Page 59 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
They stopped at the door of Lydia’s rooms, and Donall dropped his arm from about her shoulders. “I’ll wish ye a good night here.”
Lydia nodded and slipped the sash-shawl from around her shoulders. She folded it and handed it to him with a soft smile. “Thank you.”
“Ye’re welcome.” Donall started to turn around, but he stopped when Lydia laid her hand on his arm.
“I did not mean just for helping protect me from the rain.” Lydia’s soft, warm smile was like a fire on a cold night. “Thank you… for everything.”
She leaned up then and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. It was quick and chaste, and yet it sang through him, banishing the lastbit of coldness from the prisoner’s death. Then Lydia turned and slipped into the room, softly shutting the door behind her.
Donall stared at the door, then turned away and headed toward his rooms, more at peace than he had been in four days.
From the moment she stepped into the kitchens for her morning meal, Lydia was conscious of something different in the air. There were sideways glances she hadn’t been aware of before, whispers that she couldn’t catch and that paused as soon as she drifted closer. There was no overt hostility, and the cook even greeted her with a smile and some fresh bread, but even so, there was a tangible difference in the air and it set her on edge.
They knew. Servants, as Lydia well knew, shared gossip and rumors as freely as any lady’s sewing circle. And, often as not, the servants knew more than even the fiercest gossip among the nobility. Guards, she suspected, were much the same way.
They knew something, but she had no ideawhatthey knew. Whether it was the truth of her relationship - or possible relationship - with Donall, or the truth about her identity.
“Och, dinnae mind the old biddies an’ the whispers. They’ll talk about anythin’ an’ ‘twill pass soon enough.” Maisie’s cheerful voice and the rough nudge of her shoulder brought Lydia out of her contemplations. “Give it a seven-day, an’ nae one o’ them will be lookin’ or thinkin’ twice about ye.”
“I just… I am not used to…”
“Tae bein the subject o’ the whispers. Dinnae worry. Besides, if ye think this is the first time they’ve been whisperin’ about ye, then ye’re more daft than I thought ye were. An’ I ken better than that.” Maisie smiled confidently at her.
“That is true.” Lydia felt herself relax a little, recalling her first day or so at the keep, when she’d known that everyone was whispering about her - the mysterious new servant rescued by the laird on the road to the keep. Saved from bandits after being abandoned by her traveling companions.
“Tha’s the spirit.” Maisie handed her a bowl of porridge. “Eat hearty… I hear Evelyn wants ye tae help make remedies tae be distributed tae the villagers. Pain remedies, mostly, but also restoratives an’ some herbal concoctions fer the lasses that are with child in the village.”
The two of them finished their meal, then went their separate ways. Maisie went to begin the day’s cleaning and chores, and Lydia made her way out to the healer’s cottage.
She found Evelyn already hard at work, sorting herbs with a tally of the needed preparations in front of her and an herbal at hand. “Come. I want tae deliver these tae the villagers after the noon meal.”
“Aye.” Lydia stepped up and began to glance down the list. “What would you like me to start with?”
“The nettle an’ mint balm. We need a powerful amount o’ it for the villagers, an’ the blacksmith is running low, with two apprentices o’ his own.” Evelyn made a rueful face, and Lydia mimicked it. Apprentices in the forge received plenty of burns.
Together, the two of them fell into an easy rhythm. The work might be tedious, but it was also oddly soothing, the measurements precise and calming. This was something Lydia knew how to do, and she had the small pride of knowing she could do well.
She was so focused on her tasks that she almost dropped the mortar she was using to grind the nettle when Evelyn spoke. “Ye’re good fer him.”
“I… I am sorry?” Lydia blinked at her mentor in surprise.
Evelyn smiled gently. “Och, lass, I ken ye’ve heard the whispers by now, an’ ye’re smart enough tae guess what they’re about. The laird’s nae been subtle about his interest in ye, an’ even a blind man could see ye’re nae indifferent tae him.”
Lydia dropped her gaze, her cheeks blazing with warmth. “I… I did not intend…”
“Och, an’ ‘tis rare that anyone ever daes, lass. ‘Tis naething wrong with what’s between ye. As I said, ye’re good fer him.” Evelyn shook her head. “The laird, he used tae be different, ye ken.”
Lydia looked back up from her work, intrigued. “Different?”
“Aye. Angrier. ‘Twas a time when he’d storm about the keep with a sullen look on his face, a mood as black as a moonless night. There were days when even Lady Alayne couldnae calm his temper, an’ we all walked softly. Even Maisie, if ye can believe that.”
Lydia tried to imagine Maisie - brash, confident Maisie - walking softly around anyone, and failed. “’Tis hard to imagine.”
“Aye. That’s what I mean. That’s the man Laird Ranald was. He mellowed some, after he came back, but then was a darkness that enveloped him that nay medicine could lift. Nae until ye came intae his life.”
Lydia swallowed hard. “I… I’m nothing special…”
“Och, ye can say that if ye like, but I dinnae believe it. An’ neither should ye.” Evelyn shook her head, then reached across to pat Lydia’s hand. “Ye’re a strong lass, stronger than ye ken, an’ brave as well.”
