Chapter Twenty-Five
The door to Hamish’s study opened and Brodie appeared.
“Master Hamish, Her Ladyship’s asking whether ye wish to join her and Mistress Euphramia, and”—the lad colored—“Miss Maisie.”
Hamish suppressed a smile. Brodie had yet to discover what his cock was for. To him, a sensual creature such as Maisie, with her experience of cocks, and men, of all shapes and sizes was a goddess to be both desired and feared.
Two words that also described Maisie’s fellow guest.
Mia.
Since Hamish had last seen her—when he’d almost rutted her over that chair in her cottage—Mia had tortured his mind, inviting him in his dreams to bury himself between those hot, damp curls.
Each morning he’d woken with a cockstand fit to burst and fisted his pleasure into his bedsheets just like he had fisted himself on her doorstep, shame engulfing him at his inability to step more than five yards away from her door without spending.
How disgusted she must be! He’d behaved like a beast.
Was it because she was forbidden to him?
Not by the law, nor the Almighty—but forbidden by his conscience.
It was easy to tell his rational self that she was the last woman he wanted for a wife.
But the unconscious self—his soul—knew different.
In truth, he’d almost forgotten that her face was pockmarked.
Instead, he saw only the soft brown curls with a glimmer of chestnut when they caught the sunlight, that pert little nose, the stubborn mouth that spoke of strength of character, and those brilliant hazel eyes that glimmered with a sharp intelligence, then softened with kindness before they darkened with desire.
But if he saw her now, those eyes would only look at him with disgust.
He was the scarred one, with ugly marks on his soul. And he’d almost ruined her out of nothing more than a need for base gratification.
But what pleasure that gratification would have brought!
“Be silent,” he spat out through gritted teeth, as the voice of temptation whispered in his ear.
“Master Hamish?”
He glanced up to see Brodie looking at him.
“What shall I tell Her Ladyship?”
“Nothing,” Hamish said. “I’ll join her directly.”
He rose and made his way to his mother’s chambers, where he found her sitting beside the fireplace as usual and Monarch—the treacherous cur—curled up at her feet.
Her guests rose on his arrival. But the dog, other than opening a single yellow eye then closing it again, didn’t deign to acknowledge his presence.
Unable to meet his wife’s gaze, Hamish first looked at Maisie, whose eyes betrayed a discomfort to rival his own. Though she had warmed Hamish’s bed in the past, Maisie had never yet been invited into Ma’s chambers. What laird’s wife would be seen entertaining the local whore?
“M-Master Hamish,” Maisie stammered, “forgive me for being here. I didnae intend—”
“Now, my dear, there’s no need for that,” Hamish’s mother said. “Ye’re here on business as my guest, is she not, Mia?”
Hamish let his gaze drift toward his wife, expecting contempt, but all he saw was an easy, open smile.
She inclined her head. “Maisie and I have you to thank, Hamish, for agreeing to the use of your carriage for our journey.”
“J-journey?” he said, a knot of apprehension in his stomach. “Ye’re leaving Glenblath already?”
“Mia’s going to Glasgow,” his mother said. “She’s been telling us all about the vaccination process. It sounds fascinating, if not a little daunting. It almost put me off my tea.”
“I’m sorry for that, Eilidh,” Mia said, resuming her seat and gesturing for Maisie to do likewise.
“Och, ye needn’t worry, lass. I’ve given birth to two children”—Ma eyed Hamish with a wry smile—“one of whom was a great, lumbering giant of a lad who fair split me in two. I can weather a description of a little bloodletting. Maisie’s the brave one, to take the first cut.”
“Cut?”
Hamish glanced at Maisie. Perhaps her discomfort was to do with what was to happen to her in Glasgow.
Ma let out a laugh. “Och, men! They think us the weaker sex, yet they’ll pass out at the first sight of blood. Did yer Dr. Nimmo administer the vaccine without crying for his ma? As for yer Dr. McIver, I cannae believe that he was able to saw a man’s leg off and retain his wits afterward.”
“Saw a man’s leg off?” Hamish said. “Devil’s ballocks, what does the vaccination process entail?”
Maisie giggled and Mia turned away to hide her smile.
“Och, dinnae be a fool, lad,” Ma said. “And ye’re making my chamber look untidy standing there. Pour yerself a cup of tea and sit, for the love of the Almighty, or I’ll turn ye out.”
Hamish did as he was bidden. It was often easier to obey Ma without question when she was in a determined frame of mind.
“Yer limbs are safe, Hamish,” she said, once he’d sat. “But it’s good to know that Mia here could perform surgery if needed, with a stout heart and skilled hands.”
“Eilidh…” Mia began, but Ma raised her hand.
“Iona told me all about it, lass.”
“Iona?” Hamish said. “What does she know?”
“A great deal,” Ma said. “I’ll thank ye not to speak badly of yer sister. She’s been making friends with Mia, hasn’t she, lass?”
“Well…” Discomfort filled Mia’s eyes. “She asked me a little about medicine and some of the operations I’ve assisted with.”
Hamish shook his head. “Iona wouldnae hold out the hand of friendship unless she wanted to bite it off ye.”
“Och, ye’re too harsh on the lass,” Ma said.
“Ye must admit, Ma, she’s been too wild of late. I…”
Hamish’s voice trailed away as the door opened and Iona appeared. Her eyes widened as she saw him.
“Come in,” Ma said. “Do ye want something?”
“Only to get away from that Brodie. He’s been following me about again. I dinnae like it.”
“Get in and close the door,” Hamish said. “Ye’re letting the heat out.”
Iona scowled, then Mia rose and offered her hand.
“Why don’t you sit next to me?” she said. “I’ve brought some ginger for your mother to take in her tea. Will you try some?”
Hamish braced himself for an insult, but his sister closed the door and took the seat next to Mia.
“Ginger?” Hamish said. “I thought ye used it for rubbing on…” His cheeks warmed at the memory of smoothing the salve over Mia’s body, the soft skin of her breasts with the precious little pearls in the center, the delicately curved stomach, and those welcoming curls hiding the promise of pleasure…
“Ye dinnae look well, brother,” Iona sneered. “Is it because ye’re taking tea in the same chamber as yer mother, yer sister, yer wife, and yer hure?”
Maisie drew in a sharp breath.
Hamish leaped to his feet, hands fisted, and Iona shrank back, the defiance in her eyes diminishing.
“I thought I’d raised ye to be better than that, child,” their mother said quietly. “Ye must always be welcoming to guests.”
“What if the guest has no right to be here?” Iona said. “Or if the guest is unkind, or uncivil?”
“It matters not,” Mia replied. “If a guest is kind enough to favor us with their company then it’s our duty to make them feel welcome—is that not right, Iona?”
Hamish’s sister turned to Mia, and the two women stared at each other, as if sharing a silent communication. Then Iona looked away.
“F-forgive me, Maisie,” she stammered.
Maisie grinned. “I cannae take offense, Miss Iona. I’ve heard every insult known to man—and woman. I’m immune to them, as I’ll soon be immune to smallpox.”
“Ye have my thanks, lass, on behalf of all of us at Glenblath,” Ma said, “even if others are incapable of thanking ye properly for taking the first cut.”
There that phrase was again. “What are ye talking of—the first cut?” Hamish said.
Ma raised her eyebrows at Mia. “Tell him about the vaccine, lass.”
“The vaccine’s administered into the blood,” Mia said. “A cut is made, usually in the patient’s arm. Then a small amount of…fluid is dabbed into the cut.”
“Fluid?” Hamish swallowed the ripple of nausea in his throat.
“Aye,” Maisie said, her eyes gleaming. “Pus gathered from sores.”
Devil’s ballocks! Hamish gripped the back of a chair. He heard a low cry and glanced up to see Iona placing her hand over her mouth. His sister rose and sprinted outside.
“Miss Iona?” a voice said from the passageway. “Are ye well?”
“Devil take ye, Brodie!” Iona cried, then her footsteps faded into the distance.
“Do ye want some air also, Hamish?” Ma said. “Ye’re looking a little green.”
“Aye,” Maisie added, “as green as the mold on Rory’s old cheese.”
“Is it safe, what ye plan to do, Mia?” Hamish asked.
His wife nodded. “Quite safe, I assure you. Maisie will feel unwell for a day or so—no more than eight and forty hours. Then I can pass the vaccine around.”
“How?”
“By taking the fluid from the sores that arise on Maisie’s skin and administering it to the next patient, then the next, and so forth, until it’s been passed to everyone.
It’s like a chain. As soon as the fluid forms, it can be passed to the next patient, but once it clears up, the chain is broken, so I must act quickly.
If I can administer the fluid from Maisie’s arm to five souls, then each of those five to another five, and so forth, we could have the whole estate protected from smallpox within a fortnight. ”
Hamish shook his head. “I doubt folk will be willing to be cut.”
“It’s a small incision and, provided I keep my knife clean, the risk is minimal.”
“And if nobody is willing?”
“I hope to persuade them using reason,” Mia said. “Or, at the very least, the sight of my face and the opportunity to remove the chances of their suffering the same fate might be sufficient. If not, then there’s little I can do.”
“When do ye leave for Glasgow?”
“In three days. Dr. Nimmo is expecting us three days after that. We should be back within a fortnight.”
“Ye’re going unaccompanied?”
“Brodie has agreed to attend us,” Mia said. “I may need a second patient to ensure the chain is not broken.”
“He’s agreed?” Hamish asked.
“He offered,” his mother said. “He said he owed Mia a favor after she saved his arm.”
“Eilidh, I didn’t really save—” Mia began, but Ma interrupted.
“Ye did, lass. When will ye stop talking yerself down? Ye’ve done so much for us here, and are about to do even more. I dinnae ken what we’ll do if ye ever leave us.”
Mia colored, then rose to her feet. “Forgive me, I must be going. There’s much to do before we leave.”
“Can ye stay not for a while more, lass?”
“Forgive me, Eilidh, but I must make up another jar of your ointment before I go—there’s not enough left to last you while I’m away.”
Mia exited the chamber. Maisie rose too, but Ma caught her hand.
“There’s no need for ye to leave, lass. I promised ye a slice of cake.”
She gave a pointed look toward Hamish, who followed Mia out. Monarch rose, his claws clicking against the stone floor, to trot at his side.
Hamish caught up with his wife at the main doors. Heavens! For a lass, she could shift quickly on those legs of hers when she wanted to.
“Mia.”
She froze, then turned. But what could he say to atone for his behavior?
After a pause, he offered his hand. She hesitated at first, then took it.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“What for?”
“Ye must think me a beast.”
She smiled, her eyes glowing in the light of the setting sun that streamed through the high, arched window. Then she stooped to scratch the top of Monarch’s head. The deerhound let out a soft grunt of pleasure and thumped his tail against Hamish’s leg.
“Not all the time,” she replied softly. “And no different to any man.”
“Am I the same as any man?”
She ran her fingertips over the callouses on his hands.
“I have little experience of men, but from what I’ve seen, you’re as different to the rest of your sex as Monarch here is different to a litter of pugs.”
“What—I’m hairy, unkempt, and savage?”
She laughed. “Aye—at least compared to the ninnies of London Society.”
“Aye?” he said. “Are ye beginning to use our language, like a true Highland lass?”
“A token of speech, nothing more,” she said. “A Sassenach can never be a true Highlander—so I’ve been told.”
Iona had said as much to Mia’s face.
“Forgive my sister,” he said. “I dinnae understand her anymore.”
Mia hesitated, and her eyes narrowed, as if she were contemplating something.
“Iona’s not a bad person,” she eventually said. “Like any soul, she craves freedom.”
“How do ye know?”
“We’re both women,” she said, giving him the indulgent smile a schoolmistress bestows upon a particularly dim-witted child. “You’re a man, and as such, will never truly experience the restrictions placed upon our sex. But more than freedom, Iona craves love—yours in particular.”
He let out a snort. “Then why does she continually test my patience?”
“She craves your love so much that she tests it—in an attempt to find the limit of your love,” Mia said. “She’d rather have your anger than your indifference. But show her that you love her—that she can trust you—and she’ll love and trust you in return.”
“What must I show ye?” he whispered, holding his breath in anticipation of her response.
She met his gaze. Tones of green and blue shimmered in her eyes with flecks of gold and brown, and the world seemed to grow still, dissolving into the air until they were the only two creatures in existence—two souls reaching out across a chasm, linked by an invisible, indelible thread.
Then she blinked and the thread snapped.
“That way, madness lies,” she whispered, as if to herself, and moisture gleamed in her eyes.
Then she blinked again and the moisture had gone.
“It matters not,” she said, her tone once more that of the businesslike doctor lecturing a belligerent patient.
“I’ll be leaving soon. We can part as friends and place the memory of any…
indiscretions into a vault, where they belong, to fade over time, like footprints in the snow that disappear when the snow melts. ”
The deerhound let out another whine and Mia’s smile returned as she stooped, once more, to rub the dog’s head.
“Beautiful boy, aren’t you?”
Then she straightened, bade Hamish farewell, and left the building, stopping beside the stables to speak to Brodie. The jealousy that had sparked in Hamish’s heart when she made a fuss of his dog burst into flame as he caught her laughter while she chatted to the lad.
Hamish leaned on the doorframe, his gaze fixed on the path long after she’d disappeared.
Did she honestly believe that he would forget her as easily as she might forget him?