Chapter 6
6
Lachlan and Gavin were walking around the castle after the morning drill when they came to the laundry area just outside the kitchen and saw Jeannie and some of the other maids washing a load of the castle laundry.
There was nothing unusual about this, except that they had gained another helper in the shape of Davina, whose arms were immersed almost up to her shoulders in soapy water. She was imitating Jeannie, who had her arms in the same vat of laundry, and was obviously having a great deal of fun. Lachlan had lived with his daughter all her life and had never seen her interacting with the servants before.
Davina was trying to say the odd word, but mostly she was giggling, and this was a sound Lachlan had not heard for a very long time. Her nurse was keeping watch on his daughter from a distance, but she was not interfering, since it was obvious that Davina was enjoying herself very much.
“I havenae seen Davina sae happy for a long time,” Gavin observed, smiling. “She seems tae be fair smitten wi’ that new lassie.”
Lachlan frowned as he looked at Jeannie again. He was beginning to feel something strange for this woman who had come into his life so suddenly. She was so different—nothing like the usual maids, who obeyed him at once and never questioned his orders.
This woman was stubborn and stood up for herself, and there was something about her that was very familiar. She reminded him of someone else, someone who had grey eyes, dark hair, and a sparkle in her eyes. She was ready to fight for what she wanted, and she had a way with Davina that was unlike any other woman but her mother. A stab of guilt pierced him; she was nothing like Sandrina—was she?
And yet, why had he begun to dream of her at night? Why did he sometimes imagine that she was lying in bed beside him?
Why did he feel so aroused when she passed him sometimes? Lachlan told himself it was just the reaction of his body to an attractive female, since he no longer went to the ceilidhs and social gatherings he had been accustomed to when his wife was alive. His body was likely starving for some womanly attention—in fact, he knew it was—but even now, three years after her death, he would have felt unfaithful if he succumbed to that temptation.
Yet deep inside he knew that it was more than that, but he brushed his thoughts away; he had no wish for Gavin to know them. He was a good friend, but Lachlan had no wish to make him aware of his guilty conscience.
“She is an interesting woman,” he conceded. “But a strange one. Does Maisie know anything about her?”
Gavin thought for a moment, stroking his thick beard. “Well, she likes the lass,” he answered at last. “So dae a’ the other maids. She says they a’ thought she would be a bit snooty at first, but now she is one o’ them. Maisie an’ the girls are a’ surprised at how well she gets on wi’ Davina. They say it is a miracle.” He took a long quaff of his water and smiled. “But miracle or no’, it is lovely tae see them playin’ together. D’ye no’ think so?”
“Indeed,” Lachlan agreed, “but this woman is not like any other servant I have ever seen, Gavin. She is obviously well-educated—she can read, and I’ve put her in charge of reading Davina her story at bedtime. Can you explain that?”
“Maisie tells me she was a ladies’ maid,” Gavin replied. “She said she had tae learn tae read as part o’ her duties, an’ the way she talks—well, she said she worked for the same woman for a long time an’ picked up her manner o’ speech.”
“And do you know the name of the lady who employed her?” Lachlan asked suspiciously. It would be good to confirm Jeannie Dunbar’s story to put his mind at rest.
“Maisie never told me,” Gavin answered. “I am no’ sure if she even knows hersel’.”
Lachlan sipped his ale, thinking. The whole story seemed fanciful to him; he doubted that a young woman could rid herself of the very strong Aberdeenshire accent in which the local people spoke. She was not old enough to have been in someone’s employ for years.
No, he decided. Something else was going on, and he was determined to find out what it was.
“I heard that when she arrived, she came from the south,” Lachlan said thoughtfully. “Is that not MacAdams land?”
“Aye, Lachlan,” Gavin confirmed. “But just because she came fae that direction doesnae make her one o’ them. The girl was in a hell of a state, an’ could have wandered a’ over the place for days.”
Gavin was one of less than a handful of people in the castle who was allowed to call the Laird by his given name, since they had known each other since Lachlan was a boy.
“I know, Gavin,” he said, frowning. “But I am still not convinced. Her accent, her reading, her bearing—she is not one of the common people.” He looked at Gavin with a firm, direct, gaze. “Could she be a MacAdams spy?”
Gavin was about to laugh and deny this suggestion as fanciful, then his eyes widened as if in shock. “My god!” he exclaimed. “I just remembered somethin’. Some o’ my lads have seen a lass sneakin’ out in the early mornin’ tae train wi’ a sword. She has even used a bow.” He looked up at Lachlan. “A spy, ye say?” he said again. “Ye know, I think she might be. I might be dead wrong, but Lachlan, I think ye must say somethin’ tae her. Ye have tae know the truth.”
Lachlan nodded. He stood up and looked over at Davina and Jeannie Dunbar, still playing together. It seemed to him that Davina was becoming even more attached to Jeannie, and it worried him immensely. What if all of her apparent affection towards his daughter was an act, designed to worm her way into the household, and into his heart? Spies were dangerous, and female spies, he imagined, were more dangerous than men; they could use their feminine wiles to great effect.
“Do not worry, Gavin,” he said grimly. “I will be saying many words to that young lady, and they will not be the kind of words she wants to hear!”
With that, he strode away to the stables to find his favourite horse. At times like this he could not bear to be inside; he needed to be in the fresh air and the endless, open countryside around the castle to clear his mind, for he could not bear to fret and worry any longer.
Alyth duly made her way to Davina’s bedroom that evening to read her a story, and watched the little girl’s face light up with pleasure as she entered the room. She was dressed for bed, cuddling her doll as usual, but she did not seem sleepy in the least.
As she looked at her, Alyth was reminded of her own bedtimes, especially the summertime ones when there was almost no darkness, and she was obliged to go to bed in full daylight, which was incredibly frustrating. She had always fought like a little tigress to be allowed to stay awake, but eventually tiredness always won.
There was a little bookshelf beside Davina’s bed on which there were a couple of dozen picture books, one of which Davina picked out and gave to Alyth to read aloud. Her eyes were shining as she did so, and Alyth smiled at her fondly as she opened it and began to read. As she moved through the book, imitating the sounds of animals’ and children’s voices, she heard Davina beginning to laugh, and looked up at the girl’s happy face.
Davina pointed to a picture of a cow, and said, “Moo,” then giggled.
Alyth felt a surge of warmth and amazement inside as she gazed at her. Then she realised that she had a task to fulfil, and she went on with the story.
“Do you know that when I was a wee girl, my Mammy used to read stories to me?” Alyth said. Davina shook her head.
“My favourite ones were the stories about handsome princes and beautiful princesses,” she went on. “And fairies because they were always so good and kind. Would you like a story like that tomorrow night?”
Davina smiled and nodded eagerly. This time it took a little longer for her to fall asleep, and when she eventually did, her eyes drifting closed, Alyth sat beside her for a long time, gazing tenderly at the little girl’s face.
Suddenly, she realised that the Laird’s daughter had come to mean a lot to her, and she guessed that Davina felt the same way about her. How had this happened?
“You know, Davina, I can understand your pain better than anyone. I lost my mother a few years ago, too, and my world went to shreds. There is only one thing that can ease my pain, but I am not sure if I can find it any more. If only you could help me,” Alyth whispered to the sleeping Davina. “I know your father has the necklace. Where should I look for it, huh?”
Alyth sighed and stood up, then kissed Davina’s forehead before she tiptoed out of the room. What was Davina going to do when she left? Because Alyth knew that eventually she would have to leave Leithmuir and go back to her own home, and this would make both of them unhappy. It might even drive Davina back into her shell again.
She looked out of one of the windows in the corridor as she made her way to bed and saw the moon riding across the sky. It was almost, but not quite full, and she was reminded of a similar night when she was about twelve years old.
She was sitting with her head on her mother’s shoulder in front of the fire, feeling comfortably dozy and warm. They were looking out of the window at the same three-quarter moon, and her mother was reading aloud, but this time it was a love story.
Alyth had grown out of children’s picture books, so Lady MacAdams had gradually introduced her to more adult works of fiction while gently breaking Alyth into the knowledge about what her duties for the clan would one day be; marry for an alliance and produce an heir. That evening she had come to the end of her explanation, and Alyth had gazed at her in astonishment.
“You mean, you and Da…” she asked in disbelief.
“Yes, and we love each other very much, Alyth,” she said gently, as she kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Sometimes people who are married don’t love each other, then it can be only the act two people do to have a baby, but your father and I loved each other almost from the first time our eyes met. I hope that happens to you when you marry.”
Then she smiled, a glowing, happy expression that Alyth never forgot. She recalled it now, however, as she looked at the moon and sighed. Would she ever feel like that about anyone? Somehow, she doubted it.
It had been a long, exhausting day, and when Alyth reached her room she lay down in her bed, thinking. Despite her attempts to avoid him, Laird Carrick seemed to have been everywhere she looked that day. He always stared at her with a face that was devoid of expression, as if it was a mask he had put on just for her, since he seemed animated and friendly to everyone else.
Perhaps it was her imagination, she thought, but the more she considered the matter, the less likely that possibility seemed to be. No, there was definitely an expression that he reserved especially for her, and it was so impenetrable that it might as well have been a suit of armour that she could never pierce.
Alyth shifted in her little bed, trying to wriggle into a comfortable position, but it was too narrow, and the thin straw pallet underneath her was anything but soft. For someone who was used to sleeping on well-stuffed feather mattresses, it was torture. However, she consoled herself with the fact that at least she had a roof over her head and enough to eat. Yet, she knew she would become accustomed to the bed in time, but in the meantime she would have to suffer.
Eventually, Alyth fell asleep, but realised after a few moments that she was not alone in the bed. An arm was draped over her waist and there was a warm body pressed against her back. But strangely, although there was someone else in the narrow bed with her, it had suddenly become more spacious. Alyth had no trouble turning around to face whoever was lying behind her, and almost cried out when she saw Lachlan Carrick.
His eyes were closed, he was breathing deeply and evenly, and there was even a hint of a smile on his face. Presently, as she watched, his eyes opened and looked straight into hers.
“Alyth,” he murmured, and she realised with a shock that he had not called her Jeannie, the false name she had been using since she arrived in Leithmuir.
Her heart began to beat a wild tattoo, and she stared at him, unable to think of what to do next. Should she humour him? Pretend to be outraged and tell him to leave? She knew that many men of his class used their maid servants to satisfy their carnal needs, whether or not they were willing, but she had not thought him one of those men.
Now she stared at him as his smile widened, and he brought a hand up to cup her cheek, then he pulled her towards him, and to her shock, planted a soft kiss on her lips.
Alyth was even more astounded as he touched her lips with his tongue tip, begging to be allowed entrance to her mouth. She was startled by her own response as she allowed him inside to let her tongue tangle with hers. Her body began to tingle, and she strained against him as she felt his big hands begin to roam over her from her shoulders, over her breasts, down over her flat stomach. He cupped her buttocks in his hands and pulled her closer, all the while rubbing against her in a way that made her body sing with delight.
When his lips left hers, Lachlan looked into her eyes again before kissing her softly once more, but when Alyth opened her eyes again he was gone. She reached out her hands to see if she could find him, but he was not there, and her spirits sank.
The bed had shrunk to the same narrow width it had been before, and she felt like weeping as she turned over to sleep, having abandoned her.
Hours passed, during which she was tortured by thoughts of Lachlan Carrick. She hated him, did she not? Yet, why was her whole being singing with delight at the thought of him?
Alyth dozed intermittently, not fully awake but not sleeping either, and at some time before dawn she gave up and rose from bed. She had kept the trousers she had been given before, and now she put them on, then lit a candle and tiptoed outside.
It was a cloudy night, but a full moon lit the sky behind them, and Alyth could clearly see the grounds where the guards trained with their swords and bows. There were targets set up in a row along one of the walls, but arrows striking them would be too noisy, she decided, so she opted for a sword with which to fight an imaginary enemy.
Accordingly, she went to the weapons store and picked out a medium-sized broadsword, then visualised a fierce and well-trained enemy in front of her.
She attacked him fiercely, growling in fury as she thrust and sliced, backing her imaginary enemy into a corner and finishing him off with a savage swipe. It was only then that she realised she had been fighting Lachlan Carrick, and her head spun in confusion. A few hours ago, she had been dreaming of him making love to her, for heaven’s sake!
What is wrong with you, Alyth? she thought as she moved back to the centre of the training field to begin again.
Dawn was just beginning to streak the sky, and it was slowly becoming lighter; soon the castle would be waking for the day, and Alyth did not wish to take the risk of being found out. She decided to go through one more bout, then go back to her chamber and dress for the day, since it promised to be a long, tiring one, full of even more laundry.
Alyth took her stance, ready to begin the imaginary bout, but she never got the chance. She jumped in fright as a heavy hand landed on her shoulder, and whipped around to see who was there, raising her sword as she did so. However, when she saw who it was, she stiffened her body in a defensive position.
“Good morning,” said Lachlan Carrick. His words were ostensibly a greeting, but they sounded more like a threat.