Chapter Eighteen
Devil’s ballocks—how could he have been so damned foolish?
As he strode toward the castle, Hamish aimed a kick at a large stone on the path. He missed, lost his balance, and stumbled to the ground.
“Fuck!”
After struggling to his feet, he winced and inspected his hands. Two small stones were embedded in his left palm and he plucked them out. A droplet of blood swelled on the flesh and he sucked at it to clean the grime off, grimacing at the metallic taste.
He glanced back at the cottage, where a sliver of light was visible in the window. Perhaps if he returned, and asked her to tend to it…
“Mia…”
He glanced about, as if he risked condemnation from the Almighty for speaking her name in so intimate a manner.
Then he recalled how he’d moaned her name as he palmed her breast. The lovely, ripe, round teat was everything he’d dreamed it might be—soft and warm, with the delicious pip at the center that hardened needily against his palm.
He let out a sharp breath at the surge in his manhood.
Devil take him—would he need to dive into the river to cool his ardor? Or would the ghost of Old Ma MacLennan claim him to absorb his sins?
And he had sinned. Not in deed, for he’d pulled himself back from the brink of destruction. But in thought, and wish…
He closed his eyes, surrendering to the image of his wife, bent over that table, her mouth open as she cried his name while he mounted her from behind and claimed her like any beast. But she was not a woman to be claimed.
Rather than a submissive female, eager to please her man—the kind of woman that he’d thought most suitable for a wife—Mia had commanded him, and everyone else in the room, taking charge efficiently and firmly to administer treatment to the young lass.
And he had never in his life been so aroused.
What might it be like to have such a woman? To spar with her during the day, then witness her sweet surrender as he took her in bed, nipping her neck and rutting her like a stag, roaring with triumph to declare to the world that she was his…
But she didn’t belong to him. She would be claimed by another—some lucky bastard.
“Been visiting yer wife, brother?” a voice sneered.
Iona emerged from the darkness.
“What if I am?” he replied. “I should be more concerned with what ye’re doing, wandering about the place on yer own like a savage.”
“Devil take yer cock!”
He caught her arm. “Why must ye disgrace the name of MacLennan, talking like a common hure?”
“I’m not the hure,” she said. “Are ye fucking her? Does she spread her legs for ye and moan yer name like a bitch in heat?”
Hamish released her arm, and she drew back her hand and struck him across the cheek.
What the devil was that for?
He lifted his hand to rub his cheek, and his sister flinched.
Though her eyes sparkled with defiance, he saw fear in them.
But, even if she might infuriate him, he’d never hit her—nor any woman.
Didn’t she realize that? Or perhaps she was seeing how far she might push him with her taunts and wild behavior.
“Are ye angry with me, brother?” she said, a tight laugh in her tone. “Angry that I caught ye rutting?”
He tilted his head to one side. “Ma always told me that when a person is overly eager to accuse another of a sin, it means that the accuser has committed that sin themselves and they’re pushing their own shame onto another.”
She frowned. “What are ye saying, Hamish?”
“I’m saying that perhaps I ought to ask whether ye’ve been rutting—which would explain why ye’re often out at night, like a stray cat in heat.”
“How dare ye!”
She raised her fists, but he caught her wrists.
“Why dinnae ye beat me, then, brother, if ye think I’m a hure?”
“What purpose would that serve?” he said. “Would ye learn anything from it? Far better to let ye reflect on yer actions and those who might be affected by it.”
Was it his imagination, or could he see guilt in her eyes?
“Brodie’s a good lad,” he said. “I wouldnae want to see him hurt.”
“Brodie’s a mere boy,” she sneered. “He wouldnae know what to do with his cock even if it were stuffed inside a hure.”
“Then who are ye carrying on with?”
“Are ye trying to pretend that ye care?”
“Does he have a wife?”
“What if he does?” she said. “Ye’re happy for Maisie to spread her legs for everyone. Murdoch says she’s the best hure in the Highlands, and ye’re not against rutting her, either. Does that pockmarked wife of yers know that the cock that makes her scream also dips into—”
“Devil’s breeches, will ye desist?” Hamish roared. “With that vile tongue of yers, I’ll never find a husband willing to take ye on, and I have no wish to be saddled with ye forever!”
“I wouldnae take a man from here if ye paid me,” she said.
“They’re all flea-ridden dogs, and their wives weak-bellied worms.” A sly smile spread across her face.
“That Evie’s the weakest of them all—running after her man even when he’s rutting another, doing his bidding after he’s beaten her. Do ye think I want to be like her?”
Devil’s cock—did that mean…
“Are ye carrying on with Murdoch?”
“I’m carrying on with no one!”
“Ye seem a little too eager to deny it.”
“What does it matter what I say if ye’ll never believe me?” she said. “I’m…”
She drew in a sharp breath and clamped her hand over her mouth. Hamish took her arms.
“What ails ye, sister? Ye’ve not been well for weeks. And despite what I might say, I love ye, and—”
“No, ye dinnae,” she snarled, pulling free. “Ye’re too busy loving yerself—and now ye’re too busy rutting that Sassenach.”
“I’m not rutting her,” he said. “She’s my wife in name only. Soon she’ll be gone forever, and…” He paused, suppressing the pang of regret.
“So ye dinnae love her?”
He shook his head.
“I’ll not believe ye if ye won’t say it.”
“For fuck’s sake, Iona!” he cried. “I dinnae love her—is that enough to satisfy ye?”
“Ye seem a little too eager to deny it.”
He opened his mouth to respond, then checked himself.
Devil’s…
“Ha!” Iona let out a laugh. “Look to yer own sins before accusing me.”
He continued along the path while she followed, issuing taunts, and he fisted his hands to control his temper. Then he stopped and turned to look at her.
“What were ye doing on this path, Iona?” he said. “It only leads to Riverside Cottage. Were ye going to see Euphramia?”
She colored, then shook her head. “Of course not. Why would I want to see that pockmarked—”
He raised his hand. “I’ve heard enough! If all ye’re going to speak is evil, I’d rather ye didnae speak at all.”
Triumph glittered in her eyes. “Are ye angry enough to strike me?”
“No,” he said. “Though ye may try yer damnedest, I’ll never be truly angry with ye—only disappointed.”
His softly spoken words, said with the weariness he felt, did more to deflate her than anger ever could.
She opened her mouth to reply, then her lip wobbled and she closed it again.
Her eyes glistened with tears, then, with a sob, she fled.
He watched her retreating back until she turned a corner and disappeared.
What the devil was he going to do with Iona? She needed a firm hand that was also caring, nurturing, and efficient. And there was only one soul in the whole of Glenblath who had those qualities.
What a pity, then, that she was destined to leave.