Page 16 of To Serve a Laird
Iain saw Claire’s eyes widen with fear, but the expression had no effect on him, since he was as angry as she was terrified.
“So this is the thanks I get for taking you in, giving you employment and a roof over your head?” he asked, his voice throbbing with rage. “You steal from me? What do you have in your hands?”
Claire backed away from him, terrified, until her spine came in contact with the bookshelf. Iain came so close to her that she had to tilt her head back to look into his blue eyes, which werenow dark with fury. His body was touching hers, but not pressed against her, and she could smell the musk of his body, a mixture of leather, spice, and something indefinable but delicious.
Iain was looking at her so intently that it was impossible for her to look away for a moment, until his gaze flicked down to her lips, where it lingered for a moment. He was so close that she could feel the heat of his body, his breath ruffling her hair, and she could see every dark bristle on his face. For a few insane seconds, Claire thought he was going to kiss her: her heart was thudding so hard that she thought it was going to explode in her chest.
However, it seemed that he had no such intention. Instead, he reached around her back and took the quill and ink from her hand, then stared at it in puzzlement for a while.
What the hell is she doing?he thought.If she wanted to steal something, surely she would have been looking for coins or something valuable to sell?
“Are you running away from me already, Claire? Or do you just enjoy stealing from me?” he said dryly. “If you are looking for anything valuable I’m afraid you will not find it here. All my treasures are stored in a place where no one but me will ever find them.”
He watched as Claire shook her head desperately. “I have no interest in your wealth, my Laird,” she said, her voice trembling. “I wanted some parchment and ink to write to my sister, Rose, Lady MacTavish. She has not heard from me since I came here, and I know she will be worried about me.”
So that is the mystery!he thought, unaware that he was still staring at her. Claire was looking at the floor, hugging herself as if to protect herself from him.
Iain took a step back, and immediately felt bereft as his body lost contact with hers. My god, what was she doing to him? He shook the thought out of his head and beckoned her to join himin a seat beside the fire, making sure that she was too far away for him to touch.
He stirred the coals in the fire with a poker, not because he had to, but because it gave him a moment to think. Then, without asking if she wanted a drink, he poured her a glass of wine, scarcely able to believe what he was doing. He was givinga maidone of the most expensive vintages in his cellar.
But she was no mere maid, he reminded himself; Claire Tewsbury was a complete enigma, an upper-class woman doing the kind of work people in her rank of society looked down upon.
Servants were not people; they were mere tools, there to serve those in the higher ranks of society, to do the kind of work none of them would soil their hands with. If she was recognised by any of her peers, she would be instantly despised.
This was not fair, but it was a fact. Claire would have disgraced herself in their eyes, stepped down the rungs of the social ladder until she reached the bottom, there to live amongst the lowest of the low.
Yet, Iain had never thought of his servants and tenants that way; he recognised them as people who kept him comfortable, well-fed and happy with his lot. If they had not been there, how would the castle be kept clean, maintained and guarded? Who would cook his food and tend to the gardens?
No, he was not one of those Lairds who treated his staff like animals, and as he looked at the enchanting woman opposite him, something stirred within him. She was trapped between two worlds, and at the moment she belonged in neither because she was not high enough to be in one or low enough to be in the other. How he pitied her!
Now he said softly, “Do you have other sisters?”
Claire nodded. “My second-eldest sister, Amanda, is still at home living with my father,” she replied. “But I would not be surprised if he had an auction and sold her to the highest bidder,no doubt to pay for a case of single malt whisky or fine French brandy. We are only commodities to him.”
Her voice was hard and bitter, filled with rage and hatred. “He was delighted when Rose married because he thought he was going to receive some kind of pension from Cormac, but he was sorely disappointed.
A short while after the wedding, which Father would not let Amanda or me attend, Rose and Cormac came to visit. Cormac told my father that he would not receive a penny from him, although I think he might have set aside some money in trust for Amanda and me without his knowledge.
Rose looked radiantly happy, and I am happy for her, which is why I want to get in touch with her as soon as possible.”
Claire looked up at Iain, and her honey-coloured eyes glittered with unshed tears.
“What do you really want?” he asked suddenly, sure there was something she was not telling him.
There was a deafening silence for a moment, then Claire stood up and squared her shoulders, realising that it was time to be completely honest with him.
“I want to be gone from here.” Her voice was firm and determined as her gaze locked on his. “I want to buy my way out of your service and move on with my life. I will not be your slave forever.”
“My slave?” he asked. “Is that how you see yourself?”
Claire’s eyes were blazing with anger at his casual, matter-of-fact tone. “You bought me,” she pointed out. “I cannot escape from your service unless you set me free, or I pay for my release.”
“And if I do not wish to let you go?” Iain asked, raising his eyebrows quizzically.
Claire had no answer for this. She had assumed that Iain Ross would be glad to be rid of her.
“Would you run away?” he asked, steepling his hands in front of himself and adopting an attitude of amused curiosity.
