Page 8 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
“Ye think she’s runnin’ tae, or runnin’ from, something.” Ewan grimaced.
“’Tis a possibility. The incident in the road unnerved her more than I would have expected, otherwise.” Donall paused, gathering his thoughts. “I heard shoutin’, an when I arrived, there were armed men attackin’ a caravan… I saw two o’ them chase her intae the woods an’ followed. I thought at first they were raiders, or bandits, but after I’d killed one, I saw Cameron colors under the rags he was wearin’ as a disguise.”
“Cameron? Laird Cameron’s sendin’ raiders disguised as bandits intae our lands?”
“Aye. But somethin’ daesnae sit well with me. They attacked a caravan, nae a settlement. Settlement would make more sense if Rory Cameron is after tryin’ tae steal territory from us. An’ two men followed Lydia, but I didnae see them chasin’ many o’ the others from the caravan…’twas as if they had a specific goal in mind.”
“But what would Cameron want with an English serving maid?”
“’Tis what I’m wanderin’ as well. Me thought is she was mistak’n fer someone else, but I cannae be sure.” Donall scowled as he slouched into the heavy chair at his desk. “There’s too much about this situation I dinnae understand, an’ it makes me fair uneasy.”
“What dae ye want tae dae?” Alex’s expression was full of understanding, as was Ewan’s.
“Send out scouts tae watch the borders, see if there’s sign o’ other invasions. Mayhap send word tae me kinfolk, see if they ken aught about the situation.” Donall grimaced.
Communication with his kinfolk-by-marriage was… difficult. He’d spent years hating the man who was now his sister’s husband, and his brothers. Their relationship was less antagonistic than it had been—mostly due to the influence of his sister Alayne—but contacting Darren MacLean for anything never truly sat well with Donall.
In truth, he’d probably direct his message to Marcus. His relationship with the second MacLean brother was far less strained than the other two, with fewer reasons for ill-feeling between them.
“Ye’ll need tae tell the Council. If there’s aught going on, they’ll need tae be informed. Especially if there’s a chance it could lead tae trouble. After…” Alexander stopped, but Donall didn’t need him to say the words.
After the punishment he’d suffered for deliberately antagonizing Darren MacLean and attempting to kill him—despite the king’s orders—any further trouble between his clan and another would be scrutinized heavily. If he wasn’t careful, a dispute with Rory Cameron might end poorly for both himself and Clan Ranald. None of them wanted that to happen.
“Aye. We’ll call fer a council meeting tomorrow, and tell them what’s happened.” Donall stretched, grimacing as the new stitches in his side tugged. “Fer now, send out the scouts. I’ll write the letter tae MacLean, and the summons fer the Council.”
“Ye dae that.” Ewan grinned briefly at him. “’Twill keep ye safely out o’ earshot while I tell Corvin his new servants are goin’ tae be delayed in arrivin’, save fer the one ye’ve already claimed as yer own.”
The jibe broke the grim pall that hung over the room. Donall snorted in amusement, while Alex choked back laughter.
“Ye dae that.”
An’ I’ll keep an eye on our odd little newcomer, an’ see what she makes o’ us… and what Maisie makes o’ her.
CHAPTER FOUR
Maisie Grant was unlike anyone Lydia had ever met in her life, quite possibly the most confusing individual Lydia had ever spent time with.
The maid was a year younger than Lydia herself, with a build that Lydia would call lean rather than slim, and far more strength than her slender frame would suggest. Her skin was tanned, her hands work-roughened and callused from her duties. Her red hair was only shoulder length, far shorter than Lydia’s, and rather than being straight, it was a riotous tumble of red curls that refused to be confined to the maid’s cap she wore.
Her clothing was in only slightly better condition than Lydia’s borrowed garments, but she seemed to think nothing of the patched sleeves and multi-hued apron she wore. In fact, she wore the clothing with a sense of pride that was almost baffling to Lydia, who had never worn patched garments in her life, until she’d been forced to flee.
Her first expression when Evelyn introduced them was one of chagrin and mortification. “Me laird thinks I’m needin’ someone tae help? But why? I’ve been daein’ me duties… all o’ them! An’ I’ve never complained, nae once, nor shirked, nae even when I came down with the winter sickness last season. He’s never said he was dissatisfied…”
“An’ he’s nae.” Evelyn soothed the woman. Lydia watched the two of them, her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. “’’Tis nae because he faults ye or yer work, lass. Tis only that Lydia is new, an’ our laird thinks ye’ve the best knowledge an’ skills tae show her what needs tae be done.”
“An’ why nae Corvin?”
Evelyn’s smile was a teasing thing, the two women sharing a brief joke that Lydia wasn’t privy to. “Och, ye ken how Corvin gets. Lass is new, an’ shy, and recoverin’ from a bad fall. Ye’ll be gentler than our steward, me laird thinks.”
Maisie scoffed, but her shoulders relaxed, and her smile was less strained than it had been. “Well, ye’ve the right o’ it there.” She studied Lydia’s face intently. “Lass does look peaky’. Might be best tae bundle her intae bed tae sleep away the worst o’ it, an’ she can start helpin’ me in the morn. Did me laird say where she was tae bunk down?”
“He said she’d be with ye.”
To Lydia’s surprise, the maid nodded, seemingly unconcerned about sharing her space with another woman. “Makes sense. I’venae had anyone sharin’ with me since Kelsea went home tae marry her farm hand an’ have her bairn. ‘Twill be easier tae help her along too, if we’re sharin’ a room as well our duties.”
The room Maisie led her to was smaller than any Lydia had ever slept in before, and it seemed terribly crowded to her - it was a single room, rather than a suite, and filled with two small beds, a shared table and water pitcher, and two clothes chests at the end of the beds. The mattresses and pillows were thinner than she was used to, stuffed with what looked to be straw, rather than down or feathers, and there were only two medium weight blankets on each bed. A small brazier was the only source of warmth for the room.
It was still far better than the conditions with the caravan had been, and Lydia sank onto the bed Maisie pointed her toward with a sigh of relief.
