Page 126 of Ghost of the Ton

The maidservant glanced at Ailsa, then rose and bobbed a curtsy before exiting the chamber.

“Do ye need anything?” Hamish asked.

“Some water and clean cloths,” Mia said. “I’ve brought everything else I need.”

“I’ll bring ye some.”

“No, you cannot return.” Mia gestured to the sick girl in the bed. “It’s not safe for you.”

“Tomorrow, then? Will it be safe tomorrow?”

She shook her head. “If we can contain the infection, it might be safe in a few days. But if it’s spread, it could take weeks, given how many people hereabouts are not vaccinated. That’s why it’s important to isolate not only the sick, but those who are not protected.”

He took her hand, then lifted it to his lips.

“Mia, forgive me for not taking the vaccine sooner—and for not persuading others to do so.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she said. “You love the people here in your care. I’m sorry if I ever implied otherwise.”

“I’m a fortunate man to have ye. I lo—” He hesitated, then nodded. “Thank ye,” he whispered. “I’m glad ye’re here. I’m proud to call ye wife, even if I’ll soon no longer be able to do so.”

She curled her fingers around his, and his nostrils flared. But before she could respond, the door opened and Elspeth returned.

“Mrs. Bron is organizing the great hall for ye, ma’am,” she said. “She’s asked if ye’ll be wanting to stay here at the castle while ye treat the sick.”

Mia turned to Hamish, and saw nothing but the most intense need in his eyes.

“Please,” he whispered. “We need ye—I need ye,”

At length, she nodded, and her heart swelled at the flicker of hope in his eyes.

“Mrs. Bron says we’re all to be at yer disposal for as long as ye need us,” Elspeth added.

“Thank you,” Mia said. “I pray it shall not be for long.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Hamish couldn’t remember a time he felt so impotent, so inconsequential, as he did during the month following Ailsa’s falling ill. More than thirty souls were brought to Glenblath Castle with signs of infection, a steady stream arriving the first week, which trailed off as the days passed. His wife greeted each arrival with compassion, optimism, and a determination to assuage their fears.

No wonder those doctors had praised her so much! Hamish could only feel shame at the resentment he’d harbored at Mia having the admiration of other men. It had been a resentment born of male pride and a sense of ownership over the woman who belonged to him in the eyes of the law and the Church. But in the eyes of the Almighty, the higher power, she was a woman in her own right—independent and intelligent. She ran the makeshift hospital better than any man, with the efficiency of a trained doctor and the kindness of a woman, nurturing each patient, tending to their pains, holding their hands, and soothing them to sleep at night while they coughed and groaned.

As for his sister…

Iona, despite her condition, had insisted on nursing the sick alongside Mia. At first Hamish had assumed she’d grow weary of the drudgery of issuing medicine, wiping foreheads, bathing sores, and fetching and carrying, but she obeyed Mia’s orders with an enthusiasm and compassion that never waned, not once complaining about the aches in her back and feet—aches that were apparent when he saw her collapse into a seat at each day’s end, rubbing her back and placing a protective hand over her swollen belly.

As for the disgrace to his family—Hamish couldn’t be more proud of his sister. She was a warrior, a future mother protecting herself and the child she carried, weathering the taunts, even those that came from the lips of those she tended to. The worst offender was Murdoch. Even in the throes of fever he called her a hure, yet she held her tongue and cared for both him and his frail little wife.

Clearly, despite Reverend Sutherand’s preachings—which Hamish had listened to with more care now that death hung over Glenblath—some men were irredeemable.

Was Hamish also irredeemable?

He glanced at the scar on his arm where Mia had administered the vaccine to him over a fortnight ago, and to others whom she’d managed to treat before they succumbed to the smallpox.

“Are ye proud of her, son?”

Hamish turned to see his mother standing beside him, leaning over the gallery at the activity below.

“My sister?” he said. “Or my wife?”