Chapter Twenty #2
“Very well,” she replied, smiling, and this time a gleam of mirth shone in her eyes. “Perhaps we should restrict our conversation to the weather.”
“Or the school,” Ma said. “Have ye told Hamish that ye’re teaching at the school tomorrow?”
Euphramia gave a shy smile and a delicate bloom spread across her cheeks, making her look quite beautiful.
“Are ye?” Hamish said.
She nodded. “Just the rudiments of tying a bandage, dressing a wound, and so forth. I thought I might show them the ginger root Dr. McIver sent me.”
Dr. bloody McIver! Why was she always singing his praises? He was a mortal man, not a bloody saint.
Hamish focused on his meal to temper his envy, then he glanced up to see Iona staring at him, understanding in her eyes. But other than curl her lips in a sneer, she said nothing.
“Ye’ll need to watch out for Billy,” Hamish said.
“I’m sure Mia can handle one wee boy if she can handle a great big brute like yerself,” Ma said, “though that poor lass Evie has a great deal to put up with, what with her Murdoch.”
“There’s naught wrong with Murdoch, Ma,” Hamish said. “He just expects his wife to honor the vows she made.”
Mia let out a snort that ended in a fit of coughing.
“Are ye well, lass?” Ma said.
“Quite so,” Mia replied, reaching for her wine glass. “But I’ve often wondered why the marriage vows are written as such, and why the bride’s adherence to the vows is expected by the world when the groom may often do what he pleases.”
“Not all men break their marriage vows, surely?” Hamish said.
“I’m sure a man exists somewhere who abides by the principle of the vows he’s uttered,” she said.
“But where a man does not—and I think we can safely say that most do not—he won’t suffer the vilification that a woman suffers on breaking her vows.
Even if a woman is merely under suspicion of breaking her vows, she is assumed to be guilty and subject to gossip. ”
“For example?” Hamish said.
She took a mouthful of wine and straightened, as if readying herself for the challenge.
“Such as the vows of fidelity.”
Hamish glanced at his sister, who was watching Mia, mouth open.
“As you are no doubt aware, excepting Eilidh here,” Mia continued, “the only true friend I have made at Glenblath is Maisie, who is vilified by most for how she earns her living—vilified by the very men who break their marriage vows and purchase her services.”
Iona drew in a sharp breath while Ma remained silent.
“Euphramia,” Hamish said, glancing at his sister, “this is hardly an appropriate subject for…”
Iona let out a chuckle, which she silenced as Hamish shot her a look of fury.
“Perhaps it ought to be,” Ma said. “After all, haven’t ye—”
“Ma!” Hamish cried, and Iona laughed again.
“If I’d known she’d be so entertaining, I’d have insisted ye invite her for dinner sooner, brother,” Iona said. “Her conversation makes up for having to look at her face.” She turned to Mia and grinned, showing even white teeth. “Well…almost.”
“Iona, for fu—”
“No, Hamish,” Mia interrupted. “You’re right. It was inappropriate of me to mention it when I’m a guest in your home.” She turned to Ma and inclined her head. “Eilidh, forgive me.”
“There’s naught to forgive,” Ma said. “We’ve been having very fine weather, have we not?”
The two women exchanged a smile that only served to heighten the jealousy needling at Hamish, and supper continued with them chatting amiably to each other while Iona watched, mouth turned down, her gaze flicking from one to the other.
Occasionally she glanced at Hamish, pulled a face, then resumed her attention on the plate in front of her.
When the meal concluded, Mia leaned back, a smile of contentment on her lips as Mrs. McBride cleared the plates.
“Thank you, Mrs. McBride,” she said.
“Ye’re welcome, lass,” the cook replied. “It’s not often I get a bit of appreciation here.”
“We all appreciate ye, Mrs. McBride,” Hamish said, rising. “Euphramia, would ye like a nip of whisky?”
Mia glanced at the longcase clock in the corner and shook her head. “Forgive me, but I must get back. I have much to prepare before I visit the school tomorrow.”
“But it’s begun to rain,” Ma said. “Why dinnae ye stay a while?”
“I can weather a little rain.”
“Then would ye at least permit me to escort ye back to Riverview?” Hamish said.
She hesitated, then nodded. “I’d like that. Thank you, Eilidh…and Iona…for your company tonight.”
Ma smiled in approval. Iona raised her eyebrows but had the good sense to say nothing. Then Hamish escorted Mia out of the dining room.
The rain had begun to fall more heavily as he accompanied his wife on the path toward the river.
He placed his arm about her shoulders, and, rather than the rejection he’d expected, she smiled and they continued in silence—the companionable silence that a husband and wife shared when there was no need to express their contentment with words.
What could be more pleasurable than a man taking a nighttime stroll with his wife? But, rather than enjoying a pleasant walk with the prospect of a night in each other’s arms, he was taking her to her lonely cottage, then would return to his lonelier bed.
As the silhouette of riverside cottage came into view, she let out a small sigh.
“Are ye happy, Mia?”
At first, she said nothing. They approached the door, and he opened his mouth to repeat the question.
“I am content,” she said.
“Only content?”
“Content with the prospect of happiness on the horizon.”
“I would have ye happy, Mia.”
She tilted her face up, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “And I you, Hamish.”
Then he lowered his mouth to hers.
At first, she stiffened, then her body relaxed as he pulled her close, enveloping her in his arms, relishing the feel of her softness against him.
She gave a low whimper as he slid his tongue along the seam of her lips.
Her fingers curled around his arms and he slipped his tongue inside, relishing the unspoken invitation.
With hungry, insistent strokes, he swept his tongue across every corner of her mouth, claiming, tasting her.
But it was not enough—he wanted to devour her until she was quivering and boneless, begging for release.
His cock stiffened as a little mewl escaped her lips. Such a sweet sound—the surest indication of female need as she readied herself to surrender her body to the male, like the deer presenting herself before the stag, to be mounted…
She let out a low groan and he withdrew.
Devil’s ballocks, had he hurt her?
But no—eyes closed, face flushed, she was ready and eager. He took her hand, interlocked their fingers, and lifted it to his lips.
“Mia.”
She opened her eyes, and he caught his breath at the raw need in them. They were so dark that they were almost black, save for the gleams of silver in their depths, like tiny stars pulsing with raw desire.
She blinked and pushed open the door, then paused at the threshold, and he held his breath in anticipation. Was she inviting him in? Dare he ask, knowing that he’d not be able to control himself if she did?
Then she opened the door fully, stepped over the threshold, and let out a cry.
He followed her in and froze.
The cottage had been ransacked. A chair lay in pieces on the floor.
The shelves were empty, with the jars and bottles littered about, some intact, others smashed, shards of glass gleaming in the moonlight, their contents strewn over the floor.
The drawer in the cabinet had been pulled out and their contents emptied over the table.
“Devil’s ballocks!” Hamish cried. “Who would do such a thing? And why?”
“I can answer why,” she said, her voice uneven. “As to who—it could be any number of people.”
She crossed the floor, picking her way over the mess, and went through the door leading to the rest of the cottage. When she returned, her jaw was set in a hard line as if she gritted her teeth.
“Have they been everywhere?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, just this room. How kind of them.”
“I’m sorry.”
She let out a snort. “I should have known better than to dine with you. Did you ask some of your friends to visit while I was at the castle?”
“Good God, Mia, surely ye didnae think I’d—”
“I don’t know what to think!” she cried.
Then she laughed. “It was a foolish thing to do, was it not? It won’t make me leave any quicker.
You should have told your friends that I was intending to leave sooner anyway.
I thank the Almighty that I have some friends, at least, even if I have none here. ”
“Mia, ye do have—” he began, but she interrupted.
“What do I have? A husband who cannot stand the sight of me and declared it to the world—a man who, unwilling to honor the promise of returning the dowry he squandered, wishes to drive me away by ransacking my home. No.” She raised her hand as he opened his mouth to protest. “He’s too much of a coward to do it himself, so he sends others to do his work for him. ”
Her words cut through his heart. Was that what she thought of him—that he’d stoop so low as to destroy the meager life she’d built for herself here?
But could he blame her for thinking it was his doing?
He was responsible. Perhaps not directly, but had he welcomed her as a husband ought, set aside his disappointment, and abided by the vows he’d made to her, she might have been happy here, not merely contented, living at Glenblath Castle, a loving daughter to Ma, a firm but kind sister to Iona, and…
…a future mother to his children.
He stooped to pick up a blanket.
“Stop that,” she said. “I can do it myself. It’s not as bad as it looks.” She let out a bitter laugh. “Much like my face.”
“But—”
“Just go!” she cried. “If you care for me”—she hesitated—“no, if you feel anything for me other than contempt, then leave.” Her voice wavered and she wiped her forehead.
If he cared for her? Didn’t she know that he—
He caught his breath.
No. Loving her was not something he could allow himself to do.
“Mia, I…”
“Please,” she whispered. “I want to be alone.”
She met his gaze—and his heart withered. The desire that had, moments ago, pulsed thickly in her eyes had gone, replaced by disappointment and betrayal. Unable to say anything to assuage his guilt or ease her pain, he bowed and left.
As he trudged back along the path, he turned at the corner before the cottage was out of sight.
A stream of smoke was already rising from the chimney and he caught a soft orange glow from the window.
An accomplished lass, she was, and a voice whispered in his mind that though his home might be Glenblath Castle, his heart resided in the isolated little cottage, with the kindest, most capable, and most unappreciated woman he’d ever had the privilege to know.