Page 20 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
No. I cannot, should not think like that. And I most certainly should not continue embarrassing myself further, after the mistake I made earlier!
Lydia’s cheeks grew hot at the memory. The way she’d settled into the saddle sideways, without thinking… she’d nearly givenherself away, and only the quick lie had saved her. It had been foolish not to think before she mounted, not to remember that she was supposed to be a maid. And of course, no maid would ride sidesaddle!
In fact, she wasn’t sureanyonein the Highlands rode sidesaddle. She hadn’t had a lot of time to observe it, or taken any inventory of their tack, but the blunt practicality of their actions suggested that the Highlanders as a whole prized efficiency and sense more than prettiness. Sidesaddle riding was made to look elegant and prevent ladies from mussing their skirts - not something she’d observed Highlanders being overly concerned with.
She’d made a fool of herself, and now here she was, reaping the consequences of her actions and the hastily told falsehood she’d voiced to explain herself, lest Laird Ranald grow suspicious. Of course, she had little experience riding astride, so perhaps it was just as well, but still…
And the way he’d chastised her, so like Maisie… how had she forgotten the maid’s advice so soon?
Ask. Better to reveal ignorance or lack of skill and have it corrected than to make a fool of oneself otherwise.
She could have asked which horse was hers, and asked him how to mount… no one would disbelieve ignorance of her, not with the rumors that were surely spreading.
Maisie was hardly unkind enough to tell tales, but she was also unlikely to lie about Lydia’s skills as a maid, which were near nonexistent. And now that she’d twice received special attention from Laird Ranald - well, she knew how servants gossiped. She and Elswith had used that ploy often enough against her uncle and his actions.
If she was honest with herself, Lydia knew why she’d behaved as she had. Her pride. She did not like being thought so ignorant and untaught. She might not have thought it consciously, but some part of her had welcomed a chance to show that she was not entirely untaught, that she did have some skills of value.
I ought to have remembered that pride goeth before the fall.
“We’re here.” Laird Ranald’s voice broke through her thoughts. Lydia blinked and looked around.
The village they were in was modestly sized - smaller than Wycliffe, but clearly a prosperous place nonetheless. The house they had stopped in front of was marked as an inn and tavern. Laird Ranald had already dismounted and handed the reins to a stable boy.
Lydia blushed and slid awkwardly off the horse. Laird Ranald waited until she’d regained her balance, then turned and strode down the street. Lydia followed, marking the different buildings they passed - stable, candle maker, and…
“This is the seamstress’s shop. She makes all the clothin’ fer the castle staff, an’ a fair amount o’ me clothin’ as well. I’ll introduceye an’ tell Hailey tae put ye on the Ranald accounts, an’ she’ll tak’ yer measure fer clothin’ suited tae ye. If she’s aught that will fit ye, we’ll take it home fer ye tae wear. If nae, we’ll see if she has somethin’ that will suffice till she’s made somethin’ suitable fer ye.”
Lydia nodded and followed him inside the shop. It was filled with neatly arranged fabrics of all descriptions, including a large selection made exclusively in the Clan Ranald tartan pattern and colors. Against the back wall, right where they would be in view when a customer walked in, were a number of suits of clothing - simple skirts, dresses of varying styles, kilts, shirts, blouses, trews and even leggings.
In between the articles of clothing stood a stout, matronly woman with neatly bound gray hair, and a welcoming demeanor. “Me laird! Welcome back. How are ye farin’ this fine day?”
Laird Ranald huffed, but Lydia saw his demeanor soften, just the slightest bit. “Well enough.” He gestured Lydia forward. “This lass is a new maid up at the keep. She was waylaid on the road, needs everythin’ more or less.”
“Och, poor lass.” Lydia found herself swept up into a warm, matronly embrace that made her heart ache for her mother, though she had passed away many years ago. “Well, first let’s see if there’s aught I have made that will suit. Come.”
The woman led her to the back and began taking items off the wall. “Easy items first - ye’ll need a chemise or two, a soft corset -I dinnae hold with those stiff forms, they dinnae permit a lass tae breathe or move as she ought - and good stockings fer yer feet.”
Lydia watched in bemusement as the seamstress held up one chemise, then another. “Och, ye’re a slim one, but taller than most lasses. That’s all right, we’ll find somethin’ fer ye… ah, there! These two, they’ll suit ye the best.”
The seamstress then began to search through skirts, blouses, and dresses. Lydia watched her work. At home, she would have spoken up, but she was keenly aware that she had little idea of what proper servant clothing should look and feel like, or what it was made of. Her only knowledge of it came from the cast-offs Elswith had given her to escape in, and the clothing she had borrowed from the other maids at Castle Ranald.
Her gaze drifted around the shop, until it settled on the dresses. Most of them were quite practical, made for working in, but there were two or three that were more ornate, which looked as if they might be made for some special occasion. One in particular caught her eye - a sky blue dress stitched with elegant knotwork patterns about the hems and sleeves, with a wide embroidered ribbon serving as a sash-like belt, the thread glistening like silk and satin in the light of the window. It was a beautiful dress, and for all that she knew it was utterly unsuited to her new station, Lydia couldn’t help going over to take a closer look.
“’Tis beautiful, is it nae? ‘Tis meant fer a wedding or a feast day, but I’ve nae found the right lass, or the right occasion fer it. I’ve considered tradin’ it tae a merchant goin’ tae Edinburgh,where it might sell better, but I havenae had the heart.” The seamstress’s voice made Lydia startle, then blush.
“I hope you do not. It is a lovely dress.” She stepped away from the dress.
“Here are some things that may suit ye fer a while, although they’re nae quite made fer yer build. They’ll dae fer ye in the short term, but ye’d be better suited havin’ some clothin’ made fer ye properly.”
“If that is the case, then take her measurements. I’ll leave Lydia with ye while I go attend tae the land dispute on the southern farms,” said the laird.
Lydia almost yelped aloud, and only a hand on her mouth stopped an embarrassing sound from emerging. As it was, her heart was pounding so loudly she feared the seamstress would hear it anyway. She’d completely forgotten that Laird Ranald was still in the shop.
Fortunately for her, Mistress Hailey was too busy making sympathetic noises. “Och, that one… I bid ye luck, me laird, fer those two are fair stubborn as rocks.”
For a moment, Lydia thought she caught a faint glimmer of humor in Laird Ranald’s eyes, but it was gone too swiftly for her to be certain she’d seen anything at all. “Indeed. I’ll keep yer words in mind. Tak’ care o’ the lass fer me. Lydia, when ye’re done, bring yer parcels back tae the tavern. I’ll be there, or I’ll return soon enough.”
Before she had time to formulate a reply Laird Ranald turned and was gone, tramping back to the door and out into the road without so much as a ‘by yer leave’.
