Page 14 of To Serve a Laird
There was silence for a moment before everyone burst out laughing. They carried on until some of them had tears running down their cheeks. This was obviously the funniest thing they had heard in ages, but eventually the mirth died down, and all eyes turned to Claire.
It was, of course, Lorna who answered. “Aye, we dae, madam,” she answered scornfully. “Because we a’ write tae the King every day.”
“An’ he writes back,” someone else said. “Every day, eh, lassies?”
There was a chorus of “aye” and another burst of laughter. Claire’s cheeks flared bright red as she suddenly realised that none of her fellow maids could read. She was not surprised, but she cursed herself for not having worked this out before.
The notion that none of them had ever read a book in their lives filled her with such horror that it was tragic. Her thoughts must have shown in her face because suddenly Lorna leaned across the table and slapped her hand on it just in front of Claire.
“We might no’ be able tae read, Sassenach,” she said, her voice filled with scorn. “But we arenae stupid. We a’ have good Scots tongues in our heids. A’ except ye, o’ course!”
This brought forth another hearty chorus of laughter, and Claire looked at the floor, wishing it would open up and swallow her. The hostility around her was almost palpable, and she would have taken to her heels if given half a chance.
“Dinnae pity us,milady.” Lorna gave the last word so much venom that it almost made Claire tremble. “We have many good Scottish stories tae tell. Is that no’ right, lassies?” She looked around at her colleagues, who were nodding and smiling in agreement.
“I think we might tell Claire some o’ them.” Again Lorna swept a glance around the table, and again she was answered by a chorus of assent.
“Dae ye know the one about the Battle o’ Bannockburn?” Lorna asked.
A cheer went up, and Lorna stared straight at Claire with a spiteful smile.
“No,” Claire replied. “But I suppose you are going to tell me about it. As you said, you have good Scots tongues in your heads. I would like to hear some of your stories.”
Nothing could have been further from the truth, but Claire was not willing to give them the satisfaction of knowing how much their hostility bothered her.
“Are ye sure ye are ready for this one, hen?” Lorna asked, her eyes gleaming with spite.
Claire nodded. The story was very short, basically a summary of the facts: Scotland, led by King Robert the Bruce, with a much smaller force, had overcome a massive English army led by King Edward the Second.
When the story ended, a great cheer went up, and the women all looked at Claire to see her reaction, their faces triumphant. However, Claire kept her face as expressionless as that of a marble statue. Not a flicker of emotion crossed it as she listened to Lorna.
“So what dae ye say now, madam Sassenach?” Lorna asked, smirking.
“Battle of Culloden,” Claire said flatly.
This had been a battle in which the Scots had been thoroughly trounced, and everyone knew it. Immediately, the women’s faces became thunderous, and Claire felt so afraid she regretted opening her mouth.
“Careful, Sassenach,” one of the others warned.
Claire looked around the table; there were twenty-odd pairs of eyes staring at her. The woman’s words had been a threat, and not a very subtle one. She doubted that any of them wouldactually harm her, but some harboured extremely bad feelings against the English, so she could never be sure.
Most of the bad feeling stemmed from the fact that many Scots had lost friends and relatives to English swords and muskets in battles and raids, and the bitterness and hatred still ran deep. However, Claire thought that she might feel the same given the same circumstances, so she tried to make allowances for them.
Yet now, listening to the tales Lorna was telling about the battles of the wars between the two countries, how the ground had been soaked with the blood of English soldiers, Claire went pale. She was utterly appalled that Lorna and the others should glory over such dreadful loss of life, and when they began to speak about their Laird and his exploits, she felt quite sick.
“He’s killed a few Sassenachs tae keep us safe,” she said, with a scornful laugh.
“More than a few,” a young girl at the end of the table said with a grimace. “He nearly chopped the head off the swine that killed my wee brother. He is a fierce man, but a good one.” She glared at Claire.
Lorna gave Claire a sideways look that was so full of venom that she shrank backwards.
“He has been nice tae ye because he feels sorry for ye,” she said, “but he willnae always be like that. He is fierce inside, an’ ye will soon find that out. Anyway, he will soon wed a good Scottish woman o’ quality.” She raised her cup of ale. “Tae our Laird!” she said. “Slàinte mhath!”
“Slàinte mhath!” Everyone else raised their cups and drank, except Claire, who pushed the rest of her food away, then turned and fled.
I have to leave this place,she thought desperately.It’s just as Rose said—they all hate me because I am English.
Yet look what had happened to Rose. She had found the man of her dreams and was living the kind of life she had only read about in romantic stories. Yet, Claire had no such hopes; lightning did not strike in the same place twice, and the only man she had met who was worthy of her attention was the Laird.
