3558.I36235M56 2011

  813′.54—dc22

  2010053728

  v3.1

  For two special Elizabeths in my life:

  Elizabeth Hoagland

  and Elizabeth Jeffries,

  my dear Louisville friends,

  with fond memories of our

  Elizabethan lunches.

  May the meaning of your name,

  “consecrated to God,”

  bless your souls

  now and forever.

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Map

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

 
Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Chapter Eighty

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  Author Notes

  Readers Guide

  Scottish Glossary

  Mine is the night,

  with all her stars.

  EDWARD YOUNG

  One

  Foul whisperings are abroad.

  WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

  Selkirkshire

  26 April 1746

  he distant hoofbeats were growing louder.

  Elisabeth Kerr quickly pushed aside the curtain and leaned out the carriage window. A cool spring rain, borne on a blustery wind, stung her cheeks. She could not see the riders on horseback, hidden by the steep hill behind her. But she could hear them galloping hard, closing the gap.

  Her mother-in-law seemed unconcerned, her attention drawn to the puddle forming at their feet. A frown creased her brow. “Do you mean for us to arrive in Selkirk even more disheveled than we already are?” Three long days of being jostled about in a cramped and dirty coach had left Marjory Kerr in a mood as foul as the weather.

  “ ’Tis not the rain that concerns me.” Elisabeth resumed her seat, feeling a bit unsteady. “No ordinary traveling party would ride with such haste.”

  Marjory’s breath caught. “Surely you do not think—”

  “I do.”

  Had they not heard the rumors at every inn and coaching halt? King George’s men were scouring the countryside for anyone who’d aided bonny Prince Charlie in his disastrous bid to reclaim the British throne for the long-deposed Stuarts. Each whispered account was worse than the last. Wounded rebel soldiers clubbed to death. Houses burned with entire families inside. Wives and daughters ravished by British dragoons.

  Help us, Lord. Please. Elisabeth slipped her arm round her mother-in-law’s shoulders as she heard the riders crest the hill and bear down on them.

  “We were almost home,” Marjory fretted.

  “The Lord will rescue us,” Elisabeth said firmly, and then they were overtaken. A male voice cut through the rain-soaked air, and the carriage jarred to a halt.

  Mr. Dewar, their round-bellied coachman, dropped from his perch and landed by the window with a grunt. He rocked back on his heels until he found his balance, then yanked open the carriage door without ceremony. “Beg yer pardon, leddies. The captain here would have a wird with ye.”

  Marjory’s temper flared. “He cannot expect us to stand in the rain.”

  “On the contrary, madam.” A British dragoon dismounted and rolled into view like a loaded cannon. His shoulders were broad, his legs short, his neck invisible. “I insist upon it. At once, if you please.”

  With a silent prayer for strength, Elisabeth gathered her hoops and maneuvered through the narrow carriage doorway. She was grateful for Mr. Dewar’s hand as she stepped down, trying not to drag her skirts through the mud. Despite the evening gloom, her eyes traced the outline of a hillside town not far south. Almost home.

  The captain, whom Elisabeth guessed to be about five-and-forty years, watched in stony silence as Marjory disembarked. His scarlet coat was drenched, his cuffed, black boots were covered with filth, and the soggy brim of his cocked hat bore a noticeable wave.

  He was also shorter than Elisabeth had first imagined. When she lifted her head, making the most of her long neck, she was fully two inches taller than he. Some days she bemoaned her height but not this day.

  By the time Marjory joined her on the roadside, a half-dozen uniformed men had crowded round. Broadswords hung at their sides, yet their scowls were far more menacing.

  “Come noo,” Mr. Dewar said gruffly. “Ye’ve nae need to frighten my passengers. State yer business, and be done with it. We’ve little daylight left and less than a mile to travel.”

  “Selkirk is your destination?” The captain seemed disappointed. “Not many Highland rebels to be found there.”

  “ ’Tis a royal burgh,” Marjory told him, her irritation showing. “Our townsfolk have been loyal to the Crown for centuries.”

  Elisabeth shot her a guarded look. Have a care, dear Marjory.

  The captain ignored her mother-in-law’s comments, all the while studying their plain black gowns, a curious light in his eyes. “In mourning, are we? For husbands, I’ll wager.” He took a brazen step toward Elisabeth, standing entirely too close. “Tell me, lass. Did your men give their lives in service to King George? At Falkirk perhaps? Or Culloden?”

  She could not risk a lie. Yet she could not speak the truth.

  Please, Lord, give me the right words.

  Elisabeth took a long, slow breath, then spoke from her heart. “Our brave men died at Falkirk honoring the King who has no equal.”

  He cocked one eyebrow. “Did they now?”

  “Aye.” She met the captain’s gaze without flinching, well aware of which sovereign she had in mind. I am God, and there is none like me. She’d not lied. Nor had the dragoon grasped the truth behind her words: by divine right the crown belonged to Prince Charlie.

  “No one compares to His Majesty, King George,” he said expansively. “Though I am sorry for your loss. No doubt your men died heroes.”

  Elisabeth merely nodded, praying he’d not ask their names. A list of soldiers killed at Falkirk had circulated round Edinburgh for weeks. The captain might recall that Lord Donald and Andrew Kerr were not named among the royalist casualties. Instead, her handsome husband and his younger brother were counted among the fallen rebels on that stormy January evening.

  My sweet Donald. However grievous his sins, however much he’d wounded her, she’d loved him once and mourned him still.

  Her courage bolstered by the thought of Donald in his dark blue uniform, Elisabeth squared her shoulders and ignored the rain sluicing down her neck. “My mother-in-law and I are eager to resume our journey. If we are done here—”

  “We are not.” Still lingering too near, the captain inclined his head, measuring her. “A shame your husband left such a bonny widow. Though if you fancy another soldier in your bed, one of my men will gladly oblige—”

  “Sir!” Marjory protested. “How dare you address a lady in so coarse a manner.”

  His dragoons quickly closed ranks. “A lady?” one of them grumbled. “She sounds more like a Highlander to my ear.”

  The captain’s expression darkened. “Aye, so she does.” Without warning he grasped the belled cuff of Elisabeth’s sleeve and turned back the fabric. “Where is it, lass? Where is your silk Jacobite rose?”

  “You’ve no need to look.” Elisabeth tried to wrest free of him. “I haven’t one.”

  Ignoring her objections, he roughly examined the other cuff, nearly tearing apart the seam. “The white rose of Scotland was Prince Charlie’s favorite, was it not? I’ve plucked them off many a Highland rebel.”

  “I imagine you have.” Elisabeth freed her sleeve from his grasp. “Are you quite satisfied?”

  “Far from it, lass.” The captain eyed the neckline of her gown, his mouth twisting into an ugly sneer. “It se
ems your flower is well hidden. Nevertheless, I mean to have it.”

  Two

  The brave find a home

  in every land.

  OVID

  top!” Marjory threw her arm in front of Elisabeth, shielding her from the British dragoon with his ill-mannered words and his insolent gaze. “That is enough, sir.” Her heart pounding, her patience long abandoned on the road south, Marjory practically shouted at the man, “If my daughter-in-law says she has no rose, then she has no rose.”

  “I do not own a single one,” Elisabeth said evenly, stepping back.

  Marjory lowered her arm but didn’t move, still glaring at the captain. Did the scoundrel think she’d simply stand by and watch while he took liberties with her daughter-in-law? The very idea.

  When the captain did not respond at once, his men grew restless, murmuring among themselves. Finally he offered a careless shrug. “Madam, I did not intend—”

  “I beg to differ,” Marjory retorted. “Your intentions were abundantly clear and wholly dishonorable. Perhaps I should write General Lord Mark Kerr and inform him of your vile behavior.” She saw the flicker of fear in his eyes and was secretly pleased.