Page 51 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” Clara said. “Not likehim.” She pointed to the laird. “How could you?”
He let out a laugh. “What, take what was on offer for a coin? She was plenty willing, lass—spread her legs for every man in London, or so I was told. I’d recognize her anywhere.”
“Then you’re unique among men,” Clara’s mother said, her voice even. “Most men didn’t bother to look at our faces.”
“I always take a look at their faces,” the laird said. “I remember yer face, looking up at me with those lips wrapped around my—”
“No!” Clara cried. “Stop! Murdo, make him stop!”
“I-I can’t,” Murdo said. “Does he speak the truth?”
“Of course I do!” the laird said. “Would ye listen to this slut over yer da? Would ye…”
He hesitated, his gaze fixed on Clara.
“Devil’s cock! Are ye the brat of awhore?”
Mama took Clara’s hand. “Clara is my daughter.”
“And her father…her natural father…” Murdo’s voice trailed away. Then he shook his head. “Sweet Lord Almighty—Da, areyeher father?”
His face twisted in horror, and Clara’s heart shattered at the disgust in his eyes.
“No,” Mama said quietly. She touched her scar. “Clara’s natural father is the man who didthisto me. I was already with child when your father—”
“No!” Murdo said. “I cannot bear to hear any more of this.”
“Why, Mr. McTavish,” Mama said, her voice hardening, “I didn’t take you for—how did your father put it?—aweak-bellied lassie.”
“So he speaks the truth?”
“Your father visited the brothel where I worked,” Mama said. “If I recall, he came every day for a month, and paid an extra shilling because I was with child.”
“He p-paid…” Murdo shook his head.
“Don’t be too hard on your father, Mr. McTavish,” Mama said. “He didn’t part with the shilling willingly—it took some persuasion. I’d hate it if you thought him an extravagant man.” She glanced about the dining room, then turned to the laird. “Your son said your finances were in a pitiful state, and I now understand why—an excess of liquor and exploitation of women driven out of necessity, or captivity, to sell their bodies.”
“Say what you want, woman,” the laird said. “I’ll not have a whore’s daughter in my family.”
“I believe we are of one mind, Lord McTavish,” Mama said.
“Don’t ye want to foist yer brat onto my son?”
“Not now I know what kind of creature his father is.”
“Why ye…” He balled his hands into fists, but she stood firm.
“Strike me if you wish,” she said. “It’s what I’d expect.”
“Da, that’senough!” Murdo said. “Get to yer chamber and sleep off the whisky. I’ll deal with this.”
Clara’s heart stung with pain. “Dealwith this?”
“Aye,” Murdo said, averting his gaze.
A huge, cruel fist punched through Clara’s chest and clawed at her heart.
“Won’t you look at me, Murdo?” she asked.
