Page 40 of To Serve a Laird
Could I stay?she thought suddenly.Could there be some kind of future for me here? Iain said he wanted to hold me forever. Did he really mean that? Could there be a wedding? Children? Lady Claire Ross? Is it possible?
Perhaps…
To shake those thoughts from her mind, Claire went out to join the others. Once again she found herself armed with a scrubbing brush, attacking the floor of the Great Hall viciously with all the vigour she could muster, as if it were her enemy. Her shoulders and arms soon began to protest, but she persevered, unwilling to show any weakness in front of the others.
Yet, as Claire bent to her task, her mind kept returning to Iain; to the first moment she had seen his magnificent naked body. Even as she did her tedious work, she remembered the sensation of fullness when he entered her. She felt once more the soaring feeling of fulfilment, the explosion of ecstasy, and thetenderness of the afterglow when they lay in each other’s arms, warm and sated.
If she told him how she felt, would he feel the same way? She thought about it for a long while before she decided to say nothing. It would be far better to wait for him to tell her what his feelings were. He had told her how much he wanted her, but that was not the same thing as love.
No, it would be better for her to wait, and if he never declared his love for her, she would still have her pride.
Suddenly, there was a commotion amongst the maids and everyone rushed around to pick up their brooms, cloths, and buckets. Claire frowned, wondering what was happening. She looked outside to see a huge carriage bearing a huge clan crest on the side. At first, Claire ignored the arrival, going back to her task and daydreaming about Iain.
But of course, there was someone who was more than eager to tell her why it was there. Lorna was grinning from ear to ear as she said spitefully, “The new lady is here.”
“Who?” Claire was confused.
“The Laird’s bride, Lady Morag Cameron, Sassenach. I was told they would be gettin’ wed in two weeks, but I think she cannae wait tae get him intae her bed.”
She gave the others a lewd smile, and they all burst out laughing.
“Aye, well, I dinnae blame her!” one of the others said, winking.
This prompted a fresh, even louder gale of mirth, and Claire realised that she was the only one not joining in.
Claire felt as though she had been punched in the stomach. This could not be happening—but of course she knew that it was. What had she expected, after all? This woman was titled and wealthy, just as Iain was. Of course, he would marry her, he had a duty to his clan to fulfil.
Claire Tewsbury was a nobody, and worse than that, an English nobody. Giving him her virtue was not enough, she had nothing to offer. But why had he not told her about his betrothal?
Claire was unaware that her cleaning cloth had dropped from her hand and that the colour had drained from her face. The rest of the crowd were making their way out to see the carriage and its passengers, but one stayed behind; Lorna, who could not resist rubbing salt in Claire’s wound.
“Ye look like ye have seen a ghost, madam.” She stood in front of Claire, smiling at her with malicious glee. “Surely ye are no’ in love wi’ the Laird?”
Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, but for once, Claire hardly noticed. She followed the rest of the servants outside just in time to see Lady Cameron alighting from the carriage.
She was a tall, fair woman, not ravishingly beautiful, but not ugly either. From a distance, her eyes looked to be dark, and Claire could see that she was generously built, not fat, but not particularly slim.
The only word Claire could find to describe her was ordinary. If she had not been dressed so finely and fashionably, Claire would have walked past her on the street without noticing her.
But her heart broke as she saw Iain walking out to the carriage and bowing to her. He politely smiled and offered her his hand to help her down. He was dressed formally in his clan finery, looking as though he were going to attend an important event of some kind.
Claire looked on helplessly. She wanted to run to him and scream that she loved him, that he had no right to take this woman as his bride when he hardly knew her, but she could not.
Claire Tewsbury was a servant. Why should he even worry about her?
Claire stood watching Iain for a moment, and as he turned to lead Lady Morag into the castle, he caught her eye, and looked at her with an expression of… desperation? He gave her an infinitesimal shake of his head before he dropped his gaze from hers and looked at Lady Morag as she said something to him. He smiled at her, but it looked forced.
Iain felt an ache of sorrow and regret pass through him as he saw the stricken expression on Claire’s face. He had taken her maidenhead, and now he was letting her see him with another woman. He felt as if he was the lowest specimen of mankind ever to walk the earth. He had wanted to talk to her, explain why he was being forced to this betrothal against his will, but for some reason Morag was early, and he had not had the chance.
When he heard that his betrothed was coming to see him two days earlier than he had expected, and that some of the maids were sick, his first thought was for Claire.
Could this day get any worse?he asked himself.
After he looked Claire in the eye, he watched as she turned and ran away, then glanced again at the woman he was supposed to marry—the woman he would marry, very much against his will. He felt absolutely nothing for her.
Claire could not bear to watch any more, and ran to see Agnes, who was standing outside the sick room with the healer, asking about the maids. Evidently, they all had measles, but it was the least of her worries.
She waited until they had finished their conversation, then Agnes turned to her, a quizzical look on her face.
