Page 103 of Ghost of the Ton

“It’s a small incision and, provided I keep my knife clean, the risk is minimal.”

“And if nobody is willing?”

“I hope to persuade them using reason,” Mia said. “Or, at the very least, the sight of my face and the opportunity to remove the chances of their suffering the same fate might be sufficient. If not, then there’s little I can do.”

“When do ye leave for Glasgow?”

“In three days. Dr. Nimmo is expecting us three days after that. We should be back within a fortnight.”

“Ye’re going unaccompanied?”

“Brodie has agreed to attend us,” Mia said. “I may need a second patient to ensure the chain is not broken.”

“He’s agreed?” Hamish asked.

“He offered,” his mother said. “He said he owed Mia a favor after she saved his arm.”

“Eilidh, I didn’t really save—” Mia began, but Ma interrupted.

“Ye did, lass. When will ye stop talking yerself down? Ye’ve done so much for us here, and are about to do even more. I dinnae ken what we’ll do if ye ever leave us.”

Mia colored, then rose to her feet. “Forgive me, I must be going. There’s much to do before we leave.”

“Can ye stay not for a while more, lass?”

“Forgive me, Eilidh, but I must make up another jar of your ointment before I go—there’s not enough left to last you while I’m away.”

Mia exited the chamber. Maisie rose too, but Ma caught her hand.

“There’s no need for ye to leave, lass. I promised ye a slice of cake.”

She gave a pointed look toward Hamish, who followed Mia out. Monarch rose, his claws clicking against the stone floor, to trot at his side.

Hamish caught up with his wife at the main doors. Heavens! For a lass, she could shift quickly on those legs of hers when she wanted to.

“Mia.”

She froze, then turned. But what could he say to atone for his behavior?

After a pause, he offered his hand. She hesitated at first, then took it.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“What for?”

“Ye must think me a beast.”

She smiled, her eyes glowing in the light of the setting sun that streamed through the high, arched window. Then she stooped to scratch the top of Monarch’s head. The deerhound let out a soft grunt of pleasure and thumped his tail against Hamish’s leg.

“Not all the time,” she replied softly. “And no different to any man.”

“Am I the same as any man?”

She ran her fingertips over the callouses on his hands.

“I have little experience of men, but from what I’ve seen, you’re as different to the rest of your sex as Monarch here is different to a litter of pugs.”

“What—I’m hairy, unkempt, and savage?”