Page 132 of Ghost of the Ton

“But I’m not—”

He dipped his head and silenced her with a swift kiss. Then he rose and steered her out of the great hall. Monarch, who had been sleeping in front of the fire, leaped to his feet and trotted after them. But Hamish didn’t steer Mia toward her chamber—where Eilidh had insisted she remain until she left Glenblath for good, and, in her weakness, she’d agreed. Instead, he led her around the castle building, along the corridors and passageways that she’d come to know. Perhaps he intended for her to say goodbye to every stone that formed the building—every wall and tapestry, every soul that resided there…

By the time they reached Mia’s chamber, a fire was already crackling in the hearth, courtesy of Ailsa, who was poking at the base as Hamish pushed the door open.

“Ailsa, there’s no need to do that when you’re mourning your mother,” Mia said.

The girl rose and dipped into a curtsy. “It’s what Ma would have wanted, Yer Ladyship,” she said. She touched her face where the pockmarks, still fresh, had yet to fade. “I-I’m sorry I weren’t more—”

She broke off as Mia stepped forward and pulled her into her arms.

“It’s forgotten,” she said. “What matters now is that you’re alive—and your mother lives on in you. I know that she’ll be looking down, so proud of the lovely young woman you are.”

Ailsa sniffed and wiped her nose.

“Be off with ye now, lass,” Hamish said, his voice gentle. “Tell Mrs. McBride that ye’re not to do any work this afternoon. Murdoch and wee Billy need ye more than Lady MacLennan and me.”

The girl curtsied once more then slipped out of the chamber, leaving Mia alone with her husband.

They stood, staring at each other, the warmth and crackle of the fire filling the gulf between them. Then he held out his hand, uncertainty in his eyes.

“Mia… Mia, I want—”

He broke off as a scream came from outside.

“Lady MacLennan!”

Hamish sprinted to the door and pulled it open to reveal a young maidservant.

“Freydis? Has my mother been taken ill?”

“N-no, Master Hamish. I-I meant Lady Euphramia. We need her. It’s Iona—her pains have come.”

Mia took the young girl’s hand. “It’s nothing to fear,” she said. “Let me fetch my things. Meanwhile, I’ll need plenty of hot water, if you could run and ask Mrs. McBride.”

“N-no—Elspeth said to bring ye right away,” Freydis sobbed. “I-it’s the baby. There’s something wrong.”

“What’s wrong?” Mia said, a knot of dread tightening in her gut.

“The baby’s not turned—that’s what Elspeth said. A-and it’s already coming! Elspeth said that Mistress Iona could die. I’ve seen it before, Yer Ladyship—young Davinia, her who used to live in the croft near the school. She lost her child, and the Almighty took her the next day.”

“Davinia was a sickly girl,” Hamish said. “She always had been. My sister has a hearty constitution. She’ll be well, won’t she, Mia?”

His voice carried an undercurrent of despair. Mia took his hand and he curled his fingers around hers, tightening the grip until Mia groaned with pain.

“Davinia died screaming in agony, Master Hamish,” Freydis said, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Elspeth said that if Iona’s baby hasn’t turned, it’ll die and take the mother with it. She said—”

“Dear God!” Hamish cried. “Won’t ye stop? Bring the hot water, and cease yer prattling.”

Freydis ran off, still sobbing, and Hamish turned to Mia, his eyes glazed with fear.

“Is there anything ye can do?”

Mia’s heart urged her to reassure him, but a voice inside her head spoke of the fate that most likely awaited Hamish’s sister.

She squeezed his hand.

“I can try,” she said. “I’ll do everything I can.”