Page 129 of Ghost of the Ton

He broke off, shaking, and Hamish’s heart ached to see the strongest, most brutish of men broken by sorrow.

“I know ye didnae think I loved that woman,” Murdoch said. “I see the judgment in yer eyes. But Evie was my heart. I wanted to be strong for her—rule my family with a firm hand to protect them from what I believed had been brought among us to bring them harm, for my Billy to grow up to be a strong lad, and my Ailsa to be an honest young lass. Isn’t that what every husband and father wants? Isn’t that what it means to be a man?”

He gestured to Mia, his eyes darkening with rage. Hamish held her closer as if to protect her.

“Murdoch, I ken ye’re angry, but—”

“Och, Hamish, do ye think my anger is at her?” Murdoch shook his head. “I’m angry at myself—and every man who seeks to judge an outsider, who’s incapable of looking beyond his doubts and fears to see her goodness. I hated yer wife for being a Sassenach, and marked by the pox. I called her hure and encouraged others to do so, and ye did naught to stop me.”

In his arms, Mia stiffened, and Hamish caressed her hair, as if soothing a frightened filly, until she grew still once more.

“I’ve been repaid for my folly,” Murdoch said, his voice hoarse. “Dinnae make the same mistake I did.”

“Ye cannae blame yerself.”

“But I do,” Murdoch said. “I must face my bairns and tell them that their ma is no more. That will be my true punishment—to look into their eyes and know that I’m the cause of their grief.”

“Just as I will have to look into the eyes of every soul at Glenblath and know that I’m to blame for the loss of the lives of so many good people,” Hamish said.

And for breaking the heart of the woman I love.

Mia leaned against him, slipping. He caught her and lifted her into his arms.

“Yer wife’s exhausted,” Murdoch said. “I dinnae think she’s slept more than a few minutes while caring for us. Perhaps it’s time someone cared for her.”

“But I dinnae deserve her.”

“Aye, ye do,” Murdoch said, his voice quiet. “Or at least, unlike me, ye still have the chance to prove that ye do.” He thrust his hands into his pockets, then straightened his stance. “And now, I must try to do right by Ailsa and Billy,” he said. “I wouldnae have them hear from anyone other than me that their ma’s with the angels.”

He wiped his eyes, then exited the chamber, leaving Hamish alone with his wife. But Mia had succumbed to exhaustion. His conscience berating him for relishing the feel of her in his arms—and the knowledge that, in that moment, she needed him, if only for a little while—he carried his unconscious wife to her chamber.

Chapter Thirty-Four

The minister finished the final prayer. Then he closed his Bible and bowed his head. Silence descended over the company in the churchyard as the trio who stood apart from the main group shuffled toward the open grave.

Murdoch, with his children Ailsa and Billy.

The huge Highlander unfolded a piece of paper in his hand. Then Ailsa linked her arm with his, tilted her head to meet her father’s gaze, and nodded while Billy clung to his hand.

A baby cried, quickly silenced, then Murdoch spoke.

“May we hear her in the breath of the Highland wind.

May we see her in the light of the winter sun.

May we feel her warmth by the hearth of our home.

We will remember her when the day is done.”

Mia blinked, her eyes stinging with the tears she fought to keep at bay. A hand touched her shoulder and she reached for it, running her fingertips over the roughened skin.

“Hamish…”

“Aye, Mia, I know.”

She leaned against him, succumbing to her need for his strength. He dipped his head and she felt his warm lips brush the top of her head.

“Come, lass,” he whispered. “Let them say their last goodbye to Evie. We have our duty to be strong for our clan.”