Page 83 of Ghost of the Ton

She met his gaze—and his heart withered. The desire that had, moments ago, pulsed thickly in her eyes had gone, replaced by disappointment and betrayal. Unable to say anything to assuage his guilt or ease her pain, he bowed and left.

As he trudged back along the path, he turned at the corner before the cottage was out of sight. A stream of smoke was already rising from the chimney and he caught a soft orange glow from the window. An accomplished lass, she was, and a voice whispered in his mind that though his home might be Glenblath Castle, his heart resided in the isolated little cottage, with the kindest, most capable, and most unappreciated woman he’d ever had the privilege to know.

Chapter Twenty-One

Mia had almost finished sweeping the floor when she heard voices.

“Mia, are ye there?”

“Of course she is, Rory, ye great fool! Didnae ye see the smoke from the chimney?”

She smiled at her friend’s voice.

“Come in, Maisie,” Mia called, wiping her hands on her apron. “You’re here early…” The front door opened and Maisie entered, a basket over her arm. Rory’s head appeared, peering around the doorframe. “Shall I make some tea?”

Rory nodded. “Aye, ye’d better, lass. I can see that young lad approaching, and he never says no to a cup.” He turned away from the door and called to someone outside. “Hey, Brodie lad, get yer arse inside quickly—it’s a cold one today and we dinnae want to keep this door open forever.”

The young man appeared, stamping his feet. “It’s right cold today, it is.”

“Cold enough to freeze a man’s cock off,” Rory said. “Beggin’ yer pardon, ma’am.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Mia said, unable to hide her smile. “It’s early yet.”

“We heard…I mean, we thought…ye’d appreciate a little help,” Maisie said.

“And ye might appreciate these also,” Rory added, raising his hand to reveal a brace of grouse, “seeing as ye’ve learned to pluck and cook Glenblath grouse to perfection.”

“Courtesy of your excellent tutelage,” Mia said. “But I couldn’t accept two grouse. It’s too generous. Perhaps you should give one to Evie instead?”

“And have that great lump of her husband eat it all?” Maisie laughed. “Nay—ye should accept it for Evie’s sake, Mia. I know ye’ve been letting her have a bite or two each time she visits ye.”

“Oh, no, she—”

“It’s no bother, lass,” Rory said with a wink. “I’ll not tell Murdoch. Now, let me get these hanging for ye, then we can see about tidying the place up.”

“Tidying up?” Mia said.

“Aye.” He glanced about the parlor, eyes narrowing as his gaze wandered about the shelves on which half of the jars were now missing, Mia having swept up the broken shards last night. “It looks as if ye’ve tidied away the worst of it.”

She felt her cheeks warming. News traveled fast.

“Is everyone talking about it?” she said. “Laughing at the pockmarked witch having been taught a lesson?”

“Of course not,” Maisie said. “I dinnae think anyone knows, unless Master Hamish saw fit to tell them, and I doubt that.”

“Why?” Mia said, unable to disguise the bitterness in her voice.

“Because he swore us to secrecy—said he’d toss Rory off the estate if he spoke as much of a word about what happened to ye.”

“When was this?”

“He visited me last night,” Rory said. “Foolish lad to climb halfway up the mountain! Got caught in the rainstorm. He said ye’d had a bit of bother and to visit ye in the morning to help.”

“He did?”

“Aye,” Maisie said. “Soaked to the bone, he were. But a dish of tea soon set him to rights.”

“Och, Maisie, love,” Rory chided, and Maisie let out a soft laugh.