of it. And when I was outside and turned around, and I saw that I couldn’t go back for him, that the stairwell was clogged with thick smoke and the flames were devouring the turret walls, I was glad of that too. Because it meant that, at long last, we’d all be free of that devil of a man.”
“Hamish, how can you blame yourself for being relieved your monstrous father was dead? And from what you’ve just told me, it is not your fault he perished in the tower. Even when you were trying to save your mother, he still interfered. Of course you had to lash out at him. If you hadn’t, all of you would have died.”
Hamish shook his head. “You’re trying to paint me in a better light, lass. But it won’t work. I know the shameful, hideous truth about how I felt in that moment when I kicked him. I know how I feel even now. I was possessed by murderous rage. I hated him. I wanted him to die. And he did.”
He caught Olivia’s gaze. “But if that’s not enough to convince you I hide a violent streak, just wait until you hear what I have to say next.”
“I know you were an officer in Wellington’s army.” A small line appeared between Olivia’s brows. “You can’t be condemned for anything that happened during battle. You were fighting for your country.”
“No. I don’t harbor guilt about anything I did during the three years I served.”
Olivia’s frown deepened with her confusion. “I’m afraid you’ll have to explain why you think you are an inherently violent man then, Hamish. Just because you’re physically strong and powerful, that doesn’t mean you’re also cruel and vicious and vindictive. And I’ve seen nothing to indicate that you are.”
Hamish rubbed a hand down his face. There would be no skirting about the truth. The time for brutal honesty had arrived. “These nightmares I suffer from,” he began, “they aren’t just about the war. I’ve battled nightmares for years and years, and many of them are about my father and the night of the fire.”
“That’s perfectly understandable.”
“What I’m trying to say, and quite badly it would seem, is that after I was injured”—he gestured at his ruined eye and face—“when I was convalescing in London, my nightmares grew worse. I began to have them every night rather than every now and again.”
“Also perfectly understandable.”
“But what you don’t know, Olivia, is that they also became violent.”
Her brow creased. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“One night, I was having a particularly bad nightmare, and just like you did tonight, Hudson came in to check on me. He attempted to rouse me . . . and I’m ashamed to say, I attacked him.”
Olivia swallowed. “Attacked him how, exactly?”
“I didn’t know what I was doing. I was deep within the dream. But apparently I went berserk. I hit him so hard, I sent him flying across the room. He struck his head and was knocked unconscious.” The stab of guilt in the vicinity of Hamish’s chest felt fresh and new, as if he’d just been split open. His voice was little more than a ragged whisper as he added, “I could have killed him, Olivia.”
Olivia’s brown eyes were wide with shock. “How terrible. You must have been horrified.”
“Aye.” Hamish nodded, and his mouth twisted with the effort not to cry. “I still am. And I’m absolutely petrified I’ll do it again.”
“But, wasn’t that three years ago? Have you ever done anything like it since?”
“I’ve never slept near anyone since to find out. Well, except for when I fell asleep in the carriage outside of Glasgow.”
“But you didn’t lash out at Tilda or me.”
“But the point is, I could have. Remember that night at the Hart and Hare when you knocked on my door?”
“Yes.”
“And do you recall that I’d managed to knock a bottle of brandy onto the floor?”
“Yes. But, Hamish, anyone can accidentally knock things off a bedside table. I’ve done it before.”
“It’s not the same at all. I have a history of going on the attack. I feel sick to the stomach just thinking of what might have happened to you and Tilda if I’d gone berserk in that carriage. Or if I’d hurt you tonight when you woke me up.”
“Is . . . is that why you were ill each time?”
He dragged a hand down his face. His belly was still churning, in fact. “Aye.”
“Oh, Hamish. When you had that bad dream in our carriage, not for