Page 28 of To Serve a Laird
Iain slept very well that night for the first time in weeks, and when he awoke, he felt lively, refreshed and ready for anything. He threw on his clothes, then went up to stand on the turrets to chat with the guards on the morning watch and enjoy some fresh morning air.
Iain loved talking to his men, since he did not have to be polite and careful of every word he said, as he would have if ladies were present.
After a while, however, duty called, but he knew it would be a much more pleasant day today because of the decision he had just made.
Iain called Agnes to his office later that morning. She looked apprehensive as he poured her some ale; being summoned to the Laird’s study did not usually bode well.
“Agnes, I need to make some changes in the staff,” he announced. “Claire Tewsbury will be my personal attendant from now on. Please see to it that arrangements are made to have a new chamber ready for her, and it must be furnished with a desk, a lamp and writing materials as well as the usual furniture.”
“But—but M’Laird!” Agnes protested. “Ye cannae dae that. She is just a maid. If ye want a personal attendant ask?—”
However, she did not manage to finish her sentence, since Iain slapped the flat of his hand on the desk with a mighty thud, which made Agnes jump and cower back in her chair.
“I think you will find I can do exactly what I like, Agnes,” he said, his voice low but throbbing with rage. “When you become Laird, then you can give the orders. Until then, do as I say. Understand?”
“Aye, M’Laird,” Agnes answered, hanging her head. “I am very sorry. I will have everythin’ done as ye wish.”
Iain watched her leave, and as the door closed behind her, he allowed himself a slow, satisfied smile.
13
Claire walked into the kitchen that morning, still yawning. Although she had finally managed to sleep because of sheer exhaustion, she had been haunted by nightmares all night. Now she was rubbing her eyes, trying to force herself into wakefulness by sheer force of will.
Suddenly, she heard Agnes’s voice calling her name.
“Claire,” she said, beckoning her with a crook of her finger. “Come wi’ me. I have somethin’ tae tell ye.”
Claire’s mouth fell open, and a terrible sense of dread filled her. She was being let go—this was her last day of working at Glengar Castle. What would she do now with nowhere to live and hardly any coin?
Then she remembered Iain Ross had bought her. He would not just release her, so he must have other plans in mind for her. Claire’s heart sank. Was she going to become his mistress—his kept woman—whether she liked it or not?
She was filled with a sense of dread the likes of which she had never felt before.
She followed Agnes to her little office and sat down in the chair that was offered to her. She was trembling all over.
“What is going to happen to me?” she asked fearfully, before Agnes could speak.
“Ye are goin’ tae become the Laird’s personal attendant,” Agnes answered.
She looked at Claire through narrowed eyes as she spoke.
“Attendant?” Claire was puzzled. “What kind of attendant?” her heart was thudding as she waited for Agnes to answer her question.
Agnes shrugged. “He didnae say,” she replied. “Ye will have tae ask him. Ye will be moved tae another chamber so ye can have a desk tae write on—that is a’ he told me.”
Her tone was disdainful. Clearly Agnes had other ideas about what constituted a personal attendant because it showed on her face. Claire knew exactly what they were, as she was thinking the same thing.
Claire left through the kitchen, where a crowd of her fellow maids had gathered for breakfast. Many of them looked at her with spiteful glares, and there was a general air of hostility. Clearly they already knew the news, although Claire had no idea how.
There was no such thing as a secret in this place, though, she reflected. It was most likely that someone had been listening at the door.
Of course, it was Lorna who spoke first. It always was.
“Sassenachs get the best treatment,” she said, her lip curling up in a scornful sneer. “All o’ us have been here far longer than you,madam.” She stressed the word contemptuously. “But he never asked any o’ us.”
Claire had been about to protest, but now Lorna had handed her a weapon—a deadly one. She looked at her enemy with a poisonous smile, holding her eyes for a few seconds before she spoke, and watched with satisfaction as Lorna cringed back in her seat.
“There is a reason for that,” she said silkily. “Do you know what it is?”
