Page 36 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
Laird Ranald sat slumped in one of the chairs, barefoot and with shirt open at the throat, his hair mussed and tangled as if he had recently come from a bath. His expression was a mask of worried frustration that made her heart and stomach ache in sympathy.
Lydia turned away quietly and walked from the room. She returned with a pitcher of mulled wine, a plate of honey cakes, and two empty cups. She brought them to the table and set all of them down. “My laird.”
At the soft thunk of items on the table, Laird Ranald blinked his eyes open and frowned at her. “What are ye daein’ up so late at night?”
“I come here often to relax, my laird, and I happened to see you. I thought a drink might soothe whatever brings you to be wandering the halls this evening.”
Laird Ranald made a noise that might have been laughter, or scoffing. “Seems I’m nae the only one wandering the halls late. Dae yer own troubles an’ cares keep ye up at nights too, lass?”
“Sometimes.” Lydia acknowledged. She poured a cup and turned to leave him to his thoughts, but Laird Ranald’s voice stopped her.
“Stay. Sit a while an’ speak tae me.” Another faint laughter-scoffing sound. “Ye’ve brought a second cup, an’ a whole pitcher o’ mulled wine. Ye might as well share the wine… keep me from drinkin’ it all…”
“If that is what you wish, my laird.” Lydia carefully poured herself a measure of the wine, then settled gracefully into the chair across from him, watching as he sipped the mulled wine and chewed absently on a honey cake he’d collected from the plate.
“So what keeps ye up?” Laird Ranald’s question was not unexpected. “Bad dreams?”
“Memories… concerns about the future.” Lydia shrugged her shoulders lightly. “There are so many things I need to learn, and so much has happened…”
“Aye. There’s truth in that, and ye’re far from the only one tae see trouble on the horizon an’ have nay idea what tae dae about it, or why ‘tis comin’. I’ve more questions than answers meself these days.” Donall took a sip of his wine and leaned forward. “Who are ye, really, Lydia? Lydia with nay surname. An’ yet I dinnae think ye’re the naebody ye pretend tae be.”
Lydia swallowed hard. “And yet, that is all I am. Lydia, maid and apprentice healer of Clan Ranald.”
Laird Ranald huffed, then leaned forward to grasp the jug to refill his cup. Lydia saw him wince, his shoulders shifting in discomfort.
“You look stiff.”
“A wee bit.” Laird Ranald rolled his shoulders and his head, then stretched his arms from side to side. “I’ve been sittin’ too long.”
“I believe I can help.” Lydia took another sip of her wine, then stood. “Will you permit me?”
“If ye think it helps.” Laird Ranald shrugged again.
“Lean forward a little bit, if you would, my laird.” Laird Ranald did as she asked, and Lydia set her hands gently to the top of his powerful shoulders and began to rub, grimacing slightly at the feel of the rock-hard muscles beneath the skin.
She wished she had some oil - her mother had always used lavender oil when doing this for her as a child, but even so, she could use the heat of her hands and the pressure of her fingers to ease some of the strain evident in his back.
She slid her hands across the tops of his shoulders, then down the shoulder blades. Then she moved back to the top of his shoulders and applied a little more pressure, moving her hands in small circles to ease the tight knots. The muscles shifted, rolled, then finally began to loosen with the slight feeling of popping - as if bubbles were breaking under her touch.
Laird Ranald grunted. “What are ye daein’?”
“This is something my mother used to do with me when I was young. It was to help me fall asleep, but Elswith taught me how it could be used for stiffness, especially in the back and shoulders.” Lydia kept her voice low and soothing, her hands and her attention focused on the broad back as she began working to identify and ease more tight spots in the upper back and around the shoulder blades.
The muscles gradually relaxed, the shoulders dropping into a more comfortable position. Encouraged, Lydia moved her hand lower and applied a little more pressure. Laird Ranald groaned and arched his shoulders. “I am sorry if it hurts, I have not done this in a long time.”
“Daesnae hurt. ‘Tis just… unexpected. The pressure feels like a punch, but then…” Laird Ranald grunted as she pressed a little harder on a stubborn spot and found the correct angle to help it release. “’Tis better.”
“That is how it is supposed to be, my laird.” Lydia found another spot and went to work, soothing the tension from the broad, powerful swells of muscle just below the shoulder blades. The angle was more difficult, but she managed to apply enough pressure to work out the tension.
She started to slide her hand further down, and Laird Ranald abruptly shoved himself forward and out of the chair. “That’s enough.”
Lydia blinked, startled by the suddenness of his movement and the gruffness of his voice. “I?—”
“I’m goin’ tae bed. An’ ye should as well.” His voice was still low, almost gravelly, and he wasn’t looking at her as he moved to refill his cup once more. Lydia blinked, certain the firelight was tricking her vision, because Laird Ranald appeared to be limping slightly as he walked away. Before she could form a suitable response, or even a polite ‘sleep well, my laird’, he was gone, leaving her to wonder if she had done something wrong after all.
‘I dinnae believe ye’re a naebody.’
Laird Ranald’s words echoed in her mind as Lydia walked back toward the room she shared with Maisie. A part of her was terrified, afraid he was close to discovering her secret. Another part of her wished she could tell him the truth - tell anyone the truth. The weight of secrecy and lies pressed on her like a smothering blanket, and she longed to confide in someone - even the irascible laird of Ranald Keep.
