Page 21 of To Serve a Laird
“I have readThe IliadandThe Odyssey.” Claire replied triumphantly. “In the original Ancient Greek, and translated it as I went along.”
“Hm… Quite a feat,” Iain mused.
He did not mention that translating Ancient Greek poems was of no use at all when cleaning, gardening, and cooking were what was needed, but Claire was not stupid. She knew that. She had obviously been trying to point out her powers of persistence.
“And I overcame my fear of horses so that I could learn to ride,” she went on. “I taught myself to swim because my father said it was too dangerous and far too undignified for a lady.”
These examples she had given him were far more practical and useful, but he still felt infinitely sorry for Claire as heimagined just how ill-prepared she had been for a menial life like the one she was leading now.
The maids did not attend balls, or wear lace-trimmed satin and velvet evening dresses. They did not eat the quality of food that she had been accustomed to; most of his servants had never eaten a fillet of prime steak in their lives. However, unlike many working people, they had good, nourishing fare.
As he looked down at the strikingly beautiful woman in front of him, he reflected that a life of privilege and ease was not always a good thing. Claire had been sheltered, as much as if she had been a mouse thrown into a den of lions, and had been utterly unprepared for what lay ahead of her.
Now she knew. And Iain knew that there was something between him and Claire that was unseen but tangible, so strong that he could have reached out and touched it. Yet even while it drew them together, it stood between them. The desire was there, but the ability to fulfil it was out of reach, and stopped them from crossing the bridge that separated them. Both of them knew it, but neither could do anything about it.
Claire looked down at her finger again. The sore was becoming extremely painful, and she winced. To her surprise, Iain took her hand and cradled it gently in his own, which looked enormous compared to hers. His skin felt rough, yet his touch was incredibly gentle. And when she looked up, he was smiling down at her.
They look like the sky on a clear day,she thought.
Aloud, she said. “Why do you always help me? You rescued me from the old lecher in the tavern, you let me have your books, your writing materials. What have I done to deserve all this, my Laird?”
Iain said nothing for a moment, then he asked, “Why are you always wherever I look?”
His voice was beyond soft. It was tender, and the air between them seemed to throb as he quite unconsciously began to dip his head towards hers.
Claire sucked in a soft breath, and her gaze settled on his parted lips, which were now coming closer and closer to her own. Her whole body tensed and tingled, her private place becoming warm and wet in anticipation of—what?
She never found out. At that moment, they heard the sound of footprints, a rustling of skirts, and at that moment the healer returned, pointedly clearing her throat as she entered the room.
Claire and Iain jumped apart guiltily, and Claire turned to face the other woman, looking away from him.
The healer applied the salve to the sore on Claire’s hand and gave her the instructions on how and when to use it.
“Now, ye must keep your hands as clean as ye can manage before ye put this on,” she said briskly. “Tell the cook I said ye must have some vinegar tae rinse it wi’. If ye have any trouble wi’ it come tae me.”
“Thank you so much.” Claire smiled at the old lady. “Goodnight, my Laird.”
She curtsied and fled without waiting for an answer.
Iain followed her slowly as he went to his study to pour himself another glass of wine. What would have happened had the healer come back a few moments later, he wondered?
Then he told himself,Don’t be stupid, Iain. You know you would have kissed her. For god’s sake, you’ve wanted to do that ever since you first laid eyes on her.
He poured out his wine then sat down beside his desk to do some paperwork, even though it was the last thing he was interested in doing at that moment. Every time he tried to concentrate, he saw Claire’s warm brown eyes gazing at him, her lips parting, awaiting his kiss.
Eventually, he threw down his quill and went to sit by the fireplace with his latest read. Yet, after reading and re-reading the same paragraph over and over again he gave up and went to bed, but it was a long time before sleep claimed him.
Claire, too, had been wondering what would have happened had the healer not arrived at that fateful moment, but she determinedly shook the thought out of her mind and went to finish her letter to Rose.
The Laird is a fearsome Highlander, but he seems to be a good man who looks after his people well. They all think the world of him, and although he has a few battle scars, somehow I think he would only use his sword in self-defence or to protect those he loves. I don’t think he’ll ever hurt me, in fact, he took me to the healer today when I hurt my hand—nothing serious!
Now, dear sister, I must go before I fall asleep and spoil this letter. Please write back as soon as you can.
Much love,
Claire.
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