The following Sunday, a week after he had spent time with Jessamine, Ewan worked in the livery helping Bears. Alistair and Cailean were still with their wives, and Ewan relished the time alone in the barn with the horses. Bears was a hard worker, but he rarely spoke, so Ewan had no expectation of conversation, and he appreciated the uninterrupted time to think.

The rumors about him and Jessamine had only multiplied during the week, although he had kept his distance. The fact she had refrained from publishing a paper this week had heightened the townsfolk’s curiosity as they were interested in the latest N&N and what she would write about him. His absence from her life had only seemed to heighten the burgeoning scandal, rather than diminish it. The townsfolk now referred to him as the town’s heartbreaker and murmured about Jessamine as the wronged woman.

He sighed before digging his pitchfork into a pile of dirty hay. He loaded up a wheelbarrow and moved the hay outside. He breathed in the crisp fall air, infused with the scent of woodsmoke. The sound of men chopping trees carried on the wind, as many were storing up firewood for the winter. He turned into the barn and met Bears’ gaze.

“What else do ye need me to do?” Ewan asked as he swiped at his brow.

Bears shrugged. “You’ve done enough. You won’t outwork your demons here.”

Ewan stilled and then glared at Bears. “Ye dinna ken what ye’re talkin’ about.”

Bears’ long hair swung over his shoulders as he moved with an innate grace around a stall, spreading hay onto the floor and readying it for another horse. “I know more about it than you think. Loss is the one constant we all share.”

Ewan snorted. “I thought love was.”

Bears turned and his brown-black eyes shone with intelligence and understanding. “No, that’s what the poets tell us. We know better.” He turned away and continued his work.

Ewan stared at Bears’ back a few moments until he realized he would have no more conversation from Bears. With a muttered curse, Ewan set aside his pitchfork and walked to the side of the barn and the hand pump. He bent low, dunking his head in cold water before rising and shaking his head clear.

He grunted when a towel was thrown at him and scrubbed at his face and head. Cailean stood watching him with a mixture of concern and impatient exasperation, his constant expression when looking at Ewan for the past few years. “What have I done now?” Ewan demanded.

“It’s what you’ve failed to do,” Cailean said. He flicked a glance at Bears and then shrugged. “I thought you’d have asked for her hand, but it’s been a week.”

Ewan sat on the stool Cailean set out for him and continued to absently scrub at his head. “I ken how long it’s been since I’ve seen Jessie,” he whispered. Cailean sat in silence, and Ewan met his brother’s gaze. “Why … How did ye ken about Flora? It was after ye left. I never told a soul. Even Sorcha dinna ken about her.”

Cailean bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “When you arrived, you weren’t the brother I remembered. You were damaged.” Cailean looked out at the paddock and the horses snoozing in the late fall morning. A soft breeze blew, and a gentle light shone over the mountains. “Alistair told me it was leaving Skye that had affected you, and I realized what leaving had done to him.”

Cailean cleared his throat as though trying to alleviate his guilt at his middle brother leaving Skye with him. He met Ewan’s shuttered gaze. “I knew it was more than that. One night a few months after you arrived, when I was lonely and missing Maggie to my marrow, I went to the Boudoir. You were there but sitting downstairs, sipping whiskey. Not the watered-down pap the Madam sells but honest-to-God whiskey. And you were muttering about Flora.” Cailean took a deep breath. “I sat next to you and shooed away the Beauties. And you told me of who you’d loved. But you never said she’d died.”

Ewan groaned and shut his eyes. “I thought no one kent.” He rose and wandered to the door of the paddock.

“Why do you think I worry about you gambling and going to the Boudoir?” Cailean watched his youngest brother, unable to hide his concern.

“Ye worry about the money I’m losin’. About the fact I never paid ye back.” He growled as Cailean spun him to face him.

“Nae,” Cailean rasped. “Never. I worry because I ken ye’re livin’ in the past when ye go to those places. Not the present. That ye have no dream for the future. Ye cling to ghosts as fiercely as I did.”

Ewan’s ironic laugh echoed through their part of the barn. “Is that no’ what I warned ye of? Clingin’ to ghosts?” He watched as Cailean remembered their past conversation. “I only kent what ye were doin’ because I’m so good at it myself.”

Cailean gripped his brother’s arm, refusing to allow him to storm away and to end their conversation. “I know I failed you. I know you blame me for her death.” He nodded. “Yes, I spoke with Belle. There are no secrets in our marriage.” He waited a moment for Ewan’s anger to fade. “I’m sorry, Ewan. I did what I could.”

Ewan shook free of his brother’s hold. “I ken that. Now. After I arrived and saw how hard ye and Al worked. After I saw the toll yer grief still took on ye and how Alistair fretted.” Ewan forced a smile. “I refused to be the youngest brother, brought low by grief too. I would be cheerful, and carefree, everyone’s friend.”

Cailean’s steady gaze caused Ewan to shift and lower his head. “You succeeded.”

“Aye, I did. And I have kent joy.” He raised his head in defiance.

Cailean tilted his head to the side. “When?”

Ewan rubbed at his face. “When I’m battlin’ with Jessie. She’s unlike anyone I ever kent. The exact opposite of Flora.” He flushed as though he had sullied Flora’s memory in some way. “I never ken what Jessie will say or do next, and it’s exhiliratin’.” He sighed. After a moment he whispered, “She needed me that night, Cail. I couldna abandon her.”

“Aye. I understand that. However, the gossip is vicious right now. And I fear her next paper will not be well-received, no matter what is written in it.”

“She turned me down,” Ewan whispered. He met his brother’s shocked gaze and nodded. “Said she’d faced scandal before without having to shackle herself to an overbearing Scotsman who thinks he knows what’s best for her.”

Cailean laughed. Ewan punched him in the chest, and he stumbled backward. Alistair, who had just entered the barn, grabbed Cailean before he tumbled into a pile of hay.

“Why are ye punchin’ Cail?” Alistair asked. His brown eyes shone with a quiet contentment, only adding fuel to Ewan’s ire.

“I canna be around the two of ye today!” Ewan growled.

“Get yer own woman,” Alistair said with a shrug.

Cailean chuckled and said, “He tried, but she said no.” He met Bears’ curious gaze as he brushed a horse in a nearby stall, and Cailean winked at him. Bears half smiled and continued his work.

“The reporter turned ye down?” Alistair raised both eyebrows and then shook his head. “When?”

Ewan rolled his shoulders as though uncomfortable about the conversation. “Last week. I asked her Monday afore I left.”

Cailean groaned. “She was takin’ pain medication. She was half out of her mind with it. You never ask a woman when she’s in such a state.”

Alistair shrugged. “Ye never ken. If she wasna grateful for all he did, she may never want to marry him.”

Ewan glared at his brothers. “Ye are no’ helpin’.” He kicked at the hay spread about the floor. “She said I was takin’ advantage of her. That I should be ashamed that I was more concerned about what others would say than common sense. That I didna ken her and should no’ want to marry her.”

“Ah,” Alistair said with a knowing nod. “The lass is afraid.”

Ewan laughed. “That woman has no’ been afraid of a thing in her life.”

Cailean shook his head. “No, I think Al’s right. You scared her. Now you have to woo her if you want her as your wife.” His smile spread, mischief glinting from his gaze. “Should be a sight to see.”

* * *

Ewan hammered a nail with extra force as he muttered to himself. “I have recently discovered …” He swore and hammered in another nail, barely missing his thumb. He reached for his bag of nails, only to find Alistair standing there with the bag in his hands. “Al.” He opened and closed his hand for him to give him the bag, but Alistair shook his head.

“’Tis dusk, Ewan. Come home. Have dinner. Spend time with yer family.” He watched as Ewan tossed his tool to a wooden box and strode away.

Ewan moved through the empty space, the vision vivid in his mind that only he saw—of the home he had hoped to create with Jessamine. He muttered to himself, refusing to think of her and her betrayal, and then stopped moving when he came to the back wall.

“Ye can only run so far, brother,” Alistair murmured.

“Do ye ken who I was building this house for?” he asked without turning around. He took a deep breath. “Myself. A few weeks ago I began to envision Jessie here with me. That’s when I kent I was in trouble.”

“The article today doesna mean she’s lost to ye, Ewan.”

Ewan nodded. “Aye, it does. She betrayed me.” He turned and met his brother’s worried gaze. “I spoke to her as a friend, and she did no’ honor that.” He clenched and unclenched his fist.

“Ye seem angry at yerself when she’s to blame.”

“She’s no’ worthy of my regard, an’ yet I canna stop caring for her.”

Alistair nodded. “Loving her.” He and Ewan shared a long look.

“Aye, I canna seem to stop, even though I’d rather hate her.” He let out a long breath. “I ken ye understand what that feels like. The public humiliation. The anger. The desire not to love her.” He flushed as Alistair nodded. “But the difference is, ye kent Leticia loved ye. I’ve only ever had Jessie’s disdain.”

Alistair rubbed at the back of his neck and shrugged. “Why did ye never speak of yer loss with me?”

Ewan shook his head. “Ye spent a decade with Cailean’s sorrow as a constant companion. Ye didna need mine as well.” He shrugged. “’Twas easier to have ye believe I mourned Skye an’ the life there than the truth.”

His older brother strode toward him and gripped his shoulders. His eyes burned with a deep love. “I would’ve accepted any of yer pain if it would have helped ye.”

“I ken, Alistair. I ken.” He pushed away from his brother and scrubbed at his head. “Now that woman is makin’ my life a livin’ hell.”

“Aye, ye love her, an’ she doesna admit to lovin’ ye.”

“Nae, ’tis much worse than that.” He met his brother’s confused stare. “Do ye ken how many women came by the worksite today with pails of lunch, words of concern, and gentle inquiries about my mental state? The damn woman has only made me more popular and enticin’ to the womenfolk of this town. Seems there’s nothin’ women like better than a man who’s loved and lost.”

Alistair chuckled. “Means they hope he can love again.” He watched his morose brother. “Which ye can, Ewan. Why do ye no’ go there and have it out with her? ’Tisn’t like ye to stay here, lickin’ yer wounds.”

“I did go by the print shop earlier, after I first read the article. But she was no’ there.” His jaw ticked. “Perhaps I should go there now.” He met Alistair’s steady gaze. “Aye, I will.”

He grabbed his toolbox and walked down the street behind Main Street with Alistair. After accepting Alistair’s offer to leave his toolbox at Alistair’s house, Ewan walked to the back door of the print shop. He tried the handle and slipped inside upon finding it unlocked.

J.P sat at her desk, reading an article under a lamp as the day’s light waned.

He noticed she now had curtains over the front windows, and those were pulled. He watched as she tapped a pencil on a pad of paper while she frowned at something and then set it all aside to stare into space.

“Thinkin’ about yer sins?” he asked, smiling as she jolted in her chair. Her gaze flew to him, and she rose so quickly she stumbled over her long satin skirts.

“How dare you sneak into my office, my home, through the back door! I should scream and …” Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breaths, and she glared at him as she righted herself.

He frowned as he saw the residual pain in her gaze. “I ken ye wouldna have let me in the front door.” He shook his head. “How can ye act with righteous indignation when ye are the one who acted to betray me? To betray us?”

“There is no us, Ewan. There never has been. There never will be.” Her cognac-colored eyes shone with anger. “I acted as I always will. For the benefit of the story. You handed me the perfect headline. How could I not use it?”

He paused and waited a moment before responding. When he did, his voice had lowered, although the anger shone through. “I told ye what I did in confidence. To a friend. Not to a bloodthirsty journalist.”

She scoffed. “Journalists don’t have friends. That’s the first rule my father ever taught me.”

He balled his hands at his sides and leaned toward her but refrained from touching her. “Ye have no idea what ye did, do ye?”

“I reported on a story that would ensure the masses would continue to purchase my paper, even though they consider me a social pariah. I turned you into a tragic figure who has yet to overcome his lost love, effectively explaining why you’re reluctant to marry one such as I. You may not see it that way, but it has worked out as I planned. And, although you may not believe me, I did take Bears’ advice.”

He shook his head in confusion. “How did this turn into ye exoneratin’ me an’ my sins when ye’re the one who has no desire to wed me?” He held up a hand. “An’ ’tis no excuse for betrayin’ a confidence. Ye have no decency, no shame, Jessie. I expected better of ye.”

“That was your initial mistake. Having any expectations of me in the first place.” She tossed her head back in defiance.

“Do ye ken what ye did? Ye set every mother and single woman in town on me, like …” He bit his tongue and flushed as he bit off what he was going to say.

“Like what?”

“’Tis no’ proper to say such things to a lady.” He nodded at her even though she snorted. “Ye are a lady, Jessie, no matter what ye were told by yer family.” He sighed, and his anger seeped away. “I canna even remain angry with ye.”

“I’ve never been worth strong emotions for long.”

His eyes flashed fire. “Whoever filled yer head with such nonsense was wrong.” He frowned when he saw the echo of betrayal in her gaze. “I suspect it was yer father, as ye never speak of yer mother, an’ he should have kent better.” His voice dropped to a caress. “Ye, Jessie, are priceless.”

She bit her lip that quivered and boldly met his gaze. “I do not need your pity.” Each word came out clearly enunciated, with a hint of bitterness.

“Aye, I think ye do. Ye need that, along with my forgiveness.” He moved toward her with the speed and grace of a cat, outmaneuvering her so she was in his arms. “An’ my love.”

She shook her head. “No! I refuse to need anyone.”

He pulled her to him as her tears began to fall and held her against his chest. “Cry, Jessie.” After many moments, he walked with her to the bed and sat beside her with an arm slung over her shoulder. “Why do ye believe ye can no’ need anyone?”

“It makes you weak. Weaker than love.” She gripped her side as her breath stuttered. She glared at him as he watched her with concern. “Do not even consider offering me any more of that vile medicine. I threw it all away.”

His brows furrowed, and he shook his head. “I dinna understand ye. Why would ye discard somethin’ that will help ye?” He tucked away loose tendrils of red hair and then massaged her shoulder. “What happened to ye afore ye arrived here?”

“I don’t like speaking about my past,” she whispered as she curled into him.

He sighed, pulling her tight against him, relaxing for the first time in over a week as he held her in his arms. He ran his hands down her back, smiling as he kissed the top of her head while she burrowed farther into him. “I love holding ye.”

She murmured her agreement, her arms wrapped tightly around him.

After many minutes he asked, “Why won’t you tell me about your past, Jessie?”

She shook her head and pushed against his shoulder. “No, I don’t want to remember.” She peppered the side of his neck under his ear with kisses. “Make me forget.” Her hand roved over his waistcoat, undoing buttons and slipping under his shirt until her hands ran over the warm flesh of his chest.

“Jessie,” he said, his voice thickening with passion. “Ye dinna ken what ye are askin’ for.”

She looked at him a moment, and her seductive smile provoked a groan. “I do.” She arched up and kissed him.

He groaned, crushing his mouth to hers, unable to kiss her gently. After a moment, he eased away, bracketing her face with his large callused hands. “Is the front door locked?” he asked as he bent forward to nibble his way down her neck.

“Yes,” she gasped as she turned her head to grant him better access. She squealed when he tugged her up, her shocked gaze meeting his delighted one as he slowly divested her of many layers of clothes.

She frowned when he turned from her when she was naked. “How dare you leave me now!”

“Shh. … Dinna fash yerself,” he said with a wink and a mischievous smile. He flicked the lock on the back door and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing rippling muscles. He kicked off his boots and stood in front of her again, hissing when she traced her fingers over his warm skin and muscles. He raised an eyebrow and smiled when she nodded as he held his hands at his belt buckle. He released it and shucked his pants and underclothes in one easy movement.

Grabbing her to him before giving her time to panic, he held her close. “There’s no need to be afraid, Jessie,” he whispered as she shivered in his arms. “We can stop now, if ye want.”

She raised defiant, determined eyes. “No, Ewan. Love me.” She stood on her toes and kissed him, forgetting everything but this moment as he led her to her small bed.

* * *

Afterward he held her in his arms, his hands playing in her long red hair. “Ye ken what this means? That we will marry.”

She propped herself on his chest and laughed. “Of course it doesn’t. You go to the Boudoir with great regularity. You never propose to any of them.” She squealed in surprise and a touch of pain as he growled and rolled her beneath him.

“Dammit, woman, I dinna sleep with them! I flirt. I tease. I cajole ’em, but I do naught else.” His brown eyes were lit with anger. “Ye are the first woman I’ve slept with since …”

She whispered, “Since her.”

“Aye.” He traced a finger down her cheek and then shook his head as though in regret. “Forgive me for hurtin’ ye. I didna think of yer injury when I acted as I did.” He flopped to his back in disgust.

“You didn’t hurt me, Ewan. Not in any way that matters.” She traced a hand over his chest, sighing when his clasped hers and held it over his heart. “I can’t be what you want me to be.”

He turned and looked at her with a frown. “An’ what is that? What do ye think I want ye to be?”

“Like Annabelle or Leticia. Always proper and never doing or saying unscrupulous things.”

Ewan propped his head on his hand. “I wouldna want ye to be other than ye are, Jessie. I wouldna care if ye continue to work at the paper, although if ye wrote less inflammatory articles ye might find life more to yer liking.” He silenced her with a finger to her lips. “But I would never tell ye what to write or what to do with regard to the paper. Unless ye were to hurt someone I loved. Then I would speak up.”

She shook her head. “You have no idea what it is to have a family like yours, do you?”

He shook his head in confusion. “Everyone has family, love.”

She glared at him. “You’re smart enough to understand what I mean. Not everyone has a family willing to support each other.”

“What was yers like?” He kissed her shoulder as she cuddled onto his chest and swallowed a sob.

“Horrible.” She fought sobs as he crooned to her and drew patterns on her back. “My father was a married man when he met my mother. She was respectable but gullible to the ways of a sophisticated man. He wooed her, bedded her, and got her with child. When he realized he’d have a baby with her, he was delighted because his society wife was barren. He wanted to take me from my mother and raise me openly as his daughter, but my mother refused.” Jessamine shivered. “Her act of defiance cost her dearly.”

“Why?” he kissed her forehead.

“My father was a powerful man. He wanted a child to inherit his fortune. Or, as was the case with a daughter, to use his fortune to find a man like him to wed me to and to pass on his wealth that way.” She shuddered again.

“What happened to yer mother?” Ewan whispered.

Jessie gripped his arms as though attempting to crawl even closer to him. “When I was five, he visited us. I was already pretty, but he was astute enough to understand I’d be attractive when I grew up.”

“Ye’re beautiful, an’ ye ken it,” Ewan whispered as he traced a finger over her tear-stained cheeks.

“Even my red hair made me exotic.” She sniffled. “He found a way to get me from my mother. He had his physician visit the house when she was ill with influenza, and, within a few weeks, she was a slave to the little blue bottle the doctor would deliver every three days. If she ran out early, she’d cry and beg me to summon him while she rocked and shook on the bed.”

“That’s why ye hate laudanum,” Ewan whispered.

“He made her a slave to it. Soon there was little she wouldn’t do to obtain her daily dose.” She let out a sigh. “Including sending me to live with him.”

“Oh, love,” Ewan said as he kissed her head. “What was it like?”

“Horrible. There were no spontaneous tea parties with crumbs on the floor and dances around the table. There were no days in the park where I ran around and tried to catch butterflies. There were no bedtime stories.” She sniffled. “Instead I had to learn how to be a proper young lady from the moment I entered his mansion. Back straight, no opinions, no speaking unless I was spoken to. No laughing. No running. No exuberance or emotion of any kind. And of course his barren society wife wanted nothing to do with me. Only put up with my presence at mealtimes because my father demanded it.”

He groaned. “Must have been a livin’ hell for ye.”

She nodded and held on tighter. “I swore I’d escape.” After moments of silence, her grip on his arm loosened. “I resolved to ruin myself. In every way.”

Ewan pushed her off his chest and moved so that they laid side by side, staring into each other’s eyes. “How? How did ye ruin yerself?” His gaze roved over her, and he smiled. “I already ken I was no’ the first man to love ye, Jessie.”

“Doesn’t that matter to you? That I’m an unwed woman, but I wasn’t a virgin?”

He frowned. “I willna let ye rile me. Nor will I judge ye. Tell me yer story.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. They fluttered open when he tickled her nose with a feather from a pillow. “You are incorrigible. That is not meant as a compliment,” she muttered when he smiled with pleasure. “I vowed to do all I could to avoid marriage to the man my father chose. I knew he’d be a man like him. Controlling. Ruthless. Mean.” She shivered as if cold on the inside. “I couldn’t imagine more of life like that, dominated by such a man.”

Her gaze met Ewan’s. “My father had a small interest in a New York newspaper. I played up his investment role, forged letters from him, and talked myself into a reporter’s role. They needed a woman’s perspective and section, and were delighted with the articles I wrote. Eventually I branched out into seedier territory, weighing in on the state of women nearly twenty years after the Civil War, the lack of job opportunities forcing many into a life of sin. I wrote about the laws against women that forced many into asylums.” She sighed. “I was never allowed into an institution, so I wasn’t able to report on how they were treated there.”

“Thank God,” Ewan breathed. “I hear they’re horrid places.”

“Yes, but that’s the point. Places like that should have the light shone on them. Just as I did to orphanages around New York, highlighting the need for more compassion and less corporal punishment for young children.”

“Ye go against yer times when ye write such articles.”

She shrugged. “My father would read the articles by the radical J.P. McMahon and nearly have an apoplexy.” She giggled. “It was a joy to watch his reaction when he had no idea I was J.P.”

“Is that no’ yer name?”

“My name is Jessamine Phyllis, but my father would never call me J.P. That is too vulgar, Ewan, for an Abbott.”

“Who’s McMahon?” He shook his head in confusion.

“McMahon was my grandmother’s name on my mother’s side. It’s my name, in a circuitous way.” She stroked his jaw. “I’m not a complete fabrication.”

“Ye are no fabrication. Ye are in my arms an’ true.” He kissed her head. He nodded as though encouraging her to continue speaking.

“I knew the time of my betrothal announcement was approaching. My father had chosen a man nearly three times my age, and I was desperate not to marry him.” She shivered. “I’d always liked my editor, and I thought he liked me too. One night I worked late and …”

“Ye made love,” Ewan murmured.

She snorted. “There was no love, Ewan. It was a horrible mistake, but I could never blame anyone but myself. The whole thing was over within three minutes.”

“Bluidy idiot,” he whispered as he kissed her along her forehead. “Too stupid to understand the gift he’d been given.”

“I was stupid. I’d never realized he was married!” Her hands hit his as they both brushed away her tears. “I thought it would mean we had to marry if … if he …” Her voice faltered. “He called me a childish woman who should have known better than to look for more than a moment’s pleasure. As if I’d had any pleasure!”

Ewan tsked in the back of his throat. “Take comfort in knowin’ he’s miserable with his wife right now.” He smiled as she burrowed again into his embrace.

She sighed. “I returned home, disheveled and emotional, two states that were never to occur under my father’s roof. His prodigy was there, and he was astute enough to surmise what had happened after one glance. My father threw me out of the house without a penny.”

Ewan growled in displeasure. “What did ye do?”

“I had some money saved, in a box under my bed. When the house was asleep, I snuck in and took the box and a few clothes. I traveled to Saint Louis, with copies of stories I’d written, and got a job there.” She sighed. “But my father casts a long shadow, and he said he found a man who didn’t care about my past transgressions. He was sending a man to bring me home.”

“So ye fled here.” Ewan held her closer. “Why’d ye no’ change yer name? It only makes it easier to track ye.”

She raised her eyes and met Ewan’s gaze. “What good reason would I have to give to the town? I write the headlines. I refuse to be the headline.”

Ewan held her close and kissed the top of her head. “Ye have to live the life ye want, Jessie. Yer father sounds like a horrible man, but ye dinna need to prove yerself anymore.” He met her watery gaze. “An’ ye dinna want to allow yerself to become so hardened that ye become like him.”

He swiped at her cheeks, brushing away tears. “Be more like yer mother. Embrace joy. Chase after butterflies. Laugh with exuberance.”

“Ewan,” she breathed, arching up to kiss him.

“Marry me, Jessie,” he whispered as he stroked a hand over her head. “Marry me, and ye’ll have another name. Ye’ll have the protection of my family. Ye’ll never doubt who ye are again.”

She sat up, holding the sheet to her breast. The wonder of a few moments ago disappeared from her gaze, and she glared at him. “How can you have listened to my story and not understand?” When he shook his head in confusion, she said, “I have no desire to be under any man’s control again. And I know you. You would want to control me, in little ways that seem innocent, but that would end up destroying my spirit.”

“Ye have an inability to distinguish between love and control, Jessie. I want to love ye. To support ye. To hold ye when ye’re sad.” He shook his head when she stared at him dumbfounded. “How can ye no’ want that?”

“I do not love you,” she whispered.

Ewan pushed away and launched himself from her bed. He roamed the back area of the print shop as he searched for his underclothes and pants, unhindered by his nudity. When he found his clothes, he pulled them on, his breaths emerging in agitated gasps. “I’ll no’ ask ye again, Jessie. I’ll no’ be a fool three times for ye.”

“Ewan,” she whispered, her voice filled with a plea.

“Nae, woman, ye are too blinded by fear to ever ken what ye could have had.” He stuffed his feet into his boots and slapped his hat on his head. “I hope ye have a good evenin’.” He slipped out the back door as soundlessly as he had entered it.

When he emerged behind her print shop, he hugged the shadows and moved a ways beyond her establishment before he paused and leaned against the back of a building, dropping his head forward until his chin rested on his chest. He rubbed at his neck and then strode toward home.