Page 104 of Ghost of the Ton

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?

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.