Page 37 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
‘Tis impossible. He’s so concerned with the raiders on his borders… I cannot add more burdens to his mind by revealing the truth and asking him to knowingly offer sanctuary to another man’s betrothed. I cannot.
Lydia repeated the words in her head like a prayer, focusing all her attention on remembering that as she prepared for bed. Her fingers fell on a small scrap of much-folded paper in one pocket, and Lydia smiled softly.
The wish I can redeem from Laird Ranald. I still have not found any reason to use it.
She stared at the spiky, firm handwriting for a moment, then refolded the paper once more and tucked it safely away in her belt pouch, where it should have been before and tucked herself into bed. The weariness of the day was catching up to her, and she could feel sleep tugging her under as she closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sunrise found Donall at his window, flexing and rolling his shoulders thoughtfully. He’d fallen in bed the night before, too tired and frustrated to truly notice but they felt better, looser.
I dinnae ken the last time me shoulders didnae feel like they were tight as bowstrings. I wish I could have remained until she finished, but if I had…
Donall’s cheeks warmed at the memory of how the night had ended. He’d been enjoying the soothing touch of Lydia’s hands, the boneless, blissful heat spreading through his back and shoulders, when he’d realized that one part of him was certainlynotrelaxing under Lydia’s ministrations. Quite the opposite, in fact.
He had tried to ignore his arousal, tried to shift his weight so that it would be less uncomfortable, or less noticeable, and had failed utterly. Even closing his eyes and trying to think of less engaging things, battle fields and training hadn’t helped - not with Lydia’stouch sliding all over his back, rubbing tight little circles into his muscles, and finding the soft, sensitive points near his spine and his rib cage.
Eventually, he’d had no choice but to stand and leave, before he embarrassed both of them. Lydia was so shy and innocent seeming, she likely would have been mortified to know she’d cause his erection.
Donall shoved the memory away and turned to his chambers to prepare for the scouting with Ewan.
Heavy linen leggings to prevent chafing on the insides of his legs during the long ride, and a kilt in Ranald colors over that. Sturdy boots, well sealed with oil and beeswax against rain, mud and water, along with stockings. His shirt was likewise a heavy linen, plain undyed cloth, over which he wore a thick leather vest in case they were attacked. A sash in Ranald tartan went over the vest, followed by his belt, and the scabbard for his blade and other weapons.
With any luck, he wouldn’t need any of his armaments, and the worst he would suffer would be the annoyance of traipsing through the peat bogs for no reason, and perhaps losing a knife, a boot, or an archer’s arrow, to the treachery of the terrain. Donall wished he dared trust in luck, but he’d learned a long time ago that fortune was like the Fair Folk - a fickle friend indeed, and just as likely to bring harm as to bring help.
Finally armed, he made his way down to the kitchens to collect the shoulder pouch containing meat, hard cheese, bread and ajug of small beer that would be his lunch. Maisie was there to inform him that Lydia was assisting Evelyn, and to hand him a bowl of porridge with cream and honey, as well as a cup of scorching hot tea. Donall wolfed both down, then hurried out into the courtyard, to find Ewan already waiting.
He was halfway across the courtyard when a young man came hurrying from the stables, a wrapped bundle in his arms. “Me laird! Me laird!”
Donall grunted, but stopped and waited for the youth to catch up to him. “Aye?”
“Delivery from Seamstress Hailey fer ye, me laird. She wanted me tae tell ye the entire order is there, an’ ask where it should be sent.”
Delivery… och, right. Lydia’s clothing.Donall smirked to himself, wondering if she would appreciate the surprise he’d had the seamstress include in the order for her. For a brief moment, he was tempted to linger, to see what she would make of his gift. Then common sense reasserted itself.
Searching the moors, and particularly the boglands, was likely to be a full day’s task. The longer he waited to begin it, the less time he would have to search, and the more chance he would miss any clues there might be to find.
He waved the lad toward the keep. “Find Maisie, the servin’ maid in the kitchens, an’ have her direct ye tae the proper place.Tell her ‘tis the clothing fer Lydia, an’ she’ll ken where it needs tae go.”
“Aye, me laird.” The lad nodded, clumsy with his burden, and Donall allowed himself a small smile at the youth’s earnest enthusiasm.
“After ye’re done, go tae the kitchens an’ get yerself a hot meal.” The lad must have ridden through the predawn chill to arrive at that hour, and if hehadeaten, it had been candle-marks ago. “Then find Steward Corvin, an’ he’ll give ye a proper payment for yer service in delivery.”
Corvin, he knew, would be sure to give the lad a few coppers. It was an arrangement they’d worked out seasons ago, and one that worked well for ensuring prompt, courteous deliveries of goods, and that servants and messengers put forth their best effort in their endeavors.
Ewan was grinning as he made his way across to the stables and swung onto his horse. “Delivery tae ye, an’ nae Corvin? Something special?”
“Mayhap.” Donall shrugged. “An indulgence. Ye’ll ken more about it later, I imagine.”
He took a deep breath and focused, dismissing thoughts of Lydia and the dress in favor of raiders, bandits, and the trails through the peat bogs that most needed to be followed and searched for signs of incursion. “Let’s go.”
He kicked his horse into a canter, Ewan at his side, his mind turning over the possibilities of what they might find.
Most likely, they’d find tracks and perhaps trails, but no actual campsites or people, not if the man Ewan had spotted were so canny. In a best case scenario, they might glean more information. Worst case…
… we find naething an’ are left clueless as tae Laird Cameron’s intentions, or that we may get attacked, an’ learn rather more than we can afford tae ken at this point?
Lydia smiled to herself as she made her way toward the room she shared with Maisie. The day’s work had been long - Evelyn had taken her out onto the moors to harvest herbs, roots and flowers for tinctures and tonics, and everything had to be properly cut or picked, then carefully wrapped and packaged for transport. She’d returned to the keep with enough dirt under her nails to start her own garden, and sun-reddened skin that stung and itched like she’d played in a patch of nettles.
