Page 71 of Ghost of the Ton

Hamish released her arm, and she drew back her hand and struck him across the cheek.

What the devil was that for?

He lifted his hand to rub his cheek, and his sister flinched. Though her eyes sparkled with defiance, he saw fear in them. But, even if she might infuriate him, he’d never hit her—nor any woman. Didn’t she realize that? Or perhaps she was seeing how far she might push him with her taunts and wild behavior.

“Are ye angry with me, brother?” she said, a tight laugh in her tone. “Angry that I caught ye rutting?”

He tilted his head to one side. “Ma always told me that when a person is overly eager to accuse another of a sin, it means that the accuser has committed that sin themselves and they’re pushing their own shame onto another.”

She frowned. “What are ye saying, Hamish?”

“I’m saying that perhaps I ought to ask whether ye’ve been rutting—which would explain why ye’re often out at night, like a stray cat in heat.”

“How dare ye!”

She raised her fists, but he caught her wrists.

“Why dinnae ye beat me, then, brother, if ye think I’m a hure?”

“What purpose would that serve?” he said. “Would ye learn anything from it? Far better to let ye reflect on yer actions and those who might be affected by it.”

Was it his imagination, or could he see guilt in her eyes?

“Brodie’s a good lad,” he said. “I wouldnae want to see him hurt.”

“Brodie’s a mere boy,” she sneered. “He wouldnae know what to do with his cock even if it were stuffed inside a hure.”

“Then who are ye carrying on with?”

“Are ye trying to pretend that ye care?”

“Does he have a wife?”

“What if he does?” she said. “Ye’re happy for Maisie to spread her legs for everyone. Murdoch says she’s the best hure in the Highlands, and ye’re not against rutting her, either. Does that pockmarked wife of yers know that the cock that makes her scream also dips into—”

“Devil’s breeches, will ye desist?” Hamish roared. “With that vile tongue of yers, I’ll never find a husband willing to take ye on, and I have no wish to be saddled with ye forever!”

“I wouldnae take a man from here if ye paid me,” she said. “They’re all flea-ridden dogs, and their wives weak-bellied worms.” A sly smile spread across her face. “That Evie’s the weakest of them all—running after her man even when he’s rutting another, doing his bidding after he’s beaten her. Do ye think I want to be like her?”

Devil’s cock—did that mean…

“Are ye carrying on with Murdoch?”

“I’m carrying on with no one!”

“Ye seem a little too eager to deny it.”

“What does it matter what I say if ye’ll never believe me?” she said. “I’m…”

She drew in a sharp breath and clamped her hand over her mouth. Hamish took her arms.

“What ails ye, sister? Ye’ve not been well for weeks. And despite what I might say, I love ye, and—”

“No, ye dinnae,” she snarled, pulling free. “Ye’re too busy loving yerself—and now ye’re too busy rutting that Sassenach.”

“I’m not rutting her,” he said. “She’s my wife in name only. Soon she’ll be gone forever, and…” He paused, suppressing the pang of regret.

“So ye dinnae love her?”