Page 7 of Her Highlander’s Darkest Temptation (Highlanders of Cadney #14)

CHAPTER FOUR

M aisie Grant was unlike anyone Lydia had ever met in her life, quite possibly the most confusing individual Lydia had ever spent time with.

The maid was a year younger than Lydia herself, with a build that Lydia would call lean rather than slim, and far more strength than her slender frame would suggest. Her skin was tanned, her hands work-roughened and callused from her duties.

Her red hair was only shoulder length, far shorter than Lydia’s, and rather than being straight, it was a riotous tumble of red curls that refused to be confined to the maid’s cap she wore.

Her clothing was in only slightly better condition than Lydia’s borrowed garments, but she seemed to think nothing of the patched sleeves and multi-hued apron she wore.

In fact, she wore the clothing with a sense of pride that was almost baffling to Lydia, who had never worn patched garments in her life, until she’d been forced to flee.

Her first expression when Evelyn introduced them was one of chagrin and mortification.

“Me laird thinks I’m needin’ someone tae help?

But why? I’ve been daein’ me duties… all o’ them!

An’ I’ve never complained, nae once, nor shirked, nae even when I came down with the winter sickness last season. He’s never said he was dissatisfied…”

“An’ he’s nae.” Evelyn soothed the woman. Lydia watched the two of them, her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. “’’Tis nae because he faults ye or yer work, lass. Tis only that Lydia is new, an’ our laird thinks ye’ve the best knowledge an’ skills tae show her what needs tae be done.”

“An’ why nae Corvin?”

Evelyn’s smile was a teasing thing, the two women sharing a brief joke that Lydia wasn’t privy to. “Och, ye ken how Corvin gets. Lass is new, an’ shy, and recoverin’ from a bad fall. Ye’ll be gentler than our steward, me laird thinks.”

Maisie scoffed, but her shoulders relaxed, and her smile was less strained than it had been.

“Well, ye’ve the right o’ it there.” She studied Lydia’s face intently.

“Lass does look peaky’. Might be best tae bundle her intae bed tae sleep away the worst o’ it, an’ she can start helpin’ me in the morn.

Did me laird say where she was tae bunk down? ”

“He said she’d be with ye.”

To Lydia’s surprise, the maid nodded, seemingly unconcerned about sharing her space with another woman.

“Makes sense. I’ve nae had anyone sharin’ with me since Kelsea went home tae marry her farm hand an’ have her bairn.

‘Twill be easier tae help her along too, if we’re sharin’ a room as well our duties. ”

The room Maisie led her to was smaller than any Lydia had ever slept in before, and it seemed terribly crowded to her - it was a single room, rather than a suite, and filled with two small beds, a shared table and water pitcher, and two clothes chests at the end of the beds.

The mattresses and pillows were thinner than she was used to, stuffed with what looked to be straw, rather than down or feathers, and there were only two medium weight blankets on each bed.

A small brazier was the only source of warmth for the room.

It was still far better than the conditions with the caravan had been, and Lydia sank onto the bed Maisie pointed her toward with a sigh of relief.

“Are ye hungry?” Maisie looked at her face again and shook her head. “Never ye mind, I can see the answer tae tha’ with me own eyes. Stay here, an’ I’ll bring ye a tray o’ broth an’ bread an’ an some hot tea. Just taeday, mind ye, since ye’ve just arrived an’ Evelyn says yer injured.”

By the time the maid came back with the tray, Lydia was beginning to feel a little less shaken.

The soup was good, the bread not quite fresh but far softer and more flavorful than the travel bread she’d eaten for the past few days, and the tea was a welcome change from cold water drawn from a stream.

Lydia ate and drank her fill, then gave the tray back. “Thank you.”

Maisie blinked. “Och, ye’ve a strange accent about ye… where are ye from?”

There was no point in hiding the truth, especially since Laird Ranald already knew. “England. Near the border.”

“England, aye? Ye’re a long way from home. Never met an English servin’ lass, but I suppose work’s the same everywhere. But nay wonder ye’re fair fatigued.” Maisie took the tray with brisk, efficient movements. “Sleep, then, an’ I’ll show ye how his lairdship likes things done in the morning.”

Lydia nodded and settled into the pillows with a sigh. She didn’t expect to sleep, not in an unfamiliar place with the thinner bedding, but her head had scarcely touched the thin cotton before slumber pulled her into darkness.

She woke the next morning, to a chill in the air that suggested the sun had not long been up, and Maisie shaking her shoulder. The maid tsked at her. “Och, ye’re a fair heavy sleeper, ye are! There’s work tae be done.”

Lydia stumbled from the bed, her eyes still heavy with sleep, and her body feeling heavy and weary. Her side throbbed, and she winced and put a hand to it.

“Are ye well?” Maisie frowned. “If ye’re ill, I can send ye back tae Evelyn…”

Lydia shook her head, unwilling to submit herself to the healer’s continued scrutiny. Besides, she wanted to learn the things she needed to know quickly, so she could continue with her plans. “No. I was injured, and I am sore, but… it is not serious.”

“Och, ye talk fair pretty. Dae all servants in England talk like ye?” Maisie raised an eyebrow. “Ye’re like tae find yerself in fer a bit o’ a shock then, fer we’re nae tha’ sort here. Laird Ranald likes his people as forthright as himself, ye ken.”

“I… ken.” Lydia rolled the unfamiliar word in her mouth, guessing at its meaning and trying to wrap her mind around it.

“Right then. Let me see how bad ye are, so I ken if there’s aught ye cannae be daein’.” Lydia lifted her shirt up, and Maisie undid the bandages. “That’s a fair bad bruise, right enough. Did ye crack a rib? Looks like ye might have.”

“No. I did not, but the healer said I was lucky not to have.”

“Evelyn would ken, if anyone daes.” Maisie nodded. “Right… ye’ll nae do well with carryin’ laundry or cleanin’ the floors like tha’, so ye can dae other things.”

“Of course.” Lydia stretched carefully.

Breakfast was porridge and more tea, with day-old hard bread, before Maisie led her up the stairs and toward what Lydia suspected was the laird’s wing of the keep. “We’ll dae Laird Ranald’s study first, afore he comes in tae tend tae whatever business he has.”

The room they entered was large, with windows to let in the light, surrounded by heavy curtains. The hearth was cold, and the desk was a mass of missives and documents.

Maisie pointed. “Start by clearin’ the hearth, so we can lay a new fire.

Then we’ll bring the food, dust, an das some tidyin’ up - me laird daesnae like us tae dae tae much with his papers, but straightenin’ the pile so he can see the top o’ his desk an’ find his quills an’ ink is acceptable.

An’ o’ course, we’re expected tae replace any broken quills an’ empty inkwells. ”

Lydia nodded, then made her way to the hearth. She knew what to do, for she had seen the servants at home do it many a time, but had never done it herself. Her movements were tentative and rather clumsy, sending ash everywhere.

“Nae like that. Dae ye have nay sense? Ye always put a cloth down tae catch the ash afore ye sweep the hearth. ‘Twill be all over the floor otherwise, an’ the stones.”

Before she could do anything, Maisie was already there, laying out the worn piece of canvas with expert movements.

A few brisk strokes of the broom, and the majority of the ash was in the bucket.

She hefted the bucket off the cloth, then folded it partially and shook the rest into the container.

“There. That is how ye dae it. Now ye tak’ the ash tae the laundry. ”

Lydia blinked.

“Tae store until ‘tis time tae be makin’ soaps an’ ink, o’ course.” Maisie frowned at her. “What sort o’ servant are ye, tha’ ye didnae even ken that?”

Lydia blushed. “Oh. I… I know that but it wasn’t part of my duties. And things were done… differently. There were different tasks… the steward never asked me to deal with the hearths.”

“Ye had a right strange steward, then. An’ what sort o’ duties did ye have, if ye never cleaned hearths or took ash an’ the like fer soaps an’ inks?”

“Oh, I…” Lydia swallowed hard, her mind racing as she tried to think of something, anything, she could say. “I… I did sewing, sometimes, and wiping dust off books and things, tidying a desk…”

The desk had been her own, and she had strictly forbidden Elswith to touch it, save to replace her broken quills or ink bottles.

Clearing the dust off books had become commonplace only because her uncle cared nothing for reading, and saw no reason to pay any attention or care to the small library her father and mother had maintained.

Maise scoffed. “Nay one has such light duties as tha’ around here. Nae even me, an’ I’m the personal maid for Laird Ranald. Mending’s more fer the laundry maids, in any case. Were ye a laundry maid?”

Her first temptation was to say yes, but she’d seen some of the caravan ladies doing the washing, and knew she had no practice with it. If she agreed and Maisie took her to the laundry, it would swiftly become apparent that she’d lied. “No. It was just… sewing… almost a hobby, I think…”

“If ye say so. Were ye a healer, mayhap?”

“I learned some things about herbs, but I was never taught proper healing…”

Maisie shook her head. “Whoever yer master or steward was, they didnae have half a mind fer assigning work, did they? Seem tae have made a proper mess o’ yer occupation, they did, unless English folk are just strange.”

“You would likely find them so, ye - aye.” Lydia stumbled over her words, struggling to imitate Maisie’s brisk way of speaking and Highland speech.

Maisie huffed. “Well, we cannae spend all day in here—there’s the bedrooms an’ the sittin’ rooms an’ all tae be seen tae, an’ me laird’s laundry tae be dealt with…

” She considered a moment. “Tak’ the ash tae the laundry an’ bring up me laird’s tray, then ye can tidy the desk an’ wipe down the rafters aroun’ the hearth an’ the windows with this. ”

She indicated a rag on a long pole. “I’ll see tae the rest o’ the room—there’s nae much tae dae in here, an’ we’ll continue workin’ beyond tha’.”

Lydia took the bucket with a nod, her cheeks burning at the matter-of-fact tone Maisie used. The maid wasn’t being unkind, but it was clear she thought very little of Lydia’s abilities, and her supposed past training.

She had never imagined that being raised as a lady might make her feel…

inadequate. But Maisie’s down-to-earth manner and obvious pride in her work made her regard the situation differently.

Lydia took a deep breath, and resolved to learn her lessons well—and perform her duties as well as she could for as long as she remained in Ranald Keep.

The ash bucket seemed to grow heavier as she walked the halls, but Lydia lugged it along with single-minded determination.

She took a wrong turn twice on the way to the laundry room—she had never before used servant stairs and passages, and her habit was to make her way through the main halls, none of which led to the laundry or the other rooms used by servants for their various chores.

The food tray was another matter entirely—it was heavy, and carrying up the stairs to the study was made Lydia’s arms ache.

Several times, she nearly tipped the jug that held the laird’s preferred drink—small beer by the smell of it.

She certainly slopped the porridge, and by the time she made it to her destination, her arms were shaking, and her legs felt strange and tingly.

Maisie turned when she entered, a frown on her face. “Och, that took ye long enough… and ye’re a proper mess, ye are. Did ye trip?”

“I… got lost.” Lydia set the tray on the table, and set about cleaning it clumsily with the rag she was carrying in an apron pocket, at Maisie’s insistence. She didn’t mention the tray being heavy, lest Maisie become suspicious.

“Did ye never bring yer laird or lady breakfast?” Maisie’s brow furrowed, and Lydia realized that, once again, she’d said the wrong thing. “Or help with servin’ in the Great Hall durin’ a feast? I thought all servants did that. They certainly dae here in the Highlands.”

“I… my lady… she never had a large appetite.” Lydia fumbled out the excuse, unable to think of anything to say, beyond how often Elswith had scolded her for ‘not eating enough to keep a bird alive, my lady’.

“She must nae have, if ye think this is a heavy tray.” Maisie shook her head. “Here, fold the cloth afore ye start the second pass with it, ye’ll only smear the mess otherwise.” She sighed. “Ye must ha’ given yer old steward fits… unless he was as odd as the lady ye served.”

Lydia flushed at the well-earned rebuke, but she was saved from having to answer by the arrival of Laird Ranald.

Maisie swept into a curtsey and Lydia hurried to follow suit, keeping her head down as Maisie chirped out a cheerful-sounding “Fair mornin’, me laird!”

Laird Ranald made a noncommittal noise in response and went to the table. He opened the jug on the tray and took a long swallow of the contents, before giving both of them a raised eyebrow. “Ye’re usually finished afore I arrive.”

“Just showin’ Lydia her new duties. Tak’s a bit longer while we’re workin’ out who handles which chores, me laird, an’ with her ribs…”

“Och, aye. I didnae recall.” Laird Ranald waved off the rest of the maid’s explanation. “Daesnae matter.”

“We’re near finished, me laird. Lydia was just goin’ tae tidy yer papers an’ sweep the rafters I’ll sweep them in the other room while ye have yer meal, an’ then she can tak’ yer tray an’ come tae help me… if tha’ pleases ye.”

“’Tis well enough.” He shrugged and sat down at the table, turning his attention to his meal.

Maisie leaned in close. “Finish quick as ye can, but dinnae skimp the work, fer he’ll ken if ye dae.”

With that, the red-haired serving maid gave Laird Ranald a quick bob of the head and hurried out of the room, leaving Lydia alone with her new laird, and contemplating a task she’d never performed before—cleaning the rafters.