Page 51 of The Scottish Duke
“Nonsense. What is it you need?”
“A table,” she said. “And a stool. Somewhere to arrange my herbs. Some of them are poisonous and I’d prefer not to do any work in the kitchen.”
“Then you shall have a table and a stool. May I come again?”
“I would like that very much,” Lorna said.
Instead of moving toward the door, the duchess startled her by bending down and kissing her on the cheek.
“I grew up an orphan in my aunt’s home, my dear. From an early age I understood life to be exceedingly short. Too short to allow other people to dictate what you do or say, wear or believe. I am grateful for that lesson because it allowed me to appreciate every single moment of joy I was given. I hope you do the same.”
Lorna stared after the duchess long after the door closed.
Chapter 14
The last of winter sat on the shoulders of the mountains, broke its boredom by blowing the remainder of its frigid breath over the glens and into the woods. This morning crystal shards had been draped from the trees, ice changing the grass to a glittering green. This part of the Highlands was inhospitable to strangers in the frozen months. Even the hardiest Scots hunkered close to the fire and blessed their good fortune in having a well-built home.
Spring was like a wave to visitors: come, it’s safe now. You’re welcome here.
The last weeks in Wittan Village had been cold and miserable. Here in her cozy borrowed cottage, Lorna was perfectly comfortable and waiting the onset of spring. Those two months in Mrs.MacDonald’s dark and dank room were in the past, the memory of them almost like a bad dream.
She discovered that the absence of worry was a monumental gift she’d been given. With her immediate needs satisfied, she didn’t spend any time being afraid. Her days were more than pleasant; they were perfect in their simplicity and peace.
When she wasn’t dozing, she occupied herself with reading, experimenting with various recipes from her father’s book, and daydreaming.
“You used to clean my rooms,” a voice said.
Lorna emerged from talking to Peter in the kitchen to find Mary Taylor standing in the parlor.
“I could never find anything after you cleaned,” Mary said. “Did you ever steal from me?”
“Do you normally enter someone’s home unannounced?” she asked.
“This cottage belongs to Alex.”
“Did he give you permission to be rude?”
“Did you ever steal from me?”
“No. I’ve never stolen anything from anyone.”
Mary cocked her head and regarded her, eyes narrowing.
“I’m not certain I believe you. I think I should have addressed the matter at the time, however. Now might be too late, especially since you would’ve gotten rid of anything you stole.”
“Is that why you came, to accuse me of stealing from you?”
Lorna wanted to sit, but she didn’t move toward her favorite chair in the parlor. Sitting there was a little like being an overturned turtle. She needed help getting up. The last thing she wanted to be was vulnerable around Mary Taylor.
Instead, she slowly walked to the settee and sat on the end. The horsehair stuffing was hard and uncomfortable, but at least she didn’t have a problem standing once she sat.
She folded her hands and pretended a calm she didn’t feel. Her emotions hadn’t been especially volatile until the last week. Now she wanted to shout at the woman to leave her alone, to leave her house, go away. Anything but be here, with accusations that had no basis in truth, simply because she could make them.
She saw Peter out of the corner of her eye and shook her head. She didn’t need rescuing.
“What a pity you’ve forgotten your place,” Mary said. “You think you’re special because you’re having Alex’s child. But you’re not, you know. You’re nothing but a servant. One who’s dropped down a peg or two. No one has any respect for a woman who births a bastard.”
How she disliked that word. Even more so people who said it with such glee.
