Page 17 of Ghost of the Ton

“Forgive me, Reverend Sutherland,” Hamish said. “It seems, unfortunately, that I have a wife still living.”

Unfortunately…

As he uttered that cruel word, unable to confine his bitterness, the newcomer—no, like it or not, he must think of her as his wife—flinched, as if he’d struck her. Then, with quiet dignity, she lowered her veil, turned, and walked, alone, to the chapel door. It creaked open then shut with a clang.

Whispers broke out among the congregation and Hamish gave vent to his anger.

“Be quiet!” he roared. “Go to yer homes and leave me be. Ye’ve no reason to remain here. There will be no wedding here today.”

The guests dispersed. Some approached Hamish to offer their condolences; others scuttled past him, unwilling to meet his gaze. Iona let out a laugh, which was quickly silenced. Hamish’s mother paused and remained by his side until the chapel was empty.

“Hamish, son, what will ye do?”

“Other than arrange passage for Lord Young and his daughter to Edinburgh, I know not,” he said. “I’ve no wish to think on what will befall me after today.”

“But ye must, son.” She gestured toward the chapel doors. “They all depend on ye—family, servants, tenants, and…and…her.”

He placed his head in his hands. “I know, Ma, but all I want at this moment is to not be the laird, for everyone to leave me be.”

She placed a kiss on his cheek. “Aye, son, I ken that. I’ll leave ye to collect yer thoughts. But eventually ye’ll have to face yer responsibilities, and that lass ye married.”

“I will,” Hamish said. “But not today.”

*

The hisses and cries of the congregation swirled in Mia’s mind as she ran from the chapel doors toward the long drive along which she’d traveled moments before. But there was no sign of the carriage that had brought her here from the inn.

Not that it would have made a difference. She’d exhausted the last of her funds on the final stage of the journey and had nothing save the clothes in her valise and a shilling in her reticule. And that shilling was, by rights, the property of Dr. McIver, who’d given her five pounds for the journey—which, despite his protests, she’d promised to repay as soon as she was able.

The castle that had towered above the tree line from the moment the carriage emerged from the forest now engulfed Mia with its shadow. She shivered and drew her cloak about her. On the path toward the mountain in the distance, she could discern the edge of the shadow, the shape of battlements on the ground, and beyond, a squat gray rock that glistened in the sunlight as if it contained a thousand tiny diamonds. She set off toward the rock, pausing halfway to catch her breath. Dr. McIver had tried to persuade her to remain in Surrey for another month to regain her strength, but she hadn’t wanted to trespass on his charity any longer. She’d argued that the fresh air of the Highlands would revive her, as well as the company of a kind and loving husband. At night, since her recovery, she had lain awake, dreaming of the man with the kind eyes and rich voice who had thanked her so beautifully for her kindness. He’d promised to never forget her, to honor her gift for eternity.

She reached the rock and leaned against it. At close quarters she could discern a rainbow of colors—not only within the rock itself, where she could discern soft blues and purples among the gray, but the patches of lichen added yellows, greens, and a tint of red to the mix, completing the palette.

Dr. McIver was right about the Highlands—it was the most beautiful place to behold. And it was her home.

Or she’d believed it to be.

She turned her face to the sun, letting its warmth caress her face.

It seems, unfortunately, that I have a wife still living.

So short a sentence. Each word on its own had little significance. She’d used them all on numerous occasions. But the order in which he uttered them…

At first, her mind had refused to accept he’d said them. They must be a figment of her imagination, brought about by the demon who sat on her shoulder. That invisible little creature had emerged the first day she’d set eyes on her pockmarked reflection. Each time he came to the fore, he told her that she was no longer fit to live, let alone be seen. He had grown from the stares of the other inmates at the convalescent hospital. Then, when she’d ventured further afield, the sneers of contempt and disgust in the wider world gave him an almost solid form until she could hear his laughing in her ear.

And what had she focused on to conquer that little demon? She had steered her soul toward the man who’d promised to honor her forever. Throughout the journey to the Highlands, while she’d endured the looks of horror from the coachmen, innkeepers, and her fellow travelers, she had brought forth the image of him. Of Hamish MacLennan—her husband.

She had pictured a man with strong, smooth features and soft green eyes filled with love and tenderness. But the reality far surpassed her dreams. The man who’d turned to face her in the chapel was larger, handsomer, stronger, and more virile than the limit of her imagination of masculinity.

And he’d scorned her before a chapel filled with his family and friends.

She inhaled, taking in a lungful of the sweet, pure air, and listened to the sounds of the Highlands—the rush of the wind in the trees, a distant waterfall tumbling over rocks, and the faint cry of a bird of prey. Opening her eyes, she tipped her face upward, searching the sky until she saw it, an eagle circling far above, calling to his mate. Then she heard an answer, as the bird was joined by another in a dance of courtship.

“What am I to do?” she cried.

But the eagles did not respond. Instead, they spiraled upward until they disappeared out of sight, leaving her alone.

And, for the first time in her life, she was alone, totally alone, friendless and destitute in a strange land.