Page 25 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
“Aye. They went back tae where ye said ye were attacked. They found signs o’ the caravan bein’ turned away, toward the Cameron border. But ‘tis more than that. They found the bodies o’ the men ye killed.”
The way Ewan tensed told Donall all he needed to know, but he asked the question anyway. “And what did they find?”
“Traces o’ rags, but more traces o’ Cameron tartan. An signs o’ survivors makin’ straight fer the Cameron border.”
“Have there been other attacks?”
“Nae any sign o’ them, though our outriders an’ border patrols have seen signs o’ several scouting parties from that border. More than ‘tis normal.”
“I see.” Donall scowled out the window in the direction of the Cameron lands. “What dae ye think?”
Alex huffed. “They’re lookin’ fer somethin’ or someone, an’ looking hard. Whoever or whatever it was, they thought the caravan party was protectin’ it - or them.”
“But the increased scouts…ye think they havenae found what they’re seeking?”
Alex nodded. “All signs point tae that whatever they’re seeking, they think ‘tis on Ranald land.” He hesitated. “I’ve heard whispers too, that yer Council is growin’ uneasy. They dinnae think ye have the resources tae be embroiled in a conflict with Clan Cameron.”
“They’re right. Even if ye an’ me kin-by-marriage all supported us, ‘twould be a hard-fought conflict, an’ far too many casualties. I’m nae certain Clan Ranald would survive, even if the others would.” Donall sighed.
Ewan nodded. “The warriors are willin’ me laird, an ye ken we’ll fight fer ye, but there’s nay question – ‘twould be best if we kent what we were fightin’ fer, an whether it was worth the bloodshed.”
“I ken.” Donall grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve suspicions, but nay certainties. And until I ken fer certain, the only path open tae us is tae wait and see.”
Ewan frowned. “An’ what will ye tell the Council?”
Donall snorted. “Tell them what I said - until we ken what Clan Cameron is seekin’ there’s naught tha’ we can dae. If they want reassurance, tell them that I’ve sent word tae our allies an’ kinfolk fer more information.”
He reached over to the desk and handed Ewan the letter. “See that a messenger takes that tae MacDougall castle.”
Ewan tucked the letter into his belt pouch. “An’ what o’ the lass? This all started with her arrival. Ye ken that someone will question the happenstance.”
“I ken. That’s why I’m keeping an eye on her. But so far, I have nae proof one way or the other.” Donall combed a hand through his hair. It felt grimy, and he hated the feeling.
Ever since the king’s gaol, griminess troubled him more than it had before. He shook away the memories, and focused on the present. “Speakin’ o’ that... I need a bath. Send someone tae collect the lass tae attend me.”
Lydia approached Laird Ranald’s room with a slight feeling of trepidation. She’d received orders to attend to the laird while he had a bath, and the orders made her feel uncertain, not only because she had no idea what the duties entailed.
Drawing the bath, at least, was a task that she could enlist the aid of other servants for. No one servant could be expected to bring up the tub, heat the water, and bring all of it to fill the tub before it cooled.
She knew enough to collect a number of soaps, a cloth for washing, and sturdy sponge and a towel. Maisie had helped her select the laird’s preferred fragrances for the soaps, and pointing out the cloths and sponge that were set aside for his use. But what else was she supposed to do?
I… I could just bring his bath supplies and leave…
Lydia knocked on the door with tentative raps. “My laird.”
“Come in.”
Lydia entered to find the large tub had been placed by the fire and filled with steaming water. Laird Ranald stood next to it, barefoot but otherwise dressed. Lydia bowed, and held out the basket of bath supplies. “Where shall I put these, my laird?”
“Beside the tub.” Laird Ranald waited until she’d set down her burden. “Now, help me undress, an’ help me make sure the stitches are healin’ properly. They itch.”
Lydia felt her heart skip a beat and her cheeks burn red. “I… I have never…”
Laird Ranald raised an eyebrow at her. “Ye’ve never helped a man undress, or served yer laird or lady in the bath?”
“I… my lady… but never a laird.” Her cheeks felt hotter than the hearth fire.
“Och, well, I willnae bite, lass.” Laird Ranald’s mouth quirked in something that might be a smile, though the expression disappeared so fast she couldn’t be sure. “In any case, I’ll only ask ye tae help with me shirt an’ scrub me back. Naething more than that, unless ye’re so inclined.”
