Page 11 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
She lined up his quills and arranged them neatly, then set aside the inkwell precisely where it would be within easy reach, but not where it might accidentally get knocked over while he was working.
It almost seemed she had experience with using a desk, pens and ink. Unusual for a maid—even a lady’s maid, as far as he knew. Of all those in his employ, there were only three who possessed any sort of knowledge of reading, writing, or the proper use and storage of tools for such work. Corvin, Ewan and Evelyn. And Ewan had only learned the skill because he was insatiably curious, and close friends of both Alex and Donall himself.
From there, she finished tidying the desk, swiped a small cloth over the surface, then turned to pick up the pole used to clean the rafters.
Her movements as she crossed the room were graceful, her steps light and short, rather than quick and strong like those of most maids he was familiar with. Her shoulders were level, her back straight, and her movements smooth and slow, as if she made every move with attention to how she would appear to another.
Good posture, an’ purposeful movements… graceful too. She’s used tae paying as much attention tae how she looks as she daes tae how she works.
He watched her lift the pole, hesitate, then swipe awkwardly at the rafter just above her, only to wince a moment later as dust fell into her eyes.
Nay. She’s more used tae minding her appearance than her work. But what sort o’ laird or lady was she workin’ fer, if that’s the case? Daesnae make sense. I’ve never met a servant who was so self-conscious, or so awkward when she was bein’ watched.
Most servants in his employ, or those whom he’d encountered when visiting other castles, including when he visited his sister, were focused on their work. They paid no attention to who was watching them, unless they were trying to avoid notice, or concerned with their performance being judged - which often made them focus even more on the task they were assigned.
Servants, in his experience, cared more for the timely and proper performance of their duties than they did for their appearancewhilecompleting their work.
Her gaze flicked to him, sky blue eyes downcast and wary as they slid to meet his for a moment, then away. She knew he was watching her, and she was troubled by it. That intrigued him.
Is she truly that shy? Or worried about what I’ll say regardin’ her work? Or is there somethin’ else that’s makin’ her so skittish?
Perhaps she would be calmer if he spoke to her. Donall considered it, then voiced the first question that came to mind—one of many. “So lass, what is yer story? Yer history? Ye didnae tell me yesterday.”
Lydia’s shoulders tensed, but after a moment, she answered, her voice soft and faltering as her efforts at dusting. “I was a… a lady’s maid, for the wife of a lord who guarded a small territory near the border between the English and the Scottish. There was very little—the lady had me doing simple work, mostly sewing or sometimes other things—learning herb lore from the healer, or accounts from the steward. When she passed away, the lo-laird, sent me away. A friend suggested I search for employment in the Highlands, rather than attempting to find another estate or try my fortunes in London.”
“An’ why nae in the king’s city o’ Edinburgh?”
“I… I do not know. Perhaps she thought, with my obvious English background, that I would have little luck in securing a position, where such might be overlooked farther away from the larger towns.”
“I see.” Donall sipped absently at his beer while he considered her words. “An’ who was the laird ye worked for?”
“No one you would know.” She shook her head. “He was… somewhat reclusive, as was his wife.”
Donall nodded, his thoughts churning as he contemplated her explanation. It was a plausible story, and it made sense of her odd skills in some areas, and her lack of skills in others. A lady’s maid would be softer and more refined than a regular servant.On the other hand, generally, a lady’s maid had some sort of training to fulfill the position. “Where were ye raised? How did ye become a lady’s maid?”
“Oh… my parents were minor nobles, but poor. I happened into the position while seeking to earn a living after they perished, and my lady was kind enough to take me in.”
Again, plausible. A daughter of a minor household might be taught the sort of skills and behaviors that would make for an acceptable lady’s maid, despite her lack of training in basic household tasks. And yet…
She carefully avoided naming anyone specific, or providing a surname for herself. And the sort of household she described working in rarely had many servants - let alone lady’s maids. Certainly, the household she described growing up in would likely have had only one or two servants, if any - which made it puzzling that she was so unused to labor.
And why, unless she was exceptionally poor at her work, would her previous master have sent her away without a recommendation? Why not send her to an associate who might have need of her services and her unique skills? Servants who were trained in more than menial chores were often accounted valuable, as far as Donall knew. Certainly, one who knew how to read and write would be.
He’d received an answer to some of his questions, but the tale she told only gave him more to wonder about.
Lydia… ye truly are a mystery indeed.
He watched Lydia stretch upward toward the rafter at the apex of the room. It was higher than the rest, and beyond her reach. After a moment, she dragged a chair over and clambered awkwardly up onto the cushions. Donall raised an eyebrow.
The rafter was still almost out of reach, so she clambered up onto the arms of the chair. Donall tensed, skin prickling with a feeling of unease.
A moment later, Lydia slipped, foot sliding off the arm, sending her toppling headlong for the floor. Donall bolted out of his seat, nearly upsetting the remains of his drink, and leaped forward just in time to catch her before she hit the stone floor. “What dae ye think ye’re daein’?”
Lydia blushed scarlet and squirmed out of his arms. “I was trying to clean the rafter. I could not reach…”
“Then ye should have asked fer a ladder or stepping stool. Or ye could have asked fer help.” With a huff, Donall set Lydia on her feet and took the pole from her. “Give me that.”
A footstool near the fire gave him enough height to just reach the beam in question. Donall stretched up and ran the dusting cloth across the wood, conscious of Lydia standing at his hip, watching him intently.
