Page 7 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
Lines of bold, dark ink stretched across shoulders, chest, and waist, an intricate tracing that linked symbols that meant nothing to her. With a start, she realized the cut angled just below one such symbol, a flower surrounded by a symbol that looked like a crest, though it was one she didn’t recognize.
There were scars, many of them, but the seeming imperfection only added to the image of power and confidence he exuded, and made him seem more intriguing.
More intriguing, and more attractive. Lydia felt her mouth go dry and her face burn as she realized that she had been staring, unabashedly, at a half-naked man for far longer than she should have. Her blush deepened and she looked hurriedly away, focusing on Evelyn as the healer gathered needle, fine thread, hot water, clean cloths, and bandages.
Then the healer returned to Laird Ranald’s side, and she found herself watching the man, once again, while Evelyn cleaned and stitched the deep cut he’d taken while defending her.
Lydia tried to focus on the healer’s technique, to remind herself that such a skill was valuable, and that combined with the herb lore she’d studied before, she might learn enough to serve as a healer once she left. But maintaining her concentration was difficult. Her gaze kept traveling across the tattoos and scars that adorned Donall Ranald’s torso, wondering at the stories behind them.
With an effort, she forced herself to look at his face. His jaw was clenched, and his hands were tight fists. With a start, she realized he had not asked for a pain potion, nor for something to bite while the healer worked. And now he sat, not making a sound, as she worked, despite how painful it must have been. The only indication that he even noticed the healer’s ministrations was the fine sweat that stood out across his brow and dampened his wild blond hair.
The stoic expression on his face made her heart twist in sympathy, even as she wondered where and why he had learned to endure such discomfort. Her gaze drifted back to the scars that marked his arms and torso, wondering once more at the stories behind the markings that adorned his frame.
Laird Ranald turned to look at her then, green eyes dark and brow furrowed. Lydia’s face heated and she turned away quickly, her cheeks turning red as hearth coals as she realized she’d been caught staring.
Och, the lass is a shy one. Mayhap tha’s why she didnae speak much when I questioned her earlier.
It seemed odd that a serving maid would be so modest, but Donall brushed it aside. He had no idea how old she was, nor what her life had been before she’d come wandering onto his lands - perhaps she was still a maiden. And if she’d been a maid for a lady as he suspected, then perhaps she was unused to the sight of men in any state of undress.
Whatever the reason for her blushes, it wasn’t as if he cared that she’d been staring. He was used to stares - the tattoos and scars that covered him caught attention, and he’d stopped being concerned about the markings and how others might look at them long ago. If she wished to gape at him, it was no surprise or concern of his.
Ewan and Alex waited for Evelyn to finish before speaking - they both knew he would refuse to answer them until the stitching was done.
He never made a sound when he had wounds to be tended to. It was a habit he’d learned the hard way during his years in the king’s gaol, and one he was loathe to give up. Making a sound was a sign of weakness, and he refused to be weak. Weakness made you a target - he’d learnedthatlesson as well during his years in prison.
Finally, the wound was closed. Evelyn applied a salve to keep infection from setting in, and another to ease the pain, then wrapped a linen bandage around his torso and cinched it tight. Donall grunted when she’d pulled it snug enough to suit him, then took the shirt she handed him and tugged it over his head. “Are ye satisfied now?”
Ewan grimaced. “I would be satisfied if I kent ye hadnae ridden half the moors with a bleedin’ wound, me laird. An’ happier still if I kentwhyye wound up injured, an who it is ye’ve brought back with ye.”
“I rode out tae see if I could meet with the servants Corvin said he’d hired from the Lowlands - I wanted tae get the measure o’ them. There was an… incident.” Alex opened his mouth, no doubt to ask for more information, and Donall silenced him with a slight shake of his head.
He would tell both men the full story later, but not here, where it might be overheard. “As fer the lass… this is Lydia. She wasseparated from her travelin’ companions - the caravan I was tae meet, I think, so I brought her back with me. She’s tae be me new maid.” He considered.
Lydia seemed like a soft-spoken young woman, but he knew too little about her to feel entirely comfortable with having her work in his castle on her own. Until he knew more about her circumstances and her history, he wanted to keep her close enough to keep a watch on.
“She’ll be roomin’ an’ workin’ with Maisie, sharin’ her duties as me personal servant, until I decide whether or nae she’ll remain, an’ how tae best use her skills if she stays on.”
“Yer… personal servant? When ye ken naething about her, me laird?”
“Aye.” Donall glared at Ewan, and the man subsided, though Donall could see the uncertainty and the reluctance in his second-in-command’s eyes. “I’ll be tellin’ Corvin, or ye can dae so, if ye like.”
Ewan sighed. “I’ll tell him.”
They both knew the steward would be unamused that Donall was meddling in the assignments of the servants without consulting him, and Ewan had more patience to deal with the man. Donall liked Corvin well enough, and he couldn’t fault his thoroughness as a steward, but the man was so painstaking and exact in everything he did - and so used to speaking his mind on any matter that happened to garner his attention - that itsometimes made Donall want to lock him in a storage room for day.
He rose from his seat, ignoring the twinge from his side. “Evelyn, I’ll ask ye tae tak’ Lydia tae Maisie an’ see she kens tha’ Lydia will be workin’ with her.”
“Aye. After a stop in the kitchens tae get the lass some food.” Evelyn nodded.
“Whatever ye think best. She’ll be expected tae begin her duties first thing in the morning.” Donall tugged on the rest of his clothing, then jerked his head toward the door. “Ewan, Alex… come with me.”
The two men followed him out into the courtyard, across the grounds, and into the keep proper. Donall kept his silence until they reached the privacy of his study and the door was locked before he turned to face them. “Ye’re right that there’s more tae the story than I told ye, but I dinnae ken what’s goin’ on, an’ tha’s why I dinnae wish tae say tae much where listenin’ ears an’ gossiping guards or servants might hear.”
“Well enough. What troubles ye?” Alex, an ally and his oldest and best friend, who visited whenever possible, leaned against the side of the hearth, his expression thoughtful. “I noticed the lass is fair delicate looking fer a maid.”
Donall nodded. He’d expected Alex - Laird Alexander MacEwen to those who were not his long-time friends and allies - to notice that. As the laird of his own territory, and a well-traveledman thanks to his clan’s sea-based trading alliances, he was accustomed to dealing with all manner of folk, from servants and peasants to lords and ladies.
“She is. An’ her hands are softer than I’d expect. Her speech too. There’s also the matter o’ her bein’ English - I dinnae ken why an English lass would make the journey intae the Highlands, unless there’s some reason she cannae find work in the Lowlands or among the English. But there’s few enough reasons fer that tae be true…”
