“Me husband was an old man! He was sick, and he drank himself into an early grave! Do ye truly believe I possess the power to conjure death? Or are ye simply so small-minded that ye must blame a woman for every misfortune that befalls yer village?”
She swept her gaze over the other men, their cruel expressions heating her cold face until it blazed with anger. “I willnae be shamed for somethin’ I didnae do—somethin’ none of ye understand! Nae that ye would even try, the way ye all run away from me like a bunch of scared kittens!”
The tension in the hall became a palpable thing, thick and suffocating as her words hung in the air.
She looked at the Duke then. His expression was unreadable, but his fists were clenched tight. Her stomach twisted at the sight of him striding toward old MacGregor. Much as she loved heated discussions, she abhorred violence.
But perhaps these men do need to be taught a lesson.
“Enough!” Lord Allan’s voice rang out through the rising tumult. He stepped between Hugo and old MacGregor, his expression unyielding. “I willnae have me gathering spoiled by such foolish unpleasantness. Yer Grace, Lady Inverhall, I must ask ye to leave. Now.”
The Duke scoffed, a bitter, dismissive sound. “It is just mere pettiness, Lord Allan. That is all this is. Generations of small-minded fear and ignorance.”
Without another word, he grasped Elspeth’s arm firmly and steered her through the parting crowd.
They walked in silence until they reached the carriage. As they rode away, the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves was only eclipsed by the angry thud of Elspeth’s heart.
Once Lochlan Hall was out of sight, she finally spoke.
“I told ye so,” she whispered, her voice laced with weary defeat.
“What in God’s name happened? What did you do to your husband to make these provincial fools despise you so much? To call you a witch of all things. I know you Scots are a superstitious lot, but this is too much,” the Duke barked, running his handsthrough his light brown hair before rubbing his palms over his eyes.
Elspeth gasped, her eyes wide as she turned to face him. “Ye blame me for it too, then? Ye think I could be responsible for their petty superstitions?” she scoffed.
“They were ready to gather the torches, were it not for Lord Allan’s intervention.”
“I have done nothin’, Yer Grace. Nothin’ happened. Me husband was an old man, sick as a dog, and he drank himself to death! That is all. The physician even confirmed it. Bloody hell, I should’ve had him write it down and sign it while he wasnae deep in his cups.” Her voice shook now, anger and disbelief mingling in her chest. “Are ye truly so naive to believe such nonsense?”
“Then why?” the Duke pressed, leaning in closer. “Why do they hate you with such vehemence?”
“Because they are superstitious, like ye said!” she snapped, flinging her arms out, as if she could fling the judgment away with them. “Because these men are wary of women who have interests beyond hearths and knittin’ needles. Because I collect herbs! Because I’d rather read a book than gossip about me neighbors! Because I am different. I willnae deny it. I never have.”
“We will go to Edinburgh, then,” the Duke muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if the matter exhausted him. “It isa more civilized city. Perhaps a new set of faces will be more accommodating. Then we can?—”
“No.” The word came fast and hot. She nearly bolted upright in her seat. “I willnae go to Edinburgh! This is me home!”
“Perhaps it is too late even for Edinburgh,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her. “Word of tonight’s… display will spread like wildfire through the clans and soon reach the city. The people there will avoid us just as readily. I cannot afford months of this mess. There is only one way forward.”
She stiffened, and her pulse quickened. “And what, pray tell, would that be, Yer Grace?”
“I must take you with me. To London.”
For a moment, Elspeth could only stare. The rocking motion of the carriage beneath them, the jiggling of the lantern overhead—all of it seemed to still. Then, abruptly, she fell back against the velvet cushions and began to laugh. A deep, guttural, half-hysterical sound that startled even herself.
It tore out of her unbidden, unstoppable. The absurdity of it. The sheer arrogance.
London.London?
The man was mad.
“I was indesperateneed of a good laugh,” she gasped, wiping her eyes. “Surely ye’re jestin’. Surely even ye cannae just uproot me like some scraggly bush to be planted wherever suits yer fancy.” She leaned forward, her fingers digging into the seat between them. “This is me home, me life. I belong here. In Scotland. In Inverhall?—”
“You belong where I say you belong,” the Duke interrupted, calm and imperious, as if she were a misbehaving servant rather than a woman fighting for her life.
Elspeth went still, the last breath of laughter dying in her throat.
“I have power in London,” he went on. “With a boost to your fortune and my influence, someone respectable will wed you. I will make certain of it. You will be far from this provincial idiocy.”
