Chapter Twelve #2
Mia nodded. “It’s delicious.” She smiled, but he did not return the smile. He merely nodded then resumed eating.
“It’ll stick to yer ribs,” Eilidh said.
“It’ll what?”
Eilidh let out a soft laugh. “It’s what we say hereabouts. There’s naught like parritch to keep ye warm and satisfied throughout the day. We eat nothing else for breakfast. But if ye’d like anything else, I can ask Mrs. McBride to set something else aside for ye each morning.”
“Mrs. McBride has enough work to do, Ma,” Iona said. “Ye’re always telling me I should help her in the kitchen.” She glanced at Mia. “Why should Mrs. McBride have to do more work just because she’s here?”
“Iona,” Hamish growled, “do ye want me to take the strap to ye? Ye gods, what did I do to deserve being saddled with such a brat for a sister?”
Iona opened her mouth to reply, and Hamish slammed his fist on the table, which vibrated with a clatter of cutlery.
She flinched and stared at him with defiance.
But Mia caught a flicker of fear in her eyes.
The girl resumed eating. Her hand shook, and she looked on the verge of tears.
But when she met Mia’s gaze, she pulled a face.
Breakfast continued in silence, punctuated by Eilidh’s pleasantries, but a thick atmosphere filled the air. The sooner Mia found somewhere else to live, the better. Doubtless her presence was the cause of everyone’s discomfort.
Breakfast concluded and Mia rose to clear the bowls.
“My dear, what are ye doing?” Eilidh said. “Ye’re our guest, not a servant.”
“I-I must learn to take care of myself,” Mia said.
“Sweet girl, this is yer home.”
“But not forever,” Mia said. “I’ve no wish to appear ungrateful, but I should like to make arrangements to live elsewhere as soon as possible.”
“I’m sure we’d all prefer it if ye remained here with us, lass,” Eilidh said. “There’s no need to leave…is there, son?”
Mia glanced at Hamish. “We made a deal, did we not, sir?”
“What’s this?” Eilidh said. “Are ye evicting yer wife?”
“It was her suggestion, Ma,” Hamish said. “Riverview Cottage would do for her.”
“It’s been empty for years!” Eilidh exclaimed. “Old Mrs. MacLennan died in the winter of 1806.”
“Then it’s time it was occupied again,” he said. “And it wasnae 1806. She’s only been dead two years.”
“It’ll not be fit to live in. It’s smaller than the lass deserves if she’s been used to London houses.”
“I grew up in a small home,” Mia said. “I just need a bed, a warm fire, and somewhere to treat the sick.”
“Treat the sick?” Iona said, a high pitch to her voice. Mia glanced at the girl, who colored and looked away.
“Riverview Cottage has four rooms, if I recall,” Eilidh said. “A bedroom, a kitchen, and two parlors.”
“That’s more than enough for me,” Mia replied.
“Ye must dine with us every night here,” Eilidh continued. “I’ll not have ye turned out as if ye didnae matter.”
“Why is she treating the sick, Ma?” Iona asked. “Nobody will want to go to her.”
Eilidh sighed. “She is in the room, and she has a name. Use it.”
“Do ye expect me to call her sister?”
“No, child,” Eilidh said, “but at the very least I expect ye to be civil.”
“But—”
“Iona, that’s enough!” Hamish said, slamming his spoon on the table. “I dinnae want to hear another word from ye. Get ye to the kitchens and tell Mrs. McBride I said ye were to clean the parritch pot.”
“I dinnae know why ye’re yelling at me, brother,” Iona said, rising, her eyes gleaming with moisture, cheeks dark red. “Ye hate her more than I do. Ye said as much!”
“Why ye…” Hamish rose, but Iona fled from the room, toppling her chair with a clatter. He glanced at Mia, then resumed his seat. “That girl needs taking in hand,” he said. “She’s always been wild, but these past two days…” He glanced up.
Mia’s cheeks warmed as he met her gaze.
“Perhaps I should make arrangements to move to the cottage today,” she said. “I’ve no wish to upset your sister further when she’s so unhappy.”
“Unhappy?” Hamish let out a snort. “She’s just spoiled and bad-tempered.”
“Och, Hamish, ye shouldn’t be so hard on the lass,” Eilidh said.
“Ye’re too soft on her, Ma,” Hamish said. “She was never this wild before. Perhaps she’s fooling around with some man—I’ve seen her wandering about at night, and there’s plenty of rutting boars hereabouts. That young Brodie, for one. He follows her around like a dog with his cock out.”
“Hamish!” Eilidh cried. “Brodie’s a good lad—too God-fearing to touch a lass. And ye shouldn’t be speaking of such matters in front of yer wife.”
He frowned, his eyes darkening, as if the very mention of their marriage enraged him.
“Lady MacLennan, I’m not your son’s wife,” Mia said. “Or, at least, I soon won’t be.”
“Is an annulment what ye want, lass?”
“Yes,” Mia said, and her heart gave a little cry of despair at the relief in Hamish’s eyes.
“Son?” Eilidh said, turning to him.
For a moment, he simply stared at his mother. Then he rose.
“Forgive me, Ma, I’ve duties to attend to.” He nodded toward Mia. “Do ye require my help moving yer belongings?”
“No,” she said. “Everything I own is in my valise, and I can carry that. I require no help from you. In any case, it’s best if I learn to live independently, to prepare for my future life.”
Guilt flickered in his eyes and he opened his mouth to reply. Mia held her breath, awaiting his response. Would he admonish her insolence? Or express regret at her leaving?
Instead, he brushed his hand across his forehead as if alleviating a headache, then bowed and exited the room.
“Forgive my impertinence, Eilidh,” Mia said.
“There’s naught to forgive, lass,” came the reply. “At least, not on yer part. While my daughter has much growing up to do, it’s my son who has the most to learn. Ye could teach him.”
“For what purpose?”
Eilidh leaned forward and took her hand. “Ye dinnae have to agree to this,” she said. “My son married ye willing—that must count for something. Glenblath can survive if ye stay. We’ve weathered worse, and have no need for some fine London lady’s dowry. Ye could be happy here.”
Mia glanced at the window and the view of the landscape—the sweeping foothills dotted with lines of fir trees and the mountain towering over all benevolently, like a giant sentinel.
“Perhaps,” she said quietly, “but not with him.”
“Can ye not forgive him?” Eilidh said.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Mia replied.
“He’s not said anything that I haven’t heard from others.
I endured far worse on the journey here.
But I cannot forget the expression in his eyes in the chapel when he realized who I was.
” She caught her breath, stifling the sob swelling in her throat.
“I would rather be alone than live with someone who looks at me the way he did—someone who said that it would have been better if I’d died. ”
Eilidh caressed the back of Mia’s hand, running her fingertips across the pockmarks, with no sign of revulsion or horror, merely kindness and compassion.
“Such a pity,” she whispered.
“That I’m scarred by pockmarks?” Mia said. “There’s no need to pity me.”
“No, lass, I meant it’s a pity that my son cannae see beyond the scars to the lovely young woman that ye are. But—and though I love him dearly, I shall say this—it’s his loss, and not yers. It is him I pity.”
Eilidh blinked, moisture gleaming in her eyes. Then she gave a bright smile.
“Now, lass, we must get to work if Riverview Cottage is to be made ready for ye. Let me take ye there and ye can take a look at it. But if ye dinnae like it, ye only have to say and I’ll find ye somewhere else.”
“You’re too kind,” Mia said.
“Nay, it’s ye who are kind. And while ye’re at Glenblath, we must make sure that ye’re as happy as ye can make ye—even if not as happy as ye deserve.”
Eilidh took Mia’s hand and together they exited the breakfast room. Though she’d not known her own mother, Mia had often dreamed of what it might be like to have a mother’s love. In Eilidh she’d caught a glimpse of that love. But it was a love that would be denied her.
Some other woman—a richer, prettier woman—would be granted that particular gift.