Chapter 8
Claire hastily undressed and put on her nightgown, but her mind was more restless than it had ever been before. She knew that she was going to be thinking about Iain Ross for the rest of the night, but at least she had something to do now to take her mind off him.
She counted the sheets of parchment. Four—enough for two letters, she thought, one for Rose and one for Amanda, if she kept her script small. Claire thought for a long moment, composing the letter in her mind before she put the quill to parchment.
Even so, she hesitated. If she spilled any of the ink or made mistakes, the results could be catastrophic. Then she chided herself for being stupid. She had been given a chance, and she would not waste it.
Accordingly, she sat down on her narrow cot and began to write, but she found that the words did not come easily.
Dear Rose,
I am sorry it has taken me so long to write this to you, but I was not in a position to get hold of pen and paper till a short time ago.
I am not sure what Father told you about my circumstances, but I am working in a place called Glengar Castle, not far from Dundee.
It is a mighty, fortified place, the same kind of place as the one you live in.
I have done my best to fit in, but whether it is because of my Englishness, or the fact that I am utterly hopeless at just about everything, I am not well-liked here.
Unlike you, I was not fortunate enough to become a governess, but on the bright side, if I ever have to do without any maids, I will not be helpless!
Now I know how to scrub floors, clean windows, polish silver, do laundry, and finally, how to iron clothes.
This last one was the hardest to learn, since I had to practise on my own dress before I was let loose on anything else, and it now bears a few burn marks!
It was too big for me at first, so I spent days and days taking it in. The strangest thing is that when I was finished, I could not throw away the extra fabric I had cut off.
I’ve been watching all the others here, and I’ve learned that nothing is ever wasted—no food, no ale, not even vegetable peelings, which are fed to the pigs or turned into fertiliser for the garden.
I am truly amazed by all this, and I am determined to make something useful from my little piece of fabric, just to challenge myself. You know how I love a challenge!
Claire gave a little laugh, since she knew this would make Rose giggle.
This must be one of the ugliest places I have ever seen, Rose.
There is no doubt that as fortresses go it is magnificent, but it is certainly nothing like the fairy tale castles we read about in our novels.
When I first saw it I thought it looked like a huge sleeping dog sprawled across the top of the hill, but although it’s slightly prettier inside than outside, I cannot say that I am impressed by anything I have seen so far.
I know you are going to want to know about the Laird for whom I work, and I’m glad to say that he’s also quite young and very handsome, with jet black hair and ice-blue eyes. Everyone tells me I should fear him, but I don’t find him fearsome at all. He makes me feel protected.
She paused, and yawned. She could not go on any further without describing the Laird’s character in great detail because she knew that Rose would be eaten up with curiosity about what Iain Ross was like.
She had described her own husband as being devastatingly handsome, generous, kind, and loving.
Claire had no idea if Laird Ross possessed any of those fine and admirable qualities, but he was certainly handsome.
Claire started to read the book she had chosen and was immediately swept away by the stories of violence and bloodshed. They should have appalled her, but instead, she found them thrilling and fascinating.
She could now begin to understand the bitterness that many of the Scots felt against her countrymen because so many of them had lost friends and family in those vicious battles.
She had known the names of the most famous battles, of course, but not the stories behind them. Now she was being educated, and although it was not pleasant, Claire knew that the knowledge would benefit her.
Understanding and tolerance were never wasted, and she meant to use her new-found knowledge to help her form closer relationships with those around her. After all, they were not her enemies.
Now, however, her eyelids began to droop; she had to sleep. She had thought she might stay awake thinking about her encounter with the Laird, but she did not.
She dropped straight into a beautiful dream. She seemed to be having more and more dreams about Iain Ross these days, Claire thought wryly.
When she woke up the following morning, the first thing Claire saw was the half-finished letter on top of the cupboard beside her cot. However, she had no chance to write any more of it since she was expected for breakfast, then for work.
With a sigh, she wondered what the day had in store for her.
She soon found out. The maids performed all their usual morning tasks, then, after they had all finished eating their midday meal, Agnes called all the maids together to give them further instructions.
“The gardeners need some extra help today, since there is an awful lot tae dae, so we have a’ been asked tae help plant seedlin’s,” she told them. “Get a move on.”
Claire waited behind till the others had left before approaching Agnes.
“Will you show me what to do?” she asked. “I have never done any gardening before.”
She felt utterly foolish, but knew that she would feel even worse if she made a complete hash of everything.
Agnes looked at her and frowned. She was tempted to ask if Claire had ever done any kind of work at all before because, although she was getting better at performing her assigned tasks, she still found it hard to keep up with everyone else.
Agnes sighed. She had enough responsibilities without having to mollycoddle this helpless Sassenach. She grabbed the first maid she saw and said, “Jean, take Claire out an’ tell her what tae dae.”
The young woman burst out laughing. “Ye mean ye cannae dig a hole, hen?” she asked, looking Claire up and down scornfully. “Come wi’ me an’ I will show ye.”
She led Claire out into the vegetable garden, a vast area at the back of the kitchen where many of the herbs, vegetables, and even fruits were grown for feeding the inhabitants of the castle.
It had impressed Claire because although her own house had a large garden, it had never been used for anything so practical and functional.
As they walked towards the garden, the other woman called to her colleagues in Gaelic, pointing at Claire, who was obviously an object of ridicule, since they all giggled.
Claire’s cheeks were flaming with rage and embarrassment as she knelt down beside the other young woman and watched what she was doing. Her fingers and the skin of her hands had not yet adjusted to the rough treatment they were receiving, and her fingers hurt more and more as she worked.
Claire had been allocated a stretch of the garden to plant her seedlings, so she got down on her hands and knees with the tray of little plants beside her, ready to arrange them in a row as she saw everyone else doing.
It did not take long for her to realise that something was going wrong. Perhaps the holes she was digging were not deep enough, or she was applying the wrong amount of pressure when she pushed the seedlings into the soil, or not enough.
Whatever she was doing, however much she tried to change her method of planting, nothing was working.
At last, she sat back on her haunches, exhausted.
She hadn’t realised how much time she had wasted struggling with the seedlings.
Everyone else had gradually left the garden to go inside for their evening meal, leaving her alone just as the sun was dipping behind the skyline.
Claire sighed. Her back was aching, her hands were filthy and blistered, all the seedlings she had planted were limp and drooping, and none of them looked likely to last very long. The day had been a total disaster, and she had nothing to show for it.
Claire tried but failed to stem the tears that were flowing from her eyes and leaking down her face.
All her problems came to pile on her shoulders at one time.
She was alone. She had no friends—in fact, everyone hated her.
She had no coin. She had nothing to take her mind off the drudgery she had to endure every day except for the borrowed books, which she had hardly any time to read because she was always so tired.
Moreover, there was nothing to look forward to every morning but more of the same.
She sighed, and bent her head to her task again. Somehow, she would succeed.
Iain had been about to stable his horse when he saw the lone figure bending over the pathetic little row of seedlings, none of which was standing upright.
When he approached the woman, he saw that it was Claire.
Her face was filthy, but tears had streaked pale paths down them and were dripping from her chin.
As Iain dismounted and walked over to her, she looked up at him, her expression furious at having been discovered in such an undignified state.
“Don’t you dare laugh at me,” she said, her voice cracking as she spoke.
She frowned defiantly, but Iain could tell that it was a feint. This young woman was suffering—how could she not be, when she had been plucked from a world of ease and comfort into one of hard work, poor fare and enmity from those around her? He felt infinitely sorry for her.
Accordingly, he knelt down beside her and said softly, “I am not laughing at you, lass. Have you never done this before?”
She shook her head. “Never,” she replied, feeling ashamed.
“Then let me show you how to do it.” Iain took off his jacket, then rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and set to work.
Claire was astounded that a Laird was doing the work of a maid, and had not had to be coerced into it.
Claire watched him carefully for a few moments, admiring how his big hands almost caressed the little plants. Despite their size, they were very nimble, with long, strong fingers. They looked as though they could crush rocks, she thought.
After a moment, she began to copy him, and in a short while she had managed to plant a dozen seedlings, all of which stood upright on their own without drooping or falling down.
They paused for a moment to wipe the sweat from their brows. “Hard work,” he observed, smiling at her.
He went to his jacket and took a flask of ale from his pocket and offered her a drink.
Up until that moment, Claire had not realised how thirsty she was, but now she took the flask from him and gulped half of the beer down in a very unladylike fashion before handing it back to him.
“Thank you,” she said gratefully. “I was so thirsty.”
She watched him as he swallowed the rest, loving the sight of his prominent Adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down as he drank. Strangely enough, she found this very arousing, as it reminded her how different men’s and women’s bodies were from each other.
She tried to think of something to distract her, and asked, “How did you learn to plant seeds?”
He sighed and gave her a sad smile. “My mother taught me,” he told her.
“She was always a keen gardener, and she especially loved growing herbs, so she planted a special little garden outside her bedroom window and tended it herself. You can still see it. I look after it now in her memory. She loved the smell of lavender and rosemary, and told me that rosemary was for remembrance. Lavender was for cleanliness and purity.”
For a moment, he looked desolate.
“I had no idea,” Claire said, smiling. “Thank you for the lesson, my Laird.”
They finished their work quickly, and Claire stood up, brushing dirt off her apron. One of the blisters on her fingers had burst and was beginning to bleed. She put it in her mouth to ease the pain a little, but Iain took it out and looked at it, frowning as he examined the wound.
“We must take this to the healer,” he said. “Or it may become infected.”
Claire shook her head, embarrassed by the fuss he was making. “It is nothing,” she said carelessly. “It will heal on its own.”
“Are you disobeying your Laird?” Iain asked, his eyes twinkling.
Claire laughed. “Of course not, my Laird,” she replied. “I will do as you say.”
Iain smiled. “Good,” he said, “because I would hate to have to put you in the dungeon!”