Chapter Nine
“Sit down, son.”
Hamish’s mother gestured to the seat that…she had just vacated.
He folded his arms and shook his head.
“I said, sit down, God damn ye!”
He startled as his mother slammed her hand on the table and leaped to her feet. The teacups rattled and one toppled over. Hamish darted forward to catch it, but it fell to the floor.
His mother let out a groan and sank into her seat, eyes squeezed shut, forehead wrinkled.
“Are ye in pain, Ma?”
“Aye.”
She opened her eyes and he was met by the force of her gaze. Her body may be weak, but her will—the core of steel forged from her Highland ancestors—was as strong as ever.
Hamish retrieved the fallen cup. “It’s fortunate this fell on the rug,” he said, “or it would have shattered.”
She rolled her eyes. “Is that all ye have to say to me, Hamish MacLennan?”
Not Hamish, or son, but Hamish MacLennan.
“What have I done wrong?” he asked, wincing as his conscience needled at his soul.
“If ye have to ask, then I’ll not waste my breath telling ye.”
She fixed her gaze on him. For as long as Hamish could recall, his mother had reserved a very specific stare for when he or his sister behaved particularly badly.
It was a stare with the specific purpose of compelling a wayward boy into confessing his sins.
A stare that could open a portcullis at fifty paces and set dry logs ablaze in the absence of a tinderbox.
Then she blinked and looked away.
“I’ve no wish to admonish ye,” she said, “but ye cannae be surprised that I’m disappointed at what happened today.”
“Aye, Ma, so am I.”
She muttered something to herself that sounded very much like cursed boy, then leaned forward. “I daresay we’re disappointed for different reasons, Hamish. Have ye never stopped to think how that poor lass may be feeling?”
“I doubt if the Honorable Miss Young will care whether—”
“Ugh!” His mother let out a snort. “Are ye deliberately trying to vex me? I meant yer wife! That poor lass rose from her deathbed, left England with nothing to her name, save what she could carry in her valise. She borrowed the funds for her passage, endured the stares of her fellow travelers for a fortnight, to reach the only place she could call home—in a land of strangers. And what did she find? The man she’d married and given every penny she owned to, on the brink of marrying another and not in the least pleased to discover that she lived… ”
She raised her hand as Hamish opened his mouth. “No, dinnae interrupt me. I will have my say, then ye can go to yer chamber and think on yer behavior.”
Devil’s ballocks—was she about to make him stand in the corner, or go to bed without any supper?
“That young lass heard every word ye said to Iona,” she continued. “Doubtless the whole household heard it.”
“It was Iona who called her a pockmarked witch.”
“And there ye go,” she said. “Just like when ye were a lad, blaming everything on yer sister. She knows no better, but ye’re the man of the house. I didnae hear ye say aught in the lass’s defense. In fact, ye said it was yer misfortune to bear.”
He winced as he recalled his words. “We all speak more harshly of others when we dinnae expect to be overheard,” he said. “Anyone who eavesdrops should expect to hear no good of themselves.”
She arched an eyebrow in the manner of a disappointed schoolmistress.
“Devil’s cock, Ma!” he cried. “If I heard everything Iona said about me behind my back, I’d thrash her black and blue on a nightly basis.”
“Does that give ye the right to tell that poor lass that her face is frightening the children?”
Fuck. So Ma had heard that.
Ye’re an utter bastard, Hamish Alastair Jamie MacLennan.
Hamish winced at the scolding from his conscience. But he had to set that aside. The future of Glenblath was at stake.
“My anger today was nothing to do with the lass’s face,” he said.
“At least call her by her name.”
“Euphramia.”
Hamish’s tongue curled over the syllables of the name he’d whispered in his prayers when giving thanks for her generosity.
He lifted his hand to his forehead and wiped his brow, but the ache throbbing behind his eyes that had grown steadily from the moment he’d set eyes on…Euphramia…in the chapel showed no sign of relenting.
“I’m not angry at her,” he said. “I’m angry—nay, concerned—about the estate. Miss Young’s dowry was to pay off our remaining creditors. We’d have finally been free of debt after years of Da’s—”
“There’s no need to remind me of yer da’s excesses,” his mother said. “I knew more than anyone of the vices he indulged in. But ye’re the laird now. Ye must take responsibility. Yer da’s been gone two years.”
“I know, Ma,” he said. “Dinnae ye understand that’s why I agreed to wed Miss Young? But now…”
“Now it will take a little more time to clear the debts,” she said. “Is that such a tragedy? Isn’t it better to learn how to be responsible for yerself rather than rely on some lass’s fortune? Ye’d be less likely to get into debt again if ye can learn how to get out of it.”
“I’m not some lad learning how to manage his allowance, Ma,” Hamish huffed.
“Then stop behaving like one.”
He met her gaze, but was unable to reply. After all, she’d spoken the truth.
“Speak to her,” Ma said. “Ye may find her a useful helpmate. A lass without fortune may have other qualities.”
“Such as?”
“If ye cannae see her qualities, then I’ll regret yer union even more than ye.”
“Ye would?”
“Aye. But for her sake, not yers.”
“Then”—he hesitated, bracing himself for the blow that he was about to earn—“ye wouldnae object if I asked the lass for an annulment? The marriage was never consummated.”
His mother remained still. The only indication that she’d heard was a slight whitening of her knuckles as she tightened her hold on her cane.
The warm crackle of the fire filled the air, but it lacked the usual aura of comfort that he took on entering his mother’s chamber.
“Ye must do as ye see fit, son,” she said, after a pause. “I’m just yer ma and have no right to tell ye what to do for the benefit of Glenblath.”
“Everything I do is for the benefit of Glenblath,” he replied. “If I cannae take care of our people, then what purpose do I serve?”
“The first step toward saving the world, son, is to save a single soul. This lass may have been sent here by the Almighty for a purpose—to make ye happy, perhaps.”
He let out a bitter laugh. “I’ve long since surrendered any hope of being happy. I must do what I think is right. If I disappoint ye, that’s a price I must pay.”
She let out a sigh.
“Ye women have it easy,” he said, tempering his irritation. “Ye dinnae have to shoulder responsibility, make difficult decisions, or be hard when hardness is required.”
“Och, Hamish,” she said. “Ye’ve much to learn about women.”
“Such as?”
“Ye must discover that for yerself. Now, I wish to rest.”
Considering himself dismissed, Hamish rose.
“Ye might ignore the advice of a woman,” she said, “and an old one at that. But I would beg ye to speak to yer wife.”
“Now?” he said, wincing at his tone, which sounded like that of a petulant child objecting to being told to apologize for a petty transgression.
“Leave her be tonight. She’s had an ordeal.”
She offered her hand and he kissed it. As he approached the door, she called after him.
“Son.”
“Yes, Ma?”
“As yer mother, I had only one objective in life.”
“Which was?”
“To raise ye to be a better man than yer father—a better man than any other. But I failed, and for that I’m truly sorry.
” She let out another sigh and her voice cracked.
“Perhaps I have no right to be disappointed in ye. I ought to be disappointed in myself for not teaching ye the one simple lesson that even the strongest, most intelligent man should learn above all else.”
“And what lesson is that, Ma?”
“The difference between right and wrong.”
Hamish opened his mouth to reply then closed it.
What could he possibly say that would make her less disappointed in him? And what could he say that would make him less disappointed in himself?
There was nothing.
He bowed his head, then exited the chamber, closing the door behind him.