Chapter 11
11
Alyth’s body was still tingling and throbbing with delight as she made her way upstairs to her tiny chamber again. She knew she would dream about Lachlan that night and feel his rough hands caressing her skin again, feel his tongue and his manhood teasing her into rapture.
He had mentioned something about another time. What had he meant? Was he suggesting that she should become his mistress? She certainly could not imagine him asking a servant to be his wife, no matter how well she spoke or how fine her manners were.
Alyth lay down in bed and imagined that Lachlan was with her, not making love to her, merely holding her while they slept together. The last time she had slept in the same bed with anyone was with her mother when she was about ten years old. However, that was not quite the same thing as being wrapped in the strong and protective embrace of a beautiful man!
“Goodnight, M’Laird,” Alyth whispered, then closed her eyes and fell asleep almost instantly.
Her dreams were full of him, however, and she had the best night’s sleep ever, even though he made love to her over and over again. She woke up feeling invigorated and refreshed, and for a few seconds wondered why before remembering her glorious experience of the previous night.
Nevertheless, Alyth knew that she still had a mission to fulfil, and she would not let her desires deter her from doing it. She had known that Lachlan Carrick wanted her and was determined to use it to her advantage, but she could see a situation where the weakness of her own needs overcame any plan she devised. She must be very, very careful, she decided; a physical attraction was not love. She could not love the man who had been responsible for the death of the dearest person in her life.
I must harden my heart, she thought determinedly. Whatever tender thoughts I had about him were during the heat of passion, and I must never forget that Lachlan Carrick is my enemy.
Having made this promise to herself, Alyth picked up her dress to put it on, but as she lowered it over her head, she smelled the earthy scent of Lachlan’s body. Would anyone else notice it, she wondered?
You are being ridiculous, Alyth, she thought.
It was very unlikely that any of the others would be aware of it. After all, how could they know the scent of their Laird’s body? But for her own peace of mind, she donned her spare uniform.
Better safe than sorry, she thought.
When she entered the kitchen, Alyth found a lively conversation going on around the table, and she joined in as soon as she had heaped her plate with food.
“Have I missed anything?” she asked eagerly.
“We were just sayin’ how happy the Laird looks,” Alison replied eagerly.
“Aye, he looks like the cat who stole the cream!” Flora went on. “I think he has a new lady in his life!”
“Or his bed!” Heather said, giggling.
“Or both!” Catriona suggested, making them all burst into a gale of laughter.
Alyth joined in, although she was shaking with nervousness inside. Did they know? Had anyone seen her sneaking out of Lachlan’s chamber? She was fearful, even though she doubted that Lachlan would advertise the fact that he had slept with a servant.
Yet, there were other ways of communicating that did not involve words, and Davina had proved that. For years, she had made herself understood through hand gestures and facial expressions; it was quite possible Lachlan could do the same without even meaning to. What would her life be like if he showed her any kind of favouritism?
She had no idea what the other maids would do. Shun her? Make her the butt of their jokes and their scorn? Alyth did not know, but now she felt that her mission had become more urgent than ever. She had to find out what the cause of the hostilities were from the Carrick’s point of view; after all, there were always two sides to a quarrel even though she naturally took her own family’s side.
One morning that week, the cook, Mairi, was absent because of an urgent family emergency, and Maisie had decided that it was as good a time as any to teach Alyth some basic cooking skills. Accordingly, she summoned her into the kitchen, gave her an apron, and said, “I dinnae suppose ye have ever learned tae bake bread, hen?” Her tone was mischievous.
Alyth laughed. “It’s really not one of those skills ladies’ maids are taught,” she replied. “But I would love to learn. I would find it very useful, I think. Who knows, I might marry a farmer some day?” She looked at Maisie with an expression that said this was a very distant possibility.
Maisie laughed. “I cannae see ye as a farmer’s wife, hen,” she said. “Somehow I dinnae think ye would know one end o’ a sheep fae the other.”
“You’re right, Maisie!” Alyth agreed. “But I would love to impress whoever I marry with my baking skills. Tell me, what kind of cake does the Laird like best—not that I’m going to marry him, of course.” She shook her head and flapped her hand with a dismissive gesture.
Maisie laughed. “Well, that’s easy enough!” she replied. “He absolutely loves clootie dumpling. He could live on the stuff. On the other hand, if ye really want tae turn his stomach, ye can try black puddin’. He hates it wi’ an absolute passion!”
Alyth laughed. “I completely agree with him.” She shuddered in disgust. “I can’t stand it either!”
Alyth paid attention as Maisie showed her how to roll out the dough and knead it; she loved the feel of it, soft and yielding under the pressure of her hands as it oozed between her fingers.
“I have heard that there was a lot of trouble here a while ago between the Carricks and the MacAdams,” Alyth said thoughtfully as Maisie took the dough away from her and set it aside to rest for a while. “What happened?”
“It is a very long story, hen.” Maisie replied, sighing. “An’ a very sad one. The MacAdams an’ the Carricks have had a feud that goes back for a long time, but sometimes it calms down an’ sometimes it flares up again. Everybody on both sides suffers when a fight breaks out, an’ naebody ever wins.” She looked sad, then she began to tell Alyth the story.
“Laird Bearnard Carrick, the present Laird’s father, was a very good businessman. He brought in a lot o’ French an’ Spanish wine an’ sold it here in Scotland, an’ he sold the whisky we make here tae the French. He sold salmon an’ animal hides an’ coal—tons o’ it. He made the clan very rich, but when he died an’ young Lachlan took over—well! The trade just got better an’ better, an’ the family got richer an’ richer. Well, as ye can imagine, hen, everybody wanted tae be his friend—or nearly everybody.
There were people comin’ fae as far away as Edinburgh that wanted tae trade wi’ him, clans comin’ wantin’ alliances, it was the best time we ever had here.” Maisie sighed, and began to wash the flour from her hands; her eyes became dreamy as she looked back into the past.
“Only two clans werenae very friendly,” she went on.
“Let me guess,” Alyth said grimly. “The MacAdams and the Robertsons? I gathered as much from listening to the girls at breakfast.”
Maisie gave a short, cynical laugh. “Aye,” she replied, with a ferocious frown. Alyth had never seen her look so angry. “They were only interested in tradin’ weapons, an’ our young Laird isnae interested in makin’ war. He is a peacemaker an’ that is tae his credit.” She paused for a moment, thinking, before she went on.
“He told them he wasnae lookin’ tae buy weapons an’ sent them away.” Maisie looked extremely troubled.
Alyth waited a moment before she asked, “What happened then?”
Maisie made a sound that was almost a growl. “We heard that some MacAdams men had come an’ invaded our borders an’ killed some o’ the villagers in Leithmuir.” Her face took on a thunderous look. “When the Laird went tae avenge their death he took quite a few o’ the garrison wi’ him, an’ while he was away some o’ the MacAdams lot got intae the castle. They killed Lady Sandrina in front o’ the wee lassie—shot her in cold blood in front o’ wee Davina while she was defendin’ her daughter. If I had been there, I would have killed that murderer myself!”
Again she paused, leaning on the flour-covered table and taking deep breaths in order to calm down.
“I am sorry to have upset you, Mistress Maisie,” Alyth said softly. “I had no idea about all this. It was just that the other day at breakfast, Alison and Catriona were talking about it, and they seemed so angry.”
Maisie patted her shoulder and gave Alyth a sad smile. “When they heard that Lady MacAdams had been killed as well, the two Lairds decided tae stop fightin’ wi’ each other because they had both lost somebody they loved.”
“So there is peace now?” Alyth asked. “The war between the two families is over?”
Maisie shook her head. “I wish it was, but we a’ think it is just a truce,” she answered. “Most o’ us think it is only a matter o’ time before a’ the fightin’ starts again.”
Alyth’s heart plummeted, then she rallied, having thought of a way to turn the situation to her advantage. “Maybe things will not be so bad,” she remarked. “I know that sometimes when I think nothing can be any worse, something happens to prove me wrong. Look at the night I came here; I thought I was going to die in the cold and wet weather of that horrible evening, yet here I am, happy and well. I was taken in by good people who treated me—and are still treating me—with great kindness. And you, Mistress Maisie, if you had not taken me in I would be dead, and nobody would even know about it. So you see, there is always hope, or at least that is what I believe.”
A slow, warm smile spread over Maisie’s face. “Ye give me too much credit, hen,” she told Alyth. “But ye are right. We must always hope for the best, or we would a’ be miserable, would we no’?”
Alyth nodded, pretending to be happy. Yet, she knew that when she finally managed to leave, her name would be mud. All her fellow maids would be disgusted with her, as well as outraged. They would think she had used them, which, in fact, she had.
Then, of course, there was Davina—and now Lachlan. Davina would be devastated. She had lost her mother, and while Alyth could never compare herself in any way to the woman who had given birth to the little girl, she knew that Davina was fond of her.
Alyth knew what loss was like; she had experienced it herself, and felt it now as she recalled the day when her father had come to tell her how her mother had been tossed over the curtain wall of Cairnloch Castle. It had cut as keenly as a knife, and she had never really recovered from that loss.
She knew that she would keenly miss Davina, with her flowing red hair and eyes that were just like her father’s, her innocent smile and mischievous mannerisms.
And then there was Lachlan, whose body she had just enjoyed with more pleasure than she could ever remember having with any other experience in her life. She doubted that he would be sorry to see her go. No, he would be absolutely incandescent with rage, knowing that he had been used, and that his enemy had bested him with the utmost courage and cunning.
As well as that, Alyth’s feelings about him were a tangle of confusion. Did she love him? She had no idea, but as well as the physical sensations he had aroused in her, there was the complicated matter of her heart.
Now that she knew Lachlan Carrick better, she could see that he was not the monster she had first thought, damn him! Why did he have to be so hard, yet so tender, so full of love for Davina, yet hate for her family?
Thinking about all this, Alyth felt utterly ashamed and guilty, but she could hardly sit everyone down and explain what had happened to drive her to this desperate course of action. No, she had to forge ahead and complete what she had set out to do, no matter how much hurt it caused to herself or others. She had to harden her heart and firmly put any affection she harboured for anyone at Leithmuir behind her. She was a soldier on a mission, and nothing must get in her way.
Alyth had not realised that Maisie was speaking to her until she heard her laughing. “Daydeamin’ hen?” she asked.
“One of my worst faults,” Alyth replied, casting her eyes heavenwards.
“I have that problem mysel’,” Maisie replied, and they laughed together.
Alyth forced her mind away from her morbid thoughts and resumed her work. It occurred to her suddenly that her stint as a maid was teaching her many more skills than she would ever have learned as a Laird’s wife. If she ever had to, she could become a baker or a farmer’s wife. She chuckled inwardly at the thought.
After the bread had risen, Maisie set Alyth to other duties, ones which had become almost automatic to her now. As she swept the floor of one of the passages, she thought about the attack they had suffered from the Robertsons. Alyth had kept the news to herself, but it leaked out anyway, since the guards who had brought back the inert bodies had spread the news.
Alyth found out then how much the other maids meant to her when they crowded around her and hugged her with affection and relief.
“Thank god ye are still well an’ still wi’ us, Jeannie,” Mairi, the cook, had said to her as she kissed Alyth’s cheek. “We would have missed ye so much.”
Alyth had burst into tears then, tears of relief at the lucky escape she had, and the warmth of these special friends. She felt like the most fortunate woman in the world, but the attack had set her to thinking.
What part had the Robertsons played in the raid on Leithmuir that had started the feud between the Carricks and the MacAdams? There was definitely more to this than met the eye, and she was determined to find out what it was.