Page 18 of To Serve a Laird
I’ve been watching all the others here, and I’ve learned that nothing is ever wasted—no food, no ale, not even vegetable peelings, which are fed to the pigs or turned into fertiliser for the garden.
I am truly amazed by all this, and I am determined to make something useful from my little piece of fabric, just to challenge myself. You know how I love a challenge!
Claire gave a little laugh, since she knew this would make Rose giggle.
This must be one of the ugliest places I have ever seen, Rose. There is no doubt that as fortresses go it is magnificent, but itis certainly nothing like the fairy tale castles we read about in our novels. When I first saw it I thought it looked like a huge sleeping dog sprawled across the top of the hill, but although it’s slightly prettier inside than outside, I cannot say that I am impressed by anything I have seen so far.
I know you are going to want to know about the Laird for whom I work, and I’m glad to say that he’s also quite young and very handsome, with jet black hair and ice-blue eyes. Everyone tells me I should fear him, but I don’t find him fearsome at all. He makes me feel protected.
She paused, and yawned. She could not go on any further without describing the Laird’s character in great detail because she knew that Rose would be eaten up with curiosity about what Iain Ross was like. She had described her own husband as being devastatingly handsome, generous, kind, and loving. Claire had no idea if Laird Ross possessed any of those fine and admirable qualities, but he was certainly handsome.
Claire started to read the book she had chosen and was immediately swept away by the stories of violence and bloodshed. They should have appalled her, but instead, she found them thrilling and fascinating.
She could now begin to understand the bitterness that many of the Scots felt against her countrymen because so many of them had lost friends and family in those vicious battles.
She had known the names of the most famous battles, of course, but not the stories behind them. Now she was being educated, and although it was not pleasant, Claire knew that the knowledge would benefit her.
Understanding and tolerance were never wasted, and she meant to use her new-found knowledge to help her form closerrelationships with those around her. After all, they were not her enemies.
Now, however, her eyelids began to droop; she had to sleep. She had thought she might stay awake thinking about her encounter with the Laird, but she did not.
She dropped straight into a beautiful dream. She seemed to be having more and more dreams about Iain Ross these days, Claire thought wryly.
When she woke up the following morning, the first thing Claire saw was the half-finished letter on top of the cupboard beside her cot. However, she had no chance to write any more of it since she was expected for breakfast, then for work.
With a sigh, she wondered what the day had in store for her.
She soon found out. The maids performed all their usual morning tasks, then, after they had all finished eating their midday meal, Agnes called all the maids together to give them further instructions.
“The gardeners need some extra help today, since there is an awful lot tae dae, so we have a’ been asked tae help plant seedlin’s,” she told them. “Get a move on.”
Claire waited behind till the others had left before approaching Agnes.
“Will you show me what to do?” she asked. “I have never done any gardening before.”
She felt utterly foolish, but knew that she would feel even worse if she made a complete hash of everything.
Agnes looked at her and frowned. She was tempted to ask if Claire had ever done any kind of work at all before because, although she was getting better at performing her assigned tasks, she still found it hard to keep up with everyone else.
Agnes sighed. She had enough responsibilities without having to mollycoddle this helpless Sassenach. She grabbed thefirst maid she saw and said, “Jean, take Claire out an’ tell her what tae dae.”
The young woman burst out laughing. “Ye mean ye cannae dig a hole, hen?” she asked, looking Claire up and down scornfully. “Come wi’ me an’ I will show ye.”
She led Claire out into the vegetable garden, a vast area at the back of the kitchen where many of the herbs, vegetables, and even fruits were grown for feeding the inhabitants of the castle.
It had impressed Claire because although her own house had a large garden, it had never been used for anything so practical and functional.
As they walked towards the garden, the other woman called to her colleagues in Gaelic, pointing at Claire, who was obviously an object of ridicule, since they all giggled.
Claire’s cheeks were flaming with rage and embarrassment as she knelt down beside the other young woman and watched what she was doing. Her fingers and the skin of her hands had not yet adjusted to the rough treatment they were receiving, and her fingers hurt more and more as she worked.
Claire had been allocated a stretch of the garden to plant her seedlings, so she got down on her hands and knees with the tray of little plants beside her, ready to arrange them in a row as she saw everyone else doing.
It did not take long for her to realise that something was going wrong. Perhaps the holes she was digging were not deep enough, or she was applying the wrong amount of pressure when she pushed the seedlings into the soil, or not enough.
Whatever she was doing, however much she tried to change her method of planting, nothing was working. At last, she sat back on her haunches, exhausted. She hadn’t realised how much time she had wasted struggling with the seedlings. Everyone else had gradually left the garden to go inside for their evening meal, leaving her alone just as the sun was dipping behind the skyline.
Claire sighed. Her back was aching, her hands were filthy and blistered, all the seedlings she had planted were limp and drooping, and none of them looked likely to last very long. The day had been a total disaster, and she had nothing to show for it.
