Page 105 of Ghost of the Ton

And she loved it.

Further occupation awaited her in the future, both the immediate, with her departure for Glasgow tomorrow, and thereafter.

Mia heard the crunch of a footstep on frost and turned.

“Who’s there?”

The only response was a rush of the breeze in the treetops and the ever-present backdrop of the water.

“Evie, is that you?”

Her call was met with silence, and she unlocked the door, placed her basket on the parlor table, and made her way to the kitchen to fetch a pot. Then she went back outside to fill it from the river. A further crunch of footsteps made her turn, and she called out.

“Is someone there? Do you need help?”

But there was no response. Mia returned to the cottage, set the pot beside the fireplace, and gathered an armful of logs from the basket to lay the fire.

The door slammed behind her and she startled, dropping the logs.

Standing in front of the door was a man.

“Wh-who are you?” Mia stammered.

He stepped forward.

“Murdoch?” Mia said, as his face came into the light, eyes glittering with loathing, lips curled into a sneer.

“Aye.”

“I-is Evie unwell? D-do you want me to visit her?”

“My wife’s nothing to do with ye, woman. I dinnae want ye to do anything other than leave her be.”

“But she—”

“She disnae need a woman such as ye.”

“What?” Mia said. “An Englishwoman? Or a pockmarked whore?”

“Witch!” he snarled. “Ye should be whipped for that foul tongue of yers.”

“Why?” Mia said, her tone expressing more boldness than she felt. “It’s what you call me.”

“Ye’re a woman and must do as ye’re told or face the consequences.”

“Is that what you tell your wife?” she said, folding her arms. “Do you make her face the consequences of speaking for herself?”

“She’s my wife!” he roared. “And she’s a fool for listening to yer poison. If I were yer husband I’d have ye whipped raw. In fact…”

He paused, and his mouth curled into a cold smile that did more to heighten her fear than his anger.

“I know just what ye need.”

He reached for the door, and Mia’s stomach churned in horror as she heard the key turn in the lock. Then he advanced. She glanced about, and her gaze fell on a candlestick. She moved toward it, and he lunged forward and grasped her wrist.

“Let me go!” she said. “You’re hurting—”

He pulled her hard against his body, then gripped her arms, and she let out a groan as his thick fingers dug into her flesh.