Chapter 7
Iain had been thinking about Claire almost from the first moment he saw her. Every night when he went to bed she haunted his dreams, and even when he was going about his daily business he would see her out of the corner of his eye, only to turn around and find he was imagining things.
He had been both incredulous and furious when he saw her father trading with a piece of low-life scum to buy her from him, and his reaction to purchase her himself had been instinctive.
He had not gone to the tavern with the intention of buying anything other than a cup of ale, but fate, it seemed, had other ideas.
Now, Claire Tewsbury was so firmly lodged in his mind that he could not get her out of it, no matter how hard he tried. He was wildly attracted to her, despite the fact that he was destined to marry another woman of much higher status.
Every time he saw her, his body reacted in the most primal way possible; he felt himself harden and felt an almost irresistible impulse to drag her into his arms, even though he knew she would push him away.
Or would she? He was Laird after all, and he was not na?ve. He was a wealthy man with a huge property, land and many other assets. He had also been told he was handsome, and he admitted to himself that he was, though he deliberately played down that fact. He was far more than a pretty face.
It was days since he had seen Claire. Perhaps she had simply been assigned to tasks that took her to different parts of the castle, or perhaps she had been avoiding him.
Whatever the reason, he found himself missing her, and he was almost ashamed of himself for even thinking this way.
For god’s sake, get a grip of yourself, Iain! he thought. Remember you have duties and responsibilities and stop acting like a fool. You have to marry and have children, and you cannot be thinking like this.
However, he knew that there were other ways to enjoy Claire’s company. What if he took her as a mistress?
It was with this thought in his mind that he opened the door, and his eyes widened in shock as he met those of the very person he had been thinking about.
When Claire saw him, she started guiltily and let out a little gasp, then shoved something hastily behind her back to conceal it.
He watched her face redden, but Iain felt no shame at having caused her discomfort.
He was furious. What was she doing in his most private place?
He was not even conscious of crossing the room. His eyes were fixed on the woman who had invaded his sanctuary and was now apparently stealing from him.
Iain saw Claire’s eyes widen with fear, but the expression had no effect on him, since he was as angry as she was terrified.
“So this is the thanks I get for taking you in, giving you employment and a roof over your head?” he asked, his voice throbbing with rage. “You steal from me? What do you have in your hands?”
Claire backed away from him, terrified, until her spine came in contact with the bookshelf.
Iain came so close to her that she had to tilt her head back to look into his blue eyes, which were now dark with fury.
His body was touching hers, but not pressed against her, and she could smell the musk of his body, a mixture of leather, spice, and something indefinable but delicious.
Iain was looking at her so intently that it was impossible for her to look away for a moment, until his gaze flicked down to her lips, where it lingered for a moment.
He was so close that she could feel the heat of his body, his breath ruffling her hair, and she could see every dark bristle on his face.
For a few insane seconds, Claire thought he was going to kiss her: her heart was thudding so hard that she thought it was going to explode in her chest.
However, it seemed that he had no such intention. Instead, he reached around her back and took the quill and ink from her hand, then stared at it in puzzlement for a while.
What the hell is she doing? he thought. If she wanted to steal something, surely she would have been looking for coins or something valuable to sell?
“Are you running away from me already, Claire? Or do you just enjoy stealing from me?” he said dryly. “If you are looking for anything valuable I’m afraid you will not find it here. All my treasures are stored in a place where no one but me will ever find them.”
He watched as Claire shook her head desperately. “I have no interest in your wealth, my Laird,” she said, her voice trembling. “I wanted some parchment and ink to write to my sister, Rose, Lady MacTavish. She has not heard from me since I came here, and I know she will be worried about me.”
So that is the mystery! he thought, unaware that he was still staring at her. Claire was looking at the floor, hugging herself as if to protect herself from him.
Iain took a step back, and immediately felt bereft as his body lost contact with hers. My god, what was she doing to him? He shook the thought out of his head and beckoned her to join him in a seat beside the fire, making sure that she was too far away for him to touch.
He stirred the coals in the fire with a poker, not because he had to, but because it gave him a moment to think.
Then, without asking if she wanted a drink, he poured her a glass of wine, scarcely able to believe what he was doing.
He was giving a maid one of the most expensive vintages in his cellar.
But she was no mere maid, he reminded himself; Claire Tewsbury was a complete enigma, an upper-class woman doing the kind of work people in her rank of society looked down upon.
Servants were not people; they were mere tools, there to serve those in the higher ranks of society, to do the kind of work none of them would soil their hands with. If she was recognised by any of her peers, she would be instantly despised.
This was not fair, but it was a fact. Claire would have disgraced herself in their eyes, stepped down the rungs of the social ladder until she reached the bottom, there to live amongst the lowest of the low.
Yet, Iain had never thought of his servants and tenants that way; he recognised them as people who kept him comfortable, well-fed and happy with his lot. If they had not been there, how would the castle be kept clean, maintained and guarded? Who would cook his food and tend to the gardens?
No, he was not one of those Lairds who treated his staff like animals, and as he looked at the enchanting woman opposite him, something stirred within him.
She was trapped between two worlds, and at the moment she belonged in neither because she was not high enough to be in one or low enough to be in the other. How he pitied her!
Now he said softly, “Do you have other sisters?”
Claire nodded. “My second-eldest sister, Amanda, is still at home living with my father,” she replied. “But I would not be surprised if he had an auction and sold her to the highest bidder, no doubt to pay for a case of single malt whisky or fine French brandy. We are only commodities to him.”
Her voice was hard and bitter, filled with rage and hatred. “He was delighted when Rose married because he thought he was going to receive some kind of pension from Cormac, but he was sorely disappointed.
A short while after the wedding, which Father would not let Amanda or me attend, Rose and Cormac came to visit. Cormac told my father that he would not receive a penny from him, although I think he might have set aside some money in trust for Amanda and me without his knowledge.
Rose looked radiantly happy, and I am happy for her, which is why I want to get in touch with her as soon as possible.”
Claire looked up at Iain, and her honey-coloured eyes glittered with unshed tears.
“What do you really want?” he asked suddenly, sure there was something she was not telling him.
There was a deafening silence for a moment, then Claire stood up and squared her shoulders, realising that it was time to be completely honest with him.
“I want to be gone from here.” Her voice was firm and determined as her gaze locked on his. “I want to buy my way out of your service and move on with my life. I will not be your slave forever.”
“My slave?” he asked. “Is that how you see yourself?”
Claire’s eyes were blazing with anger at his casual, matter-of-fact tone. “You bought me,” she pointed out. “I cannot escape from your service unless you set me free, or I pay for my release.”
“And if I do not wish to let you go?” Iain asked, raising his eyebrows quizzically.
Claire had no answer for this. She had assumed that Iain Ross would be glad to be rid of her.
“Would you run away?” he asked, steepling his hands in front of himself and adopting an attitude of amused curiosity.
Claire was furious. Now he was playing with her. “If I planned to do that, do you think I would tell you, my Laird?” she asked sourly.
She was aware that her tone was disrespectful in the extreme, but at this moment she no longer cared.
“Very well,” he said, “If you wish to buy yourself out of my service, you can pay me this amount.”
He went to his desk, took out a piece of parchment, then wrote a number on it. Unknown to Claire, it was half what he had paid for her, but it was still a fortune.
She looked at the number on the parchment and her eyes widened with alarm before the iron rod of her determination hardened inside her. She would not be beaten. She would not remain a servant of any man, no matter how handsome. No matter how long it took, she would earn it, even if it took years.
“I accept the price,” she answered. “And I will pay it.”
“Have you finished the books yet?” he asked, seemingly out of nowhere.
“Only one,” she replied. “As you know, my Laird, I do not have much time for my own pursuits. If you wish to have them back, I will give them to you, of course.”
“No rush,” he replied. “Take as long as you need to. Which one are you reading?”
“A History of Scotland,” Claire replied. “I wanted to know a little about the place I now live in.” Her tone was still bitter with rage.
“Good thinking,” Iain said, smiling.
Claire curtsied and said, “Goodnight, my Laird.”
She turned towards the door, but once more Iain’s voice halted her.
“Take these,” he said, holding out a quill, bottle of ink and parchment. “Do not waste them, and when you want more, come and ask me. There is no need to come sneaking in here.”
“I was not—” Claire replied, then she stopped abruptly. “I apologise for that, my Laird. I thought you would refuse my request. Thank you for these.”
“You must think me very cruel,” he said, looking sad.
Claire immediately realised she had made a mistake. “Not at all, my Laird,” she said hastily. “I have been mistakenly comparing all men to my father. Forgive me, and goodnight. Sleep well.”
“Goodnight.” Iain nodded and followed Claire’s progress down the corridor until she rounded a corner and disappeared from his sight. He wished he could follow her, scoop her up in his arms and take her to his bed.
He wondered if she has been with a man before.
He would love to be the man who introduced her to the magic of physical pleasure.
He wanted to be her first, teach her everything.
However, he could not afford to love any woman, since the elders had been pressuring him to marry Lady…
Hell, he could not even remember her name!
Iain went back and poured himself another glass of wine, then threw it down in one gulp. Maybe it would help him to sleep, he thought, for he knew that otherwise he would be tossing and turning all night.