Chapter Twenty-Three
Riverview Cottage came into view and Mia froze as she saw movement inside. Had whoever ransacked her home returned for more?
Hamish took her hand. “There’s nothing to fear, lass. It’s only Lachlan.”
“How do you know?”
“H-he had a mind to visit ye.”
The front door and opened and Lachlan appeared. “Ma’am,” he said, before bowing to Hamish. “Master Hamish.”
“Is there anything I can help you with, Lachlan?” Mia said.
The young man shook his head. “No, thank ye, ma’am. Master Hamish, there was no trouble. Maisie came with a basketful of nettles—we’ve washed them and left them drying on the kitchen table. I kept the fire going, as ye can see, and I went outside regular to check the woods, like ye said.”
“Hamish?” Mia said. “What’s been going on?”
“Master Hamish asked me to watch over the cottage for ye, seein’ as ye’d had some trouble,” Lachlan said, despite Hamish’s frowning at him.
“That’s enough, lad,” Hamish growled. “Be off with ye, now. I’m sure Brodie’s needing a hand with the horses.”
The young man glanced at Mia, then nodded and set off. She turned to Hamish to see him smiling, a faint color on his cheeks.
He set her basket on the table in the parlor. “It was the least I could do,” he said, “after…”
“After I accused you of ransacking my home?”
“Yer home will be safe now, lass, I assure ye.”
“So you know who’s responsible?”
He let out a sigh. “It’s like ye said, I’m the one responsible because I’m the laird. But I’ve sent a message to every man and woman at Glenblath to tell them to leave ye be or face retribution. They’ll listen to me.”
“Will they?”
“Loyalty to the laird runs deep in the Highlands. Anyone—man, boy, or woman—disobeying their laird forfeits their right to live on his land.”
His hand still on the handle of the basket, Hamish dipped his head. When he lifted it again, she saw regret in his eyes.
“I ought to have spoken to them before, lass.”
“About what?”
“Had I told everyone, from the moment ye arrived, that ye were my wife and they must respect ye as such, this wouldnae have happened. Instead, I…” He shook his head.
“Will ye forgive a man for behaving like a stag’s arse?
I may not have treated ye with the respect ye deserve—and as such, ye’ll be well rid of me when the time comes.
The least I can do before ye leave us is ensure that ye’re safe. ”
She reached for the basket. Their hands touched, and she caught her breath at the fizz in her stomach. Then he released the basket and watched while she took it into the kitchen and placed it beside the pile of nettles.
“What must man do to be offered a cup of tea?”
Mia turned to see him smiling at her. “Would you like a cup of tea, Hamish?”
“Why, that’s most gracious of you, fair lady,” he said, in what Mia could only assume was an attempt at an English accent.
She suppressed a laugh as she filled the kettle and set it over the fire, then she took one of the chairs beside the fire and gestured to the other.
“Ha!” he said, taking a seat. “I knew I’d get ye to smile. Will I pass for an English gentleman?”
“No.”
His smile disappeared and she placed a hand on his arm.
“I meant no disrespect,” she said. “English gentlemen care only for a pretty face, a title, and a dowry. Whereas you…”
“Whereas I,” he said, taking his hand, “only care for a dowry.” He shook his head. “What must ye think of me?”
“I think you’re very kind to walk me home.”
Mia glanced at his hand, where fresh callouses adorned the skin of his fingers.
“You’re hurt,” she said, rising. “I’ve something that would ease the soreness in your skin.”
She approached the shelves and picked up the jar of calendula salve, then she uncorked the jar and held it out.
“Smell it—it’s a pleasant aroma.”
He sniffed at the contents. “Is that what ye use on Ma? It disnae smell the same.”
“No,” she said, taking down another jar and uncorking it. “I use this for your mother.”
He leaned over and inhaled, then jerked back, his eyes widening. “Devil’s ballocks! What was that?”
“Do you not like it?”
He sniffed, more tentatively. “It’s not unpleasant,” he said, “but it’s like nothing I’ve ever known.”
“What is it like?”
“Warmth,” he said. “And…freshness.”
“Anything else?”
“I dinnae know how to say it without giving offense—but it reminds me of Mrs. McBride’s mutton stew.”
She smiled. “Does Mrs. McBride put rosemary in her stew?”
“Devil take me if I know, lass, but I think she has some in her garden.”
“And it’s the very same garden from which she permitted me to take a few sprigs,” Mia said, corking the jar. “The other thing you can smell is the ginger root.”
“The what?”
“Don’t you recall the ginger that Dr. McIver sent me?”
She caught a flash of resentment in his eyes before the smile returned. “And ye asked him to send it to help Ma?”
She nodded. “The ginger has a warming property that soothes the skin, and the rosemary alleviates aching muscles. I use it when I’m giving your mother a massage.”
He nodded. “Ma mentioned it—she said she’s never felt such relief from the aches in her bones.”
“She’s very kind.”
“No,” he said. “Ye’re the one who’s kind. I wonder if…” He hesitated, his color rising. “I wonder if ye might show me what ye do with it?”
“Do you have an ache that needs soothing?”
His eyes flared with hunger.
“Aye,” he whispered. “I have an ache, lass.”
He rose and curled his fingers around hers.
“A-an ache?” she said, aware of the tightness in her voice. “Where?”
“I have several,” he whispered, “but the one I’ll tell ye about is in my back.”
“And…have you been doing anything in particular to result in an ache in your back?”
“Chopping wood.”
“Chopping wood?” She glanced at the fire. “Like the wood that heats my home? The logs that form the pile in my log store that never seems to decrease, no matter how many fires I light?”
His mouth twitched into a smile, and Mia’s heart swelled at the shyness in his eyes.
“Would ye ease the ache for me, Mia?”
“Gladly.” She gestured to the chair. “Turn so that your back is facing me, and…would you mind if I removed your shirt?”
“Not at all, lass.”
He turned until his back faced her, his legs spread around the back of the chair. Then he shrugged off his jacket and unlaced his shirt. Mia’s breath hitched at the first glimpse of skin. Then he lifted the shirt farther until, finally, he was naked from the waist up.
Sweet heaven! His body was more magnificent than she could have believed.
As her gaze followed the curvature of his spine, from his neck to the base, she could see the planes of muscles toned through years of hard work, strong and sharp, as if he had been carved from marble.
He was no gentleman—his frame lacked the athleticism of the Society fops who spent their time in idle indolence, indulging in the occasional promenade in the park or a ride on horseback.
Instead, he was a savage, roughened through years of toil—a man who had no need to utter the niceties of London Society to get what he wanted because he simply took it.
Like a stag claiming the female during a rut.
Mia flicked her tongue out and ran it along her lower lip to stem the swell of hunger. Then she heard a soft laugh and looked up to see his gaze fixed on her.
“Like what ye see, lass?”
He turned, and she whimpered as his chest came to view in all its magnificent, primal glory.
Surely it was a sin for a man’s body to be so…
So beautiful.
A slow smile curved his lips. “I dinnae ken if it’s me, lass, but the air in here has grown hot all of a sudden.”
His tongue flicked out and he licked his lips, and Mia let out a squeak as an unfathomable pulse throbbed inside her center. She shifted her legs to quell the rising ache and his eyes darkened, as if he recognized the wicked sensations in her body.
Mia curled her fingers around the jar.
“P-please lean forward,” she said, aware of the tremor in her voice. “Relax over the back of the chair as much as possible, then I can begin.”
“It’s been a while since a woman asked me to lean over the back of a chair.”
Though she couldn’t fathom his meaning, its wickedness was plain, given the mischief glowing in his eyes. Then he nodded.
“Forgive me, lass. I dinnae mean to tease ye.”
He leaned over the chair, his back muscles rippling with the movement. Mia dipped her fingers into the jar and rubbed her hands together to spread the salve over her palms, relishing the scent of ginger and rosemary.
She placed her hands on his shoulders and he drew in a sharp breath.
“Hamish, are you well?”
“Aye, lass. I like having yer hands on my body.”
He was right. The air had grown hot. But now was not the time to give in to sensations that she didn’t—and might never—understand. Her duty was to take care of her patient.
And what a magnificent patient he is!
She let her hands glide along his skin, leaving a glistening trail of salve, feeling with her fingertips along each muscle, each tendon, as she searched for the telltale tautness.
As she reached his lower back, the tension in his muscles changed and she met a hard knot.
“Just relax,” she said. “Let me know if it hurts.”
He shook, and she froze.
Was he in pain?
Then he let out a chuckle.
“Is something amusing?” she said.
“Och, no, lass. It’s just, in my experience, it’s the man who tells the woman to relax and let him know if it hurts.”
The heat in her cheeks increased. Diverting her mind from the wickedly delicious sensations in her body, Mia continued to massage his lower back, running her hands along the taut muscles until they began to soften and relax.
Then he let out a low growl—like the deep purr of a satisfied lion.
“Are you well?” she said.
“Och, lass, what ye’re doing to me…! It’s fit to make even a stone statue spend with want.”
She stilled.
“N-no,” he growled, his body vibrating beneath her hands. “Dinnae stop.”