Page 15 of To Serve a Laird
She gave a short, cynical laugh. He was never likely to look twice at her, and beyond his handsome face, she knew nothing about him. She was wildly attracted to him, yes, but that was not love.
Claire sighed and went to her chamber, then threw herself on her bed and wept tears of sheer misery. She had to speak to Rose. She had to find a way out of this awful place.
Three days later, Claire was not further forward in her search for a way to get in touch with Rose. She had not seen the Laird, except from a distance, when she had swiftly ducked behind a pillar or into an alcove to avoid him.
She avoided speaking to the other maids except when it was absolutely necessary, and it seemed that they were quite happy to go along with this, since no-one attempted to engage her in conversation either. She was silent at suppertime, and only stayed long enough to eat her food before leaving.
This arrangement seemed to suit everyone, since Claire was content to go back to her chamber and enjoy the only company she really needed; her books.
On her way back to her room one evening, she was feeling particularly depressed, and quite literally bumped into Dougal McMahon, who collided with her as they approached the same corner from different directions.
“Claire!” he said, steadying her by gripping her upper arms. “Please excuse me. Are you all right?”
“Yes, thank you,” she replied, with an awkward smile. “It was my fault. I was not looking where I was going. Forgive me, sir.” She curtsied, avoiding his eyes. Then she looked up. “Do you perhaps have a pen and parchment, sir? I would like to write to my sister.”
“I do,” Dougal answered. “But it would be quicker for you to get it from the Laird’s study. It’s far closer, and I do not think he will mind if you ask him.”
“Indeed it is. Thank you, sir.”
Claire curtsied again and made herself walk sedately to the Laird’s study. She knocked softly and waited, but when there was no answer she knocked again, this time a little more loudly. When there was still no response, she tried the door handle, but she had little hope that it would be unlocked.
To her surprise, the handle turned without a sound, but she still opened it with the utmost caution, and stepped in noiselessly on her tiptoes. The room was exactly as she had imagined it; a miniature version of the library. The only difference was the large mahogany desk that was covered in neatly stacked parchments.
Everything else was the same: the smell of beeswax and leather, the bookshelves that lined every wall, the marble fireplace and armchairs. If she had not been on such an urgent errand, Claire would happily have made herself comfortable for the whole evening and read herself to sleep.
There was an inkwell, quill, and parchment on top of the desk, but no bottle with a lid, and Claire could not take the risk of spilling ink all over herself. She took two sheets of parchment, a blotter, and the quill pen from the desktop then opened the top drawer, where thankfully she found what she was looking for at once.
She had just breathed a sigh of relief when suddenly she heard the door handle turning, and suddenly, she was looking into the ice-blue eyes of Iain Ross, who was glaring at her from across the room.
He took three deliberate steps towards her, then leaned his hands on the desk, bending over it so that their faces were only inches apart. Claire was terrified, reminded of the stories Lorna and the others had told her over the dinner table.
Here she was alone with a warrior, a very, very dangerous man who could end a life not only with a weapon, but with his bare hands. If he decided to attack her she would be utterly helpless, with absolutely no way to protect herself.
She quickly whipped the stolen goods she had in her grasp behind her back and waited, her eyes wide and terrified.
7
Iain had been thinking about Claire almost from the first moment he saw her. Every night when he went to bed she haunted his dreams, and even when he was going about his daily business he would see her out of the corner of his eye, only to turn around and find he was imagining things.
He had been both incredulous and furious when he saw her father trading with a piece of low-life scum to buy her from him, and his reaction to purchase her himself had been instinctive. He had not gone to the tavern with the intention of buying anything other than a cup of ale, but fate, it seemed, had other ideas.
Now, Claire Tewsbury was so firmly lodged in his mind that he could not get her out of it, no matter how hard he tried. He was wildly attracted to her, despite the fact that he was destined to marry another woman of much higher status.
Every time he saw her, his body reacted in the most primal way possible; he felt himself harden and felt an almost irresistible impulse to drag her into his arms, even though he knew she would push him away.
Or would she? He was Laird after all, and he was not naïve. He was a wealthy man with a huge property, land and manyother assets. He had also been told he was handsome, and he admitted to himself that he was, though he deliberately played down that fact. He was far more than a pretty face.
It was days since he had seen Claire. Perhaps she had simply been assigned to tasks that took her to different parts of the castle, or perhaps she had been avoiding him.
Whatever the reason, he found himself missing her, and he was almost ashamed of himself for even thinking this way.
For god’s sake, get a grip of yourself, Iain!he thought.Remember you have duties and responsibilities and stop acting like a fool. You have to marry and have children, and you cannot be thinking like this.
However, he knew that there were other ways to enjoy Claire’s company. What if he took her as a mistress?
It was with this thought in his mind that he opened the door, and his eyes widened in shock as he met those of the very person he had been thinking about. When Claire saw him, she started guiltily and let out a little gasp, then shoved something hastily behind her back to conceal it. He watched her face redden, but Iain felt no shame at having caused her discomfort. He was furious. What was she doing in his most private place?
He was not even conscious of crossing the room. His eyes were fixed on the woman who had invaded his sanctuary and was now apparently stealing from him.
