Page 98 of Ghost of the Ton

Iona watched as Mia settled herself in the chair at the other side of the fireplace and waited. After a pause, she spoke again.

“He’s very strict.”

“His duty as laird is to be strict,” Mia replied.

“Aye, but I cannae—” Iona broke off and sighed.

“Your brother has to maintain the safety and order of the household to protect those who are dependent on him,” Mia said. “He rarely has the luxury of indulgence.”

“Is that how it must be?”

“It’s how it is,” Mia said. “It doesn’t mean that he’s incapable of love—only that he cannot show it in a manner that gives immediate comfort. Brothers, fathers, and…husbands don’t love any less merely because they cannot show it. So the responsibility of giving comfort and counsel often falls to mothers and sisters.”

“I have no sisters, and I cannae tell Ma what…” Iona shook her head and the sneer returned to her lips. “Ye’re talking nonsense,” she said. “Sassenach nonsense.”

Mia let out a laugh. “I suspect I am, seeing as I have no father or mother living, nor have ever had siblings. As to a husband”—she paused to maintain her composure—“in every sense that matters, I don’t have a husband either. Now, how’s that water coming along?” She leaned over the pot. “Only a few minutes more, then we can have tea.”

“I dinnae want tea.”

“Well, I do,” Mia said crisply. “I might as well make two cups as one.”

Iona said nothing to that. As the first hiss of steam rose from the pot, she rose and approached the shelves, her gaze wandering over every jar, every pot, as if searching for something.

“In answer to your question,” Mia said, “no. I don’t.”

“Ye dinnae what?”

“I don’t think you were the one who broke my things.”

“Why not?”

“You may be an angry young woman—even unhappy…” Mia began.

“I’m not unhappy.”

“But you’re not cruel, or unkind.”

“I’ve called ye a pockmarked hure.”

“Excepting your mother and a handful of others, who in the whole of Glenblath can say they’ve not called me such?” Mia replied. “Does that mean every soul here is cruel? There’s a difference between saying something unkind and being unkind. You’re clever enough to understand that.”

“Are ye trying to flatter me?” Iona asked.

“What would be the point of that? An advantage of having a face like mine is that I’m not bound by the need to flatter others. An ogre has the freedom to speak the truth without fear of being judged, given that she’s already judged by all she meets.”

“Ye’re not an ogre.”

Iona’s words were so soft, Mia could have believed she’d imagined them.

Then Iona gestured to the jars and bottles. “Are ye as clever as ye say in treating ailments?”

“I know a little about the healing properties of different herbs.”

The curiosity in the girl’s expression intensified. Was she perhaps suffering from something that might explain the unhappiness that always sat in the depths of her eyes?

Mia indicated the calendula salve. “This helps to prevent putrefaction of wounds. I used it on Brodie after he cut his arm. And”—she pointed to the jar containing the strips of willow bark—“this was to ease his pain.”

Iona’s eyes widened. “B-Brodie? Was he hurt?”