Page 28 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
“’Tis naething so serious, as yet.” Ewan muttered.
“As yet? But ye want it tae be?” Donall raised an eyebrow, and Ewan’s flush deepened.
Donall smirked. “Well, ye have me blessing, so long as ye have the lass’s.”
Ewan’s response was inarticulate, but his movements were sharp as he sought to push Donall back. Donall was tempted to tease him further, but after a moment, he decided against it. Ewan was surprisingly sensitive, and he’d no desire to discourage his friend from pursuing Maisie, if his friend was as sincere in his attentions as he seemed to be.
The two exchanged a flurry of blows, each seeking the advantage. Donall ducked a blow, dodged, and spun in a half circle to go on the attack. A flutter of color to one side caught his eye, and Donall turned his head, startled by the unexpected sight.
Maisie and Lydia stood there, watching them. Now they were watching the sparring, interest and curiosity sparkling in Maisie’s brown eyes and Lydia’s cerulean ones.
A whisper of sound was all the warning he had to drag his attention back to the combat. Donall blocked hard and fast, stumbling as he dodged out of the way of a blow that probably would have left his collarbone cracked if it had connected.
He blocked again, lunged in a thrusting attack meant to help him regain control of the combat - and needle sharp pain seared across his side as he overextended and the fragile scar tissue tore. Donall swore and staggered, his hand going to his side.
The hand came away stained red. Donall cursed again, even as Ewan dropped his blade and hurried forward, the two women hot on his heels. “Me laird! I…”
“Ye did naething. I was a fool. I kent better than tae try that move just yet, an’ I did it anyway.” Donall scowled at the blood on his hand, unable to believe that he’d been so careless. “’Twas me mistake.”
He sighed and handed his practice blade over to his sparring partner. “Evelyn’s likely tae blister me ears fer undaein’ all her hard work. Still, best tae I seek her out afore she hears o’ this an’ seeksmeout.”
“Evelyn’s nae here, me laird.” Maisie spoke up. “She’s out gatherin’ herbs an’ seeing tae some o’ the lasses in the village who are havin’ women’s troubles.”
Donall grimaced. He could bandage his side himself, but it was no easy task, and he was no expert in herbal remedies, and what to use or not use for a salve.
To his surprise, Lydia stepped forward. “If you wish, my laird, I know how to make a salve and bandage the wound. I can tend it for you.”
It was an unexpected offer, but a welcome one. Donall nodded. “All right. Lead the way lass.”
It was a risk, offering to bandage Laird Ranald’s wound, and Lydia knew it. She wasn’t sure she could hide her reactions to being so close to him, and she feared what he might notice if he was so close to her. Still, she could no more have refused to help than she could have breathed underwater, or flown through the sky.
Laird Ranald was quiet as they entered the hut, sitting down and removing his shirt without a word. Lydia studied the wound, the slightly reddened flesh and the split in the tender, newly healed skin. “It is not bad, no more than a light cut would be.”
She turned and went to Evelyn’s shelves, searching among the herbs and salves. There were few - the healer likely only made them when they were needed, so that the salves would be at maximum potency when applied. She found the honey easily enough, blended with beeswax to make a coating for the wound, as well as comfrey and yarrow, but there were other herbs she’d used in England that she could not see.
Still, she could make do with what she had. She took her chosen herbs and a small mixing bowl, and carried them back to where Laird Ranald sat watching her.
“Somethin’ troubles ye? I cannae think that Evelyn let her stores lapse.” The remark was quiet, thoughtful, and Lydia’s response came without thought.
“It is not that. Back in England, I would have used a salve of honey, turmeric and comfrey for such a wound. Yarrow will work well enough with the comfrey and some mugwort, but I had to think a moment.” She hesitated. “My apologies if I kept you waiting, my laird.”
“Ye didnae.” Laird Ranald shrugged the opposite shoulder. “I was merely curious. An’ I’ll own, I never heard Evelyn make mention o’ turmeric.”
“It may not be so readily available in the Highlands. My lady always purchased hers from apothecaries in the larger villages - perhaps Evelyn prefers the remedies she can cultivate herself or find easily in the Highlands.” Lydia felt her stomach twist, wondering if she’d made a mistake again. Turmeric was one of the stronger healing herbs she knew of, one that the healers near Wycliffe had sworn by, but she’d no idea how much it cost, or how often it was used by actual servants.
Still, there was nothing to be done, save hope her explanation proved satisfactory for Laird Ranald.
He grunted, his brow furrowed as he watched her work. “Ye’ve a deft touch. And soft hands. Softer than many servants.”
Lydia swallowed hard. “I do not know what to tell you, my laird. I have always been good with my hands, and as I have said, my previous duties were far lighter than those your maids perform here.”
“Aye, ye’ve nay calluses.”
“I cannot explain it, my laird. Perhaps it requires longer than I have been a maid, or perhaps my skin simply does not lend itself to such - it often blisters and peels, instead of hardening, just as it reddens in the sun, instead of darkening to brown, as Maisie’s does.”
It was a weak explanation, and she knew it, but it was the only explanation Lydia could offer.
“Ye’re a strange lass, Lydia… an’ I still dinnae ken yer given name.”
