Page 59 of Ghost of the Ton

“Of course, my dear. We’ll do anything ye want. Won’t we, Hamish?”

Hamish couldn’t do anything but nod. What had caused Euphramia’s transformation?

“Now, leave us, son, so Mia can treat me,” Ma said.

Euphramia tidied up the teacups and took the tray into the kitchen.

“Go!” his mother snapped. “Go before ye upset her further.”

“What have I done?”

“Keep yer voice down!” she whispered harshly. “Men! Ye can never say or do what is right.”

“I invited her to dine with us, Ma—what more did ye want?”

“Aye, but did ye have to refer to her as yer wife?”

Fuck. Was that it?

“Did I?” he whispered.

“Just then, when ye invited her to dine.”

“Well—isn’t she my wife?”

“Aye,” she said. “The wife ye dinnae want. The wife ye’re intending to turn away as soon as ye can afford to rid yerself of her.”

He shook his head. “I cannae understand ye, Ma. First ye want me to call her my wife, then ye admonish me for doing so.”

“If ye cannae work it out for yerself, then ye dinnae deserve an explanation,” Ma said. “Hush! She’s coming back.”

The door opened and Euphramia appeared, a pile of blankets and a pillow in her arms. What the devil was she going to do with those?

“Hurry along, son,” his mother said, rising. “I’ve no wish for ye to intrude on this.”

He eyed the blanket and pillow, but said nothing. Then he bowed to Euphramia. “Thank ye for the tea.”

“You’re welcome,” she said stiffly. Then she set the blankets on the chest of drawers, plucked one from the top of the pile, and laid it out on the table.

“Go!” Ma said, shooing him as she might a particularly persistent and annoying cockerel.

Considering himself thoroughly dismissed, Hamish exited the cottage, closing the door behind him. But he couldn’t resist peering through the window to watch the women unobserved. Euphramia was placing a pillow at one end of the table on top of the blanket she’d covered it with. Then she led his mother toward the table and helped her to climb on top.

What in the name of the devil’s tits was she doing?

When she began to undo the buttons securing Ma’s gown at the back, he let out a low cry of surprise. Euphramia stiffened and turned toward the window.

Shit.

Hamish slipped sideways and crouched low, his heart thumping in his ears. He glanced up to see the soft orange glow from the window that stretched across the air, forming a pattern in the ground. Then a shadow appeared and he held his breath. Would she berate him for spying? But she merely drew the curtains, shutting out the light save for a thin sliver of orange broken by the ferns on the ground. After waiting a few heartbeats, he retreated to the path and made his way back to the castle.

Chapter Sixteen

Her basket over her arm, Mia pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders and continued along the path, which was becoming steeper the higher she climbed. The smooth surface underfoot had long since become treacherous, loose stones and rocks ready to entrap unsuspecting ankles. Twice already she’d slipped and fallen with a jolt as a stone shifted under her feet.

Perhaps they were right. The Highlands was no place for a Sassenach. Eilidh had been kind enough to lend her a sturdy pair of boots, though they were too big for her and her heels already carried the telltale soreness of blisters.

She spotted a flat rock ahead and picked her way over the rocks until she reached it. Then she climbed onto it and surveyed her surroundings.