Chapter 3
After the young woman left, Iain found himself restless and unable to concentrate. The look of startled terror in her honey-brown eyes had left him feeling a little ashamed, but at the same time he was furious with her.
The meeting of the clan elders had been called to discuss a few very important matters, but after the interruption no one seemed to be able to focus, and Iain brought an end to it quickly.
“I think we are done here today,” he said firmly. “I will think about what you have all suggested, and we can convene another meeting next month.”
The men stood up and looked at him resentfully.
“Make it the last meeting,” one of the oldest of them said. “Or you will find the matter taken out of your hands, son. Ye’ll need to pick a bride eventually.”
He gave Iain a threatening glare before leaving.
Iain stood up and ran a hand backwards through his thick dark hair. If he was absolutely honest with himself, he had to admit that the new maid both intrigued and attracted him. Why had her father wanted to sell her like a slave?
He had bought her out of pity, not because he needed any more servants. She was wearing clothes that were of good cut and quality, and her accent was refined, from a part of central England. She was truly an enigma, but whatever the mystery was, he was determined to get to the bottom of it.
Accordingly, he strode along to the housekeeper’s quarters and confronted the housekeeper. She looked startled at his sudden appearance, then stood up and curtsied, almost spilling the cup of ale she had been drinking.
“Agnes,” he cried. “I want to talk to you.”
“M’Laird,” she said nervously. “What can I dae for ye?”
Her pale eyes looked terrified. Iain Ross looked fearsome at the best of times, since he was taller and broader than just about every other man for miles around, but when he was angry he was truly terrifying.
“The new maid just interrupted my council meeting,” he said grimly. “What is she doing wandering around the castle? Have you no control over the staff?”
He stood with his hands on his hips looking absolutely enormous, and glowering at Agnes from under his heavy brows.
Agnes gasped and looked at the floor, avoiding his eyes. “I am sorry, M’Laird,” she said. “I left Lorna in charge o’ her. I will have a word wi’ both o’ them. I willnae have them shirkin’ their duties like this. I will keep Claire on a tighter leash fae now on. Ye can count on me.”
She nodded firmly, and Iain patted her on the shoulder.
Agnes curtsied politely, then, after Iain had walked away, she slammed her palms on the table angrily. The stupid girl had only been in the castle for five minutes, and she had already caused an unbelievable amount of trouble. And Lorna? Where was she?
Agnes stamped out of the kitchen and asked the first housemaid she saw if she had seen Lorna or Claire. The young woman told her where to find Lorna, who was standing flirting with a young handsome guard.
After putting the young woman firmly in her place, Agnes told her to find Claire, which she did in short order, since she knew the maze of passageways well. Claire and Lorna were then summoned to her quarters.
“I told ye tae make sure Claire was doin’ her work right,” she said angrily, pointing at Lorna. “But ye didnae listen, so I am sendin’ you tae clean the middens,” she told her, before turning to Claire.
Lorna screwed her face up; the middens, where all the household rubbish was thrown, were one of the dirtiest places in the castle.
Claire trembled as she looked into Agnes’s malicious eyes. “An’ ye,” Agnes said, poking her in the chest, “you can clean the privies.”
Claire was almost sick. If the middens were bad, the privies were far worse, but she knew there was no way to escape her fate.
The rest of Claire’s day was utterly hellish. If she had thought scrubbing the floors was bad, this was ten times worse, and the stench alone was almost making her vomit.
Claire began to weep quietly, desperately homesick and longing for the companionship of her sisters away from this cruel and lonely place.
As Iain passed the housekeeper’s quarters on the way to his study, he heard her yelling at the top of her voice, reprimanding the two errant maids, and he felt a little guilty.
Perhaps he should have said nothing; after all, the young woman was new to the place and was still finding her way around.
He sighed irritably, wondering how his late father had coped with the sheer weight of responsibility that had rested on his shoulders.
As he reached his study, he found Dougal, another council member and trusted friend, waiting for him.
Dougal McMahon had been a close friend of his father, and Iain had grown up thinking of him as an unofficial uncle.
For a while he had even addressed him as such, but when he received the Lairdship Dougal had told him to stop doing so.
“You are now a man of substance with a title,” he had said. “Calling me uncle makes you sound like a wee boy. Call me Dougal.”
Dougal was always there to give advice and support whenever he needed it, however, and Iain was desperately in need of it now.
“Your face,” Dougal observed solemnly, “looks like a wet weekend.”
Iain gave his friend a playful punch on the shoulder. “Carry on like that, my friend,” he warned, “and yours will look like a pile of something much worse.”
“I’m terrified,” Dougal drawled, pretending to yawn.
Iain laughed and poured them both a glass of wine, then swallowed his in one draught. Dougal watched him as he sipped his own drink.
“Rough day?” he asked. “You don’t usually drink your wine so fast!”
“You know it was,” Iain replied grimly.
“Who was that girl who came to the door?” Dougal asked.
“New maid,” Iain replied gruffly.
“A rather beautiful new maid,” his friend replied, holding his glass up in appreciation. “I have never seen one as pretty as that before. Pretty maids are always trouble.”
“She came here in a rather strange way,” Iain admitted.
“I stopped at an inn on the way back from Dundee and saw this Englishman, drunk out of his mind, actually trying to sell his daughter. He was negotiating a price for her with some disgusting old lecher. I offered him double and bought her myself.” He paused, shaking his head.
“I cannot believe a father could do something like that. Anyway, I have hired her to work as a maid, and at least she will have a roof over her head, a bed to sleep in and enough to eat.”
Dougal sipped his drink, thinking. “Make sure you’re not distracted by a pretty face, Iain,” he advised. “It might be better to settle for a quiet life. Lady Cameron, the elders mentioned, for instance…”
He spoke from experience. Dougal had once been in the same position as Iain, being pressured into marrying a young woman with a rich father and a large dowry, although he was in love with someone else.
He had resisted as long as he could, but in the end he had dutifully married his wife, and they had brought two children into the world.
They were not madly in love, although neither were miserable, and despite the fact that their relationship was not passionate, Dougal considered himself fortunate.
“I am truly tired of all the pressure everyone is putting on me to marry, Dougal. I mean, what’s the rush?” Iain looked at his friend, then growled in frustration. “I have no need of a rich wife, and I am not seeking one.”
Dougal nodded and changed the topic of conversation to something less serious. They sat chatting companionably for a while before Dougal announced that it was time for him to go.
“Think about what I said,” he advised, patting Iain’s shoulder. “I am married to a good woman, and I am quite content with my lot.”
Iain nodded. “I will,” he promised.
But I am not you, he thought as he said goodbye to his friend.
He sat down at his desk again and tried his hardest to focus on his parchment work. Soon it would be time for the tenants to come and pay their quarterly rents, and at the same time heap all their problems and complaints on his already overburdened shoulders.
Even though he had a perfectly capable steward, a man who had served his family for years, the tenants on his estate seemed to like to have their Laird directly at their beck and call.
The elders and Lairds from other local clans had told him many times that he was far too accommodating, and it was true that he found the whole process exhausting.
However, he actually liked meeting and interacting with the ordinary people, and was always mindful of the fact that they were the ones who had helped him amass his wealth.
Accordingly, he focused his attention on the ledgers in front of him. It was only an hour later when the numbers began to blur in front of his eyes that he realised he was not going to be able to finish his day’s work. His exhaustion was too distracting.
Having already eaten, Iain decided that his day was done, and went to his favourite place in the whole castle: the library.
He loved its smell, the warmth of the big fire, the comfort of his chair, and the company of the books all around him.
They were all old friends, and he had made a promise to himself that he would read every single one of them before he died.
That would give him a good reason to live a long life, he reasoned.
He often spent solitary evenings in the vast room, reading, resting, thinking happy thoughts and putting down the day’s burdens until the next morning; they would still be there tomorrow. It was the best time of his long day.
Iain took down a book about naval history, which was one of the many subjects that interested him, then poured a glass of wine, sat down in his comfortable chair by the warm flames and buried himself in the text.
However, the long and exhausting day finally began to take its toll, and in no more than a few moments his eyelids began to close, and he drifted into a pleasant doze.
The dream began almost straight away.
He was standing on one of the turrets looking down at the valley below and thinking about how he was going to have the thatch on six of his tenants’ cottages mended. Yet another problem!
Then he heard footsteps approaching him, and he turned to see a young woman approaching him.
At first, he did not recognise her, then he noticed that she was carrying an armload of books, and realised it was the new maid—Claire, was it?
Yes, except now she was wearing a lovely pale blue dress and was smiling at him happily.
My god, she’s gorgeous!’he thought, and realised that his body was responding to her as she came close enough to touch him.
Claire curtsied politely and held the books out to him. “I thought you would like these, my Laird,” she said. “They are my own, but I am too busy to read them.”
“Thank you,” he replied as he took the volumes from her. “I will read them and give them back to you.”
She shook her head. “No, there is no need for that,” she answered. “They are a gift. You rescued me from a fate worse than death. It is I who should be thanking you.”
With that, she curtsied again, then turned and walked away, leaving him to look after her in a state of complete bemusement.
Suddenly, he was awakened by the sound of the door handle being turned, and the creak of its hinges as it opened. He was about to jump to his feet and approach whoever was entering his sacred domain, but curiosity won the day, and he sat, still and silent, listening.
His candle had long since gone out, and he was to all intents and purposes invisible. He watched and waited.