Page 5 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
However, the ruse was not without its dangers. Laird Ranald might be willing to overlook the fact that she was English - she was certain he’d assumed she was a villager from near the border - but she doubted he’d be so accommodating if he knew she was not, in fact, a servant. If he ever realized she was of noble birth, then she was certain his demeanor would change. He would have her out of the castle or into his dungeons in an instant.What if he thought her a spy?
Likewise, she could not tell him that she was betrothed to the Laird Cameron, or the target of the Cameron soldiers - nor that she was attempting to escape her betrothed. There was a small chance that he might be sympathetic to her plight, but there was an equal chance he might seek to use her as a bargaining chip.
Laird Ranald’s words and actions indicated that he was no friend of Cameron Clan, but Lydia knew quite well that Laird Rory Cameron could be a dangerous enemy. There was no reason for Laird Ranald to refrain from using her to broker a truce with him, should he discover Lydia’s true identity. And even if that were not the case, he might send her away to avoid any strife with his fellow laird.
And that was another matter for consideration - her own conduct in regards to the clan that now sheltered her. She could not, in good conscience, endanger them more than she already had. As necessary as she felt her current deception was, it still sat uneasily with her, as did the knowledge that Laird Cameron might come after her, and harm the members of Clan Ranald in the process.
The best course of action was to continue as she had begun, and follow her original plan, with only slight alterations. She would act as Laird Ranald’s new maid, working in the castle while she regained her strength and, perhaps, learned some skills that might help her on her way. She would remain as quiet and unnoticed as she could, and avoid making any friends or close associations.
Not that meeting such a requirement would be all that difficult. She had never been the most outspoken - her upbringing as a noble lady destined for little more than marriage had ensured that, and her uncle Cedric had only reinforced her belief that silence was better than speaking words that might see her punished.
Learning the skills to pass as a servant - and unlearning the habits she knew marked her as someone well-bred - would be more difficult. She already knew her speech made her stand out as being English, and she’d learned during her travels with the caravan that she was far softer, and more educated, than most servants of either gender were. And far too polite in the wrong way. She had never realized, until she joined the caravan, that the courtesies servants were required to show and the ‘good manners’ that had been trained into her were completely different things.
Perhaps, while learning the basic tasks that all servants seemed to know, she could learn to emulate their speech and movements as well. A day or a seven-day in the sun would darken her skin, and she knew now that it would take more than worn garments and a slouch to hide her lineage.
Once she had regained her strength, learned what she needed to know, and decided on a proper destination, she could slip away. She would leave some message for Laird Ranald and whoever else needed to know of her disappearance, and perhaps some easily notable sign of her departure from the castle for Clan Cameron to find. Hopefully, neither would be discovered until long after she left, giving her plenty of time to escape.
It was not ideal, but hopefully she would only need to maintain her ruse for a fortnight or so - long enough to earn some coppers for new clothing, enjoy a few warm meals and perhaps a bath or two, and polish her new identity until it no longer garnered the whispers and stares she had felt so keenly while traveling with the caravan.
A shadow fell across Lydia’s face, and she realized with a start that they were almost at the gates of a moderately sized, forbidding looking structure. The gates were opening, guarded by men wearing the same colors and tartan as Laird Ranald.
This must be Ranald Keep.
Sudden nervousness overwhelmed her, along with the weariness that had weighed upon her for days. The pain of her side, which she had been ignoring, suddenly redoubled. It was all she could do to keep her seat as Laird Ranald guided the horse to a stop in front of a small cottage and gestured for her to dismount.
She slid from the saddle clumsily, just as a woman - slim, with oak-colored hair plaited back in a single braid, and kind brown eyes - emerged from the cottage. “Me laird? Are ye well?”
“Well enough. I encountered this lass on the road, an’ she’s been injured. Tak’ her in an’ tend tae her.” Laird Ranald gestured for her to follow the woman, whom Lydia guessed must be a healer, or a servant with some skill in such things.
“Aye, me laird.” The woman took her arm gently and led her inside, then sat her on a stool. Her appearance was that of awoman perhaps five to ten years older than Lydia herself, but her tone was gentle and soothing as any mother could be when she addressed her “An what’s yer name, lass?”
“Lydia. Just… Lydia.” The weariness and the stress of the day - not to mention the lack of food - made it difficult for her to think.
“An’ where were ye injured, Lydia?”
“My side. I fell…” She trailed off, uncertain how much she should say. “I was being chased by brigands, and Lor - Laird Ranald rescued me….”
Her gaze dropped, and she realized with a start that her arm and the side of her shirt were both covered in streaks of blood. “The blood is not mine. Laird Ranald, he is wounded. You should see to him before you concern yourself with me.”
“My wound will keep.” The low voice startled her badly. She hadn’t realized Laird Ranald had followed her and was watching while the healer tended her. She blushed when the healer handed her a blanket and told her to remove her dress so the bruise could be examined.
Lydia changed as directed and returned to the stool, her face hot with embarrassment. Now that the shock of being attacked was fading, she was acutely aware of Laird Ranald’s presence. She was also aware of his intense green eyes focused on her person.
She had never been so scantily clad around a man, not that she could remember. And she’d certainly never been caught in the gaze of such a masculine figure. His handsome face was turned directly to her, his direct gaze focused on her as if she was the only person in the room. It was highly disconcerting, and all the more so when she recalled the feel of his broad shoulders flexing under her hands during the ride, the feel of his muscles under her fingers and the way they shifted smoothly under his skin and the cloth of his shirt with every shift of his weight.
Och, how can I be thinking about such things… I… he’s…Her cheeks were burning as if she’d stood in the sun all day, and her thoughts were so confused it was a wonder she could think anything at all. She almost lost her grip on the scant protection for her modesty when Laird Ranald addressed her again. “Where dae ye hail from, lass?”
Where do I… oh, where do I come from?Lydia felt a spark of panic ignite inside her.
I dare not give him my actual home - even if he believed I was from a village as opposed to Wycliffe Castle, it is too close. He may hear rumors of a missing girl from Wycliffe province and grow suspicious. But where else can I… I know so few villages… most of them from overhearing the caravan members talk. If I claim one of them, and the caravan returns…the deception will be too easily discovered.
She swallowed. “I…” Her words failed her, and she shook her head.
Laird Ranald frowned, but didn’t press her for an answer. “Where did ye last work, an’ who did ye serve?”
“Oh… I… It was…” The same panic filled her.
In her haste to escape, these were questions neither she nor Elswith had thought to provide answers for. It had simply never occurred to her, despite how many times she had overheard the castle steward demanding references from a newly hired servant, that she might be asked to provide such information.
