Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Tell me, Hamish Alastair Jamie MacLennan, why have ye not been to see yer wife?”
I’m in trouble.
Hamish glanced up from his ledgers to see his mother embroidering a cushion, the needle flying in and out with a smooth, unstrained motion. But rather than tight-lipped anger, the expression on her face displayed calmness, and serenity, as if she were merely commenting on the weather.
But, as he had learned over the years, serenity of expression in his ma was likely to hide a turmoil of fury. It was how she’d survived a lifetime with his da, after all.
She cut the dark-green thread she’d been working with then picked up a skein of pale-purple silk, threaded her needle, and resumed her work.
“What are ye doing?” he asked.
“Embroidering a cushion.”
“I can see that.”
“Then why ask if ye knew the answer?”
“Perhaps I was making conversation.”
“Och, ye’re many things, son, but a conversationalist isn’t one of them. Besides, if ye wished to make a conversation, why didnae ye answer my question? Were ye waiting for me to answer it for ye?”
“Of course not.”
“Then perhaps ye already know the answer, and are afraid to admit it to yer ma. Ye’re even afraid to admit it to yerself.”
She paused and met his gaze.
Devil’s cock! The stare of a formidable matriarch was usually enough to crack open a mussel at twenty paces, but the look in Ma’s eyes now was enough to cleave Beinn Blath in two.
“I dinnae ken what ye’re on about.”
She continued to stare at him, as she had done when she caught him as a boy after he let the chickens loose and his da’s dog had killed almost the entire flock.
Da thrashed him so hard he’d had a sore arse for a week.
But it was Ma’s silent disapproval that had cut him more deeply.
Da had cared only for Hamish’s failure to conform to parental rules.
Ma had cared for the consequences of his recklessness—the lives needlessly lost through a thoughtless act of a boy who cared little for others.
And that thoughtless boy had grown into a thoughtless man.
But how could he tell his mother that he’d shunned Mia since her return from Glasgow for her sake, because she had asked him to and because he could no longer trust himself? He had ruined her body, violated her like a rutting animal.
“Och, son, have I not raised ye to be a better man than yer da?”
“She disnae want to see me, Ma.”
“Did she say that?”
“She said she had no wish to set eyes on me again.” Hamish winced at the note of petulance in his voice. But his attempt at gaining sympathy from his mother failed.
She arched an eyebrow. “What did ye do to make the poor lass say that?” He paused, and her expression darkened. “Perhaps it’s best if ye dinnae tell me, for I fear I shan’t like the answer. Ye’re my son and I love ye—I have no wish to have that love put to the test.”
She continued her work, then spoke again after a pause.
“I hear the vaccination scheme is progressing well.”
“Has she treated ye?”
“Aye, and Iona. Mia insisted yer sister be one of the first.”
“And Iona agreed? I thought she disliked Mia.”
Ma’s lips curved into a smile. “Iona’s been assisting her. She’s been every day at Riverview Cottage—save yesterday, when she was unwell. It was Iona who persuaded the household to take the vaccine. They’ve all taken it, except young Ailsa.”
“Ailsa?”
“Murdoch’s lass.” Ma flicked her gaze to Hamish. “I saw him shortly before Mia left for Glasgow,” she said. “He was having words with Ailsa in the garden as she was fetching water.”
“Were ye spying?”
Her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink.
Ha! Not so perfect, are ye, Ma?
She shot him a look that silenced the little voice of triumph in his head.
“Can I not take a walk in my own gardens?” She drove the needle into her work with a little more force, each motion sending a prick of apprehension through Hamish, as if she were imagining driving the needle into his flesh.
“His face was black and blue,” she continued.
“He said he’d been sparring with Robbie. ”
“Well, there ye have it.”
“Only Robbie’s not much of a fighter. Murdoch’s been our Games champion for the past four years, and ye cannae forget how he wrestled the MacDouglases’ eldest to the ground at their Games. There’s not a man alive who can best him…”
She paused, and he was assaulted by the full force of her gaze.
“…save one.”
Devil’s ballocks, did all mothers possess the ability to read their son’s minds? Or just his mother?
“Och, son, ye may think me a fool, but I’m not blind. I know ye care for her. Even if ye cannae admit it to yer ma, ye should admit it yerself.”
Oh, fuck it—there was little point in trying to deceive her.
“I cannae intrude on her again,” he said. “She hates me—she almost said as much.”
Rather than show distress, his mother smiled again.
“Then there’s hope for ye yet.”
“Hope!” he scoffed, then resumed reading his ledgers, though he was unable to focus on the words.
“If a man, or woman, harbors hatred,” she said, “it means that their heart is alive—with passion, fury, and life. Do ye believe that hate is the opposite of love?”
“Isn’t it?” Hamish said. “I always thought—” He broke off, unable to disguise the hoarseness in his throat.
She leaned forward and placed her hand over his. He glanced at it, taking in the smooth skin and the knuckles, which, though still swollen, no longer bore the raw redness of pain. A faint aroma reached his nostrils—the salve that Mia used to treat his mother’s hands.
“The opposite of hate is not love, Hamish,” she said softly. “It’s indifference. And Mia could never be indifferent to ye. She was asking, only yesterday, whether ye’d be taking the vaccine.”
Hope flared in his soul.
“She’s been trying to teach Iona to administer it,” his mother said, “but yer sister’s too afraid to cut ye.”
“Oh.”
“Can ye not go to her, lad?”
“But she said—”
“Och, are ye a man or a worm? The vaccine’s a small cut to the arm, nothing more. Ye hardly feel it, she’s so gentle, and ye’re only sick for a day afterward.”
“I can weather a cut to the arm, Ma.”
She rolled her eyes. “If ye’re man enough to beat the hide off Murdoch for her, then ye’re man enough to face her for a few moments.
She may not wish to see ye, but that won’t stop her from doing what she knows is right.
So why is it stopping ye? Are ye afraid of her?
” She tilted her head to one side. “Or are ye afraid of yerself? I’ve seen the way ye look at her. ”
“I cannae,” he said.
“So ye’ll risk catching the pox for the sake of yer pride?” She shook her head. “That’s not courage, son, it’s cowardice. Did ye not hear that there’s been an outbreak on MacDouglas land? They’re in the next glen but one.”
“It’s just a rumor.”
“It’s not. Young Donald—the lad who helps Rory with the fences—is courting a MacDouglas lass. Rory told Maisie, who told me that—”
“Do ye listen to whores’ gossip now?”
“A whore ye were content to bed, if I recall,” she retorted. “I dinnae ken what to do with ye when ye’re content to put lives at risk.”
“Only my own life.”
“Foolish lad!” she cried. “There’s many hereabouts who aren’t taking the vaccine. Folk here follow yer lead. Have ye not stopped to think why so many at Glenblath cannae accept her—why so many have refused to take the vaccine?”
“Such as?”
“Murdoch, for one. He’s refused it for himself as well as Evie and their bairns.
Then there’s Robbie and Shona and their wee lad, and Gordon and his brothers.
Twenty families in all, I reckon.” She shook her head, disappointment in her eyes.
“When ye rejected that poor lass the day she arrived, ye set yerself, and many others, on a path of prejudice and misunderstanding. She’s borne that prejudice with fortitude and kindness, striving to protect the folk who look to ye for that protection rather than her. ”
“I protect the clan,” Hamish growled. “Everything I do is for them. Dinnae ye understand that’s why I married for a dowry, not for love—for the sake of the clan!”
“The qualities needed in a laird’s wife are not a pretty face for ye to admire and a fortune for ye to spend. She must hold the clan in her heart so that it runs through the blood in her veins.”
“Ye mean she must be a Highland lass?”
“No, son, I mean that she must be willing to embrace her responsibility to the souls at Glenblath with pleasure, not duty. Neither birth nor fortune will dictate whether she can do that.”
“Then what will?”
“The Almighty,” she said. “Have ye never asked why He chose to spare Mia and send her here to Glenblath—to us—rather than take her for Himself?”
Yes. He had wondered.
At first, he’d roared with rage at Fate for shackling him to a woman he’d not wanted. But, for many weeks now, he’d roared with considerably more rage at himself for not appreciating the gift he’d been given.
And what had he done? Violated that gift, placing a chasm between himself and Mia.
He snapped the ledger shut and placed it on a nearby table.
Ma nodded at the book. “I take it ye’re almost in a position to repay her dowry.”
“We should have most of it by next quarter day,” he said. “Eight hundred, perhaps more. But if the poor weather holds, the Candlemas rents may not be sufficient. Tenants have less cash to spare after a harsh winter.”
“Mia will understand.”
“I doubt she’ll accept eight hundred in cash and twenty head of cattle.”
“She will if she’s as eager to annul yer marriage as ye. The prospect of freedom will make it so.”
Her voice was toneless—neither encouraging nor judging, merely her stating a fact.
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“Son?”
He glanced up at her crystal-clear eyes.
“I’ll not tell ye what to do about yer wife. Ye must look to yer own conscience. But there’s one thing I will ask of ye.”
He braced himself. “What is it, Ma?”
“Take the vaccine,” she said. “If I must lose my daughter-in-law, I shall at least take comfort in knowing that she’ll succeed wherever she goes. But I couldn’t bear to lose my son.”
But the expression in her eyes told him that she wouldn’t be able to bear losing Mia, the daughter-in-law who had secured a place in her heart.
And neither would he.
But I’ve already lost her.
He curled his fingers around hers, then nodded.
“Aye,” he said, “I will.”