Chapter 10
Time passed, and Claire gradually settled into her new home and work as well as she could. For the most part, she kept quiet and avoided conversation with the rest of the maids, and when she could not avoid seeing Iain, she curtsied then looked at the floor before fleeing.
One day, a few weeks after the awkward scene at the healer’s, she was perched on a high stool doing her best to get rid of the stubborn dirt that had crusted onto the window frames.
She wondered how long it had been since anyone had bothered about them.
Probably years. Had they saved it just for her?
The rest of the maids had calmed down a little and were not treating her with the same spite and disdain as they had done before.
They still talked about her—Claire was not na?ve enough to think that they had all learned to like her overnight—but there was definitely a subtle change for the better in their attitude.
They were all giggling at something, a joke Claire had not been let into, and she sighed and turned to resume her labours, this time with a different window. Then she stopped as she saw Iain outside, and her mouth fell open in shock. She had never seen any man whose body was so magnificent.
Her eyes widened as she took in the powerful muscles of his arms, shoulders, and chest, which tensed and rippled with every fluid movement of his superb body. He sported the white marks of many healed scars on his torso and his arms, and Claire wondered if they had all been acquired in battle.
She could not take her eyes off him as he wielded his huge broadsword, parrying and thrusting, moving backwards, forwards and sideways, dodging and weaving in a graceful but aggressive dance.
His opponent was as fierce and pugnacious as he was, and although everyone was aware that this was not a real fight to the death, the two adversaries genuinely looked as if they might kill each other!
Even though their swords were blunt, the illusion was still there, and as Claire watched, she felt afraid for Iain’s safety, since his antagonist looked so determined.
Claire was reminded of a fight she had once seen between two stags in mating season, when she had seriously thought they would kill each other.
The weather, for once, was warm and humid, heralding the arrival of a thunderstorm, and the Laird’s body was glistening with perspiration as he pushed himself to the limit of his endurance and finally finished off his enemy.
The thrust was executed with the point of Iain’s sword driving into his adversary’s heart, and would have killed the other man in a split second if it had been a sharp sword and a real battle, but fortunately, it was not.
The guard staggered backwards for a few steps, then, to Claire’s astonishment, began to laugh and extended his hand so that Iain could shake it.
“Well done, M’Laird,” he said. “A good contest, but I will get my own back next time!”
Iain threw back his head and laughed heartily, then patted his former enemy on the back. “Challenge accepted!”
At that moment he looked up, and for a second, his eyes caught Claire’s and their gazes locked, but only for a split second before Claire turned away to resume her duties.
Her heart was hammering, she could feel the heat in her face and knew that her cheeks had flushed bright red. She kept her eyes on what she was doing, but her mind was somewhere else.
That look—intense, hungry, almost predatory. Did he want her as much as she wanted him, despite having stayed away from him for weeks? No, that was impossible. She had nothing to offer him, and anyway, he was betrothed, no matter how much the fact probably disgusted him.
Arranged marriages were common in the way his level of society, and Claire knew this because she had once inhabited it herself. They were nearly always deeply unhappy matches.
Claire’s shoulders and arms had become used to the constant exertion of scrubbing and polishing, and it no longer pained her to do the menial tasks that had been assigned to her. Most of the time she could keep her mind occupied by thinking about her sisters, her memories, her books, but not now.
Now, her head was full of images of Iain’s body, his rippling muscles flexing and stretching, polished by the glistening sheen of sweat and sunshine.
As the images crowded into her mind, Claire wished she could run after Iain and throw herself into his arms, but she became furious with herself again.
It was not to be. It would never happen, and she knew that she must accept it, but somehow she could not.
Claire sighed as she thought of Rose, knowing that her sister was the only one who could help her in this situation. Her letter, which Claire had sent a few weeks before, should have been delivered by now, and she was sure that Rose would answer at once, so her reply should arrive soon.
She climbed down from the ladder on which she had been standing and went to find Agnes. She was in her office, writing, something Claire had never seen her actually doing before, but looked up when Claire entered the room.
“Aye, I can write,” she said dryly at the sight of her surprised look.
Claire had known this, of course, but it was still very surprising to see her doing it.
“I have finished the windows you told me to clean,” she reported.
“Let me come an’ see if ye have done it right.”
Agnes got to her feet and walked along the corridor to the row of windows on which Claire had been busy. She raised her eyebrows in surprise when she saw them.
“Ye’re gettin’ better, hen.”
She smiled at Claire, who smiled back, feeling inordinately pleased at the other woman’s praise.
“Thank you,” she said, with a deferential little nod. “What would you like me to do next?”
Agnes began to walk back the way they had come, but Claire cast one last glance out of the window to see if the Laird was there before she followed her. Sadly, he was not, but a moment later, she found out why.
“The Laird always has a bath after his practice,” Agnes said. “So you an’ two o’ the other girls can carry some buckets o’ hot water up fae the kitchen. Make sure the bath is full, mind. He hates a half empty tub!”
Claire dutifully filled up one of the buckets and carried it up to the Laird’s chamber.
She was the last one to deposit her water in the tub, and was half-pleased, half-disappointed to see that Iain was not there; pleased because of the look they had exchanged earlier on, and disappointed because she would have loved to see that magnificent body again.
However, his scent was there, the spicy male cologne he wore, the smell of saddle leather, and the musk of his skin. It was a heady combination, and Claire inhaled it with great pleasure; it was yet another thing about him that aroused her primal, animal urges.
Claire took the towel she had been carrying then placed it on the bed, and arranged his robe beside it, then turned to leave, but at that moment the door opened and a very sweaty and dishevelled Laird walked in.
He was running his hands through his damp hair to sweep it away from his face, and for a moment, he was unaware of her. He gave a great sigh, then unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off to reveal his beautifully muscled body once again.
Unable to help herself, Claire gave a strangled squeal then stepped backwards, her foot hitting a book that Iain had discarded on the floor. She almost tripped up, but managed to right herself at the last moment.
Iain raised his head and his blue eyes widened with shock when they met hers.
“Claire,” he cried, then he smiled, a slow, wicked expression that sent a shiver of awareness straight to her core. “You have ambushed me yet again. My god, am I not safe anywhere?”
Once more, Claire felt her cheeks heating up, and she stuttered an apology. “I-I am so sorry, my Laird,” she replied. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. Here is your bath water. I will leave before it becomes too cold.”
She took a step towards the door, but Iain stopped her.
“Would you not like to stay and wash my back?” he asked, chuckling. “All that fighting has made me very sweaty, and I’m afraid I cannot reach that part of my body.”
He sounded regretful, but Claire knew it was an act that he was putting on for her benefit.
“I am afraid I’m not qualified to be a gentleman’s valet, my Laird,” she answered stiffly. “Perhaps you should ask one of the manservants to help you.”
She curtsied and tried to leave yet again, but once more Iain stopped her.
“I have something for you, Claire,” he said, as he opened the top drawer of the chest of drawers beside his bed and pulled out a letter.
“Rose!” she cried joyfully, stretching out a hand to receive the letter.
However, it seemed that Iain was not willing to relinquish it easily. As Claire’s hand almost closed around it, he held it up as far as his arm could stretch, smiling at her wickedly.
“If you want it,” he said, “come and get it. I will not keep it from you.”
For a moment, Claire was nonplussed. There was absolutely no way she would be able to reach the letter unless she stood on a ladder or a piece of the furniture, but then he would just walk away from her and take it with him.
A wave of fury overtook her, and she flew at him, jumping as high as she could, clawing at his chest in desperation. She tried three times, and on the fourth her fingers almost closed over a corner of the paper, but Iain raised it higher, and it slipped out of her grasp.
Claire growled with anger, then tried one last time, but it was no use. Iain was not going to let go of it, so eventually Claire gave up and her shoulders slumped as she walked to the door.
Iain had been surprised but extremely pleased to see Claire in his room.
It was as if she had read his mind, since he had just been thinking about her.
Her letter had been delivered to him that morning, but instead of summoning one of his servants to deliver it to him, he had decided to do it himself.
She had been waiting for her sister’s letter for weeks, and now here was her employer acting like a clown as he dangled it in front of her for his own amusement. He suddenly felt wretched as he watched her turn away, and reached out to grasp her wrist.
“Take it,” he said, his tone suddenly gentle.
Claire grabbed it from his hand, but her eyes were blazing with fury. She opened her mouth to thank him, but she never got the chance.
“Claire…” Iain began, but his hand was still holding hers, and he never finished what he had started to say.
He pulled Claire into his arms and lowered his lips to hers with a long, fervent sigh of relief. How long had he waited for this?
Claire froze with shock for a moment, but as she felt Iain’s arms encircling her and drawing her close, pressing her against his body, she gave herself up to him.
She seemed to have no will of her own, and as she felt his tongue sweeping into her mouth, she felt a jolt of pleasure that went all the way to her core. She moaned in delight because this was something she had never experienced before, but it was blissful.
Iain’s hands had moved from Claire’s waist to her hips. He was tempted to move them downwards to cup her shapely backside, but restrained himself at the last moment.
She tasted sweet, so sweet that he never wanted to stop kissing her, but he knew he had to let her go, so with great reluctance, he drew away from her and looked down into her amber eyes.
She was furious, he could see, but he could see something else there. Did she want him just as much as he wanted her?