Chapter Thirty-Five
Steel fingers gripped at Hamish’s heart as he saw his wife slip away. Today marked the end of her commitment to stay.
“Och, for the love of the devil’s fat, round arse!” his mother cried. She turned to Iona and placed her hands on her hips. “I’m glad yer bairn’s a girl, lass. At least she’ll grow up with some intelligence.”
“Unlike her numbskull of an uncle,” Iona said, rising from the bed.
“Ye shouldn’t be getting up, sister,” Hamish said.
“And ye shouldn’t be such a bloody arse, brother,” she huffed, grimacing. “Shite! It feels like my cunny’s been turned inside out.”
“Iona!” he said. “Dinnae curse in front of the bairn—or yer laird.”
“She’ll hear a great deal worse from ye, I’ll warrant, brother.”
“And ye are an arse,” his mother said, lifting the baby into her arms. “Do ye love yer wife?”
“Of course I bloody do!”
“Then tell her.”
“Better still, show her,” Iona said, her breathing labored as she limped toward a chair by the fireplace. “Och, that hurts.”
“That’ll teach ye to go carrying on with men such as Murdoch,” Hamish said. “And now yer bairn’s here, I must take him to task—make him face his responsibility, whether he’s in mourning or not.”
“Murdoch?” Iona let out a snort. “Ye think it was Murdoch?”
“Then who was it?”
“It was Robbie, wasnae it, lass?” Ma said quietly, as she rocked the baby in her arms. “I saw the way he looked at ye—heard how ye spoke of his Shona carrying on with others, and Shona never liked ye. Did ye love him, lass?”
Iona bit her lip, then shook her head. “I thought I did, but then he called me a hure when I said I was expecting a bairn—said it could be anyone’s brat.”
She reached toward Ma, who passed the baby back to her. Then she dipped her head and placed a kiss on the child’s cheek.
“She’s nobody’s but mine,” Iona whispered. “My wee Mairi.”
Mairi—it meant beloved.
“Aye, she’ll be beloved, with ye as her ma,” Hamish said. He opened the door and saw his wife’s retreating back at the far end of the passageway. “Mia!”
She stopped and turned, her face streaked with tears, and he held out his hand.
“Do ye not want to see yer niece?”
For a moment, he thought she’d refuse. Then she wiped her eyes and returned, each step seeming to take an age as he waited to touch her again. As she drew near, he took her hand.
“Iona!” she said. “You shouldn’t be up after such a difficult confinement.”
His sister let out a laugh. “We MacLennans are hardy lasses. And I have my doctor to take care of me, do I not?”
“Who?”
“Ye, of course!” Iona laughed.
Hamish’s heart swelled and, to his shame, his groin tightened at his wife’s smile.
Devil’s sweet, hairy arse—how beautiful she looked!
“Ye must come and meet the bairn properly, lass,” he said. “Ye’re not just a doctor who delivers a child and leaves. Ye’re her family. Wee Mairi will love ye as much as the rest of us—save one, whose love for ye nobody can surpass.”
Mia’s eyes flared with hope as if she wished, but could not trust, to understand his meaning. Then she nodded.
“Of course. I’m sorry, Iona, for leaving.”
She approached the fireplace and Iona handed the child over. Hamish held his breath, then his heart began to sing as joy illuminated Mia’s warm hazel eyes.
“Hello, little one,” she said. “Forgive me for being so uncivil as to not greet you properly. I’m Mia, and I am…” She paused and lifted her gaze.
“This is yer aunt, wee Mairi,” Hamish said. “She brought ye into the world and ye owe her yer life—as so many of us do.”
“And this,” Iona said, “is Mairi.” She met Mia’s gaze. “Mairi Euphramia MacLennan.”
Mia drew in a sharp breath, her eyes widening. “Iona, I don’t deserve such—”
“Aye, ye do,” Iona said. “Ye saved her life, so ye’re responsible for her as much as I. I’ll need ye to teach her to be strong, good, and kind—to be a better person than her ma.” She cast a saucy glance at Hamish. “And better than her uncle, though that won’t be difficult.”
Iona tilted her head to one side and regarded Hamish with her clear green eyes, and he smiled at the determined expression in them—and the firm set to her jaw. If wee Mairi took after her ma, she’d be a handful.
Then he saw it once more—the intensity of longing in his wife’s eyes as she smiled down at the little soul in her arms. How might she smile at her own child?
He blinked and his eyes blurred with moisture as she handed the baby back to Iona. When his vision cleared he saw his mother staring at him, and her lips moved as she mouthed something.
Show her, ye great big arse.
“Mia, would ye come with me?” he said, offering his hand. She stared at it, then, at length, placed her hand in his. He steered her out of the chamber.
“About fecking time,” Iona grumbled as she pulled a face. “Ye great big fool!”
He led his wife down a flight of stairs, then along the passageway toward the back of the castle building until they reached a thick, arched oak door engraved with Celtic knots. There he paused, tempering an onset of shyness.
What if she didn’t like it?
“What’s this?” Mia asked.
Unable to respond, his throat tight, Hamish opened the door and led her inside.
The room had been cleaned from floor to ceiling, the stones almost gleaming in the light of the sun that caught the walls, picking out the crystals in the granite.
One wall was covered with shelves that contained an array of jars, arranged in order of size, and a large wooden chest almost filled the opposite wall—each drawer Hamish knew to be filled with freshly laundered sheets and bandages.
The fireplace, which had gone unused since his da’s passing, was swept and laid, ready for lighting, with a pile of logs stacked to one side.
An iron pot, which Hamish had polished yesterday until he could almost see his face in it, was suspended over the fireplace, and a thick wooden table dominated the center of the room.
The chamber was as close as Hamish could get to replicating Mia’s parlor at Riverview Cottage.
“Take a look,” he said, pulling her farther into the room. “What do ye think?”
Mia glanced at him, a slight frown furrowing her forehead.
He gestured to the shelves. “Rory helped me with those, and Maisie cleaned the jars all ready for ye to use.”
She approached the shelves and ran her fingertips over the jars.
“The cabinet came from the old log store,” he said. “But it’s cleaned up well and only needed minor repairs. Open the drawers!”
She glanced up, and he cursed his eagerness. Devil’s ballocks, he sounded like a wee lad desperate to earn his ma’s praise. And he was desperate—for a sign of approval from the woman he loved.
Was this how the eagle felt when he’d built an eyrie for his mate, collecting twigs and branches to make it sound and feathers and heather to keep it warm, then perching himself on the edge, tempering his pride at his handiwork while he waited for her judgment—not only of the nest he’d built for her, but of his suitability as a mate?
Mia approached the cabinet and pulled open the top drawer, where rolls of bandages were stacked in a neat pattern.
“Maisie made the bandages. She knows how ye like them. She said I ought to…”
His voice trailed off as she turned her gaze on him, and he held his breath.
Would she reject him, or think him too forward?
“O-of course, ye’re under no obligation,” he said, rushing the words out to avoid her disapproval if she thought he sought to imprison her.
“I know ye can be a doctor anywhere. But ye can also be a doctor here, among people who care for ye, who need ye. Y-ye can still leave, if ye wish it, b-but if ye wish to stay a little longer, this room is yers.”
“And—my medicines?”
“They’re still in yer chamber. But there’s room for them here, see?”
He pointed to the empty spaces on the shelves.
“It’s yer choice, Mia. I didnae wish to choose for ye.
It’s a gift, this room. For ye. Whether ye accept it will not change how much I love ye.
We can still use what’s here—Iona’s learned much from ye, and Maisie’s offered to help her.
Well, what she said was that if I was so foolish as to let ye go, she’ll use it to the best of her abilities.
Rory told her she shouldn’t speak to her laird so, but I said to Rory that she had every right to, seein’ as she’s been such a friend to ye.
And perhaps wee Mairi might want to learn about medicines and herbs when she grows up.
Of course, I want ye to be here to teach her, but if ye’re not, I… ”
He paused, his heart hammering against his chest as she raised her hand.
Had he said too much? Was she angry—or the room not to her liking?
“What did you say, Hamish?” she said quietly.
“Och, I know she’s a wee bairn, but Mairi will be a bright lass, I’m sure of it, with Iona as her ma, and I’m sure she’d want to—”
“No,” she said. “What did you say before that?”
A light flickered in the depths of her eyes, the soft hazel deepening into shades of green and brown. Dare he believe that her eyes showed a hope to match his own?
“I said that I love ye, Mia.”
He took her hand and ran his fingertips over her skin, which was dotted with callouses on the underside—the marks of her toil and dedication—and pockmarks on the back—the marks of her bravery.
Then he placed his hand on her face. Her chest rose and fell in a sigh and she closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. He ran his thumb over the marks on her skin and moisture pricked his eyes.
How could anyone think her scars distasteful? He had long since seen them as marks of her beauty—that he loved as much as the rest of her.
She opened her eyes and doubt clouded their expression, as if she still felt shame. She moved to withdraw, but he drew her close and placed a kiss on her cheek, his lips brushing against her scars.
“Ye’re beautiful, Mia.”
“But I’m—”
“Ye’re beautiful,” he repeated, his voice firm. “I’ll cut the ballocks off anyone who says otherwise.”
Unable to stand before the goddess he wished to worship, he lowered himself to his knees.
“Hamish, you shouldn’t—”
“Hush, wife, and hear what I have to say. Ye promised to obey me, didnae ye?”
Her eyes flared with defiance, and his cock—that treacherous part of him that yearned to be buried in her once more—stirred at the prospect of taming that defiance in his bed.
And perhaps elsewhere, such as against the wall, over the table, or among the heather on the slopes of Beinn Blath…
“Stay,” he said. “Not for obligation or duty, but for love. I love ye, and I need ye like the fish in the river need water, like the trees need the light and the air, like the sinner’s soul needs redemption.”
He bowed his head and brushed his lips against her hand. Then he flicked his tongue against her fingers and was rewarded with a little gasp of pleasure.
“Ye’re a strong lass,” he said. “Strong enough to rule Glenblath by my side, and in my stead. We need ye—I need ye. And though ye may never need me, I am yours if ye’ll accept me—ready, and here. For ye. All for ye.”
He bowed his head, uttering a silent prayer to the Almighty.
Silence fell, which, though it might only have been a few heartbeats, was, to him, an eternity of agony. Then she slid her fingers against his, until they interlocked.
“You’re wrong, Hamish,” she said quietly. His stomach clenched with apprehension and he opened his eyes to see her smiling at him, her eyes gleaming with tears.
“Wr-wrong?”
“Aye,” she whispered, her lips curving into a smile. “I do need you—and I love you. I loved you from the moment I realized it was you who brought me the logs—that it was you who watched over me, unseen, to make sure I was safe.”
“Then I win,” he said, “for I believe I loved ye from the first moment I saw ye—the ghost whose final act was born of generosity and kindness. And I thank the Almighty that He brought ye back to life and into my arms. It now only remains for me to ask ye one question. Will ye consent to be my wife—not for convenience, nor an act of kindness to a stranger. But as a woman, willingly cleaving herself to the man who loves her?”
He almost wept at the joy that flared in her eyes. A tear splashed onto her cheek and she nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I will marry you—not as a dying woman wanting to help a stranger, but as a woman, utterly, completely, and devotedly in love.”
He rose to his feet, lifted his head, and let out a roar of joy. Then he circled his arms around her waist and spun her around.
“Hamish!” she said, laughing. “Let me go!”
“No, lass,” he said. “That is something I shall never do. Ye’re my beloved wife, and I’ll never let ye go again.”