Chapter 5
Claire had not intended to do any reading when she went to bed, but as she looked at the history book she had brought with her, she simply could not help herself. When she opened it, she was dragged into its text with such force that she could not put it down.
Claire had no clock, but when her eyelids began to become heavy and the words blurred before her eyes, she reluctantly put the book away and turned over to go to sleep.
However, when she closed her eyes she found herself in the library again, looking into the ice-blue eyes of Iain Ross, who was staring at her angrily as he moved towards her.
Yet although the look held anger, there was something else in it too, and as he swept the ink and quill from her hands, she understood from her extensive reading that this was the way a man looked at a woman he desired.
As his hands touched hers, she saw his glance flick down to her mouth and his lips parted, and for a fleeting second, she thought he was going to kiss her—
A hand grabbed her shoulder roughly, and she was shaken violently and jerked into wakefulness.
She looked up into another pair of eyes, but this time they were Lorna’s steely grey ones. and at first Claire was confused, still lost in her dream.
“What time dae ye ca’ this?” she demanded. “Get out o’ bed, or ye willnae be able tae have anythin’ tae eat before ye start work. We have a long day today.”
Claire suddenly realised that she had been asleep for hours. Now she was still sleepy and confused, her hair tousled and her eyes bleary. However, she was not going to make her situation any better by lying around, so she jumped out of bed and stood up.
She hastily scraped her hair into a braid at the back of her head, but she was uncomfortable with Lorna standing watching her.
Claire realised for the first time that she had a small advantage in height over Lorna.
She herself was not tall, but the other maid was short but sturdy, and gave the impression of being bigger than she was due to her forceful personality.
Lorna had always made Claire feel uncomfortable, but she was not as hateful as she had seemed at first.
Anyway, whether it was because she had made friends with the Laird, or because she had come to the realisation that Lorna was not the threat she had seemed at first, Claire felt a little stronger.
“I will be there in a moment,” she said, tilting her chin up.
Lorna gave her a glance, but said nothing more as she left, slamming the door behind her.
Claire hastily removed her nightdress and splashed some water on her face. Her eyes were gritty and sore, since she had not been able to put her book down till the early hours of the morning, and was now suffering the consequences.
She had managed to hide the books and candle underneath her bed, for which she was grateful because she shuddered to think what would have happened if Lorna had seen them.
Claire took a deep breath and went slowly towards the kitchen, dreading the coming confrontation more and more with every step she took.
Armed with all the courage she could gather, Claire strode into the kitchen, thanking her lucky stars that Lorna was not there.
Neither, thank goodness, was Agnes, and Claire was able to help herself to a plate of tasteless, lumpy porridge before the coming confrontation.
It was disgusting, but she needed to fill her empty stomach, and this was the only way.
She had just poured herself a cup of weak ale when Agnes walked in, her expression thunderous.
“I willnae put up wi’ this any longer!” she shouted, slamming her palm on the rough table.
“I will gie ye a good whippin’ an’ tell the Laird how much trouble ye are.
Then ye will be out on your ear without a reference, an’ naebody else will take ye on! Dae ye understand me?”
“I do,” Claire replied, “and I am sorry for my lateness. It will not happen again.”
“Aye, well, make sure it doesnae,” Agnes replied, her voice throbbing with fury. “I dinnae have time tae waste puttin’ ye in your place a’ day.” She turned, then produced a sheet of parchment, then dragged her forefinger down the list that was written there.
“The Great Hall,” she said at last. “It needs tae be cleaned before the next council meetin’.
There is a job for ye, madam!” She said the last word scathingly.
“Dust an’ polish the furniture, picture frames an’ ornaments an’ scrub the floor.
I will come an’ show ye what tae dae, an’ if I am no’ satisfied, I will make ye dae it again! ”
She took Claire to a cupboard that held what seemed like a thousand brooms, mops, dusters and pulled out the tools she would need, then, to her surprise, she took out another set for herself. Was the housekeeper actually going to help her?
Agnes turned back to Claire. “Listen tae what I tell ye. This needs tae be finished by the end o’ the day, so make sure ye put your back intae it! I will show ye what tae dae, then ye can finish it.”
“I will,” Claire said with a nod. She was trembling inside, but was determined not to show it. She finished her ale and followed Agnes into the Great Hall.
As soon as she stepped inside, she gasped. It was huge!
She had seen the room where the council meeting had been held the day before, but this was at least twice that size, and its huge table, running straight down the middle of the enormous space, had room for at least thirty seats.
She walked into the massive space, and listened carefully while Agnes gave her detailed instructions. Claire hoped she would be able to remember them all.
“Right, are ye sure ye can manage?” the housekeeper asked.
“I will do my best,” Claire replied.
Agnes shook her head angrily. “Well, fae what I can see, your best isnae very good, so make sure ye dae better than that.”
With that, she turned and stalked away.
Claire sighed and rubbed her eyes, which were still gritty from lack of sleep.
However, she knew that she would persevere and do this loathsome task if it killed her, since it was simply not in her nature to give up.
She dropped to her hands and knees, then took out the scrubbing brush and looked at it.
She had used it before and her arm was still in pain, but she resolved to do the task as well as she was able.
Accordingly, she bent to her work and was soon applying as much pressure as she could to the wooden beams of the floor.
Yet as hard as she tried, she could not shift the stubborn dirt that remained there.
It was completely ingrained, driven into the fibres of the wood by thousands of footsteps over years of use.
Claire sat back on her haunches to relieve the ache in her shoulders and back, and it was just at that moment that Agnes decided to enter and do an inspection.
As soon as she saw Claire’s efforts, she let out a grunt of displeasure. “My god, can ye no’ dae anythin’ right?” she demanded.
She shook her head in despair as she looked at the pool of filthy water that had collected around the bucket Claire was using.
“Let me show ye,” she got down on her hands and knees and began to scrub with such force that Claire thought the bristles of the brush might break.
She began to imitate Agnes, despite the pain in her shoulder, back and arm, but Agnes was still not satisfied. She clicked her tongue.
“Does naebody ever tell you Sassenachs how tae clean a house? Are ye a’ completely ignorant?”
Claire shook her head, wiping sweat from her brow. “I lost my mother in childbirth when my sisters and I were very young. She saw to it that there was always someone to do this for us.”
“Ye never had tae clean a house before?” Agnes asked.
“No,” Claire replied. “But I am trying to learn. As you say, I am quite bad at it, but I am determined to get better.”
All of a sudden, Agnes’s expression changed, and she looked at Claire in a new light. The young woman whom she had thought was acting in a superior manner because she was English was the same as all the rest of the women. In fact, she might have suffered more than anyone else.
Agnes knew what it was like to lose a mother—the same thing had happened to her, but she had her own children to look after, people to live for. This girl was young enough to be her child, and suddenly, she reconsidered her tone.
“Wait here a minute,” she said, standing up. “I will be right back.”
Claire stood up and stretched her back and shoulders. She was tempted to sit down, but she did not want to push her luck. Agnes’s good mood might not last very long!
A moment later, a man came into the room. He was in his middle years, of medium height, with dark hair that was streaked with grey. He was dressed well, clearly not a servant, and there was an air of good humour and kindness about him. Claire liked him at once.
She curtsied. “Good day, sir,” she said politely.
“Are you Miss Claire Tewsbury?” he asked.
“I am,” she replied.
“I am Dougal McMahon,” he told her. “A friend of the Laird’s.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir.” Claire dropped her gaze, unable to think of anything else to say.
“Agnes tells me you are English,” he observed, then he laughed. “She is a very tough nut to crack, but she is not as hard as she seems.”
Claire nodded. “Yes, sir, I am English—for my sins,” she replied. “They are not fond of me because of that and because I am eighteen years old, and I have never cleaned a floor in my life.”
Dougal laughed. “Hopefully all the battles between our nations are behind us,” he said gently. “Tell me, Claire, have you ever been presented at court?”
Claire’s eyes widened at the strange question. Being presented at the royal palace in London where the monarch lived was an enormous privilege, one that had been given to her when their family was still wealthy.
“Yes, sir,” she replied. “I have been fortunate enough.”
“My daughter has been invited to go there in the coming Season,” he told her. “Apparently, now that our kingdoms are joined, His Majesty wants to get to know as many of his Scottish subjects as he can. What did you think of the experience?”
“It was… very intimidating, sir,” Claire answered hesitantly. “And I must tell you that I am not a person who is easily cowed. Usually, I am the one who frightens people.”
Dougal laughed again. He liked the young woman’s cheeky sense of humour. He had always been taught to dislike the English, but whenever he met them personally, he had always found them to be reasonably courteous and accommodating people. Claire was no different.
“Did you meet the king?” he asked curiously.
“Yes,” she replied with a grimace.
“Were you not impressed?”
Claire shook her head vigorously. “He was very pompous, as was the queen. I am afraid I was unable to hide my dislike of them, and I tried to avoid them at every chance I could. Fortunately, nobody missed me!”
“You have a rare sense of humour, young lady,” Dougal told her, laughing. “You are obviously a lady. What brings you here?”
Claire looked into Dougal’s eyes and saw the kindness and sympathy there. Could she tell him her story? She decided to take the chance.
“Please keep this to yourself,” she said cautiously, her eyes wide and pleading as she raised them to meet his.
“Whatever you say stays between us,” Dougal agreed.
Claire took a deep breath and began to pour out the story of her father and his treatment of her.
When she came to the part where Iain had made his offer for her, tears began to leak down her cheeks.
Dougal already knew the story, of course, but being told in Claire’s own words, and seeing the effect it had on her, moved him deeply.
When she had finished, Claire wiped her eyes and laughed self-consciously. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “I don’t usually make such a fool of myself.”
“Think nothing of it,” Dougal replied. “Fate is a strange thing, and we have no control over it. We have all gone through hard times at some point, and I have a feeling yours will have a happy ending.”
“I hope so,” Claire replied. “Thank you, sir.”
She stood up and curtsied, then, just as she was about to walk away, Dougal said, “Try not to interrupt any more meetings!”
The tone of his voice was jovial, and Claire laughed, thinking what a good man Dougal was. She felt more cheerful after their conversation than she had since she came to Glengar Castle.