Page 7 of To Serve a Laird
“Agnes,” he cried. “I want to talk to you.”
“M’Laird,” she said nervously. “What can I dae for ye?”
Her pale eyes looked terrified. Iain Ross looked fearsome at the best of times, since he was taller and broader than just about every other man for miles around, but when he was angry he was truly terrifying.
“The new maid just interrupted my council meeting,” he said grimly. “What is she doing wandering around the castle? Have you no control over the staff?”
He stood with his hands on his hips looking absolutely enormous, and glowering at Agnes from under his heavy brows.
Agnes gasped and looked at the floor, avoiding his eyes. “I am sorry, M’Laird,” she said. “I left Lorna in charge o’ her. I will have a word wi’ both o’ them. I willnae have them shirkin’ their duties like this. I will keep Claire on a tighter leash fae now on. Ye can count on me.”
She nodded firmly, and Iain patted her on the shoulder.
Agnes curtsied politely, then, after Iain had walked away, she slammed her palms on the table angrily. The stupid girl had only been in the castle for five minutes, and she had already caused an unbelievable amount of trouble. And Lorna? Where was she?
Agnes stamped out of the kitchen and asked the first housemaid she saw if she had seen Lorna or Claire. The young woman told her where to find Lorna, who was standing flirting with a young handsome guard.
After putting the young woman firmly in her place, Agnes told her to find Claire, which she did in short order, since she knew the maze of passageways well. Claire and Lorna were then summoned to her quarters.
“I told ye tae make sure Claire was doin’ her work right,” she said angrily, pointing at Lorna. “But ye didnae listen, so I am sendin’ you tae clean the middens,” she told her, before turning to Claire.
Lorna screwed her face up; the middens, where all the household rubbish was thrown, were one of the dirtiest places in the castle.
Claire trembled as she looked into Agnes’s malicious eyes. “An’ ye,” Agnes said, poking her in the chest, “you can clean the privies.”
Claire was almost sick. If the middens were bad, the privies were far worse, but she knew there was no way to escape her fate.
The rest of Claire’s day was utterly hellish. If she had thought scrubbing the floors was bad, this was ten times worse, and the stench alone was almost making her vomit.
Claire began to weep quietly, desperately homesick and longing for the companionship of her sisters away from this cruel and lonely place.
As Iain passed the housekeeper’s quarters on the way to his study, he heard her yelling at the top of her voice, reprimanding the two errant maids, and he felt a little guilty. Perhaps he should have said nothing; after all, the young woman was new to the place and was still finding her way around. He sighedirritably, wondering how his late father had coped with the sheer weight of responsibility that had rested on his shoulders.
As he reached his study, he found Dougal, another council member and trusted friend, waiting for him. Dougal McMahon had been a close friend of his father, and Iain had grown up thinking of him as an unofficial uncle. For a while he had even addressed him as such, but when he received the Lairdship Dougal had told him to stop doing so.
“You are now a man of substance with a title,” he had said. “Calling me uncle makes you sound like a wee boy. Call me Dougal.”
Dougal was always there to give advice and support whenever he needed it, however, and Iain was desperately in need of it now.
“Your face,” Dougal observed solemnly, “looks like a wet weekend.”
Iain gave his friend a playful punch on the shoulder. “Carry on like that, my friend,” he warned, “and yours will look like a pile of something much worse.”
“I’m terrified,” Dougal drawled, pretending to yawn.
Iain laughed and poured them both a glass of wine, then swallowed his in one draught. Dougal watched him as he sipped his own drink.
“Rough day?” he asked. “You don’t usually drink your wine so fast!”
“You know it was,” Iain replied grimly.
“Who was that girl who came to the door?” Dougal asked.
“New maid,” Iain replied gruffly.
“A rather beautiful new maid,” his friend replied, holding his glass up in appreciation. “I have never seen one as pretty as that before. Pretty maids are always trouble.”
“She came here in a rather strange way,” Iain admitted. “I stopped at an inn on the way back from Dundee and sawthis Englishman, drunk out of his mind, actually trying to sell his daughter. He was negotiating a price for her with some disgusting old lecher. I offered him double and bought her myself.” He paused, shaking his head. “I cannot believe a father could do something like that. Anyway, I have hired her to work as a maid, and at least she will have a roof over her head, a bed to sleep in and enough to eat.”
