Page 7 of Taken by the Highland Villain (Breaking the Highland Rules #2)
“Good mornin’, My Laird.” The cheerful voice at his right almost made Jude choke on his morning tea.
He looked up, startled by the unexpected greeting, to find Valerie Blackwood at his elbow, smiling brightly at him as she settled into a seat and helped herself to the porridge, bread, cheese, and honey that Moira had served moments ago.
“How do ye fare today?”
Jude blinked, struggling to summon any sort of response.
It had been seasons since anyone had spoken to him over the morning meal, save when Craig used the time to report plans for the day or any necessary tasks that needed to be done.
And even then, his man-at-arms usually waited until after they’d both broken their fast.
After a moment, he gave up, answering with a noncommittal shrug and burying his nose in his mug to avoid the necessity of words.
They ate in silence for a few moments before she spoke again. “It is very dark in this hall. Do ye nae have any torches?”
“Dinnae need them.”
In the weeks following that fateful day , Jude hadn’t wanted the light of torches. Since then, he’d grown used to the dark, close feeling of the hall. It matched his mood most mornings, and he saw no reason to waste time, effort, or torches when he preferred the current gloom.
“Perhaps ye dinnae need them, My Laird, but I’ll need more light to do my work.” Valerie gave him a bright smile, full of enthusiasm he could not even imagine feeling himself. “It will have to be either more torches or open windows, if ye wish for me to do my best.”
Jude scowled. Yet another person trying to pry open the drapes that surrounded his life and kept him shut away from the world… and from the strain and pain of interacting with it.
Valerie couldn’t know how every day the sun rose seemed like a mockery to him—a reminder of days that had been full of sunshine, laughter, and the presence of family.
She couldn’t understand why blue skies and blooming flowers made his stomach ache as if he’d been stabbed, or why looking upon the wide expanse of moorland reminded him of things he’d never have again and all that had changed a year ago.
Jude had no wish to explain the matter either. He settled for a wordless growl into his mug and made an effort to focus on his meal.
It was a futile effort.
Moments later, Valerie addressed him again. “Speakin’ of doin’ my work, My Laird. I’ve been consultin’ with Moira. She says there arenae many supplies in the castle for some of the finer work, so I’ll need to visit a seamstress or a cloth merchant. Mayhap both. Is there one in the village?”
“Aye. She doesnae come here.”
The seamstress, Hannah, had been a close friend of Kendra’s. After his sister was taken, she’d had little interest in visiting the castle, and Jude had felt no desire to be reminded of his loss by the sight of her.
“Then I’ll need to go to her, if ye dinnae mind, to purchase the threads and other things I need.”
“Well enough.”
At least if Valerie were in the village, speaking to Hannah, she wouldn’t be in the castle, talking his ear off and disturbing his solitude or his work.
“What is well enough?” Craig joined them and settled into the chair at Jude’s other side, a friendly smile on his face as he leaned around Jude’s shoulder to address the seamstress. “Fair morn to ye, Miss Blackwood.”
“Fair morn to ye, Master Craig.”
Valerie’s answering smile, directed at his second-in-command, made something hot and brittle spark inside Jude—an emotion that filled him with irritation, even though he could name neither the feeling nor the reason it should afflict him at the sight of a mere smile.
“Call me Craig, Miss Blackwood. Ye’ll be doin’ so much for me and the Laird; it is only fair.”
Craig leaned forward to take some bread, and Jude felt the sudden urge to tug the basket away for no particular reason. He squashed the impulse, even as he wondered at its origin.
“Then I wouldnae mind if ye call me Valerie. In fact, I prefer it. It is how my family calls me.” Her smile held a warmth and brightness that hadn’t been seen in the Great Hall of MacFinn Castle for seasons.
Jude was torn between wanting to stalk away and leave her cheerful countenance behind, and wanting to stay close and bask in the way it seemed to drive some of the cold stiffness from his heart.
“As ye will.” Craig nodded. “It sounded as though ye and the Laird were discussing something when I arrived.”
“Aye.” Valerie nodded. “I asked him if I could go to the village to gather supplies for the work I want to do. I’d like to see if I can find some more of the softer wool or fine linen for the mendin’, some dyes, and a range of different threads.
I’ll need the latter for mendin’ curtains, sheets, and tapestries—if he agrees, of course. ”
Jude looked up at her through narrowed eyes as his ear caught a familiar word—one that was the source of a seemingly endless argument.
“How many times do I have to say it, afore all of ye understand and listen? There’s nothing wrong with the curtains .”
Valerie scoffed lightly, her tone that of someone chastening a stubborn youngling. “They’re too heavy and dinnae let in enough light. It isnae healthy to keep all the rooms so gloomy, My Laird. I can make curtains that are lighter but still keep out the sun and weather, if ye wish.”
“It might be wise. Ye ken the healer says that ye need more light and air.” Craig gave him a knowing glance.
Jude scowled, remembering the conversation.
He’d overtaxed his leg in a border skirmish and then come down with a cough. The healer had given him tonics and tisanes, and a poultice for his leg, then told him the best medicine would be regular exercise and fresh air.
Since then, he’d done a turn about the gardens, a brief stint in the training grounds, and a patrol through the halls each day. But it was as much as he cared to do.
Still, it was clear that his second-in-command had little intention of yielding.
“Fine. But dinnae be surprised if ye put them up and find them in the fireplace or beneath the window the next day.”
To his surprise, the seamstress only laughed at his declaration, as if she thought he was jesting.
Jude narrowed his eyes, scowling at her in a way that had cowed several of his servants in the past.
Her laughter died down, but there was still a cheerful twist to her lips, a lingering amusement that only increased when Craig replied.
“Och, they can be replaced or washed if that’s the case.
” His cheerful smirk made Jude briefly consider throwing the remnants of his meal in the man’s face.
“But if ye’re goin’ to the village, lass, allow me to escort ye.
I can show ye around the shops, make it clear that ye’re a guest at MacFinn Castle.
It will protect ye from any rough lads that might be visitin’ and ensure that our clansfolk treat ye with respect. ”
To Jude’s surprise, Valerie blushed, a pleased smile spreading across her face, along with a sort of wondering delight that transformed her expression and made his heart skip a beat.
“Och, I’d like that, and I’d be grateful to ye. I’m used to fendin’ for myself when I venture to the market.”
The supportive and slightly quizzical gleam in Craig’s eyes told Jude that his man-at-arms had caught the expression and wondered about the story behind her statement as much as he did.
But then the moment passed.
Craig drained his drink, stuffed the last of his bread in his mouth, and rose from the table. “If ye’re ready, Valerie, we can go now.”
She blinked at him. “Och, I didnae mean for ye to rush yer meal…”
“Doesnae matter. We’ll likely be in the market for some time, and I can have a good dinner at the tavern afore we return, so there’s nay harm in eatin’ a little less now. Our tavernkeeper makes the best ale in the Highlands, ye ken.”
“Does he now?” Valerie’s voice was light, teasing, just a little bit questioning. “Mayhap I’ll have a tankard with ye afore we return.”
She rose, and before he could stop to think about what he was doing, Jude rose from his seat as well. “I’m comin’ with ye.”
Craig and Valerie both blinked at him, Valerie with a faint air of puzzlement, Craig with one eyebrow raised in astonishment. “Ye want to ride with us? Ye dinnae usually…”
“I ken well enough what I do and dinnae do. But if the lass is to be mendin’ my clothes and tapestries, then I should have a say in what she uses for the task.
Besides, I want to ken what I’m receivin’, and what my coin is bein’ spent on,” Jude growled, then turned and stomped toward the door, intent on telling the groom to saddle his horse as well as Craig’s and Valerie’s.
He wasn’t going to admit that he wanted to stay with Valerie, or that the thought of Craig alone with the seamstress made something hot and sharp churn in his gut like a fire needle.
Nor was he going to admit—at least not to the lass—that he’d had Moira bring him the freshly laundered trews the night before and tried them on, curious about her workmanship.
The inner lining had been so soft, like silk against his skin, and slid like water over the scars around his knee and calf. There was no tugging, no bunching, no uncomfortable sensation of threads scraping and clinging to the easily irritated flesh.
The slight change in the fit of the seams easily accommodated the odd way his knee flexed and the bulge of damaged muscles, giving him no difficulty with walking.
When he’d dared to look in the mirror, he’d realized that, for the first time since his injury, it was difficult to tell just from a glance which leg had been injured. And when he walked, it was only the unevenness of his gait that gave away his crippled limb.
It was the first time since the injury that he’d felt so comfortable in trews or leggings, and once they’d been re-dyed, they would look as good as they felt.
The realization had left him stunned, in a slight daze of disbelief, until he’d finally fallen asleep.