Chapter 16
Claire slept like a baby until just before dawn, and as she relived her sensual experience with Iain, she found herself unable to get back to sleep.
He had appeared in her dreams and she was so delighted she was actually annoyed to wake up, but when she did, the whole experience came rushing back to her again, but with it, a flood of common sense.
After that, there was no sleeping at all, and Claire sneaked out to the library just as the sun was coming up to select a book that would teach her more about the pleasures of the flesh.
She had read only a few pages when she began to wonder why she had bothered. After all, the whole encounter had meant a lot to her, but she doubted whether Iain felt the same. Now she pondered about how she could face him again without rushing into his arms and making a complete fool of herself.
She remembered the moment when they had finally come together, when she had discovered at last what it meant to be a woman in the true sense.
As well as that, she was overjoyed that the man who had taken her was Iain, but could she say that what they had done was making love, or was it merely a sexual encounter?
Do I love him? Claire wondered. And does he love me?
That was the moment that she realised what her own feelings were.
She did love Iain, but she reminded herself yet again that Iain was a Laird, and she was a pauper with nothing to offer him.
If the clan ever forced him to marry, it would likely be to an heiress, who would no doubt bring a treasure chest with her.
Yet, he seemed to be resisting marriage with every fibre of his being.
Claire sighed and shook her head. She had to be realistic. She had had a wonderful experience, and had some enjoyable and sensual memories to treasure, but she was not na?ve enough to believe that they would be repeated.
She had gone to her new chamber and had been surprised at the space, and the fact that it had a desk, chair, and writing materials. This filled her with joy and gratitude, since she could now communicate with her sisters without having to sneak to the library.
As well as that, she was delighted to see the two new dresses, one navy blue, one brown, laid out on her bed.
They were the same as the one she was wearing, but her present one was old, worn, patched, and always made her feel like a tramp or a beggar.
They were only maids’ uniforms, of course, but she felt smart and stylish when she put one of them on.
However, she knew that she would have to run the gauntlet of the other women’s ridicule when she went into the kitchen, and was not disappointed.
“Look at this smart Sassenach,” Lorna cried scornfully, looking Claire up and down. “I wonder what ye had tae dae tae get that?” She winked at the others, her meaning quite clear, and there was a gale of laughter.
Claire, more confident due to her new position, answered, “Is that the voice of experience?”
There was a sudden silence as Claire walked away.
She went into Iain’s study, trying to slow down her racing heart. He looked, if anything, even more handsome than usual, but perhaps that was her fevered imagination, Claire thought.
“You are looking very smart today, Claire,” he remarked with a mischievous smile. “I see that the dress fits you very well. Perhaps I should make sure that the undergarments do too.”
Claire curtsied as she usually did out of force of habit, but she felt her cheeks flaming with embarrassment, and could not meet his eyes.
“Thank you for your concern… Iain,” she replied, trying to keep her voice from trembling, “I can assure you that they fit well. But if I find any fault with them, I am now very handy with a needle.”
“A needle, eh? That sounds dangerous.”
He sat down behind his desk, still laughing. He loved teasing her, if only to see her reactions, the expression of barely suppressed anger, genuine amusement or crimson-faced embarrassment.
After what they had done the night before, he had barely been able to sleep for thinking about Claire. Now, watching her as she worked, he was tempted to wrap his arms around her and beg her to let him make love to her properly, to allow him to make her his own.
Claire, her heart still racing, placed Iain’s breakfast tray on the table and then went about her normal tedious chores; brushing the floor and dusting the shelves as well as washing the windows, which was something Agnes had reminded her to do.
The windows were enormous, and it would take her a few hours, she knew, but that was fine. In fact, she decided to work as slowly as she could in order to keep her face turned away most of the time and not have to look at Iain, except when she gave him his meals.
She loved looking at him, of course, but when she thought of what they had done a few hours earlier, her courage failed her.
She was glad when he went outside to speak to his steward after his midday meal, since it gave her a chance to relax. This usually lasted about an hour, after which he would resume his work with renewed concentration, saying very little.
However, today was different. When he came back, Iain’s eyes were sparkling with merriment.
In fact, he looked as though he had been laughing heartily for hours, and could not keep the smile from his face.
Claire wanted to ask him what the joke was, but decided to stay silent, resolutely turning her back on him to concentrate on her work.
“I heard that one of my close friends had seen you,” he told her.
“He remarked on how beautiful you were, but unfortunately, his wife was standing close by and heard what he said. It caused a huge argument between them, and they have not spoken to each other for a month. So you see—another reason why you are dangerous, Claire. First your needle, and now your beauty. Perhaps I should keep you locked up.”
Claire, who had been holding a very wet cloth, was tempted to throw it in his face, but restrained herself with an effort. She pursed her mouth shut and began to polish the window with all her might, trying to distract herself with thoughts of her sisters, the new baby—anything.
The afternoon drew to a close, but Iain could not bear the thought of letting Claire go. The notion of eating a lonely dinner was unbearable compared to the thought of her sitting opposite him, laughing, chatting, perhaps even going further…
“Time to eat, Claire,” Iain said with a heavy sigh and a voice that was loaded with theatrical sadness. “I will be so lonely having my meal alone, but you are fortunate enough to have delightful dinner companions, are you not? I envy you.”
This was so ludicrous that Claire looked up at him and laughed for the first time in hours. “Definitely not delightful,” she said firmly.
Iain’s face changed then. His expression softened as he asked, “Then will you have dinner with me, Claire? I promise to try to be as delightful as I can. We can sit by the fire in my chamber.”
Claire was apprehensive; what if he wanted more than a meal? If he wished to have a repeat of the day before, she would be only too happy to oblige him!
“I would like that,” she said, with a shy smile.
She went to the kitchen to collect the food, and this time Lorna said nothing, although the expression on her face spoke volumes.
When Claire entered the chamber with Iain’s meal, she found that he had changed into fresh clothes. She was slightly disappointed, since she liked his sweaty state of dishevelment; it was completely masculine and made her senses sing with longing.
She sat opposite him at the small table, and Claire poured out wine for them both before they began to eat.
His expression was infinitely kind as he looked at her, and this time Claire took the greatest pleasure looking into his sky-blue eyes, and she smiled.
“Thank you for dinner,” she said. “I love this room. I can safely relax here because I know how clean it is.”
“Hm…” he pretended to look thoughtful for a moment. “When I find out who is responsible, I will give her a medal.”
Claire laughed softly, and the expression in her amber eyes was so infinitely soft and gentle that Iain could have stared into them for hours. “How do you like your new room?” he asked.
“It’s lovely,” she replied. “And thank you for the new dresses. My old ones were threadbare.”
“You are welcome,” he said warmly. He took a sip of wine, then said suddenly, “Claire, I have a confession to make.”
Claire looked up sharply, her eyes widening with fear of what Iain was about to say.
“I like poetry,” he told her. “When you told me about a few poets you knew, I read some of their work. I was very impressed, and very moved by some of them.”
“I had no idea men read poetry,” Claire said, surprised. “I always thought you regarded it as a form of feminine literature.”
Iain pretended to look outraged. “Do I look feminine?” he asked indignantly.
Claire giggled. “You are the least feminine creature I have ever seen,” she said.
“I am so glad to hear that.” Iain smiled, pretending to be relieved.
He found that he loved laughing and joking with Claire, she was not only desirable to him, but intelligent and funny.
Claire looked down at her food, pushing it around the plate with her fork.
There were certain things she had reservations about, but she loved haggis, just as Rose did.
However, there was no haggis tonight, but a strange, suspicious-looking dark substance which made her wary. She pushed it to the side of her plate.
Iain watched her, amused. “Do you not like black pudding?” he asked.
“I have not dared try it,” Claire replied, her lip curling at the sight of it.
“Are you afraid?” he asked. “Because Scottish food is some of the best in the world. I have been to France, Spain and Italy, but I would much rather eat the plain, solid food of my own country.”