Page 5 of Taming the Highland Misfits
“Yes, she was.” Isla smiled into the other woman’s sympathetic blue eyes. “But I will be fine in a few days, no doubt. Thank you for your concern.” She took May’s hands and squeezed them, then bent down to stroke Jack, who had sensed her mood and was gazing up at her with his warm brown eyes seemingly full of concern.
Isla collected her purchases, although she knew that she was never going to use any of them, and went outside. As she had expected, it was raining heavily, and she knew that she and Raffy would be drenched long before they reached home.
She sighed as she climbed into the saddle. It was just one of those days.
2
It had been impossible to ride home any faster than a walk since the paths were slick with treacherous mud. The wind was blowing the rain into almost horizontal sheets that stung Isla’s face and ran in rivulets down her skin. It soaked her clothes too, so that by the time she rode into the stables again she was drenched to the bone and freezing.
One of the stable lads rushed forward to take Raffy off her hands. The poor beast was shivering with cold, rainwater running down her coat and dripping onto the floor of the stable. Isla could not bear to see her suffering and instructed the stable lad to make her dry and warm as quickly as possible. He scurried off to do her bidding and Isla sighed, feeling wretched that she had made her faithful horse suffer so much. It had been a dreadful day, and it was not over yet.
She shook the water off her riding habit as best she could, then trudged upstairs. She had never felt the need for a hot bath so much in her life.
Her maid, a young pretty woman by the name of Maura, looked up from her dusting and stared at Isla with a horrified look on her face. “Mistress!” she exclaimed before springing to Isla’s aid. “What happened? Why were ye out on a day like this?”
While she was speaking she had begun to strip off Isla’s sopping wet clothes, which she threw over a chair. Isla submitted to her ministrations mutely, since she did not have the energy to speak. Maura wrapped a blanket around her while they waited for the hot water and the bath to be brought.
The maid busied herself laying out fresh clothes for her, and Isla observed her as she bustled around the room, wondering what her life was like. Did she envy her mistress? Did she ever look at her fine clothes and wish she could wear one of her lace-trimmed satin ball gowns or thick winter fur coats? Did she ever wish she could steal some of her valuable jewellery, like the emerald pendant and earrings her mother had left to her?
Maura was such a pretty young woman, she thought. She had warm, honey-coloured hair, sparkling green eyes and full lips that always seemed to be about to twitch into a smile. Surely there would be plenty of admirers who were after her favours? She had only been Isla’s maid for a year, but they had a friendship of sorts, or as close a friendship that could develop given the gap in their social circumstances.
Isla knew that Maura came from a big family, being the middle child of nine brothers and sisters, and she envied her greatly for that. She would give away all her gowns, emeralds and coats for the love of a mother, a proper father, and a tribe of affectionate siblings.
She knew that brothers and sisters fought and argued–she had seen them–but they always forgave each other afterwards, and after they had made up it was as if nothing had happened. How she would love to have had just one sister or brother–just one. She had often tried to imagine what it must be like to share a room or even a bed, as some sisters did. She had been told that they shared everything; gossip, secrets, even their problems, for who could you trust more than a sister?
Maybe there would have been a sister or a brother if her mother had lived, but since the morning when she had found her still and cold in her bed, she had known there would never be any chance of that happening.
As she stepped into the warm water of the bath, Isla ruthlessly put away the picture of Edina Thomson’s stiff body and cold blue lips, trying to concentrate on anything else to take her mind off it.
“Maura,” she said curiously, “you have a lot of brothers and sisters, don’t you?”
“Aye, Mistress,” she answered, frowning. She was clearly wondering why Isla was asking such a silly question. “I have four brothers an’ four sisters. I am the fifth child. I thought ye knew that.”
Isla sighed and passed a weary hand over her eyes. “I do, Maura,” she replied. “I just wanted to know what it is like being part of a big family like yours. Do you have a good life?”
Maura shrugged. “Depends what ye mean by good, Mistress,” she replied. She had been kneeling beside the bath rubbing a sponge up and down Isla’s back. She stopped and leaned back on her haunches, looking thoughtful. “I am no’ livin’ wi’ my family now, of course, but when I was there I was very happy. We arenae rich, an’ probably never will be, but the family owns our home an’ they have enough tae eat. If one of us grows out o’ somethin’ it is passed onto somebody else, an’ if somethin’ wears out it is mended. If it is really useless, my mother cuts up the material an’ makes quilts an’ things. My father is always fixin’ pots an’ pans an’ anythin’ else that breaks. We eat simple food, no’ much meat, but they are a’ healthy enough. Is that what ye wanted tae know?” She looked at Isla questioningly.
“Can I ask you something personal?” Isla asked cautiously. “Please do not answer if it makes you uncomfortable.”
Maura nodded without hesitation. “Of course ye can, Mistress, an’ I will answer if I can.”
“Do your mother and father love each other?” Isla’s voice was husky, and she had to blink tears out of her eyes.
Maura had been about to laugh before she saw Isla’s expression. “Aye, Mistress, they do,” she replied, as if it were a foregone conclusion.
“And do all your brothers and sisters love each other?” By this time, a few tears were leaking down Isla’s cheeks, but she did not bother to wipe them away.
“Of course, Mistress,” she replied. “We are a very happy family.”
“I am glad for you,” Isla murmured, watching as tears dripped into her bathwater. Isla was surprised when Maura reached into the bath and took one of her hands in her own.
“What is it, Mistress?” she asked gently. “Ye look so sad.”
“You are not the first person to tell me that today,” Isla said, with a bitter laugh. “I must tell you, Maura, that I am not so much sad as angry.” She hesitated, wondering how much she should tell her, then she decided to throw caution to the winds. What difference would it make if everyone knew what her father was making her do? Nobody would care. They all knew what kind of man he was anyway.
“Why, Mistress?” Maura asked tenderly.
Isla looked into her maid’s concerned eyes. There was no deceit there, she decided, but she was still hesitant, not wishing to cause trouble for her servant. “I must ask you not to speak of this, not only for my safety, but for yours.”
