Page 13 of Her Highlander’s Darkest Temptation (Highlanders of Cadney #14)
CHAPTER NINE
“ S he cannae keep borrowing clothing forever, me laird. ‘Tis nae that anyone minds, ye ken, but every servant should have two or three outfits o’ their own, and ye dinnae want folk thinkin’ ye’re miserly, or we’ll never be able tae hire the help we need.”
Corvin continued to prattle on, his talk moving from Lydia in specific to other considerations, including a lament that no others from the ill-fated caravan had yet arrived at their gates.
Donall closed his eyes and let the words wash over him, content to let Corvin speak so long as the steward required no response from him.
His head ached, a dull throbbing he knew came from sleepless nights, and he wanted nothing more than one of Evelyn’s potions to ease the pounding.
Evelyn would scold him, he knew. She would ask why he never took the sleeping tonics she made for him, or the soothing teas, with their addition of valerian to send him to slumber. The truth was, he couldn’t stand taking them.
A sleep forced upon him by herbs and tonics left him more vulnerable to dreams. As bad as it was to wake, shuddering and gasping in a cold sweat, from the dream-memories of his time in the gaol, to face such dreams and be unable to wake was far worse.
The one time he’d suffered such dreams after taking Evelyn’s sleeping potion, he’d woken so sick with horror and with his stomach so twisted with shame and residual pain that he’d emptied the contents of his gut into a nearby basin, and been unable to allow himself to sleep at all for two nights thereafter.
“Me laird?” Corvin’s inquiring voice forced Donall’s attention back to his steward. He took a gulp of his scalding tea and nodded.
“Aye. I understand. Ye want me tae listen fer news o’ the missing caravan members, an’ see that Lydia has some new clothin’ o’ her own, since she arrived with naething.”
The lass in question chose that moment to enter the hall, bringing him a fresh pitcher of tea. Donall waited until she'd finished pouring before he spoke. “Ye've eaten?”
“Aye, my laird.”
“Good. Go tell Maisie ye'll be going with me intae town this morn, an’ she's tae begin without ye. Then go out tae the stables an’ tell the lads tae saddle a horse fer ye.”
Lydia blinked at him, confusion evident in her expression. “My… laird?”
Donall suppressed a sigh of irritation, and the urge to rub his brow in exasperation. “Steward Corvin tells me ye're in need o’ new clothing, an’ I've work tae see tae anyway. Might as well tend tae both errands at once.” Donall waved her away.
Food and a half-tankard of mead soothed some of the ache in his head and banished some of the weariness from his body. Donall made a brief trip to his study to leave some instructions for Ewan, then went down to the courtyard.
Lydia was there, along with the two horses. Donall took his and mounted, before turning to look at the lass, still hovering on the ground. “Och, come on, lass. I dinnae have all day.”
“Apologies, my l-laird. I was uncertain which horse was mine.” She dipped her head, then moved to the second horse.
She seemed to struggle with mounting, and Donall waved a stable boy over to assist her.
It was only as the boy gave her a boost into the saddle that he realized her posture was all wrong.
She didn’t throw her leg over the horse’s back as he expected.
Instead she turned, and settled awkwardly into a sideways position, her right knee pressing against the saddle pommel.
Side-saddle? I dinnae ken anyone who rides in such a fashion, save English noble lasses. Certainly, ‘tis nae the way a servant would ride.
Lydia looked up at that moment and noticed his frown. “My laird? Is something wrong?”
“Aye. Who taught ye how tae ride like that ?”
Lydia looked down at the saddle, her eyes widening. “Oh, this…” She blushed. “In truth… I do not have any experience riding. I… I have never ridden, save behind you the one time… I do not know how. I was embarrassed to tell you, so I tried to mimic the way my lady used to ride…”
There was something in the words that didn’t sit quite right, but Donall dismissed the sensation. From everything he’d heard and observed of Lydia, the story made perfect sense. Still…
He took a deep breath and willed away the worst of his irritation. “Och, if ye cannae ride, then say so. ‘Tis nae difficult matter tae ride double, lass. An’ safer than ye tryin’ tae keep pace with me when ye cannae handle a horse. Especially like that.”
He gestured to her position in the saddle. “Ridin’ like that ye’re likely tae break yer leg, or yer neck, if the horse startles or ye lose yer seat.”
For that matter, the horse the grooms had saddled for her was no beast for a beginner to ride.
The three-year-old mare was hardly the most restive beast in the stables, but she wasn’t the most placid of animals either.
With an inexperienced rider, it would be all too easy for a loud noise to send her running away with her rider.
Donall dismounted, and sent the stable boy to fetch the saddle he’d used when teaching Alayne to ride, or when riding double with his sister when they were younger. There was a brief delay while the tack was changed. Once that was done, Donall waved Lydia over. “Stand here.”
He could have showed her how to mount, but Donall simply lifted her into the saddle. “Throw yer leg over his back, so ye’re astride, an’ grip with yer knees. Hold on tae the pommel if ye must, but leave the reins fer me.”
With that, Donall swung himself into the saddle behind her and settled into place.
Once his feet were in the stirrups and his body positioned correctly, he slid his arms around Lydia on either side of her waist, and took the reins in his hands.
“Now all ye have tae dae is lean back again’ me, or forward fer balance, listen tae any commands I give ye, an’ concentrate on grippin’ with yer knees. ”
With that, he flicked the horse into motion, urging the animal into a walk, then gradually into a ground-eating trot that he knew the horse could manage for some time. Lydia said nothing, a fact for which he was profoundly grateful.
It was only sensible for her to ride in front of him, given her inexperience.
Even so, it took less than half a candle-mark for Donall to realize he might have been better off to leave her on her own horse, and adopt a slower pace while he taught her how to ride, because having Lydia in his arms, and seated so close to him was more distracting than he’d thought possible.
So close, he could feel the soft curves of her slim figure, from the delicate taper of her waist to the swell of her hips, and every time the horse’s gait rocked him forward, he found his groin pressed briefly against her perfectly formed buttocks.
Her hair was mostly confined to a braid, but some strands had come loose, and they blew back to tickle his face, teasing his cheek and the side of his neck with their softness.
The scent of her - heather soap and a hint of rosemary - filled his nostrils, and the slim, delicately arched column of her neck begged for a kiss.
He was all too aware how easy it would be to shift his hands and cup her breasts through the bosom of her borrowed dress, or pull her closer and caress her waist, her belly, perhaps even a little lower…
Nay. I will nae be that sort o’ man. If she welcomes me attentions at some other time, fine, but I’ll nae force them on her, just because circumstances an’ necessity have placed us in close quarters.
Of course, there was the little matter of him hiding his reaction to her. He could only hope she was too focused on riding to notice and that they would reach the village before it became too painful for him to dismount.
Riding in front of Laird Ranald was far more difficult than Lydia had expected it to be, and not because of the riding, as she knew very well how to ride, but because of the distraction of the laird himself.
Seated as close to him as she was, she was all too aware of the pine-scented soap he used, the scent mingling with the smell of leather, iron, and something distinctly masculine that she could put no name to.
It was a heady blend, and it surrounded her, just as the heat of his body enveloped her like a blanket warmed before a hearth fire.
She could feel the muscles of his broad chest flexing in time to the horse’s movements, the weight and strength of his muscular arms resting lightly around her waist, and the pressure of his knees against the backs of hers, bracing her in the saddle.
As they swayed in time to the horse’s gait, she felt his hips pressing against hers, rocking forward, then back, then forward again.
The sensations made her stomach clench, heat rise low in her gut and her skin tingle strangely. It was almost like having a sunburn, but pleasantly so.
The sound of his breath in her ear was like a promise of safety, and it woke a yearning inside her - a desire for more that she scarcely understood.
She could feel the temptation to press herself back against that broad chest, to lean into his arms, or caress his forearms with her hands, or stroke her fingers across his thighs.
No. I cannot, should not think like that. And I most certainly should not continue embarrassing myself further, after the mistake I made earlier!
Lydia’s cheeks grew hot at the memory. The way she’d settled into the saddle sideways, without thinking…
she’d nearly given herself away, and only the quick lie had saved her.
It had been foolish not to think before she mounted, not to remember that she was supposed to be a maid.
And of course, no maid would ride sidesaddle!