Page 37 of Bride of the Mad Laird
Instead Eilidh was nodding, a gentle smile on her face.
“How are these feelings?”
Lyra drew in a reluctant breath. “All I ken is that when the lad is near, I wish him closer, and when he is absent, I wish tae bring him near. Are ye telling me that these are the feelings that lead tae… daeing… that what ye spoke of?”
Eilidh nodded. “Methinks ye are falling in love, Lyra. ‘Tis a beautiful thing, dinnae be afeared of it.”
Lyra’s fingers scrabbled with the skirt of her new gown, twisting it into little ball. Eilidh reached a quiet hand and placed it on Lyra’s agitated fingers.
“But, ‘tis wicked tae have the kind of yearning I have.”
“Wicked?”
“Aye.” Lyra’s cheeks were burning. “I think of him taking me in his arms. I want his kisses on me lips. And, even worse… I’ve seen him naked and I wish tae see his body again.” She whispered. “And tae touch him.”
Eilidh shook her head. “These are the thoughts of young lovers. Mayhap ye have heard that such things are wicked. But…” She paused. “Look around ye. Every soul ye see, has come into the world because a lass made love wi’ a lad. If ‘twas disgusting, as ye suspect, then there’d be nay more bairns coming into the world.”
Lyra laughed. “Mayhap I will take yer words tae heart.”
“Mayhap…” Eilidh chuckled. “…ye are falling in love wi’ this lad of yers. Ye’re innocent, yet yer feelings are true. Trust yer heart, but guard yerself well.”
They had finished their tisanes, and both rose to their feet.
“Come visit again soon, Lyra. I enjoy yer company.”
“And I yer. I thank ye fer yer wisdom. I am comforted tae ken that I am nae as wicked as I feared I might be.”
Eilidh placed her arm around Lyra’s shoulders and drew her into a hug. “Never fear, lass. Just remember the words on me stones and stay true tae yerself.”
Lyra wandered back through the gate in the inner wall, lost in thought, marveling at Eilidh’s conclusion that she was falling in love. She’d heard of such things of course, but the heady, dizzy luscious confusion of it had caught her totally by surprise.
She went in search of Claray, for it was time she made herself useful. She had always been busy with work at the Priory and was happy to spend her time on the many mundane tasks that kept the place humming. Surely, there must be tasks she could help with in this vast castle.
Claray was in a small space near the door to the refectory. She was immersed in counting coins and allocating them to mysterious pieces of parchment on the tiny table in front of her.
Lyra tapped on the open door and Claray looked up with a smile.
“What is it me lady?”
Lyra did not hesitate. She was used to the plain speaking of the Priory. “How can I be of help?”
Claray greeted Lyra’s words with a puzzled expression.
“Help? What d’ye mean, lass?”
“I am willing to work. I like tae be useful. I have naught tae occupy me time. Nay embroidery, nye gardening. At the Priory I carried out many tasks. Laundry, sweeping, making sure all the beds were neat, washing dishes.”
“Hm.” Claray grew thoughtful. “Every task in the castle is allocated tae one of the servants. There are maids fer laundering, fer sweeping, fer attending tae the bedchambers.”
Her eyes swept over Lyra in her new finery. “The maids have taken the laundry tae the river, but it is nay fer the likes of ye, me lady, tae be rolling up yer new skirts and sleeves and standing knee deep in the water tae scrub the soiled garments.”
“Oh. I was hoping…”
“Wait.” Lyra looked up, smiling. “There’s the laird’s great kilt. He’s out with his man Edmund, in the training yard. D’ye ken how tae sponge clean a woolen plaid?
Lyra nodded. “Of course, our habits were made of wool and we cleaned them with great care.”
“In that case, accompany me tae the place where we hang clothes in the sun. If ye can sponge the laird’s kilt and leave it clean, ye’ll save me a task.”
