Page 15 of The Shadow of a Laird
Gavin felt utterly bereft for a moment before he reminded himself to gather his wits. However, it was a long time before sleep came to claim him that night. Even hugging Maura’s cushion and inhaling her scent did not help, but when he finally did fall asleep, he dreamed about her; delightful, sensual dreams that made him feel refreshed and happy. What was she doing to him?
7
Since Gavin’s arrival, his charm and good looks had been bringing in plenty of extra business of the female variety, and the news of the handsome new barman was spreading fast. Soon all the taverns in the town would want to employ Gavin, but Maura was not going to let him go.
Old and young, they mostly came in pairs or groups, since a woman alone was very vulnerable to unwelcome attention, but they all had one thing in common. They could hardly keep their eyes off Gavin, who was revelling in all the attention and playing up to them with every ounce of energy he had. When he was by himself, he reflected that it was all a little tiring, although Maura seemed pleased with the results he was achieving, and pleasing her was what he wanted most.
The news that there were many pretty young women in theGoose and Gandersoon meant that a large number of young men followed them to take advantage of the situation. On a Saturday night, which was the one before the Sabbath, the place had always been busy, but now it was packed to the rafters. Maura could hardly believe it, and decided to improve the situation even further by sending to Dundee for some goodquality clothes for Gavin to make him look even more alluring than he already was.
On the first night that Gavin was wearing his new attire, something happened that Maura had been half-expecting, but definitely did not welcome.
Gavin towered over the little woman in front of him, who must have been more than a foot shorter than he was. He had always found that women loved a certain type of tall man who made them feel protected and safe, not intimidated, and he took advantage of it. He was treating her to a wide smile, and she was looking up at him with an expression that bordered on admiration. She was bemoaning the fact that she had straight bright red hair.
“I hate it,” she said disgustedly. “It looks like a bunch o’ carrots!”
Gavin, whose hair was a touch lighter, laughed. “You hate mine too, then?” he asked wickedly, raising his eyebrows.
The young woman blushed a shade that was almost as bright a red as her hair. “I’m sorry, I didnae mean?—”
Gavin laughed heartily. “Your hair is lovely,” he told her. “Do not let anybody tell you otherwise.”
“So is yours,” she said, with a shy smile. “In fact, ye are a very handsome man, but I suppose a lot o’ ladies have told ye that.”
Gavin laughed and shook his head. Her statement was true, but he could hardly answer her without sounding big-headed, so he changed the subject. “Do you live in the village?” he asked. “I have not been here very long, so I want to get to know as many people as I can. I think it’s important to make friends.”
“I live wi’ the Wilkinsons,” she replied. “I am their children’s nanny. I get one day off every two weeks, so I thought I would come here an’ see what a’ the fuss was about.” She giggled.
“Fuss?” Gavin pretended to be surprised. Again he changed the subject as he poured her second glass of ale. “What is your name, by the way?”
“Lorna,” she answered. “I know yours. A’ the lassies dae.”
She had given up trying to be shy and was now being openly flirtatious. She was a pretty little thing, Gavin had to admit, but he had absolutely no interest in her. However, it was his job to act as if he did, so he played the game.
Maura had been listening to them, even though she had to strain her ears above the noise of the conversation going on around them. She had been obliged to employ two extra bar staff, one a stout middle-aged man and the other a tall, masculine-looking woman. She and Gavin could never have managed on their own. She strolled over to them and smiled at the young woman.
“Have ye been here before?” she asked pleasantly.
Lorna smiled at her. “No, but I have walked past many times,” she replied. “I havenae usually got the money tae come in, but I was paid today, so I thought I would come an’ see what a’ the fuss was about.”
Maura, frowning, said,“Fuss? What fuss?” She knew perfectly well what the young woman meant, but it suited her to pretend to be ignorant.
Lorna was blushing so much that her face almost matched her hair. “I heard a lot o’ my pals talkin’ about the new lad behind the bar,” she replied. “They said they had seen him breakin’ up a fight, an’ he was very strong—an’ handsome.” With that, she turned and disappeared into the crowd, realising that she had embarrassed herself enough.
“It looks as though ye have another admirer,” Maura remarked drily. She went back to serving customers, but kept a watchful eye on Gavin, who was playing up to all the ladies. She felt unreasonably jealous, but told herself she had no reason tobe. They were friends, no more, and she had no claim on him at all. However, she had revealed things about herself to him—things that she would not want others to know about, and she felt uneasy. She shook her head irritably as if to dislodge the notion from her head and walked into the kitchen, having been given an order of food from a young, impatient man who was trying to impress his lady friend.
Morag MacElwee, the cook, was ladling stew into bowls as Maura walked in. She was a thin, elderly woman with snow-white hair who had been working in the kitchen of theGoose and Ganderyears before Brian Hislop had owned the place. Her sharp eyes had taken notice of Maura dropping a few cups, spilling ale and speaking sharply to customers, behaving quite unlike her usual affable self. Now she looked up as a flustered Maura entered, and glanced at her out of her sharp brown eyes.
“A’ right, hen?” she asked, frowning. She had grown fond of Maura over the past few years, and hated to see her upset.
“Fine, Morag,” Maura replied, pinning a smile on her face, but Morag, armed with the wisdom of age, was not fooled. “Ye have feelings for that lad, dae ye no’?” she asked keenly. “I have been watchin’ ye, but ye value your independence. Ye dinnae want him tae take over your life, is that it?”
Maura shook her head vehemently. “No,” she answered. “It isnae that at a’. Ye know what kind o’ person I am. I dinnae believe in dreamin’ an’ hopin’ for the best. Ye cannae get anythin’ in this life unless ye work hard for it, an’ I willnae let some man stop me fae gettin’ what I need just because he is good-lookin’ an’ charmin’. There is more tae life than that.”
Morag looked at her and nodded her agreement, although she thought that Maura’s view of life sounded tedious in the extreme. Imagine a life where all you had to look forward to was working, eating and sleeping. She could not think of anything worse!
“You an’ I need tae have a wee chat sometime,” Morag told her. “But no’ right this minute. Here. Take this tae settle ye a wee bit, but dinnae tell your uncle, or he will murder me!” She handed Maura a small cup, at the bottom of which was a stiff measure of whisky.
Maura was not accustomed to drinking the strong spirit, and coughed as it burned a fiery path down her throat. However, it left a feeling of warmth behind it, and she asked for another.
