Page 11 of Ghost of the Ton

“Iona’s taken good care of me,” his mother said. “Haven’t ye, my love?”

Iona at least had the grace to blush. Doubtless she’d been spending Hamish’s absence wandering about the hills and causing mischief. She’d always been a wild lass, so unlike his gentle mother that he’d often thought she were a changeling left by the kelpies.

Ma gestured toward the carriage. “I take it yer trip to London was successful?”

“Partly,” Hamish said.

“If ye’re married, it’s most uncivil to leave yer bride waiting in the carriage.”

“I’m not married,” Hamish replied. “Not anymore.”

Murdoch let out a laugh. “Ye talk in riddles. Is there a wench in there or not? Or perhaps she’s an ugly woman and ye’re ashamed of her?”

Robbie chuckled but was silenced as Shona gave him a sharp nudge.

“She no longer lives,” Hamish said. “I was widowed within days of the wedding.”

“Oh, Hamish!” his mother cried. “I’m so…”

“It’s all right, Ma. It was expected. I’m not grieving, only thankful for what the lass did for us.”

“What do ye mean? What lass?”

“Mr. Stockton presented me with a girl on her deathbed who wished to marry a man so that he might claim her fortune.”

“Well!” Murdoch said. “I’ve never heard the like. How much did ye get?”

“A little over a thousand pounds,” Hamish said. “It’s cleared some of the debts, and should enable us to service the rest.”

“A thousand?” Robbie said. “Easy work if ye can get it.” He glanced at Iona. “Perhaps ye can make a similar arrangement for this wee one here—find her a man on his deathbed. Old man Stewart two valleys over must be sitting on a tidy sum, he’s such a miser. He cannae have long left and might be willing to part with cash if yer sister parts her—”

“Robbie!” Shona cried as Murdoch laughed. “Leave her be.”

“I dinnae need ye to speak for me,” Iona said, glaring at Shona. “Ye’re nothing but a whore who—”

“Sister, that’s enough!” Hamish roared. “Do ye want the strap?”

“Ye’d never dare.”

“Care to test me on that?” Hamish said. “I’m disappointed to have returned while working hard for the benefit of Glenblath to find ye’ve not improved one jot. In fact, ye’re worse than ever.”

His sister’s body stiffened, and for a moment, he thought she might strike him. Then, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, she whirled around and sprinted across the drive, slipping between two outbuildings.

Holy cock—that was all he needed, another dose of his sister’s histrionics. With a sigh, he moved to follow her, but his mother caught his arm.

“Leave her be, son. She’ll come to her senses after a good dose of fresh air.”

“She needs a good dose of the strap,” Murdoch said with a growl.

Hamish winced. His late father had often taken a strap to Iona, but though it tempered her wayward ways, Hamish could never bring himself to adopt the same form of discipline now he’d succeeded as laird, no matter the provocation. No man could call himself a true man if he used violence to keep his women in order.

Iona needed a husband, and the sooner Hamish could hand over responsibility for her to another, the better. But he wanted her to marry for love, not necessity.

“If my Ailsa spoke to me like that,” Murdoch said, “I’d leather her arse so hard she’d not be able to sit down for a twelvemonth.”

The maidservant at the end of the line blushed and shuffled from one foot to the other.

“Ye need to beat the wildness out of yer sister,” Murdoch continued. “’Tis the only way to teach a woman her place, is that not so, Robbie?”