Page 21 of The Highlander's Auctioned Hellion
“Ye can go, lass. Ye must be tired.”
Lydia did not say anything more, turning around and opening the door slowly. She stepped outside, the gloom of the corridor enveloping her as she closed the door gently behind her.
When will I see him again? What does only speaking when “absolutely necessary” even mean?
Lydia had no idea where she was in the castle, but began walking all the same, allowing the cold flagstones to guide her, uncaring of where she ended up.
She supposed she should be grateful that he had removed her from London, but had she stepped out of the frying pan and into the fire?
Indifference and distance for eternity. Perhaps I would have been better off with an old man.
CHAPTER 7
“Is thereanything else you need, M’Lady?”
Lydia shook her head, smiling at Hannah, from her warm bath, as the maid finished unpacking her trunk.
Hannah had settled into the new rooms a little more now, but she still seemed on edge, startling at every sound from the corridor.
“Have you met any of the other staff yet?” Lydia asked.
“The housekeeper, Isla, is very kind, as is her husband, Duncan. Apparently, they have worked with the Laird for many years, but they only traveled to this castle very recently.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, M’Lady. It seems he was located at a different castle until a few weeks ago.”
Lydia frowned, wondering why that might be. She sighed, easing herself into the water, deciding that any other mysteries about the Laird would have to wait until another day.
I have spent quite enough time thinking about him today already.
“Why don’t you spend some time familiarizing yourself with the castle tonight? I will have no need of you for a little time.”
Hannah smiled, folding the dress that Lydia had worn to travel in, and nodded. “Thank you, M’Lady.”
Lydia closed her eyes, listening to the soft sounds of her maid tidying the final things away and quietly opening and closing the door.
After a moment’s pause, she lowered herself beneath the water, listening to the bubbles popping beside her head and the rush of water in her ears.
Resurfacing, she sighed loudly, brushing loose strands of hair from her face and leaning back against the cushion Hannah had placed behind her head.
She opened her eyes, looking up at the stone ceiling.
Her chambers here were very different from her bedroom at home—all harsh stone with a permanence about it that she liked.
The ceiling in her old bed chamber had been peppered with cracks like spiderwebs skittering across the plaster. This room was solid, like the Laird who owned it. Unmoving and unchangeable—able to weather any storm.
“And this is to be my home forevermore,” she murmured to herself, her nerves beginning to rise again as she considered her upcoming wedding.
The last few days had been such a whirlwind of activity that she had hardly considered the fact that she would soon be a bride.
A random encounter in a garden, and now she was betrothed to a giant.
In an effort to quiet her mind, she rose, getting out of the bath and dripping water over the floor as she reached for the robe that Hannah had placed behind her.
She pulled it from the chair, the silken fabric surprising her.
This is not the robe I brought from London.
