Ewan knocked on the print shop door and waited a few minutes. He then pounded on it. When there was no answer, he tried the handle to find it open. After easing inside, he took off his hat and set it atop a pile of papers by the door. “J.P.? Jessie?” he called out as he moved into the room. He heard a snuffle and walked to her small living area.

The curtain was drawn, and he pulled it back. Jessamine lay on the cot, clutching her side as she dozed. He traced a finger down her arm before kissing the top of her hair, so softly she would not feel it in her sleep. “Jessie,” he murmured, tapping her arm.

He reared back as her hand struck out, slapping him across his forehead and nose. He held up an arm to ward off any other attack before grabbing her hands. “Shh,” he whispered. “’Tis me. Ewan.”

She sighed as she settled on the bed and shook subtly. “Can you get the doctor? I don’t feel well.”

“Aye, but tell me what hurts,” he said as he ran a hand over her head.

“Ever since I fell this morning, my side hurts. I think I broke a rib.” She clutched at her side with a hand and grimaced with each breath.

“I’ll see if he can come, and I’ll ensure I obtain something for the pain.” He paused as she grabbed his hand with her free one.

“No laudanum. Nothing with opium.”

He nodded and then realized she could not see his actions as her eyes were closed. “Aye. I’ll find the doctor and return.”

He rushed from the print shop and returned home. He found Annabelle in the kitchen. “Anna, I ken it’s a lot to ask, but could ye help me?” He motioned for her to follow him and picked her coat up off the peg and helped her in it. He led her outside, walking at such a brisk pace that neither were able to speak. When he glanced back at her, he slowed. “Sorry. Ye should no’ rush so in yer condition.” When they reached the print shop, he guided her inside and led her to J.P. lying injured on her cot.

“Walter visited her this morning and pushed her. I’m going for the doc, but I did no’ want her to be alone.” He watched as Annabelle nodded while he pulled a chair over for her to sit next to J.P. He squeezed Annabelle’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

After he searched the saloons for the doctor, and then finding his home and office empty, Ewan went to the Boudoir. Ezekial met him with a menacing glower. “I thought you understood you were barred after last night’s antics.”

Ewan stood in the hallway and met Ezekial’s glower with a fierce glare. “I do no’ understand why ye’re mad at me. I dinna cause the ruckus here.”

Ezekial crossed his tree-branch-size arms over his chest and half smiled. “You were the one to break the furniture and to cost the Madam a fortune. Until that debt is paid, you are not welcome here.”

Ewan leaned forward, although he was still a few inches shorter than Ezekial. “How can ye defend such a woman as the Madam? A woman who allows the women under her charge to be abused? Beaten?” He shook his head. “Do ye no’ care that one of them will die under yer watch?”

Ezekial watched him impassively.

Ewan took a calming breath. “Is the doc here? I’ve need of his services.”

Ezekial pointed for him to remain in the hallway before striding upstairs. After nearly twenty minutes, the doctor descended the stairs, buttoning up his waistcoat as he walked.

“What is so urgent, young man?” He thrust his black medicine bag at Ewan and slung on his jacket. He marched outside with Ewan beside him.

“Do ye really have business at the Boudoir midday?” Ewan asked as he led the doctor toward the print shop.

“The whores are always in need of my expert touch,” the doctor said.

Ewan snorted and shook his head as he walked the rest of the way in silence. He ignored the doctor’s grumbling about being called upon to care for the firebrand reporter and ushered him inside.

Ewan and Annabelle stood on the opposite side of the curtain, which the doctor had pulled shut to afford privacy, and listened to his mutterings and her groans of distress. When Ewan moved to enter the curtained-off area, Annabelle grabbed his arm and shook her head.

“You can’t, Ewan. Not in front of a man like that.” She nodded toward the shadow of the doctor. “He would spread gossip faster than you can imagine. He already will.”

Ewan stilled, stifling a growl of protest. When the doctor pulled back the curtain, Ewan schooled his face into a mask of impassivity.

“She has a broken rib. Give her this three to four times a day to dull her pain. She’ll be fine with time.” The doctor thrust a bottle at Ewan.

“Wait.” Ewan grabbed his arm. “What is in this? Is it laudanum?”

The doctor watched him as though he were duller than a butter knife. “Of course it is. You want to ease pain, that’s what you give. You want her to remain in pain, don’t give it.” He freed himself from Ewan’s hold, slamming the door behind him.

Ewan stared at Annabelle. “She doesna want anything with opium. She told me that before I went for the doctor.”

Annabelle looked at J.P. sweating on the bed and moved to her, swiping at her forehead. “Ewan, it’s the only thing that will help her pain. You must give her some.”

He held the bottle in his hand before moving to the small kitchen area. He rummaged before he found a clean spoon. When he sat on the edge of the bed, he held the bottle and spoon in one hand and rubbed a finger over J.P.’s brow. “How are ye, Jessie?” he whispered.

“Hurts,” she rasped. She opened pain-dulled eyes to him, eyes that had only ever been full of life. “Every breath is an agony,” she breathed in a voice so low he barely heard her.

Ewan watched as Annabelle turned away, battling a sob. “I have medicine for ye. ’Twill take away yer pain.” He watched as she closed her eyes as though in agreement. “’Tis laudanum.”

“If you give that to me, don’t leave me.” She gasped as she took a too-deep breath.

“Do ye want the medicine, Jessie?” Ewan asked. He softly placed a palm against her cheek.

“Yes.” A tear trickled out.

He frowned, and his hand shook as he measured out a small dose. “I’ll give ye a wee amount, and then we’ll see if ye need more. Is that all right?” He eased the spoon into her mouth and waited until he knew she had swallowed the medicine. After setting aside the bottle and spoon, he held her hand, his thumb tracing patterns over her skin. “I will no’ leave ye.”

After a few minutes her breathing evened out and her hold on his hand slackened. He focused on Annabelle. “Are ye all right, Anna?”

She sat on the chair beside him, quiet and drawn. “Yes. It made me realize how much Fidelia had been hurt earlier this year. How much she can be hurt again. And I hate that there is nothing I can do to help her. That she still wants nothing to do with me.”

Ewan made a sound of agreement deep in his throat but refrained from saying more.

Annabelle rose. “I should return home. Cailean will be frantic when he realizes I’m gone.” She squeezed his shoulder. “It isn’t proper for you to remain here, Ewan. Come with me, and we’ll send Sorcha over to sit with her.”

Ewan snorted and shook his head. “Sorcha would poison Jessie with the medication.” He rubbed at his forehead. “I promised Jessie that I’d stay, and I will no’ break that promise.” His gaze was haunted by memories. “Dinna ask me to.”

Annabelle nodded and squeezed his shoulder again. “I’ll save dinner for you. If you aren’t home at a decent hour, I’ll have Cailean bring you a plate.”

Ewan nodded his agreement. “Thank ye, Anna. I couldna have asked anyone else to aid me today. The others were too angry.”

Ewan barely acknowledged her departure as he remained focused on Jessamine. He told her stories from his youth, about his travels to the United States and his reunion with his brothers. He held her hand as she battled pain and her fear of the medicine that was to aid her. The sky darkened as night fell, and he lit a lamp so as to see her face.

Hours later he jumped as a hand clapped him on the shoulder. He looked up to meet his eldest brother’s worried gaze. “Eat.” Cailean thrust a plate of food at him and shook his head to dissuade him from arguing. After Ewan accepted the food, Cailean pulled over the lumpy chair Ewan had sat in the previous night and collapsed into it.

“Why are ye here, Ewan?” Cailean asked, his accent stronger in his agitation. “Ye have to ken what this will mean.”

Ewan wolfed down the meat loaf and potatoes. He paused before attacking the piece of apple pie. “I ken what I’m doing.”

“Do ye? Do ye understand that ye’ll have to wed her if ye don’t leave here with me? It’s night, and the longer ye remain here, the worse it appears.” He sighed and clasped his hands together in front of him before meeting his youngest brother’s defiant gaze. “She’s not Flora.”

Ewan jerked as though Cailean had punched him. “Aye, I ken that well enough.”

Cailean took another deep breath, calming his emotions. “You don’t have to try to save her. Or any of the others. There is no way you can.”

“Ye believe that’s why I go to the Boudoir?” Ewan asked. “Ye think it’s because I’m intent on savin’ women who have no interest in leavin’ such a place?” He set the plate on the floor with a thud and looked at Jessamine who rested on the bed.

“Why else do you go there? Why do you torment yourself when I know you don’t go upstairs and partake of the favors they offer?” Cailean’s hazel eyes shone with confusion and concern.

“The last time I saw her was at a place like the Boudoir.” He shook his head as though in defeat and shrugged. “When I’m there, I feel close to her, if only for an instant.”

“You’ll never see her again, Ewan,” Cailean said, his voice harsher than he intended.

Ewan nodded and clenched his jaw. “Aye, I ken that.” He raised bleak eyes, made all the bleaker as his cheerful mask was completely absent. “I’ve always kent that.” He took a deep breath. “She’s been dead for years.”

Cailean exhaled and gripped his brother’s arm. “I’m sorry, Ewan. I didn’t know.”

Ewan shrugged his shoulders. “When I advised you to find another, before you met Anna, I knew what I was talking about, Cailean.” His bittersweet smile did little to ease his long-held sorrow. “I’m a hypocrite though. I willna do the same for myself.”

Cailean frowned and looked at Jessamine asleep on the bed. “If you won’t do the honorable thing by her, leave with me. Allow her to keep her reputation.”

Ewan shook his head. “Nae, I willna leave.” He clasped her hand. “I’m honorable, aye?”

Rather than soothing his brother, his words provoked greater agitation. “Think about what you are doing.”

Ewan looked at Jessamine. “I have. Dinna worry, Cail. Everythin’ will turn out fine. It always does with me.” His carefree grin met Cailean’s glower. “Ye have to ken I’ll never follow the town’s dictates.”

Cailean sighed and slapped him on his shoulder. “At least sit in this chair. It’s got to be a little more comfortable than that bare wooden one.” He rose, scooting it to where Ewan sat. When he saw that his brother was as comfortable as possible, he slipped out the front door.

After Ewan had finished eating his pie, he stretched his legs in front of him as he prepared for an uncomfortable night in the chair. When he was about to slip into a half-awake state, he heard her voice.

“Who was Flora?”

He opened his eyes and turned his head to meet Jessamine’s alert, pain-filled gaze. She shook her head as he pointed to the bottle on the nightstand by the bed and waited for him to answer her question.

“Flora was the woman I loved on Skye. Her father was poor, which was sayin’ somethin’ as none of us had two coins to rub together. He was forced off the land afore our family.” Ewan’s eyes shone with emotion. “I promised her that I’d find her, that I’d wed her, that we’d have a wonderful future together, but that I needed time to save money.”

J.P. waited for him to continue, her eyes filled with compassion rather than a reporter’s rapacious curiosity.

“Cail sent me money for my journey. I never planned to travel here. I was goin’ to use it for my weddin’ and to live with Flora. I’d find work in a factory in the lowlands. Do anythin’ I needed to as long as I could be with Flora.” He cleared his throat and shook his head as though embarrassed by his youthful love.

“What happened?” Jessamine reached out a hand and waited until he held hers. “You’re here and not there.” When he remained silent, she whispered, “I’m asking as a friend, not as a reporter.”

He swallowed and took a deep breath. “I traveled to Glasgow. No easy feat from Skye. I’d never traveled farther than ten miles from our land, so the big city was a shock.” He shook his head. “The buildings on top of each other. The waste everywhere. The stench of all those people living together.” He shook his head. “After days of searchin’, I found my Flora.”

Jessamine frowned. “At a whorehouse.”

“Aye, a whorehouse. Dyin’.” He blinked a few times, although his gaze remained unfocused, envisioning a long-forgotten scene. “She’d caught some nasty disease an’ was little more than skin an’ bones.”

“What did you do?”

He sniffled. “I paid for my time with her. ’Twas a filthy, poorly run place. Nothin’ like the one here. When we were in her room, I wrapped her in a blanket and carried her out the back steps. I nursed her until she died, three days later.”

“Why didn’t she wait for you?” Jessamine squeezed his hand.

“Her family was proud, ye ken, but they had no money. When they arrived in the big city, her father didna find work. He had no skills, little education, an’ too many mouths to feed.” Ewan bowed his head.

Jessamine grimaced, and Ewan was uncertain if it was from his story or her own pain. “So he sacrificed his daughter for the benefit of the family?”

“Aye,” Ewan breathed. “An’ robbed me of her.” He swiped at his cheek and rubbed his shirtsleeve under his nose. “I would have loved her an’ loved her well.”

“Oh, Ewan, how tragic,” Jessamine whispered. “All this time I thought you were carefree. That you’d been spared the harsh realities of life.”

He huffed out a laugh. “No one’s been spared harsh realities, Jessie. If ye dinna ken that, then ye are no’ a very good reporter.”

He saw a shadow flicker over her face and frowned. “Are ye in pain?” When she nodded, he picked up the medicine bottle and raised an eyebrow. After she nodded once more, he gave her a small dose. “Sleep, Jessie. I’ll be here next to ye.”

* * *

By the following day, Jessamine’s pain had lessened enough that she no longer requested laudanum. At least that is what she told Ewan. In truth, the pain continued as a hot iron in her side, constantly present. She feared it would always be there. Movement was difficult, but, after telling her lie that the medication was no longer needed, she had to swallow all cries of distress and cover a grimace with a smile.

When seated in bed, with a cup of soup in front of her and one of Annabelle’s sweet rolls cut into small pieces, she sighed. Immediately the burning in her side intensified, and she masked the pain with a smile as she looked at the bounty in front of her. “How nice of your family,” she murmured.

“I ken ye are in pain, Jessie,” Ewan said. “I dinna understand why ye are tryin’ to hide it from me.”

“The pain is bearable,” she insisted as she took a slurp of soup and blushed.

He swiped at her mouth as though she were a child, shaking his head in disagreement. “Nae, I ken what it is to bruise a rib, never mind break one. Ye’ll have pain for weeks. Why will ye no’ take the medicine offered?”

Her gaze filled with a defiant desperation. “No more medication. Ever!”

He frowned but nodded. “Aye, it’s yer choice.” He waited as she ate half her soup and a few pieces of the roll. When it was evident she would eat no more, he removed the food and set it in her miniscule kitchen area.

She rested against the pillows with her hands crossed over her waist. “I was never going to print that story,” she whispered. She met his surprised gaze and nodded. “About Leticia.”

“Why was it on yer desk?”

She shrugged and then winced. “It was a story I’d investigated and considered reporting.” She met his intense stare. “It’s a good story.” When he continued to stare at her and remained quiet, she sighed. “But I realized I’d do as much damage printing that article as I did with Bears’ story.” She flushed. “And I like Leticia.”

Ewan frowned as he leaned against the counter in her kitchen. “So it makes a difference whether or not ye like the person? If ye didna, ye wouldna mind destroyin’ their reputation?” His eyes flashed.

She winced again as she let out a deep breath. “I’m learning, Ewan, about how to be a small-town reporter. It’s very different from the big city. And, unfortunately, it does matter if I like you. If I were to learn a similar tale about Mrs. Jameson, I would find it difficult not to print it.”

Ewan shook his head. “Keep learnin’, Jessie. I still believe ye should use yer intelligence to write humor and other such articles.”

“Be patient,” she whispered. “As it is, I won’t print anything for at least a week.” She watched as he fidgeted in the kitchen and frowned as he was uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “Whatever it is you think you need to say, will you just say it?” She turned her head and met his chagrined gaze. “It’s as though I can feel you tensing more with each second that passes while you consider your words.”

“Jessie,” he said on a long sigh, his voice tinged with humor. “Ye take the romance out of everything.”

Her gaze lost all humor as she sobered. “There is no romance between us. We’re barely friends.”

“Ye ken that’s no’ true.” He reached for one of her hands, raising it to his lips and kissing it. “I’ve now spent two nights with ye.”

“Nothing happened!”

“Aye, to my everlastin’ regret.” He frowned as she glared at him. “Jessie, ye ken we must marry.”

“I ken no such thing.” She huffed out a breath, unable to hide her grimace. “What I do know is that I will never marry an overbearing, uncultured, brutish Scot like you. Why would I have to? I’ve survived plenty of scandals in my past, and I’ll survive this one.”

He flushed at her perception of him. “The townsfolk will no’ be kind to ye. I ken … know they are already talkin’ about ye.”

“They’ve talked about me, with your help, since the day I arrived.” She snatched her hand away from him. “I have no need of a husband. Not now or ever.” Her mocking gaze raked over him from head to foot. “And, if I did, I wouldn’t look to you.”

His flush deepened, and he took a long breath. “Aye, how foolish of me. I’m sorry to bother ye, Miss McMahon.” He rose, grabbed his hat off a cabinet, and stormed for the door.

When the door rattled shut, J.P. closed her eyes, willing the tears not to fall. A lone tear leaked out, and she swiped it away. She took shallow breaths and focused on the pain of her rib rather than the ache in her heart.