Page 15 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
Lydia watched as the Council dispersed, leaving behind Laird Ranald and his two close associates. She knew she was likely expected to leave, but she hadn’t been dismissed, so she stayed.
Watching Laird Ranald direct his Council had been an interesting experience. Lydia knew little of such matters, but she couldn't help admiring the control he wielded over his advisors. He was stern, even sharp at times, but not cruel. He listened to the words of his men, but refused to let them dictate his actions.
It was clear that the Council wasn't unified—she had seen several members eyeing her and Laird Ranald both with suspicion in their eyes. However, he neither bent to his detractors, nor dismissed them as her uncle would have done. He brooked no rebellion or malcontent, but neither did he act like a tyrant.
He's a strong lord, a man who knows his worth and is confident in his strength. He wields his authority, but does not abuse it. If only Uncle Cedric had chosen a man like him…
Lydia squashed the thought before it could fully form. There was no point in useless wishing. Besides, she had far more important things to be concerned about. Such as the unfinished statement she'd heard Laird Ranald’s second-in-command making when she'd returned with the fresh flagons.
Cameron men on the border—more of them than usual. Laird Ranald had stopped Ewan from saying anything more, but she could guess the reason for their presence. Laird Cameron was looking for her.
Lydia frowned, biting the inside of her cheek as an unwelcome thought came to her.
What if Lord Cameron knows where I am? I do not know how he would, but if it is at all possible… is there someone here who might suspect my identity?
For a moment, all she could think of was the suspicion in the eyes of some of the Elders, a sense of panic threatening to drown her at the idea one of them possibly knowing her real identity. Fear tried to choke her and she forced it back, forced herself to think logically instead of giving into her worries.
There was no reason for any of the members of Clan Ranald to hide her identity from the lord. None of them owed her any favors, and none of them had any reason to care about her. Revealing the truth and sending her away, or giving her over to Rory Cameron, would be the wisest course of action, if any of them actually did know her identity.
As long as I am cautious, do my work, keep my silence, and do not attract too much attention, I shall be safe.
She repeated the words like a mantra, until a derisive snort jarred her from her thoughts and brought her attention back to the three men that remained.
At some point while she’d been lost in thought, they’d all moved from the large council table to a smaller table closer to the fire. They’d taken one of the fresh flagons with them, which was why she’d not been called upon to refill their cups, and someone had produced a chess board, which Laird Ranald and his friend were seated at.
The source of the noise was Ewan, who snickered in Laird MacEwen’s direction. “Och, a move like that... only an Englishman is bampot enough tae trade a castle fer a pawn.”
Laird MacEwen was playing black, and Lydia could guess from the set of the pieces which move the man-at-arms meant. Offended at the jibe at her conational, words escaped her mouth without thought. “That is not true…. though perhaps only someone who is English would see the wisdom of the move and have the skill to execute the strategy successfully.”
All three men looked at her, and Lydia flushed under their gazes and lowered her eyes, suddenly embarrassed and terrified by her own mistake.
Dear God, why did I speak?
Very few, if any, servants in England would know how to play chess - it was a diversion for educated nobility. Add to that, that being a servant left little time for leisure. Surely the same was true in the Highlands…
Laird Ranald waved her over. “Ye play chess?”
“I… I kn-I kow some of the rules, my lo-laird.” She swallowed hard. “The lady I served before sometimes wished to play in the privacy of her chambers… so I was permitted to learn… but…”
It was true, in a matter of speaking—she’d often played. Even so, the edge of falsehood to the words sat heavy on her tongue.
The second-in-command, Ewan, gave her a sharp-edged smile. “Well since ye’ve spoken up… what move should Alex be makin’?”
Laird MacEwen flushed. “I dinnae need the help.”
“But it would be interestin’ tae see if ye an’ the lass chose the same move.” Laird Ranald’s eyes glittered with amusement—the first softening or good humor she’d seen in his expressions at all. He jerked his head in a movement for her to come closer. “Come here, lass, an’ whisper yer move in me ear. We’ll see if Alex chooses the same one.”
She wanted to refuse, but could find no reason to do so. She swallowed hard, then bent and whispered the move that she would make—a shift of the queen’s side knight to block a bishop.
Laird MacEwen moved his king’s side bishop instead, and Lydia frowned. She could see his strategy, but there were gaps in his defense, and one side was weak. If Laird Ranald saw and exploited one of the holes in the formation before it was properly set up…
The laird moved a piece, taking out a pawn that, at first glance, looked insignificant. Lydia bit her lip, her mind tracing the most likely next moves.
If Laird MacEwen moves his knight, he might still salvage it, if his queen can be brought into play on the weak side. But if he moves his queen first…
Laird MacEwen moved the queen, and Lydia winced. Laird Ranald’s friend frowned at her. “What now?”
“It is just… that move…”
