Page 36 of To Serve a Laird
However, today was different. When he came back, Iain’s eyes were sparkling with merriment. In fact, he looked as though he had been laughing heartily for hours, and could not keep the smile from his face. Claire wanted to ask him what the joke was, but decided to stay silent, resolutely turning her back on him to concentrate on her work.
“I heard that one of my close friends had seen you,” he told her. “He remarked on how beautiful you were, but unfortunately, his wife was standing close by and heard what he said. It caused a huge argument between them, and they have not spoken to each other for a month. So you see—another reason why you are dangerous, Claire. First your needle, and now your beauty. Perhaps I should keep you locked up.”
Claire, who had been holding a very wet cloth, was tempted to throw it in his face, but restrained herself with an effort. She pursed her mouth shut and began to polish the window with all her might, trying to distract herself with thoughts of her sisters, the new baby—anything.
The afternoon drew to a close, but Iain could not bear the thought of letting Claire go. The notion of eating a lonely dinner was unbearable compared to the thought of her sitting opposite him, laughing, chatting, perhaps even going further…
“Time to eat, Claire,” Iain said with a heavy sigh and a voice that was loaded with theatrical sadness. “I will be so lonely having my meal alone, but you are fortunate enough to have delightful dinner companions, are you not? I envy you.”
This was so ludicrous that Claire looked up at him and laughed for the first time in hours. “Definitely not delightful,” she said firmly.
Iain’s face changed then. His expression softened as he asked, “Then will you have dinner with me, Claire? I promise to try to be as delightful as I can. We can sit by the fire in my chamber.”
Claire was apprehensive; what if he wanted more than a meal? If he wished to have a repeat of the day before, she would be only too happy to oblige him!
“I would like that,” she said, with a shy smile.
She went to the kitchen to collect the food, and this time Lorna said nothing, although the expression on her face spoke volumes.
When Claire entered the chamber with Iain’s meal, she found that he had changed into fresh clothes. She was slightly disappointed, since she liked his sweaty state of dishevelment; it was completely masculine and made her senses sing with longing.
She sat opposite him at the small table, and Claire poured out wine for them both before they began to eat.
His expression was infinitely kind as he looked at her, and this time Claire took the greatest pleasure looking into his sky-blue eyes, and she smiled.
“Thank you for dinner,” she said. “I love this room. I can safely relax here because I know how clean it is.”
“Hm…” he pretended to look thoughtful for a moment. “When I find out who is responsible, I will give her a medal.”
Claire laughed softly, and the expression in her amber eyes was so infinitely soft and gentle that Iain could have stared into them for hours. “How do you like your new room?” he asked.
“It’s lovely,” she replied. “And thank you for the new dresses. My old ones were threadbare.”
“You are welcome,” he said warmly. He took a sip of wine, then said suddenly, “Claire, I have a confession to make.”
Claire looked up sharply, her eyes widening with fear of what Iain was about to say.
“I like poetry,” he told her. “When you told me about a few poets you knew, I read some of their work. I was very impressed, and very moved by some of them.”
“I had no idea men read poetry,” Claire said, surprised. “I always thought you regarded it as a form of feminine literature.”
Iain pretended to look outraged. “Do I look feminine?” he asked indignantly.
Claire giggled. “You are the least feminine creature I have ever seen,” she said.
“I am so glad to hear that.” Iain smiled, pretending to be relieved.
He found that he loved laughing and joking with Claire, she was not only desirable to him, but intelligent and funny.
Claire looked down at her food, pushing it around the plate with her fork. There were certain things she had reservations about, but she loved haggis, just as Rose did. However, there was no haggis tonight, but a strange, suspicious-looking dark substance which made her wary. She pushed it to the side of her plate.
Iain watched her, amused. “Do you not like black pudding?” he asked.
“I have not dared try it,” Claire replied, her lip curling at the sight of it.
“Are you afraid?” he asked. “Because Scottish food is some of the best in the world. I have been to France, Spain and Italy, but I would much rather eat the plain, solid food of my own country.”
He looked quite fearsome for a moment, then he reached over to take her spoon from her hand, and scooped some of thepudding up to offer it to her. Claire looked at it hesitantly, then took it in her mouth. Its taste was earthy, but pleasant, and she smiled.
