Page 80 of A Scot in the Storm
The harbor smelled sharply of fish, wet rope, and incoming weather. Wind pushed hard enough off the sea to sting her cheeks while gulls wheeled low over the quay screaming like tiny feathered demons.
A boy near the fish stalls stared openly at the shawl, then at a woman nearby, then at Abigail again.
Mrs. Gable caught him instantly. “Have ye misplaced yer manners entirely, lad?”
The boy flushed scarlet. “Sorry, mistress.”
“Sorry’s a fine start. Stop gawping before I sell ye to the herring boats.”
He vanished immediately as Mrs. Gable adjusted the basket against her hip with grim satisfaction.
“Honestly. Folk act as though kindness itself were scandalous.”
“They’re talking because Rory bought it for me.”
“They’re talking because they’re bored.” Mrs. Gable sniffed. “And because the Captain spent years avoiding women entirely, so naturally one shawl has thrown the village into collapse.”
Heat climbed instantly into Abigail’s face.
Mrs. Gable ignored this with great dignity. “I think,” she continued briskly, “if ye put aside every kindness because fools chatter over it, ye’ll soon be standing naked in a field.”
The image arrived in Abigail’s mind with horrifying clarity. She laughed out loud so suddenly a fisherman looked over sharply from the next stall.
Mrs. Gable looked smug. “There,” she said. “Better.”
By evening Rory had heard about the commotion. Fraserburgh moved gossip faster than the plague.
Abigail found him in the study just after dusk with papers spread across the desk and one candle burned low enough to drown in its own wax. The room smelled of ink, salt damp, and exhaustion.
He looked up as she entered and for one fleeting second his face softened. Then restraint crashed down over it like a door shutting.
“Mistress Abigail.”
The formality struck hard enough she actually stopped walking.
NotAbigail.
Notlass.
Mistress Abigail.
Polite.
Careful and cold in all the worst ways.
Abigail crossed the room slowly with the tray containing soup, bread, and tea that Mrs. Gable had thrust into her hands downstairs.
“Mrs. Gable says if you ignore this tray she intends to haunt you personally after your murder.”
“She’s a violent woman.”
“She really is.”
But he didn’t touch the food as he sat back slightly in the chair.
“Cathcart was delayed with the weather and other things, but he will come soon.”
Abigail folded her hands loosely together.
