Page 44 of Ghost of the Ton

She clasped her hands together—the same gesture she’d made in his study when he caught the fear and rejection in her eyes. Did she perhaps anticipate his reneging on their agreement and evicting her?

Hamish held out the slice of pie, still wrapped in a cloth. “An offering of peace.”

She eyed it, raising her eyebrows.

“Ye were missed at luncheon, so I brought a slice of Mrs. McBride’s pie. I thought ye might be hungry.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Her stomach let out a low growl.

“Yer body says otherwise,” he said, “but ye cannae eat it here—the room’s empty.”

He approached the chair, and she cried out, “Don’t sit there!” She colored, and he could swear she cringed as if expecting a blow. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but it’s got a broken leg, see?” She pointed to a leg that was split along the length and cast her gaze over his body. “It might not hold your…”

She paused, blushing.

“Aye, lass,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m a big man, am I not?”

Her eyes widened, and he caught a flicker of pleasure in them.

“I’ve not heard you laugh before,” she said quietly.

“I’ve had little occasion.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.” She wiped her hands on her apron, crossed the floor, and picked up the cloth.

“Ye’ve been cleaning the place?” he said.

She nodded. “I’ve almost finished this room. I thought it might do for somewhere to treat my patients—that is, if any are willing to come here.” Then she stopped and regarded him with a thoughtful stare. “You look surprised,” she said. “Surely you didn’t expect me to live in the dirt?”

“Of course not, but I didnae expect—”

“You didn’t think an Englishwoman capable of cleaning a house?” She gestured to the empty fireplace. “I’m no fine lady. I can even light a fire—there’s plenty of wood to be foraged hereabouts.”

He cast his gaze over her form, the drab dress the same she’d worn on the day of her arrival, and the apron covered in grime and soot.

Aye, she was no fine lady. But her complexion was ruddy with exertion, her eyes bright with vitality, and she was unafraid of hard work. Which made her better than any fine lady.

“Mrs. Bron lent me the apron,” she said. “I’ll wash it before I return it.”

“There’s no need, lass,” he said. “I’m sure Mrs. Bron meant for ye to keep it.” He glanced about the room, letting his gaze settle on a door leading to another chamber. “Is she here with ye?”

“No, I am alone.”

He let out a huff. “She should have sent someone from the castle to help ye.”

“She sent a manservant—Lachlan, his name was—to see if I needed any furniture. But I have enough.”

“A single broken chair?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“There’s also a table, in the room yonder,” she said, gesturing toward a door, “and a bed. They only need a good clean, and Lachlan was kind enough to bring me some blankets in the colors of your plaid. They look very pretty.”

“But he didnae stay to help ye clean the place?”

“I’ve no wish to be a burden, Lord MacLennan. It’s—”

“Cannae ye at least call me Hamish?” he said. “I understand why ye’ll not call me husband.”