Read Here Burns My Candle for Free Online Page A

Close ablaze? The Luckenbooths? Saint Giles?
    A grimy-faced chimney sweep appeared, leaping up and down to be heard. “’Tis not a fire!” the lad cried, his voice hoarse from shouting. “’Tis the Hielanders!”

Six
While throng’d the citizens with terror dumb,
Or whispering with white lips—
“The foe! they come! they come!”
GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON
    L ord, preserve us!” Marjory cried out as her legs crumpled beneath her.
    Andrew leaped forward and caught her in his arms. “I’m here, Mother,” he reassured her, supporting her until she could stand on her own.
    The sweep’s report, shouted in the street, fueled the mob’s frenzy even as the fire bell continued to clang. Instead of flames leaping from their rooftops, a deadlier prospect loomed: Highland rebels charging through their doors.
    Sheltered against the rough stone wall, Marjory felt every one of her eight-and-forty years—nae, twice that. Her body ached, and her mouth was as dry as ground oats. “Mr. Kerr,” she said between coughs, “you must see to your wife.”
    Janet slowly walked toward them, leaning on Peg’s arm, her neatly dressed hair coming undone, her countenance ashen.
    “My dear girl.” When Marjory stretched out her hand, Janet was soon beside her: a loyal daughter-in-law whose aristocratic family brought honor to the Kerr name. Hadn’t Marjory chosen Janet herself? Written to Lord and Lady Murray in Dunkeld? Made all the necessary arrangements? Andrew seemed well satisfied. Without question, she was.
    “There, there,” Marjory said, lightly stroking the young woman’s gloved hand. “Even if the rebels have reached our gates, the Lord Provost will not let them enter.” Despite her brave speech, Marjory cast a wary glance downhill toward Netherbow Port, which was not a harbor for ships but one of six fortified gates in the ancient city wall—guarded, she prayed, by a vigilant porter.
    “Lord Kerr is away to the Lawnmarket,” Janet said, drying her eyes.
    Marjory nodded, having seen Donald strike out on foot, a determined expression on his face. “He shan’t rest until he knows how things stand. In the meantime, Mr. Kerr, your place is here.”
    Andrew gazed toward the Lawnmarket and sighed. “Aye.”
    Marjory pretended not to see the wistful look in his blue eyes. Her son was but five-and-twenty, young enough to still be foolhardy. Would that she’d sent his pistols and muskets home to Tweedsford, lest he be tempted to use them. The British army had already refused him a commission, citing insufficient vigor and poor health. But she feared the Gentlemen Volunteers might not be so selective.
    Waiting in the shadow of the Tron Kirk, Marjory took in the distressing scene before her. Some were weeping, others called out for news, while many ran to and fro as if activity alone might calm their fears. Across the broad expanse of the High Street stood Milne Square. Though deceptively close, the Kerrs had little hope of reaching their house without getting bruised, if not trampled.
    Her housekeeper, Mrs. Edgar, was nowhere in sight. “And wherever is Elisabeth?” Marjory wondered aloud, scanning the faces of those nearest the kirk. She caught sight of her daughter-in-law bent over a tearful maidservant, dabbing at the girl’s cheeks with her handkerchief. “Lady Kerr!” Marjory said, more sharply than she intended.
    Elisabeth looked up, then paused to tie the apron strings of a flustered mother with a wriggling bairn as Marjory watched her daughter-in-law in dismay. Did Elisabeth not know her first duty was to her family? Furthermore, she’d ruined her new gown, dragging her lacy sleeves through the muck and staining the satin hem. To what end? Helping some poor, ungrateful souls?
    A line from a psalm, memorized long ago, flitted through Marjory’s mind, unbidden and unwelcome. Do justice to the afflicted and needy . She bristled at the reminder, feeling only a twinge of guilt. Hadn’t she been kind to