Chapter Four
Hamish held his breath at the familiar silhouette of Glenblath Castle. The building dominated everything around it save for the peak of Beinn Blath, which stretched to the sky and disappeared behind the thick white clouds that clung to the summit.
His heart swelled with love. Was there ever a greater sight for a man to behold than his beloved home? Twelve days he’d been on the road—two of which he’d wasted at some cursed inn waiting for the next carriage. No amount of counting the hours and days away made time run faster.
Then he checked himself as his conscience stabbed at him.
Time was a commodity he’d spent the past fortnight wishing away. But in London, another would have clung to the few precious hours that she had left.
He lifted his gaze to the clouds, behind which the sun struggled—and failed—to penetrate, and uttered a small prayer of thanks.
“Euphramia Mary Lucas…”
The carriage drew to a halt and Hamish climbed out, stretching his body that had grown cramped in the carriage.
“Hamish, my son!” a voice cried out, filled with love.
His mother stood at the castle entrance, leaning on a stick.
By her side stood Hamish’s sister Iona, together with his friends Murdoch and Robbie.
Robbie’s wife Shona was by his side, her gaze fixed on Iona, but of Murdoch’s wife there was no sign.
Behind, the servants lined up in a row, from Ailsa, Murdoch’s eldest, who’d joined the kitchens last year, to Brodie the groom, who stared at Iona with slavish devotion, and finally Mr. and Mrs. Bron standing at the end.
Ma shuffled forward and Hamish embraced her. His heart ached at how frail she was, completely engulfed by his embrace.
“I’ve missed ye, Ma,” he said, releasing her and stepping back. “Ye’re looking unwell. Has Iona not been looking after ye?”
His sister let out a huff and folded her arms. “Can ye never find anything kind to say of me, brother?”
“Iona’s taken good care of me,” his mother said. “Haven’t ye, my love?”
Iona at least had the grace to blush. Doubtless she’d been spending Hamish’s absence wandering about the hills and causing mischief. She’d always been a wild lass, so unlike his gentle mother that he’d often thought she were a changeling left by the kelpies.
Ma gestured toward the carriage. “I take it yer trip to London was successful?”
“Partly,” Hamish said.
“If ye’re married, it’s most uncivil to leave yer bride waiting in the carriage.”
“I’m not married,” Hamish replied. “Not anymore.”
Murdoch let out a laugh. “Ye talk in riddles. Is there a wench in there or not? Or perhaps she’s an ugly woman and ye’re ashamed of her?”
Robbie chuckled but was silenced as Shona gave him a sharp nudge.
“She no longer lives,” Hamish said. “I was widowed within days of the wedding.”
“Oh, Hamish!” his mother cried. “I’m so…”
“It’s all right, Ma. It was expected. I’m not grieving, only thankful for what the lass did for us.”
“What do ye mean? What lass?”
“Mr. Stockton presented me with a girl on her deathbed who wished to marry a man so that he might claim her fortune.”
“Well!” Murdoch said. “I’ve never heard the like. How much did ye get?”
“A little over a thousand pounds,” Hamish said. “It’s cleared some of the debts, and should enable us to service the rest.”
“A thousand?” Robbie said. “Easy work if ye can get it.” He glanced at Iona.
“Perhaps ye can make a similar arrangement for this wee one here—find her a man on his deathbed. Old man Stewart two valleys over must be sitting on a tidy sum, he’s such a miser.
He cannae have long left and might be willing to part with cash if yer sister parts her—”
“Robbie!” Shona cried as Murdoch laughed. “Leave her be.”
“I dinnae need ye to speak for me,” Iona said, glaring at Shona. “Ye’re nothing but a whore who—”
“Sister, that’s enough!” Hamish roared. “Do ye want the strap?”
“Ye’d never dare.”
“Care to test me on that?” Hamish said. “I’m disappointed to have returned while working hard for the benefit of Glenblath to find ye’ve not improved one jot. In fact, ye’re worse than ever.”
His sister’s body stiffened, and for a moment, he thought she might strike him. Then, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, she whirled around and sprinted across the drive, slipping between two outbuildings.
Holy cock—that was all he needed, another dose of his sister’s histrionics. With a sigh, he moved to follow her, but his mother caught his arm.
“Leave her be, son. She’ll come to her senses after a good dose of fresh air.”
“She needs a good dose of the strap,” Murdoch said with a growl.
Hamish winced. His late father had often taken a strap to Iona, but though it tempered her wayward ways, Hamish could never bring himself to adopt the same form of discipline now he’d succeeded as laird, no matter the provocation.
No man could call himself a true man if he used violence to keep his women in order.
Iona needed a husband, and the sooner Hamish could hand over responsibility for her to another, the better. But he wanted her to marry for love, not necessity.
“If my Ailsa spoke to me like that,” Murdoch said, “I’d leather her arse so hard she’d not be able to sit down for a twelvemonth.”
The maidservant at the end of the line blushed and shuffled from one foot to the other.
“Ye need to beat the wildness out of yer sister,” Murdoch continued. “’Tis the only way to teach a woman her place, is that not so, Robbie?”
“Aye,” Robbie replied. Then he glanced at Shona and flinched.
“Ha!” Murdoch laughed. “Ruled by yer cock, ye are, Robbie.” He gestured to the young man standing beside Ailsa. “Mark my words, Brodie, if ye wish for a quiet life not plagued by a woman’s henpecking and yammering, ye must show her who’s in command, like ye would taming any mare.”
Brodie nodded his head, coloring. His gaze flicked to the path Iona had taken, then he lowered it to the ground.
Poor, lovesick lad. But that little wildcat would wither his cock. She needed a firmer hand—a man prepared to place a bit and bridle over her head and keep her on a short rein. Brodie needed to find his ballocks before he began courting.
Ma ordered the servants to return to the castle, then she slipped her arm through Hamish’s and he led her into the building.
“Has Iona been troublesome in my absence?” he said.
“No more than usual, son. The next time ye venture to London, ye must bring back a wife. I’m sure the company of a woman near Iona’s age will settle her.
An English lady might be a good influence on her and show her the rewards of good and virtuous behavior.
But perhaps ye wish to wait awhile before finding another wife.
Ye must tell me of that poor lassie ye married. ”
“Her name was Euphramia,” Hamish said. “A doctor’s daughter who wished to keep her fortune from a wastrel cousin.”
“Did she say that?”
“Her lawyer did.”
“What did she say?”
“She gave me her blessing to marry again,” Hamish said, recalling the softly spoken words from the woman behind the veil whose features were indistinct, save a pair of bright eyes that looked upon him as if he were her savior. “It was the last thing she said—her dying wish.”
“Poor lass,” his mother said. “To think: how unhappy her life must have been to have done such a thing! If only she’d lived and ye could have brought her home. But I daresay ye’ll find another wife. Must ye marry for convenience still?”
“Aye, I must,” he said.
“A pity,” she said, sighing. “What might seem a noble gesture at the altar is a decision that will remain with ye forever.”
He lifted his mother’s hand to his lips. “If ye were prepared to make such a sacrifice when ye married, Ma, why may I not be permitted to do the same? I’ll do it gladly for the sake of the souls here.”
And to honor Euphramia’s memory.