Page 29 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
“It is not one that would mean anything to you, my laird. And I was willing enough to leave it behind, when I went from my childhood circumstances into the service of another. It matters nothing now.”
She couldn’t just give him a name - what if he discovered a family who bore that name, and it was revealed that she was not part of the family? If she gave them the name of a family she had ‘served’, what if he sent someone to verify her story and discovered the falsehood instead.
“If ye say so, I will leave it be.” The unspokenfor nowhung in the air. Lydia bowed her head in acceptance and gratitude, trying to calm the racing of her heart as she focused on salving his wound and winding a fresh bandage around it.
Her presence, her existence as Lydia the serving maid, hung by the thinnest of threads, and she well knew it. The only question was whether it would end with her leaving, or with her discovery,and she was rapidly becoming uncertain over which would trouble her more.
She was so lost in her thoughts, she scarcely noticed it when Laird Ranald rose, redonned his shirt, and quietly left the cottage, leaving her alone once more.
“Turmeric, me laird?” Evelyn’s eyebrow rose nearly to her hairline. “Aye, I’ve heard o’ the herb… ‘tis in some o’ the herbals I’ve traded fer from the larger towns, but I’m surprised any serving lass would ken much o’ it, or how tae use it.”
“Why?” Donall frowned.
“Daesnae grow anywhere except the mainland, and the far southern parts o’ it at that. Has tae be traded fer, an’ the few times I’ve seen it in an apothecary, ‘twas a pretty penny.” Evelyn shook her head. “Most maids ken the folk remedies, or the ones they can harvest, or grow, an’ prepare themselves. Dock leaves, comfrey, mugwort, yarrow, vervain an’ valerian… honey tae keep the wound clean an’ dry. That’s the sort o’ remedy a maid’s likely tae ken an’ use. Turmeric is too costly.”
“Mayhap her previous mistress had her use it?”
“Mayhap. But ‘twould be ‘ strange, tae have a mistress who was willin’ tae spend the silver on turmeric, an’ yet have a servant sohaphazardly trained in her duties as I’ve heard Maisie an’ Corvin say she is.”
Donall nodded, and filed the information away for later consideration. “I’ll be sendin’ her tae ye, with Maisie, tae help with whatever ye need. I’ll nae ask ye tae go against yer conscience, but if ye notice aught about her that might explain her history… I’d appreciate bein’ told.”
“As ye will.” Evelyn dipped her head in agreement.
Donall turned and left the healer’s cottage. Night had fallen, the supper hour had come and gone, but he’d not sent for Lydia to attend him since she’d rebandaged his wound. After the observations of the morning, and the reminder of his suspicions, he hadn’t wanted to be around her, in case he revealed his mistrust of her too soon.
Still mulling over the mystery of his newest serving maid, Donall made his way to his chambers. There was a meal there, courtesy of Maisie or Lydia, and he ate part of it with a glass of whisky, still thinking. It wasn’t until the fire had burned down to a few sleepily flickering embers that he retired, seeking his bed in the vain hope of getting a few candle-marks worth of rest.
Instead, he was woken barely two candle-marks later by Ewan, shaking his shoulder. “Sorry tae wake ye, me laird, but there’s been an attack.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The words jolted Donall from his already fitful sleep like a slap to the face. He twisted, staggered out of bed, his mind already racing with the implications of an attack and the knife-edge sharpness of adrenaline. “Where? How large?”
“’Twas a border skirmish. A group o’ our scouts was attacked by a dozen or so men, wearing Cameron colors under cloaks tae hide their identity.” Ewan’s frown made it clear he was thinking much the same thing that Donall was.
Why such a pitiful camouflage? If the attackers were sincere about hiding their identities, then there was no reason to wear Cameron colors at all. And if the attack was a declaration of aggression, a call to war or announcement of a feud, then why the subterfuge?
“Where was the attack?”
“Near headman MacNalley’s village. The riders have already returned tae the castle.” Ewan fell into step beside him as Donall finished dressing and left his room, still buckling his sword into place and tucking his myriad daggers into their designated locations.
“Casualties?”
“Nay dead, but one man has a badly broken arm and a slash across the midsection.”
“If he’s nae with Evelyn already, I want her tae see tae him immediately. A report can be delivered by one o’ the other riders, or later if need be.”
“He’s already bein’ tended tae. ‘Tis his scouting partner who came tae me tae give the report.”
“Has the Council convened?”
“Gatherin’ as we speak. I’ve sent someone tae rouse Laird MacEwen as well, an’ another tae summon yer lass tae bring food and drink for all o’ us, seein as ‘tis barely a candle-mark past dawn.”
“Well enough.” Donall nodded and adjusted his steps to take him to the council chamber, rather than the Great Hall or Evelyn’s cottage.
Most of the Council had already arrived and Lydia was also there, serving drinks, along with a young man whom Donall recognized as one of his newly trained scouts, chosen for his familiarity with the border region between Cameron and Ranald clans.
The last two council members arrived soon after Donall. As soon as their cups were filled, Donall waved Lydia away to begin bringing food for refreshment, and directed the scout to give his report.
