Page 41 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
Lydia’s offer of thanks at the training grounds - clumsy as it had been - had been the only bright spot in a day that had seemed to drag onward. Alexander would have made the day less tedious and more bearable, but his friend had not yet returned from his business in the north.
He had forced himself to attend to the reports of guard rotations, crop growth and harvest, inventory of keep (now richer by one maid’s wardrobe) and other mundane matters, but his mind kept drifting to other things.
Like Lydia. Why was it that when he looked at her, his mood softened, and his blood warmed? Why was it that a simple touch, like the brush of their fingers when she’d taken the mug of tea from him earlier, could make him feel as if sparks danced along his skin?
She was a beautiful enough lass, even with her skin reddened from the sun and the sheen of tormentil salve coating it, but he’d seen beautiful lasses before. Soft spoken too.
Perhaps it was the air of mystery that hung about her, compelling as much as it was infuriating. Perhaps it was her entrancing blend of innocence, wisdom, compassion and shyness that drew him.
No matter what it was, there was no denying that Lydia’s presence affected him, and he would have been a fool to attempt to pretend otherwise.
Donall noticed there was a light in the library, so he went to the door and pushed it open, to find the fireplace burning and a familiar cinnamon-haired lass standing by the shelves nearby. He never visited the library much, as it had always been more Alayne’s territory more than his own. Even so, he was fairly certain the section Lydia was standing beside was devoted to balladry and poets. They had always been Alayne’s favorite books, just as they had been favored by their mother before her.
Donall moved closer to find her perusing a volume with a small smile on her lips. “Ye like Donne? I’ve always liked Scott better meself.”
Lydia blinked up at him, her brows furrowing and lips pursing. She shook her head. “I find Donne to be… more suitable to my disposition.”
“I see. An’ ye have a favorite?”
“Oh, William the Bard, the great playwright… his work is lovely. Though, in defense of my gender, I must confess great fondness for Elizabeth Melville.”
“Och, the Bard should have been a Scotsman, with his silver tongue,” Donall nodded. “I’ve a fondness fer some o’ his work. Nae fer what yer folk call ‘The Scottish Play’ however.”
“Oh yes. That one is quite gloomy. I rather prefer his more lighthearted works. The Twelfth Night play, about the brother and sister who have mistaken identities, is one of my favorites.”
“Aye.” Donall nodded, but behind his words, his mind was racing.
It was one thing for a maid to be able to read and write, but to have read so much was a different matter.
Most servants wouldn’t know the difference between Donne, Scott, Elizabeth Melville and William the English Bard, much less have any idea what sort of things they’d written. And yet Lydia not only knew the names and had preferences, she’d spoken ofspecificworks from the Bard’s collection of writings - and not just poetry. She had referenced the plays, which were less often found in printed form.
Who is she, that she’s so familiar with works of literature?
“Your pardon, my laird.” Lydia’s hand brushed across his arm as she returned the book to its shelf. “It is late, and I ought to be abed.”
Donall felt his ears heat as he realized that he’d been staring too long, and that he’d unnerved her. “Ye dinnae need tae…”
Her cheeks darkened with a tint of rose as she looked away. “As I said, my laird, I should retire. Unless you have some need of my services?”
“Nae in particular. But I was enjoyin’ the conversation,” Donall prodded gently at her, testing to see how she would respond. “Were ye nae?”
“Perhaps. But I have little enough knowledge - only what my lady asked me to read for her while she embroidered.” Lydia shook her head. “I fear that the conversation would become dull for you all too soon, my laird.”
She’s nae bein’ honest - that modesty is a falsehood forged around the stories she’s already told.
The familiar surge of frustration rose inside him, the tingling awareness that the key to everything was hidden somewhere within her, right within his grasp and yet still unattainable.
Still, he could either confront her or let the matter lie. He grappled with himself for a moment, then sighed. “Aye. ‘Tis probably best I get tae bed meself.”
“I wish you a fair night’s sleep, my laird.” With a final dip of her head and the faintest ghost of a smile, Lydia slipped around him and left the library, leaving Donall to frown after her.
I ken I wasnae imagining the way she pulled away when she realized how much we were talkin’ about the books, but more than tha’... was she tryin’ tae pull back from me? Has somethin’ changed, or is it simply that I made her uneasy, starin’ at her so long?
—
My dear reader,
I apologize for the interruption…
