Read Here Burns My Candle for Free Online

Dozens of nobles lined the galleries above. From her boarding school days in Blackfriars Wynd, Elisabeth had dutifully learned their many names and titles, never dreaming she would one day be counted among them.
    She’d departed the Highlands at eighteen, telling anyone who asked that she meant only to improve her mind and expand her horizons in Edinburgh. “’Tis whaur ye belong,” her mother had agreed, pressing a worn leather purse into her hands. Elisabeth still kept the purse hidden in her jewelry box, a ha’penny tucked in its rough folds. The truth was less sanguine: she’d fled from home for her mother’s sake and her own. Who could have imagined she would marry a worthy husband, far above her station?
    She glanced at Donald, pale but proud, and swallowed the lump rising in her throat. If only she might give him just one son, a fair-haired lad with bonny blue eyes. All the Miss Harts of the world could not compete with such a prize.
    When the precentor stood to lead the gathering psalm, the chattering ceased, and hundreds of voices sang in unison without benefit of a pipe organ. “The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?” By the look on their faces, Elisabeth knew exactly whom the parishioners feared that morning: the bonny prince and his rebel army.
    Women lifted their chins, and men squared their shoulders, daring the enemy to come forth, as they sang more loudly than ever. “Though an host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear.” Elisabeth envisioned the Highland encampments drawing nigh to the gates and remembered Gibson’s candid description of thieving, naked ruffians. She knew better. The Highland folk of her acquaintance were generous and kind and honest in their dealings—at least with one another if not always with the English.
    As the psalm drew to a close, the parishioners sang with even more conviction. “Wait on the LORD : be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart.” Elisabeth closed her eyes briefly, letting the words sink in. A strong heart—aye, she would need that.
    In the hallowed silence Reverend Dr. George Wishart, a humbleman in his middle years, ascended the steps into the pulpit for his opening prayer. He carried a sword at his waist, prepared to defend his flock if necessary. The minister’s earnest prayer rolled down the center aisle, followed by Mr. Hogg’s half-hour lecture loosely drawn from the book of Isaiah. Later that morning Reverend Wishart’s sermon would be twice as long and half as vitriolic. Until then, James Hogg commanded their attention.
    As Elisabeth had anticipated, Mr. Hogg spoke vehemently against the Jacobites. “For it is a day of trouble,” the lecturer intoned, “and of treading down.” His hearers nodded or shrugged, depending on their political persuasion, but none interrupted the man’s discourse.
    Another psalm followed, longer than the gathering psalm. Only when the last note faded into the air did Elisabeth hear the clang of a distant bell.
    Not a kirk bell, a fire bell.
    “Nae!” Mrs. Millar, a midwife in the parish, leaped to her feet, clutching her reticule to her breast. “My hoose is wood, a’ wood!”
    Pandemonium broke out as young and old, rich and poor abandoned their seats. In a city replete with thatched roofs and oak beams, fire was a constant danger. Who could forget the great fire in the Lawnmarket that had consumed everything it touched?
    Donald gripped Elisabeth’s hand so tightly she feared her bones might break. “Stay with me,” he told her, though she needed no prompting. His mother and Janet remained close on their heels as they fled down the aisle with Andrew not far behind them.
    When the door of the kirk flew open, Elisabeth watched in horror as the first parishioners who’d reached the street were knocked to the ground by the human tide. Folk surged past, heading uphill toward the Lawn-market, shouting and pushing, any sense of decorum forgotten. Was Parliament