Page 10 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
Her first temptation was to say yes, but she’d seen some of the caravan ladies doing the washing, and knew she had no practice with it. If she agreed and Maisie took her to the laundry, it would swiftly become apparent that she’d lied. “No. It was just… sewing… almost a hobby, I think…”
“If ye say so. Were ye a healer, mayhap?”
“I learned some things about herbs, but I was never taught proper healing…”
Maisie shook her head. “Whoever yer master or steward was, they didnae have half a mind fer assigning work, did they? Seem tae have made a proper mess o’ yer occupation, they did, unless English folk are just strange.”
“You would likely find them so, ye - aye.” Lydia stumbled over her words, struggling to imitate Maisie’s brisk way of speaking and Highland speech.
Maisie huffed. “Well, we cannae spend all day in here—there’s the bedrooms an’ the sittin’ rooms an’ all tae be seen tae, an’ me laird’s laundry tae be dealt with…” She considered a moment. “Tak’ the ash tae the laundry an’ bring up me laird’s tray, then ye can tidy the desk an’ wipe down the rafters aroun’ the hearth an’ the windows with this.”
She indicated a rag on a long pole. “I’ll see tae the rest o’ the room—there’s nae much tae dae in here, an’ we’ll continue workin’ beyond tha’.”
Lydia took the bucket with a nod, her cheeks burning at the matter-of-fact tone Maisie used. The maid wasn’t being unkind, but it was clear she thought very little of Lydia’s abilities, and her supposed past training.
She had never imagined that being raised as a lady might make her feel… inadequate. But Maisie’s down-to-earth manner and obvious pride in her work made her regard the situation differently. Lydia took a deep breath, and resolved to learn her lessons well—and perform her duties as well as she could for as long as she remained in Ranald Keep.
The ash bucket seemed to grow heavier as she walked the halls, but Lydia lugged it along with single-minded determination. She took a wrong turn twice on the way to the laundry room—she had never before used servant stairs and passages, and her habit was to make her way through the main halls, none of which led to the laundry or the other rooms used by servants for their various chores.
The food tray was another matter entirely—it was heavy, and carrying up the stairs to the study was made Lydia’s arms ache. Several times, she nearly tipped the jug that held the laird’s preferred drink—small beer by the smell of it. She certainly slopped the porridge, and by the time she made it to her destination, her arms were shaking, and her legs felt strange and tingly.
Maisie turned when she entered, a frown on her face. “Och, that took ye long enough… and ye’re a proper mess, ye are. Did ye trip?”
“I… got lost.” Lydia set the tray on the table, and set about cleaning it clumsily with the rag she was carrying in an apron pocket, at Maisie’s insistence. She didn’t mention the tray being heavy, lest Maisie become suspicious.
“Did ye never bring yer laird or lady breakfast?” Maisie’s brow furrowed, and Lydia realized that, once again, she’d said the wrong thing. “Or help with servin’ in the Great Hall durin’ a feast? I thought all servants did that. They certainly dae here in the Highlands.”
“I… my lady… she never had a large appetite.” Lydia fumbled out the excuse, unable to think of anything to say, beyond how often Elswith had scolded her for ‘not eating enough to keep a bird alive, my lady’.
“She must nae have, if ye think this is a heavy tray.” Maisie shook her head. “Here, fold the cloth afore ye start the second pass with it, ye’ll only smear the mess otherwise.” She sighed. “Ye must ha’ given yer old steward fits… unless he was as odd as the lady ye served.”
Lydia flushed at the well-earned rebuke, but she was saved from having to answer by the arrival of Laird Ranald.
Maisie swept into a curtsey and Lydia hurried to follow suit, keeping her head down as Maisie chirped out a cheerful-sounding “Fair mornin’, me laird!”
Laird Ranald made a noncommittal noise in response and went to the table. He opened the jug on the tray and took a long swallow of the contents, before giving both of them a raised eyebrow. “Ye’re usually finished afore I arrive.”
“Just showin’ Lydia her new duties. Tak’s a bit longer while we’re workin’ out who handles which chores, me laird, an’ with her ribs…”
“Och, aye. I didnae recall.” Laird Ranald waved off the rest of the maid’s explanation. “Daesnae matter.”
“We’re near finished, me laird. Lydia was just goin’ tae tidy yer papers an’ sweep the rafters I’ll sweep them in the other room while ye have yer meal, an’ then she can tak’ yer tray an’ come tae help me… if tha’ pleases ye.”
“’Tis well enough.” He shrugged and sat down at the table, turning his attention to his meal.
Maisie leaned in close. “Finish quick as ye can, but dinnae skimp the work, fer he’ll ken if ye dae.”
With that, the red-haired serving maid gave Laird Ranald a quick bob of the head and hurried out of the room, leaving Lydiaalone with her new laird, and contemplating a task she’d never performed before—cleaning the rafters.
CHAPTER FIVE
Donall watched as Lydia moved to the desk and began sorting through the papers on it. Most of the servants, Maisie included, swept all the documents into a neat pile, then put away the quills and capped the inkwells and considered the task finished.
Lydia was different. Her hands slipped through the papers with easy confidence, and she appeared to be actually sorting through them, arranging them into different piles and gathering them neatly together.
Can she read? ‘Tis nae a skill most servants learn, an’ I ken for a fact that Maisie cannae. An’ if she can read, can she write as well? ‘Tis another skill most servants dinnae ken.
The papers were soon sorted, then stacked in a neat pile, in some form of order. Donall itched to go to the desk and see how she’d arranged things, and what sort of system she used—it was likely to be different from his own—but he refrained. Instead,he remained at the table, watching from the corner of his eye as Lydia continued working.
