Chapter Twenty-Six
Mia had to admit that, even in winter when the cold air rendered her face almost numb, there was no better place in the world than the Highlands.
Beinn Blath—Maisie and Rory still laughed at Mia’s attempts to pronounce the mountain—stood over the estate like a benevolent sentinel, or a pagan god watching over the people who went about their business, scraping a living from the land.
Unlike London, where they looked bare and forlorn in winter, the trees that clothed the slopes of the mountain had come alive, their solid forms glowing pink in the cold winter light, a splash of color against the backdrop of the landscape dusted by snow and frost.
And the scent! The smoky, woody scent of pine, so unlike the pine forests she’d ventured into in England—it was richer, deeper, more…
More primal.
Mia paused by the river’s edge on her return to the cottage, to absorb the music, tilting her head toward the winter sun.
Then she opened her eyes and sighed. Pausing to indulge in her surroundings would only increase the regret that she was to leave.
And there was work to do. Over a hundred souls had already given their consent to take part in the vaccination scheme, and she needed to set out a schedule to ensure that the chain did not break.
And there was the stew to warm up for luncheon for Evie’s visit.
So much to do! She’d never been so occupied.
And she loved it.
Further occupation awaited her in the future, both the immediate, with her departure for Glasgow tomorrow, and thereafter.
Mia heard the crunch of a footstep on frost and turned.
“Who’s there?”
The only response was a rush of the breeze in the treetops and the ever-present backdrop of the water.
“Evie, is that you?”
Her call was met with silence, and she unlocked the door, placed her basket on the parlor table, and made her way to the kitchen to fetch a pot. Then she went back outside to fill it from the river. A further crunch of footsteps made her turn, and she called out.
“Is someone there? Do you need help?”
But there was no response. Mia returned to the cottage, set the pot beside the fireplace, and gathered an armful of logs from the basket to lay the fire.
The door slammed behind her and she startled, dropping the logs.
Standing in front of the door was a man.
“Wh-who are you?” Mia stammered.
He stepped forward.
“Murdoch?” Mia said, as his face came into the light, eyes glittering with loathing, lips curled into a sneer.
“Aye.”
“I-is Evie unwell? D-do you want me to visit her?”
“My wife’s nothing to do with ye, woman. I dinnae want ye to do anything other than leave her be.”
“But she—”
“She disnae need a woman such as ye.”
“What?” Mia said. “An Englishwoman? Or a pockmarked whore?”
“Witch!” he snarled. “Ye should be whipped for that foul tongue of yers.”
“Why?” Mia said, her tone expressing more boldness than she felt. “It’s what you call me.”
“Ye’re a woman and must do as ye’re told or face the consequences.”
“Is that what you tell your wife?” she said, folding her arms. “Do you make her face the consequences of speaking for herself?”
“She’s my wife!” he roared. “And she’s a fool for listening to yer poison. If I were yer husband I’d have ye whipped raw. In fact…”
He paused, and his mouth curled into a cold smile that did more to heighten her fear than his anger.
“I know just what ye need.”
He reached for the door, and Mia’s stomach churned in horror as she heard the key turn in the lock. Then he advanced. She glanced about, and her gaze fell on a candlestick. She moved toward it, and he lunged forward and grasped her wrist.
“Let me go!” she said. “You’re hurting—”
He pulled her hard against his body, then gripped her arms, and she let out a groan as his thick fingers dug into her flesh.
“Meddling hure!” he snarled. “Ye need teaching a lesson.”
“And you’re the man to do it?” she said. “Is this how you’ve cowed Evie into submission such that she’s too frightened to ask for help when she’s unwell? I—Oh!”
He shook her roughly, then pushed her back until she slammed against the wall. She tried to wrench free, but he only gripped her more tightly, causing her to groan in pain.
“Hamish should have turned ye out the day ye darkened Glenblath with yer poisonous ways,” he growled. “And now ye’re going to spread yer poison across the clan, tricking the foolish into believing that ye’re saving us? Just like the witches of old, ye are, and ye need to be stopped.”
“I’m trying to help the people here,” Mia said.
“Quiet, hag!”
Mia kicked out and connected with his shin. He loosened his grip, enabling her to pull free, then backhanded her across the face. Mia stumbled backward with a scream, her vision blurred with tears of pain.
“Foolish lass!” Murdoch snarled. “There’s none to help ye, and many who’ll thank me for giving ye a thrashing. Ye’re a—”
He broke off as there was a knock at the door.
“Get ye gone!” he cried.
“No!” Mia screamed. “Please—help me!”
The knocking came again, this time harder, then it stopped and Murdoch let out a laugh.
“See?” he said. “We all want ye gone.”
“Murdoch, please,” she said. “Don’t do anything you might regret.”
“I’ll not regret putting a woman in her place. I only regret I didnae do it sooner. I—”
A splintering crash filled the air as the door burst open.
A huge man barreled through the doorway, stumbled on the floor, then righted himself.
With a roar, he sprinted toward them. Mia raised her hands to defend herself against further assault, but none came.
Instead, Murdoch was pulled off her and thrown to the side.
“How dare ye!” a deep voice bellowed.
Hamish…
His hair gleaming in the fading sunlight, eyes glowering with fury, he advanced on Murdoch. “Take yer filthy hands off my wife!” he roared. “Nobody touches my woman.”
“But Hamish, she—”
“Be silent before yer laird! Speak again and I’ll have ye banished from Glenblath. Touch my wife again and I’ll sever yer hands from yer body then feed them to the swine.”
Mia scrambled to her feet and backed away from the two men who were circling each other like stags in rut.
Indignation coursed through her veins. She was no female beast to be fought over and taken by the strongest—not when the man she’d married had no claim to her at all because he’d forsaken her.
But she couldn’t suppress the primal pulse that swelled low in her belly at the thought of being claimed by a man who, in his flame-haired, broad-chested fury, was bestial, potent, and utterly masculine.
“Ye’ve been bewitched by a hure, Hamish,” Murdoch said. “I’ll—”
He broke off as Hamish slammed his fist into his jaw. As Murdoch staggered backward, Hamish caught his hand, then drew out a knife.
“Did ye touch her with this hand, Murdoch?”
The other man nodded, the arrogance in his expression replaced by fear.
“Then this hand is forfeit.”
Horror curled in Mia’s heart at the determined expression in Hamish’s dark eyes.
“I shall not take it today, Murdoch, but henceforth, this hand belongs to me. If it offends me, I’ll take it. Do ye understand?”
Murdoch glanced at Mia.
“Ye dinnae have the right to even look at her!” Hamish roared. “Or do ye wish to forfeit yer eyes also?”
He grasped Murdoch by the lapels, pushed him toward the door, then tossed him outside as if he weighed no more than a child.
“Begone!” Hamish cried as Murdoch stumbled backward. “If I hear ye’ve come within sight of this cottage, I’ll have ye turned out of Glenblath with one hand less.”
He slammed the door then turned to face Mia.
The expression in his eyes changed into an emotion more primal, more intense than the fury it replaced.
Raw, base desire.
He fisted his hands, shaking as if he fought to control the intensity.
Then he pulled Mia hard against his body and crushed her mouth with his.
A groan of pure need reverberated through him, feeding the desire that swelled deep within Mia.
His tongue pressed insistently against her mouth, and as she parted her lips to welcome him, he shuddered, a low growl filling the air—as the dominant stag claimed his mate.
He lifted her up and carried her backward until they collided with the chest of drawers.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, desperate to ease the ache between her thighs.
As if he understood her need, he slipped his hand between them, moving toward the source of her heat.
Mia let out a cry as a fizz of pleasure sparked, and she parted her legs wider to chase the sensation, pressing her center against his fingers. Ignoring the shame at her wantonness, she surrendered to the need, letting her body plead for what she could not ask in words.
“Do ye want me?” a low voice growled.
She nodded against him, her breathing ragged.
With a savage grunt, he thrust forward. Mia bit her lip, tasting blood as she felt a tight pinch in her center.
She clung to him, trembling, then he shifted position and thrust once more with a sharp exhalation.
She cried out as the ache swelled, but her body relished the sensation as it came alive with each movement, pleasure flaring in the pit of her stomach.
He thrust again, increasing the pace as the sounds he made grew in urgency, the low, primal grunts heightening in pitch to needy groans and cries.
Then, at last, with a roar, he buried himself in her one final time.
Her body burst and waves of pleasure battered at her—deeper and more intense than the pleasure she’d taken at his hands.
Unable to withstand such exquisite ecstasy, Mia tilted her head back and screamed his name.
“Oh, woman! Oh!” The man inside her let out a cry, his voice filling her mind, spiraling in the air until the world dissolved, leaving nothing but him. Her man. The beast who’d fought for, then mounted, his mate.
When his voice grew hoarse, he pulled her to him, enveloping her body in his arms. He continued to shift inside her, his movements weaker, while she arched her back to draw him deeper inside.
Then, at last, they grew still, bodies trembling, hearts beating in unison.
As the fog of desire faded, Mia opened her eyes.
Shame returned to conquer the pleasure at what she saw—herself, clinging to the man who had just debauched her against the cabinet, her thighs widespread, the flesh rosy with lust, skirts bunched to the waist, her hands clinging to him, urging him to mount her—a mare in heat.
With a cry she pushed him back. Ignoring the sense of loss as he slipped outside of her, she lowered her skirts.
She met his gaze, searching for a shame to match hers, but all she saw was primal possession. For him, she was nothing but a conquest. But for her—she was now ruined, her dream of freedom and a future gone.
“What have I done?”