Chapter Twenty
As Hamish crossed the courtyard, he caught the echo of a familiar voice.
Her voice.
Last night she’d visited him again in his dreams, whispering words of desire—then she had dissolved into the dawn light while he woke with an erection fit to burst and his hands around his cock.
His need for release increased with each passing day.
But though their marriage was a mere formality and soon to end, he couldn’t bring himself to touch another woman—not even Maisie, who, with her pliant body and expert hands, tempted a man merely by being within twenty feet of him.
Heaven help him if Euphramia was plaguing his mind during the day also.
Then he heard it again, and she appeared at the edge of the stable yard, carrying a package, Brodie at her side.
Hamish gritted his teeth to temper the pulse of envy as she tilted her head back and laughed. What had that young pup done to merit such a reward?
Then she paused, as if she sensed him, and turned. His manhood surged as she met his gaze and her eyes widened. Devil’s breeches—did she know he had a cockstand as hard as granite beneath his plaid?
“Master Hamish, sir.” Brodie raised his arm in greeting, which was bandaged from wrist to elbow.
“Did ye hurt yerself, lad?” Hamish said.
“Aye, but it’s almost healed.”
“Thanks to ye, I’ll wager,” Hamish said, nodding to Euphramia.
“It was nothing, really,” she said. “I merely—”
“Och, dinnae talk nonsense—beggin’ yer pardon, Yer Ladyship,” Brodie said. “If it weren’t for ye, I might have lost my arm. It’s about time folk around here appreciated what ye could do for them—like ye’ve done for Evie, when no one else will help her.”
She gave a shy smile that only served to harden Hamish’s cock further. He shifted position, willing the surge of desire to subside.
“And there’s Reverend Sutherland—ye’ve cured his cough, and—”
“Brodie, really!” She laughed. “It’s the least I can do before I return to England.”
Must she always remind everyone that she was to leave Glenblath?
Hamish gestured to the package in her hand. “Is that a gift from a grateful patient?” he said, wincing at the resentment in his tone.
“No,” she said, an edge to her voice. “From a beloved friend.”
Jealousy surged, and Hamish glared at Brodie. Then Euphramia held up the package.
“It’s from Dr. McIver.”
“What news from the good doctor?”
Fuck—he sounded like a petulant child.
“He’s sent some ginger root for your mother and has written to tell me about an outbreak of smallpox in Hammersmith.”
“Is he in danger?”
She shook her head. “Both Dr. and Mrs. McIver took the vaccine. He’s setting up a vaccination scheme in the area. It’s something I’d like to do here, with your consent.”
“Surely there’s no need for that?” Hamish said. “Isn’t smallpox mostly confined to cities?”
“Mostly.”
“In which case I see little need for it. I doubt folk here would want to take part. Not to mention the cost, when the estate cannae afford it due to my having to…” His voice trailed away and she nodded, understanding his meaning.
“I-I could forgo part of the repayment.”
“Repayment?” Brodie said, raising his eyebrows.
“We should discuss this later, Euphramia,” Hamish said. “Over supper, perhaps?”
He offered his arm, and she stared at it. “Tonight?”
“Aye.”
She opened her mouth, as if to refuse. Then, after a pause, she sighed and placed her hand on his arm. Hamish suppressed the fizz of desire as she curled her fingers around his sleeve.
“Very well,” she said. “I wanted to speak to Eilidh, in any case.”
“I’ll take ye to her.”
Hamish dismissed Brodie, then led Mia inside the castle to his mother’s parlor. His heart ached at the delight in Ma’s expression when she saw her daughter-in-law.
“Has my son finally persuaded ye to dine with us?” Ma said.
Euphramia nodded, and Hamish steered her to a seat, then approached the door.
“Yet he sees fit to abandon ye as soon as he’s brought ye to me,” Ma huffed. “Where are yer manners, son?”
“I’ve errands to run,” Hamish said, “but I’ll see ye both at supper.”
A smile curved his mother’s lips. Then she kissed Mia on both cheeks.
“Ye’re looking well, lass. The Highland air’s good for ye—but ye’re still too thin.
That cottage is no place for ye when ye’ve a home right here at Glenblath Castle.
I’ll not press the matter, seeing as ye’re such a determined lass, but I long to see more of ye when I have such little congenial company. ”
She glanced at Hamish, and he suppressed a smile. Ma had always been the kindest soul to walk on the earth, always seeing the good in folk. But she harbored a different feeling for Mia—a feeling that shone from her eyes.
Love.
On impulse, Hamish took Euphramia’s hand and lifted it to his lips.
“I’ll see ye at supper—Mia.”
She parted her lips and, unable to resist the temptation, Hamish brushed his mouth against hers.
She let out a sharp sigh and retreated, and he swallowed the sense of loss.
Though he’d caught the sweet, honeyed taste of her lips, his body craved more.
But under his mother’s watchful gaze, he couldn’t do what he yearned to do—seize her like any self-respecting husband would and crush her mouth with his, plundering that sweetness until he’d had his fill.
Instead, he bowed and took his leave, pausing outside his mother’s chamber to draw breath and temper his ardor. Though he craved to touch Mia, to taste her, he did not want to frighten her off like a spooked filly. As any horseman knew, the surest way to tame a mare was to let her come to him.
*
“Well, I’m right glad ye’ve seen fit to dine with Master Hamish, ma’am,” Mrs. McBride said as she carried a pot of stew into the dining room. “It’s not right for a lass like yerself to be on her own so much.”
The cook leveled a stern gaze at Hamish as she placed the pot on the table.
“I don’t mind the solitude, Mrs. McBride,” Mia said. She smiled at the cook, her face glowing in the candlelight. “The stew smells delicious. You must write down the method so I can make it myself.”
“Och, I dinnae write anything down, lass,” the cook said, tapping her head. “It’s in here—passed from mother to daughter over generations. But then, perhaps I ought to write it down, seeing as I’ve not been blessed with children. Or I could pass it to young Iona here.”
Hamish’s sister—who, to his relief, had been mostly silent during the meal—smiled at the cook. “Thank ye, Mrs. McBride.”
“Och, ye’re a good lass,” the cook said, patting Iona’s shoulder, “even if ye were a terror when ye were wee. Bless me! I remember once when ye threw my roast goose out of the window to see if it could fly!”
Hamish’s heart soared as he heard Mia’s soft laugh. “And did it?” she asked.
“Of course it didnae!” Iona snapped. “Didnae ye know food cannae fly? Or are ye too fine a lady to—”
“That’s enough!” Hamish said, and Iona pulled a face.
“Ye shouldn’t say such things about Mistress Euphramia, Iona lass,” Mrs. McBride said. “Of course she knows food disnae fly—and she’s working very hard to make her cottage comfortable. I’ve seen it meself.”
“Ye’ve been there?” Iona said.
“When I had that cough. Reverend Sutherland said she’d done wonders for his cough, with that syrup of honey and… What was it, lass?”
“Thyme,” Mia said. “It grows on the mountain. My supply has almost run out. Perhaps, Iona, you could help me find more? You’ll know better than I where to look.”
“I’ve better things to do than—”
“Iona,” Hamish growled.
“It doesn’t matter,” Mia said, her tone a little less bright. “Your sister’s not obliged to do anything she has no wish to.”
Iona opened her mouth to reply, but Ma interjected.
“Ye must tell Hamish about the smallpox vaccine, Mia, lass.”
“I’ve already said we cannae afford it, Ma,” Hamish said.
“Ah, but we’ve been discussing it,” Ma said, “and the expense will not be prohibitive. All yer wife”—Iona drew in a sharp breath at Ma’s reference to Hamish’s married status—“all yer wife requires is passage for herself and one other to Glasgow and back. I’m sure ye can spare the carriage for that. ”
“What about the cost of the vaccine itself?” Hamish said.
“Dr. McIver assured Mia in his letter that his colleague in Glasgow would be willing to forgo any fee,” Ma said, “and even if he isn’t, would ye want to risk the lives of those hereabouts who depend on us?
I’m sure ye wouldnae want anyone here catching smallpox.
” She turned to Iona. “Would ye want to catch the pox?”
Iona shook her head. “I wouldnae want to look like her.”
“Iona, I’ve warned ye—” Hamish began, but Mia interrupted.
“Your sister’s right.” She gave a smile that did not reach her eyes. “Who, of sound mind, would want to look like me? And that’s the lesser evil, given how many people die from the disease.”
“If I had to look like ye, I’d rather—” Iona began, but Hamish banged his fist on the table and his sister startled, her eyes widening.
“Better pockmarked on the outside than rotten on the inside,” he said.
Iona opened her mouth to reply, then her lip wobbled and she closed it again, her eyes glistening as she picked at her meal.
“If you let me go to Glasgow, Hamish, I promise that you’ll not have to pay toward the cost,” Euphramia said. “Dr. McIver has also written to say that he’s willing to give me a home and a position as his assistant.”
She met his gaze, determination in her eyes.
“Did ye write to tell him about…” Hamish began, then his voice trailed off as he caught his sister watching him, intensity in her expression.
“That our marriage is to be annulled and I am to leave for England?” Mia said. “Why would I not? He’s a dear friend in whom I can confide.” She leaned forward. “Don’t you see? This means that I can leave sooner than intended, for I’ll not need my whole fortune returned. I can—”
Hamish raised his hand. “I’ve no wish to discuss yer leaving us when ye’re our guest for dinner.”
Or at all.