Chapter Fourteen
“Pockmarked hag!”
“Devil’s spawn!”
Harsh voices engulfed Mia’s mind, against her senses, while her head throbbed with pain.
“Burn the witch!”
Hands clawed at her, circling her arms like ropes, cutting into the flesh. The stench of oil and smoke filled her nostrils. Then came the crackle of burning wood, followed by a low, steady rumble that increased to a roar as demons danced around her twisted, deformed body…
Mouth open in an airless scream, Mia sat up. The darkness dissolved and light flooded the world around her. Tears stung her eyes and she wiped them, blinking to let them adjust to the light.
Where am I?
She glanced about, but there was no sign of a pyre, nor the demons. She was in a chamber, filled with sunlight, surrounded by stone walls that glistened as if they contained tiny diamonds.
Mia lowered her gaze to the blanket covering her body—the thick woolen fabric woven into the pattern of a plaid, with shades of green and blue accented by flashes of red.
She ran her hand over the wool, then recoiled at the memory of yesterday—the plaid in the same pattern worn by the man who had paid her a visit.
The man who found her so disgusting that he couldn’t endure more than ten minutes of her company.
Mia slipped out of the bed and approached the washbowl that she’d filled from the river last night. She dipped her hands into the water, ran her fingertips over the skin roughened by pockmarks, then sighed.
No wonder she disgusted him.
After drying her hands, she made her way to the kitchen. There was still plenty to do—sweep the floor and clear out the fireplace, which was filled with soot and ash that bore the footprints of some kind of animal.
A deer, perhaps? She’d woken up earlier to the sound of something moving about outside, but when she peered through the window there was nothing to see save the river glistening in the first light of the dawn. Perhaps old Mrs. MacLennan had come to absorb her sins.
Her gaze fell on the remains of the pie that Hamish had brought over. He’d been right in that it was the best pie she had ever tasted—flavorsome meat balanced with sharp berries in crisp pastry—but he hadn’t wanted to share it with her.
“Still,” she said to herself, forcing brightness into her voice, “all the more for me.”
Once she’d managed to get a fire going, she could accompany her breakfast with a hot drink.
Mrs. Bron had given her a jar of tea and promised to ask the cook to set aside a jug of milk for her daily.
Perhaps after she cleaned the kitchen she could venture over to the castle, provided she didn’t encounter—
Mia startled as she heard a knock. She made her way to the main entrance and the door opened to reveal a woman carrying a basket.
The woman was a beauty. Dressed in a bright-blue gown, she looked out of place compared to her surroundings.
Though the material of the gown was a little threadbare at the hem, the woman reminded Mia of a hothouse orchid in a dull garden, or a bird of paradise escaped from an aviary that found itself in a chicken coop.
The woman cast her gaze over Mia’s form and Mia shifted from one foot to the other, aware of her disheveled appearance, her dull-gray gown with the stain on the skirts, and her pockmarked skin.
But rather than superiority or judgment, Mia only saw casual disinterest in the woman’s gaze, as if she cared nothing for looks.
The woman reached into her basket, retrieved a posy of purple flowers, and held it out.
Mia stared at the posy, and a flicker of hurt crossed the woman’s expression.
“I take it ye’ve already heard of me,” she said.
Mia shook her head. “Are you related to my husb—to the MacLennans?”
“Dinnae let Hamish MacLennan hear that or his head will burst. I’m Maisie. Maisie MacLennan.”
“So you are related.”
“Och no, ma’am—ye’ll find most of us hereabouts take the name MacLennan whether we’re related to the family or not.”
“Forgive me if you’re come to visit, Maisie,” Mia said. “The cottage is still very dirty.”
“Of course it is, seeing as nobody’s been here since Old Ma MacLennan passed—save the odd deer or two.
But that’s why I’m come. To give ye a hand if ye want it.
” Maisie nodded to the posy. “And these, of course, if ye’ve got something to put them in.
I heard ye’d left the castle for Riverview Cottage. ”
“Were you at”—Mia paused—“the wedding?”
“The likes of me wouldnae be welcome there,” came the reply, “but Murdoch told me about ye. Well, he grumbled about ye being here, bad-tempered arse that he is. Have ye met him yet?”
“I might have,” Mia replied. “But there are plenty of people unhappy about my being here.”
Including my husband.
“Och, pay no attention to them! If they give ye trouble, just come to me and I’ll deal with them, seein’ as I warm most of their beds.”
“So you’re a…” Mia’s voice trailed away.
The woman’s laughter died. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll be going. I ought to have known that a lady from London wouldnae want to associate with the likes of—”
“Stay,” Mia said. “Please. It’s just that I…
” She gestured to the woman. “I-I’ve not met a…
I mean… I know there are plenty in London and elsewhere, but I’ve not met a woman who earns a living from…
” Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment. “Forgive me, Maisie, I meant no offense. Please, come in—though the cottage isn’t fit for visitors. ”
“Not even the local hure?”
Oh, so that’s what the word means. Whore.
Maisie frowned, and Mia cursed herself—she must have voiced that thought aloud. Then Maisie resumed her smile and gestured inside.
“Show me what I can do to help,” she said. “I’ve brought oatcakes, freshly baked this morning.” She let out a laugh. “Even hures need to know how to cook. Do ye have something to put these in?” She nodded to the posy.
“I-I think there are some jars in the kitchen,” Mia said. “Is that heather?”
“Aye, I picked it fresh. Do ye know the tradition?”
Mia shook her head.
“It’s said that if the first gift a newcomer receives is a posy of heather, then they’ll be protected from evil spirits and will live a long and happy life on MacLennan land. And, if that gift is accepted, then the giver and receiver will become lifelong friends.”
Mia couldn’t manage anything more than “oh” as she stared at the posy. How would she possibly live a long and happy life here, given that she was destined to leave?
“Forgive me, ma’am,” Maisie said. “I see I was too forward. Perhaps ye have friends already.”
“I have few friends,” Mia replied, “and they’re all in England.”
Maisie nodded. “I understand.”
Her eyes flickered with an emotion Mia recognized, for she had seen it in the mirror.
The pain of rejection.
“But it would be good to have a friend here,” Mia continued, “though I’d prefer not to be called ‘ma’am.’ Or ‘Lady MacLennan.’”
“May I ask what yer name might be?”
“Euphramia,” Mia said, offering her hand. “Euphramia Lucas.”
“Not MacLennan?”
“Only in name, and not for long.”
Maisie opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again as her gaze fell on Mia’s hand. Then she took her hand and clasped it, her fingers brushing over Mia’s pockmarks.
“My friends call me Mia.”
“Then I’m pleased to know ye, Miss Lucas.
And may I say it’s a shame ye’ve had to leave the castle.
Murdoch said Master Hamish threw ye out, but I said to him that Master Hamish wouldnae do anything so cruel.
He’s a good man, if a little stern at times.
But then, he carries the cares of the clan on his shoulders—broad shoulders that they are… ”
Maisie rattled on, a flare of lust in her eyes, and Mia tempered the little spike of resentment.
Perhaps that was why Hamish had been so eager to leave yesterday—to spend the night with a woman he could stomach looking at.
“It was my choice to leave the castle,” Mia said. “Lord MacLennan and I have come to an arrangement. I will live here until I leave Glenblath, then we’ll no longer be married. It won’t be for some months, but I’ll use the time as best I can to repay him for his hospitality.”
“By living on yer own?”
“I wish to become a doctor,” Mia said. “And by permitting me to leave, Lord MacLennan will be helping me to further that aim. While I’m here, I can tend to the sick.”
Maisie’s eyes widened.
“Lord MacLennan agreed to it,” Mia added, “and Lady MacLennan approves.”
“Ye’re Lady MacLennan.”
“No,” Mia said. “I’m not—and I was never meant to be.”
“Hamish married ye.”
“Only because he thought I wouldn’t…” Mia lowered her gaze to her marked hands.
She had no wish for the world to think ill of Hamish.
It was she who’d set her lawyer the task of finding a husband in the belief that she’d not survive more than a day beyond the marriage.
And Hamish had agreed to return her fortune.
Most men would have turned her out, penniless—or worse, kept her shackled in an unhappy marriage while they took other women to bed.
To Mia’s shame, understanding flickered in Maisie’s gaze.
“Well now!” Maisie said, her voice overly bright.
She brushed past Mia to the kitchen and placed her basket on the table.
Then she fished out an apron and tied it around her waist. “There’s much to do to make the place good and tidy, but two pairs of hands will make light work of it.
” She picked up the broom that Mia had propped against the wall last night and let out a huff.
“That Mrs. Bron could have given ye something better than this. It’s lost almost all its bristles. Never mind, it’ll do.”
She paused and fixed her clear gaze on Mia.
“I take it ye dinnae mind my being here? Ye only need say the word and I’ll go. Ask anyone hereabouts and they’ll say that Maisie never outstays her welcome.”