Page 11 of Her Highlander’s Darkest Temptation (Highlanders of Cadney #14)

CHAPTER SEVEN

L ydia watched as the Council dispersed, leaving behind Laird Ranald and his two close associates. She knew she was likely expected to leave, but she hadn’t been dismissed, so she stayed.

Watching Laird Ranald direct his Council had been an interesting experience.

Lydia knew little of such matters, but she couldn't help admiring the control he wielded over his advisors.

He was stern, even sharp at times, but not cruel.

He listened to the words of his men, but refused to let them dictate his actions.

It was clear that the Council wasn't unified—she had seen several members eyeing her and Laird Ranald both with suspicion in their eyes.

However, he neither bent to his detractors, nor dismissed them as her uncle would have done.

He brooked no rebellion or malcontent, but neither did he act like a tyrant.

He's a strong lord, a man who knows his worth and is confident in his strength. He wields his authority, but does not abuse it. If only Uncle Cedric had chosen a man like him…

Lydia squashed the thought before it could fully form. There was no point in useless wishing. Besides, she had far more important things to be concerned about. Such as the unfinished statement she'd heard Laird Ranald’s second-in-command making when she'd returned with the fresh flagons.

Cameron men on the border—more of them than usual. Laird Ranald had stopped Ewan from saying anything more, but she could guess the reason for their presence. Laird Cameron was looking for her.

Lydia frowned, biting the inside of her cheek as an unwelcome thought came to her.

What if Lord Cameron knows where I am? I do not know how he would, but if it is at all possible… is there someone here who might suspect my identity?

For a moment, all she could think of was the suspicion in the eyes of some of the Elders, a sense of panic threatening to drown her at the idea one of them possibly knowing her real identity.

Fear tried to choke her and she forced it back, forced herself to think logically instead of giving into her worries.

There was no reason for any of the members of Clan Ranald to hide her identity from the lord.

None of them owed her any favors, and none of them had any reason to care about her.

Revealing the truth and sending her away, or giving her over to Rory Cameron, would be the wisest course of action, if any of them actually did know her identity.

As long as I am cautious, do my work, keep my silence, and do not attract too much attention, I shall be safe.

She repeated the words like a mantra, until a derisive snort jarred her from her thoughts and brought her attention back to the three men that remained.

At some point while she’d been lost in thought, they’d all moved from the large council table to a smaller table closer to the fire.

They’d taken one of the fresh flagons with them, which was why she’d not been called upon to refill their cups, and someone had produced a chess board, which Laird Ranald and his friend were seated at.

The source of the noise was Ewan, who snickered in Laird MacEwen’s direction. “Och, a move like that... only an Englishman is bampot enough tae trade a castle fer a pawn.”

Laird MacEwen was playing black, and Lydia could guess from the set of the pieces which move the man-at-arms meant.

Offended at the jibe at her conational, words escaped her mouth without thought.

“That is not true…. though perhaps only someone who is English would see the wisdom of the move and have the skill to execute the strategy successfully.”

All three men looked at her, and Lydia flushed under their gazes and lowered her eyes, suddenly embarrassed and terrified by her own mistake.

Dear God, why did I speak?

Very few, if any, servants in England would know how to play chess - it was a diversion for educated nobility. Add to that, that being a servant left little time for leisure. Surely the same was true in the Highlands…

Laird Ranald waved her over. “Ye play chess?”

“I… I kn-I kow some of the rules, my lo-laird.” She swallowed hard. “The lady I served before sometimes wished to play in the privacy of her chambers… so I was permitted to learn… but…”

It was true, in a matter of speaking—she’d often played. Even so, the edge of falsehood to the words sat heavy on her tongue.

The second-in-command, Ewan, gave her a sharp-edged smile. “Well since ye’ve spoken up… what move should Alex be makin’?”

Laird MacEwen flushed. “I dinnae need the help.”

“But it would be interestin’ tae see if ye an’ the lass chose the same move.

” Laird Ranald’s eyes glittered with amusement—the first softening or good humor she’d seen in his expressions at all.

He jerked his head in a movement for her to come closer.

“Come here, lass, an’ whisper yer move in me ear.

We’ll see if Alex chooses the same one.”

She wanted to refuse, but could find no reason to do so. She swallowed hard, then bent and whispered the move that she would make—a shift of the queen’s side knight to block a bishop.

Laird MacEwen moved his king’s side bishop instead, and Lydia frowned. She could see his strategy, but there were gaps in his defense, and one side was weak. If Laird Ranald saw and exploited one of the holes in the formation before it was properly set up…

The laird moved a piece, taking out a pawn that, at first glance, looked insignificant. Lydia bit her lip, her mind tracing the most likely next moves.

If Laird MacEwen moves his knight, he might still salvage it, if his queen can be brought into play on the weak side. But if he moves his queen first…

Laird MacEwen moved the queen, and Lydia winced. Laird Ranald’s friend frowned at her. “What now?”

“It is just… that move…”

“What o’ it?”

“If Laird Ranald is skilled as he seems, it will be checkmate in five, perhaps four moves.”

“Ye’re jokin’.”

“I am not.” Lydia looked to Laird Ranald. “My lo-laird, would you move your castle or your bishop next?”

“Bishop.”

“Then it is checkmate in five… or stalemate if he castles and puts his king in the corner.”

“Wha…” All three men bent over the board, studying it. After a moment, Ewan shook his head and leaned back. “I cannae see it.”

A moment later, Laird MacEwen’s hand shifted to touch a piece, brow furrowing as he worked through the moves in his head. Then he cursed and sat back with a glower, toppling his king in surrender as he went. “I cannae believe I didnae see ye setting tha’ up.”

Ewan chuckled. “I cannae believe the maid saw it from across the room, even without havin’ watched the game afore hand.” He grinned at Lydia. “Ye’ve some skill, lass. Especially fer someone who hasnae played much.”

“It was only luck. I have an eye, sometimes, for patterns. It was nothing…” Lydia flushed and looked away from his keen-eyed gaze. She started to step away from the table, but Laird MacEwen rose and waved her toward his seat.

“Play Laird Ranald in a match, lass.”

Lydia winced, her cheeks burning as she realized she’d drawn the very attention she sought to avoid onto her. “Oh, I could never…”

“Ye can if I say ye can. Come. Sit and play a match with me.” Laird Ranald tipped his head toward the chair. “Ye obviously have some skill, an’ we’ve played each other often enough tae wish tae see a new player at the board.”

The other two men were looking at her with anticipation, and Lydia twisted her hands in her skirts, feeling trapped.

She wanted to refuse, but there was no graceful way to do so.

She recalled Maisie’s warning—better to be uncertain or to fail than to be seen as unwilling to do what the laird demanded.

The maid had been talking about chores, but the wisdom seemed sound for her current situation. With a deep breath to bolster her courage and a slow, reluctant exhalation, Lydia took a seat across from her new employer.

Without a word, Laird Ranald rotated the board to give her white, and the first move. The two of them set up their pieces, and Lydia moved a pawn near the center of the board. It was a tentative move, not a strong one, easily countered. Laird Ranald moved a pawn in response, and the game began.

Within a handful of moves, Lydia knew that Laird Ranald was easily her match, if not more skilled than she. He made very few errors. His style was more aggressive than her own, but not reckless.

He was a strong opponent. For a moment, Lydia wanted to play earnestly against him, to test her skill against his. Then she remembered her position.

I cannae show too much skill, or he will wonder where I gained the time and practice to learn it.

Her next move, Lydia forced herself to make a mistake, moving a knight in the wrong direction and leaving a gap in her defenses where his queen could strike.

Laird Ranald took the move, but his brow furrowed in thought, and he gave her a short, swift glance, as if he’d guessed at the deliberate ploy.

A handful of moves later, the game ended in his victory. Lydia breathed a sigh of relief and bowed her head in defeat. “I thank you for the game, my laird.”

“Aye. Well-played.” There was something—some heavy undertone she didn’t understand—to Laird Ranald’s voice.

He waved a hand as if dismissing her, and Lydia rose from the chair before he could change his mind.

“Alex, Ewan… I think ‘tis all fer taenight. I’ve tae go and settle a land dispute two villages over taemorrow.”

“Aye.” Both men stretched. Laird MacEwen took a moment to empty his tankard and set it on the table. Lydia hurried to collect it, then gather Ewan’s and cork the flagons while the two men bid each other tonight.

She had the tray in her hand and was almost to the door, following Ewan, when Laird Ranald spoke. “Wait a moment, lass.”

Heart hammering, she turned, and Laird Ranald plucked the tray from her arms. “Come back here.”

“My laird? Have I done something wrong?”

“Nae wrong. But I dinnae like tae win because me opponent isnae willing tae play their best again’ me.

” He scowled at her and gestured to the seat she’d so recently vacated.

“When I challenged ye tae a game, I expected tae see ye play with the same skill ye used in guessing Laird MacEwen moves… and dinnae think I didnae see that ye kent which move was the proper one when ye made that mistake.”

“I… I did not think it proper to…”

“Sit.” He gestured for her to resume her seat, and reclaimed his own. “I want tae see ye play a real match.”

Lydia eyed the board as he began to set up the pieces. She hadn’t expected him to see the truth in her mistake, and she felt mortified that she’d underestimated him so badly. Worse, in doing so, she’d drawn his attention more surely than she would have if she’d actually won.

I just need to play again, but find a more subtle way to lose the game. A less obvious mistake…

“I challenge ye tae a wager.” The words made her jerk her head up, eyes wide.

“A wager? My laird, I have nothing…”

Laird Ranald smiled a wolf’s smile. “Och, I dinnae wish tae wager coin or aught so simple. Ye’re a lass o’ secrets an’ stories, Lydia, an’ unusual skills. Fer this wager, I’ll set the stakes thus—the winner has a wish tae be used, nay questions asked. Nay limits save what may harm another.”

Lydia flushed. “My laird, such a wager is improper…”

“The wish willnae include any sort o’ demands fer bedsport, if that’s what ye’re afraid o’. I’m nae that sort o’ man.” The wolf-like smile widened. “Will ye play again’ me, fer the stakes as they are?”