Page 1 of To Serve a Laird
PROLOGUE
Claire Tewsbury’s sister, Rose, had warned her about the Scottish weather in her letters, and now Claire realised just what she meant as she looked out of the cracked carriage window. The weather was the most miserable she had ever seen, and she had never experienced anything like it in her home country of England. As well as that, Rose had warned her to tread carefully around the Scottish people because they tended to be prickly and sensitive to criticism.
However, Rose’s venture into the land of the Scots had ended in a true happily ever after, since she had met and married a rich and handsome Laird, and was now expecting his baby.
Claire could not help but be jealous because her life since her sister left had become hellish. She and her other sister, Amanda, had borne the brunt of their father’s wrath about everything that had gone wrong in his life. Every misfortune somehow became their fault, and both were desperately seeking escape.
However, since Rose had made a success of her life in this inhospitable place, James Tewsbury was desperate to dispose of his other daughter to save him the expense of caring for her.
Now Claire watched him surreptitiously, seeing him taking swigs from the small flask of whisky he always carried with him.He did not have enough money to buy his daughters new clothes, but he always had enough for whisky and cards!
“My god! How does anybody live in this filthy place?” he asked disgustedly as he watched an old lady struggle along the road, bent almost double under the weight of a heavy sack of potatoes.
Claire felt infinitely sorry for her, but James curled his lip in disdain. “Savages,” he sneered.
Presently, the old, creaky carriage came to a stop in front of a tumbledown tavern, and Claire stretched her aching back before she started to climb out. However, when she saw that her father was getting out before her, she assumed that he was going to help her to step down onto the muddy ground, but she should have known better.
James Tewsbury scurried into the tavern in an attempt to avoid the rain, which was now teeming down, and left Claire to fend for herself. She sighed and stepped down onto the mud, dragging her bag with her. She took two steps and then skidded on the slippery ground, and although she did not fall, she dirtied her skirts up to the knees with sticky, clinging mud.
She was tired to the bone, and her hair was a tangled mess from the rain and wind that had seeped through the huge crack in the carriage window. Her father, of course, had sat at the opposite side, where the window was undamaged. She felt like a scarecrow with her filthy clothes, messy dark brown hair that was now splashed with mud, and general air of utter neglect.
When she entered the main room of the tavern, the air was thick with the stench of stale sweat, old beer and mice. Claire felt nauseated and afraid, but she kept her chin up, resolved not to show how disgusted she was. She was determined to keep up her mask of indifference, no matter what happened.
But so focused was she on her thoughts that she took her eyes off her father, whom she had been following, and collided withone of the barmaids. She was carrying a tray that was loaded with half-a-dozen cups of ale, and they all tumbled onto the floor, exploding into shards of clay and a spray of ale that settled into a spreading pool on the floor, soaking the straw.
Claire leapt backwards, then stood staring down for a few seconds, aghast at what she had done. She looked up at the barmaid, who was wiping drops of beer from her apron. Presently, the tough-looking middle-aged woman raised her eyes and glared at Claire.
“Look what ye’ve done, ye silly cow!” she shouted. “I hope ye have the coin tae pay for that!”
Claire was speechless for a moment. Her mask of indifference had dropped, and she was close to tears. She knew that they had no coin to spare—only enough to pay for a bed for the night, and she was sure of what would happen next. James Tewsbury would buy himself dinner and a room, and Claire would have to fend for herself.
As she had expected, he reacted with absolute fury. “You stupid girl!” he yelled. “There goes your bed for the night.”
However, at that moment the barmaid pushed her out of the way and Claire dropped her satchel onto the floor, spilling its contents onto the dirty surface. With a feeling of utter dread, Claire watched her precious books tumbling onto the ale-soaked straw, their pages instantly soaking up the liquid and turning brown and soggy. They were utterly ruined. With a cry of fright, she bent down to pick them up, but her father was there before her, his face crimson with fury.
“What are these for?” he growled. “When do you think you will have time to sit and read these? You will be paid to work, not sit around reading stupid love stories all day!”
He picked up one of the books and seized the pages, then ripped them out of the covers and threw them onto the straw on the floor and stamped on them.
“No!” Claire cried desperately. “Leave them alone, please, Father! Please!”
However, her pleas fell on deaf ears. She tried to rescue some of the others, but her father was too quick for her, picking up book after book and ripping them to shreds.
Eventually, she gave up and stopped trying to save them, watching with tears streaming down her face and her heart breaking as he destroyed the only things that had kept her sane in the last few horrible years.
“That will teach you to obey your father,” James growled. “I told you not to bring those with you, did I not?”
Claire made no answer, she was completely unable to speak. She merely looked down at the pages that lay scattered, soaked and mashed into the wet straw. Her books, the most precious things she had ever owned, had been literally ripped away from her.
As well as that, everyone in the place, most of whom were men, were looking at her with pity, laughing at her, or leering at her quite unashamedly.
Claire watched as James Tewsbury went over to the bar and dropped a few coins on it for a cup of beer.
“That is the thanks I get for raising her—alone!” he complained bitterly. “Not a morsel of gratitude, only disobedience and insolence.”
Claire watched him, thinking that she had never hated anyone so much in her life. She had tried to understand how he felt when her mother died and he had to say goodbye to the only woman he had ever loved, but it seemed that when he lost his wife, he had also lost his humanity.
Just then, a fat old man came up to Claire and gave her an ugly, toothless smile. “Ye’re a bonny wee thing,” he said, looking her up and down with a lascivious leer, before he turned to her father. “How much dae ye want for her?” he asked.
