Chapter Fourteen #2
The little creases around Maisie’s eyes spoke of pain and rejection. This woman, the doxy whom men used to satisfy their physical needs, who most likely warmed their beds at night, then left as soon as the men had taken their pleasure so that her presence might not taint their lives…
As a doxy rather than a wife, Maisie had freedom, but with that freedom came loneliness, for she had nobody to love her.
Perhaps she and I are more alike than any other.
Maisie paused, the ghost of a plea in her eyes.
“Very well,” Mia said. “But I must insist on one thing.”
Maisie’s smile faded and she curled her fingers around the broom handle. “Of course, ma’am.”
“I insist you call me Mia.”
The doxy’s smile broadened and she nodded.
“Well! It’ll be good to have a friend hereabouts.
How about we get a fire going first? I’ve brought a tinderbox, as I doubt Old Ma MacLennan would have left one about the place, and even if she did, those lads would have pilfered it months ago—especially that Billy.
He’s a right one. That’s Murdoch’s lad, ye know. Takes after his da, he does.”
She rattled on, and Mia found herself smiling at the woman’s easy chatter. “I’d better go and find some firewood,” she said. “I suppose a benefit of being surrounded by trees is that I’ll never be short of it.”
“There’s plenty in yer log store, and some peat. I’ll help ye carry it through.”
“The store’s empty,” Mia said.
“It was full when I arrived,” Maisie replied. “Perhaps ye missed it. I’ll show ye.”
She led Mia outside, to the lean-to shelter with the rickety roof that Mia had noticed yesterday on her arrival.
Mia let out a low cry. One half was filled with logs in a neat pile and the other half contained what looked like lumps of dark brown earth in the shape of bricks.
“There!” Maisie said. “The logs look well seasoned, but the peat will need to dry a bit more by the looks of it, or it’ll smoke out the place.”
“Did you bring these?” Mia said. “They weren’t here yesterday.”
“Not I. Perhaps it was Rory. It’s the sort of thing he’d do—ever so kind, he is.”
Was it Mia’s imagination, or had Maisie’s voice grown a little lower, and her cheeks a little pinker?
“Rory? Is he your husband?”
“Heavens, no!” Maisie laughed. “What man would want to marry a hure? He’s Master Hamish’s ghillie.”
“Ghillie?” What the devil was that?
“Rory’s da was ghillie to the old Laird MacLennan, and his grandda before him.
His family have been at Glenblath for centuries—fought alongside the laird against Longshanks, they did.
His ancestor was killed in the uprisings, but he already had a son—and since then, every first son has been called Rory, and has served as ghillie here.
” She let out a sigh. “Rory ought to see about getting himself a wife, or the line will stop with him. A lucky lass, she’ll be, for he’s a skilled man in the—” Maisie broke off.
“Begging yer pardon, ma’am, for speaking out of turn. ”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Mia said. “And it’s Mia, not ma’am, remember? Are you fond of Rory?”
Maisie plucked an armful of logs from the store. “I warm his bed, that’s all. But I’ll not take payment from him.”
Her response told Mia all she needed to know.
She took two logs from the store, inhaling the scent of pine.
“Perhaps Old Ma MacLennan left them here during the night,” Maisie said.
“Does her spirit carry logs as well as absorb the sins of others?” Mia said.
Maisie let out a laugh as they returned inside the cottage.
“Old Ma MacLennan’s spirit does what she likes,” she said.
“She might absorb yer sins, though I doubt ye’ve sinned in yer life.
But a hure like me? Not even a thousand Ma MacLennans could absorb my sins, seeing as I’m the greatest sinner in the valley. ”
“I see no sinner,” Mia said. “You’ve been the first person here to offer me friendship—save Lady MacLennan.”
“Ah, she’s a rare one,” Maisie said. “She sometimes visits me—when she’s up to the walk, that is—bringing a slice of pie, or a loaf or two. She’s always asking me to come to the house, but of course I cannae be seen there, except when…”
She colored, and Mia nodded in understanding. Except when Maisie was sent for to warm a man’s bed.
“He’s a good man,” Maisie said softly, as if she’d read Mia’s mind. “Take it from one who knows more about a man than even his ma.”
“You do?”
“Aye,” came the reply. “Men only reveal their true selves in bed—when they’re rutting or sleeping.
And most men are boys needing a bit of love.
Save Murdoch, that is. Murdoch is…” She shook her head.
“Never mind him. I must work for my coin, same as others. I’m sure Rory disnae like being up on the slopes of Beinn Blath in a storm, or Master Hamish disnae like having to listen to the disputes among the tenants.
But we must all take the less palatable parts of our lives, otherwise we’d not appreciate the pleasurable.
For every Murdoch, there’s a Rory, and a Master Hamish… ”
Maisie trailed off and her color deepened as she met Mia’s gaze.
Doubtless she had warmed Hamish’s bed several times and knew him more intimately than Mia ever would.
Men were not expected to keep themselves chaste for the marriage bed.
As soon as they reached adulthood, they took mistresses and entered brothels. Hamish would have done the same.
Why, then, did a little needle of pain stab Mia’s heart at the notion?
“He’s not called me to his bed since he went to London,” Maisie said, again as if she’d read Mia’s mind.
“He was different when he returned—quieter, more serious, as if he carried a burden. And though he turned me away even when I offered a tumble for free, he took me into his arms and…” She shook her head.
“No matter. Too many men hide their hearts in an attempt to be strong. But strength lies in listening to our hearts and responding to them.” She turned to Mia and gave her a bright smile.
“If I can give them a little strength by letting them speak to their hearts at night, then I’ll die a happy woman. ”
And a lonely one.
“Perhaps we’re not so different,” Mia said.
“How could ye be likened to a hure?”
“We both wish to ease the pain of others,” Mia said. “Perhaps a doctor is no different to a…a lady of the night.”
“Lady of the night? Ha!” Maisie let out a peal of laughter. “I’ve never been called that before, But I like it. Maisie MacLennan, Lady of the Night.” She straightened her stance, then dipped into a curtsy. “Lady of the Night, at yer service, Lady MacLennan.”
Mia allowed herself a laugh, then startled as a knock came on the door. A male voice called out, but the flicker of hope in her heart died almost as soon as it flared. The voice was deeper and rougher than the voice she’d been longing to hear.
“Is anyone there?”
Maisie’s eyes gleamed with delight. She patted her hair, then ran her hands over her skirts as if to smooth them, before she untied the apron and dropped it on the table.
There was no need to ask to whom the voice belonged.
Mia called out, and a man appeared. He was enormous—his thick-set frame filled the doorway—and he had to bend his head to fit into the frame.
“Do come in,” Mia said.
He nodded and entered. He had an unruly mop of dark-red hair tamed only a little by his hat, and a thick beard that brushed against his chest. A pair of bright sapphire eyes settled first on Maisie, then he shifted his gaze to Mia.
His lips curled into a grin, then with his free hand he removed his hat.
“Rory MacLennan, at yer service, Yer Ladyship. I hope I’m not intruding, though I see ye’re not in want of company if ye’ve got the lovely Maisie.”
“Be off with ye, Rory, and take yer nonsense with ye,” Maisie said.
“You’re very welcome, Mr. MacLennan,” Mia replied.
“Call me Rory, lass, or ye’ll be up to yer armpits in MacLennans.” He lifted his left hand. “I’ve brought ye these.”
Suspended from his hand was a dead bird, its feathers a rich reddish-brown color flecked with flashes of green and blue, and a fish, with silver-gray skin and a pink tone to its underbelly.
The fish seemed to stare at Mia, its eyes bright and clear, as if it were still alive.
And perhaps it had been moments earlier.
“Ye’ll need to hang the grouse for a day or two before ye can eat it, but the fish ye can eat anytime. I caught it this morning.”
“What do you mean—hang?” Mia said.
“Och, Rory,” Maisie said. “Ladies from London aren’t used to such things. Mia, can ye cook?”
“Yes, but I’ve never had to hang something before I cook it.”
“I’ll see to it, lass, if ye’d permit me,” Rory said. “Old Ma MacLennan used to hang her game out by the back door. Best place for it, as it’ll get ripe if ye hang it inside, and few can weather the stench.”
“It doesn’t sound very appealing,” Mia said.
“Ye cannae beat the flavor of a well-hung grouse, lass. Have ye not eaten grouse?”
Mia shook her head.
“Then ye’re in for a rare treat, isn’t she, Maisie?” Rory said. “And there’s none so fine as Glenblath salmon, but ye must treat it with respect and cook it properly.”
“Rory!” Maisie said. “Dinnae speak to the lass so. She’s not used to ye.”
“Ah, Maisie, will ye admonish me later, as only ye know how?”
Maisie’s blush deepened and she swatted Rory on the arm.
“Forgive me, Yer Ladyship,” he said. “I’ll hang this grouse up then I’ll be going.”
“Och no ye dinnae,” Maisie said. “We’ve a house to clean and we’re in need of a big brute to help us.”
“Someone strong in the arm and thick in the head, aye?” Rory said good-naturedly. “Ye like me strong and thick.” Maisie swatted him again, and he blushed and nodded to Mia. “Forgive me, lass,” he said, glancing about the room. “This is a very comfortable cottage. Are ye intending to live here?”
“Until I return to England, yes,” Mia said.