Page 13 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
It had seemed an excellent idea at the time of her escape—no one would look for a noble lady among laborers and servants. However, neither she nor Elswith had ever considered that she might have to not only look the part, but act it, if she wished the ruse to last long enough to evade her uncle and Laird Rory Cameron.
Working with Maisie was an eye-opening revelation for Lydia. By the time they paused for the noon meal, she was painfully aware of just how little she understood about being a servant. There were a thousand and one tasks that always needed doing, taken care of by people she’d hardly ever given more than a passing thought to.
And servants themselves were… not what she had imagined. She had no idea if Highland servants were different from English servants or if she had simply never noticed the truth, but Maisie was nothing like the quiet, demure, and almost invisible figure she’d expected a maid to be.
Maisie was bold, outspoken even with those that outranked her. She offered appropriate deference, of course, but never groveled or ducked away from those that approached her. She did what needed doing, but she did it with a straight-backed, bright-eyed and determined sense of pride, as though being a serving maid were tantamount to being a queen.
Most importantly of all, however, was the wisdom the maid imparted as they returned to their work after the noon meal. “I can see ye dinnae have any proper experience—‘tis clear by now that nay one ever gave ye proper instruction on yer duties, an’more fault tae them. So, I’ll teach ye as me maither taught me, startin’ when I was a young lass. The first thing she ever told me was this—if ye dinnae ken how tae dae something, ask. ‘Tis better tae ask an’ be taught, even if ye dinnae enjoy needin’ the instruction, than tae be found lackin’ because ye cannae dae the work.”
Lydia blushed. “When I was traveling, there were so many tasks I did not know how to dae, and I always… I thought, if I asked…” She trailed off.
“Och, whoever had yer trainin’ was a proper bampot, if they didnae teach ye tae ask when ye needed help. Especially if they didnae realize what a shy little thing ye are—ye looked like ye wanted tae hide in a corner just askin’ me about servin’ the Council this eventide.” Maisie shook her head. “Mayhap ‘tis different in England. But I cannae say I think much o’ the English way o’ doin’ things, if the way ye were taught is any example.”
With Maisie’s patient assistance and willing instruction, the afternoon work passed much more smoothly, and with less anxiety on Lydia’s part. It was still difficult, demanding, and exhausting labor, but at least she no longer feared every moment of uncertainty or incomprehension might reveal the truth. By the time they stopped for supper, her arms, legs, shoulders and back ached fiercely, but she had learned a great deal.
Even so, she had to fight back a groan of frustration when she realized that her work was not yet done. The arrival of several older men, all wearing clan tartans and stern expressions,reminded her of the council meeting she was supposed to serve. She was surprised, and grateful, when Maisie slipped her two small vials, and a pot of something Lydia recognized as an ointment for soothing aches.
Maisie smiled at her expression of gratitude. “Ye’ve much tae learn, Lydia, but I can see ye’re a willin’ worker. ‘Tis clear ye’ve made an effort, even when I could see ye were ready tae fall off yer feet. This…” She tapped the first bottle. “...will help ease the weariness. An’ the second one will reduce the achin’ without makin’ ye sleep. Tak’ them both afore ye go tae the council chamber. The ointment ye can save for later. ‘Tis best applied after a hot bath. Ye’ll want tae visit the bathin’ chamber after the meeting, I’ll wager.”
“Aye.” The word was easier to remember to say instead of ‘yes’ than it had been several hours ago. Maisie’s smile widened and she gave Lydia a quick one-armed embrace.
“Och, listen tae ye. We’ll have ye speakin’ an’ workin’ like a proper Highland lass soon enough.” The maid released her and shooed Lydia toward the corridor. “Go on now, ‘tis best if ye’re there an’ waitin’ afore the laird and the Elders arrive.”
Lydia nodded and hurried down the corridors as fast as her aching feet and legs would allow. The tonics Maisie had given her tasted foul, foul enough for her to wish she had a cup of wine to wash away the taste, but she could tell by the herbs they contained that they would help, so she finished them without complaint, before tucking the ointment into her apron pocket.
By the time Laird Ranald and his Council arrived, Lydia felt almost human again, and eager to learn all she could about what was happening in the lands around her.
The maid was waiting by the hearth when Donall arrived, hands folded in front of her, cinnamon-colored hair showing signs of having been recently rebraided. She looked tired, but alert, and her eyes caught his and lingered for a long moment before she looked away.
Alex and Ewan both frowned on seeing Lydia there. Alex stepped closer. “Ye’re havin’ a maid serve in Council?”
Donall grunted. “I have me reasons.”
The lass intrigues me. I want tae keep an eye on her. I want tae ken what she kens about that attack on the road.
They were all valid reasons for her presence, and yet, Donall was all too aware of the true reason that lingered in his thoughts, despite how he tried to ignore it.
Lydia the serving maid sparked feelings and emotions he’d thought he’d lost the capacity for long ago—things he hadn’t felt since before Alayne’s marriage to Darren MacLean. Perhaps it had been even longer than that—he no longer recalled for certain. She intrigued him, and woke a sense of curiosity and protectiveness—even a spark of desire—that hehad not experienced in years. That, coupled with his lingering uncertainties regarding her history and her presence, sparked a desire to keep her close, where he could observe her as much as was feasible.
Ewan stepped up to his other shoulder. “Me laird, ye scarcely ken aught about the lass. I doubt she has any poor intentions, but all the same?—”
“’Tis because I’m hopin’ tae learn more, as well as tae keep an eye on her, that I want her here. She can tell us more about the attack on the caravan, an’ she may reveal something we didnae ken afore about herself or her attackers.”
“If ye believe that, me laird. Jus’ be careful.” Ewan stepped back and took his seat, though his expression was troubled.
The rest of the Council arrived soon after, taking their seats with varying degrees of haste and decorum. All of them noticed Lydia, but none of them commented on her presence, not after meeting Donall’s glower.
Lydia, for her part, remained where she was, only looking up now and then to see if her service was needed.
Finally, the Council was assembled, and Donall stood to start the meeting. “Ye all ken why ye’re here—Cameron soldiers have been seen on our lands, an’ raiding inside our borders. They attacked a caravan o’ serving folk an’ traders who were supposed tae be coming here on the road a few candle-marks distant.”
“How much dae we ken?” Old MacEvoney spoke first. “Is it possible the attack was retribution fer a theft?”
Donall turned to Lydia. “Tell the Council everything ye ken.”
Lydia stepped forward and began to relate her tale. Donall listened, alert for any inconsistency that might reveal a lie, but the story was much the same as the one he’d gleaned from her the day before—they had been traveling along the road toward their destination, which was presumably Ranald Keep, when they’d stopped for the noon meal and had been attacked by a party of armed men. They’d thought the men brigands and it was only when they’d pursued her that she’d chanced to see the clan tartan under the rags they’d used as a disguise.
And then, Laird Ranald he’d come along and rescued her from her would-be abductors.
