Page 21 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
The seamstress clicked her tongue, but there was a note of sympathy in her voice. “Such a gruff one, me laird is. But I suppose ‘tis tae be expected… och, but never ye mind tha’. Let’s get ye measured.”
The measuring took some time, but at least it was a process Lydia was familiar with, and Mistress Hailey proved to be a quick and competent seamstress. By the time she was finished, Lydia was confident she was in good hands, and comfortable enough to dare a question of her own. “Mistress Hailey… what you said before, about the laird…”
“Aye? An’ what was that?”
Lydia bit her lip, then pressed onward. “You commented he was gruff, and you said it was to be expected? I was wondering if you might explain…?”
“Och, little enough tae explain - at least so far as I ken it. All I ken is what I hear from the keep.” The seamstress clicked her tongue again. “I’ve had many a maid from the keep in here, ye ken, an’ maids do talk.”
“And what do they say?”
“That the laird’s a cold man, stern and sharp, sometimes even short-tempered. But for all o’ that, he’s never harmed a lass, an’ never a man who didnae deserve it. Aye, word is he’s a good man, but ‘tis nay secret our laird’s been through some trials in his life.”
“Trials?” Lydia blinked. “What sort of… trials?”
Mistress Hailey frowned. “Have ye nae heard, lass? About the laird, an’ the matter o’ his sister, an’ his faither?”
She was interrupted by the opening of the door, to reveal a lass attired in a stout apron, stained with beer. Lydia guessed her to be a tavern waitress. Her guess was proven correct a moment later. “Is the lass done yet? Only, I’ve Laird Ranald back a’ the tavern, an’ he told me tae bring her if she’s finished with her measurin’. Also, he told me tae give ye this, Mistress Hailey.”
The barmaid passed over a folded, battered piece of paper. Mistress Hailey opened it. “Me laird is sure?”
“Aye. So far as I ken, he’s never joked about aught.”
“Well, as he likes.” Mistress Hailey gave Lydia a smile and a pat on the arm. “Ye’re all finished, so ye might as well go on.”
“Aye.” Lydia nodded and followed the barmaid, her mind spinning with questions.
She had no doubt that the other servants were right - Laird Ranald was a good man, for all his cold demeanor. But…
What did she mean, about his sister and his father? I did not even know Laird Ranald had a sister - I’ve certainly encountered no sign of her in the keep. What on earth might have happened to his family, and to him?
The thoughts occupied her mind throughout the short meal they shared at the tavern, and the quiet ride back to Ranald Keep.
Lydia flushed and hurried to dismount, but she was still unused to riding astride. In her haste, she slipped, stumbled, and fell awkwardly to the ground. Her left foot landed badly on the stones of the courtyard, and a sharp pain flared in her ankle. Lydia cried out in pain.
Scarcely had the sound left her lips before Laird Ranald was crouched next to her, lifting her into strong arms. “Are ye hurt? Where?”
“It was just my ankle.” Lydia tried to free herself from his grasp, but the moment her foot touched the ground, Lydia gasped in pain, the ache so sharp that her eyes watered.
“Dinnae try tae stand.” Laird Ranald hefted her higher and carried her into Evelyn’s cottage without another word, setting her on the bed before the healer could speak. “She fell from the horse an’ hurt her ankle. Tell me how bad it is.”
Lydia blushed, surprised by his concern. Evelyn prodded the limb, rotating it in a few directions, then shook her head. “’Tis nay more than a mild twisting. A poultice tae soothe the ache an’ a day or two o’ light duties should be enough tae set her tae rights - an’ it may nae tak’ even that long.”
“Fine. Send her tae Maisie with the message when ye’re done.” Laird Ranald turned and left, leaving Lydia so stunned by his abrupt manner that she couldn’t even muster the words to thank him properly.
Laird Donall Ranald. He truly is a kind man, for all his abrupt, almost rude manner. I only wish I knew more about him - and perhaps, more of what he thinks of me.
CHAPTER TEN
“NAE! Nae, dinnae…”Donall woke with a gasp, his lightweight sleeping trews and bed linens drenched with sweat. With a grunt, he forced himself upright and staggered to the hearth. A taper in the banked coals gave him a weak flame. Donall used it to light a candle, then stood, breathing heavily as the last vestiges of the nightmare faded into the depths of his mind.
Another nightmare. When was the last time I slept the night through?Donall scrubbed a hand over his face, then turned to get a drink from the flagon of mead that stood on the nearby table.
There would be no more sleep for him tonight. He could go to his study and attempt to get some work done, but he was in no mood for such things. After a moment of thought, he slipped into a shirt and made his way toward the small library housed in his keep. There was little there, and nothing he hadn’t read before, but at least reading was the sort of mindless diversion thatmight occupy his time until either dawn came, or sleep finally reclaimed him.
He was surprised to see a light under the door as he approached, the flickering light of a fire in the hearth. He pushed the door open warily, prepared for anything, then stopped, a bemused smile on his face as he beheld the sight before him.
Lydia was seated by the hearth, two baskets of linens and towels settled before her. One was partly filled with folded items, the rest with unfolded laundry. A sheet rested on her lap in a half-folded state, and she was curled in a small ball, lying awkwardly with her head pillowed on the seat of a chair.
