Page 9 of Taken By the Highland Villain
Jude considered it. He could see Moira hovering in the background and watching him with an expectant gaze. He could also admit that the seamstress—Valerie—had a valid point. She’d proven her skills, and proven them well. He respected her ability, and despite himself, he found he admired the way she faced him head-on with no sign of trepidation.
Admiration aside, he was still angry that she had so brazenly defied his command to leave, and frustrated by her audacity in mendinghisclothes despite his repeated declarations that he had no need of her services.
He folded his arms and frowned at her. “Ye might do good work, lass, but I already told ye to leave.”
“Aye, ye did. But the fact is that ye werenae the one to request my services—it was yer man-at-arms, My Laird. Since he is the one to ask for me, he is the only one who can dismiss me.”
He hadn’t thought of that, and the truth in her words pricked like a thorn in his side.
Jude huffed. “This is my home. I can tell him I dinnae want ye within my walls.”
“Aye.” To his surprise, the words seemed not to trouble her in the slightest. “And ye can order me outside the walls of this castle. But that only means I’d take lodgings in the village, and yer man-at-arms would be responsible for payin’ for my food and rooms as well as my work. I cannae say for sure, but like as nae, it would cost more.”
Jude growled low in his throat and took a deep breath, fighting the urge to seek out Craig and throttle him. “I could just order Craig to dismiss ye.”
“And then I’d wonder why ye were refusing yer man-at-arms new or mended clothing, My Laird. A good many others might wonder as well, especially considerin’ the rumors that brought me here.”
Her response made his lips curl into a snarl.
The worst of it was that every word she spoke was true, and every point she made was sensible and well-thought out—exactly the arguments he should have guessed she might make.
I cannae even blame the drink and the ache in my skull, or the growling of my stomach, for both of those are my own doing as well. Dammit.
Still, her determination raised one question he hadn’t thought much of before now. “Why does this matter to ye so much, lass?”
Her shoulders stiffened, and something darkened her eyes. Her voice, when she responded, was as carefully controlled as his own when his temper flared. “It is partly because I’m a professional, My Laird, and when ye sent me away without even giving me a chance, it was a matter of pride to try and convince ye otherwise. Beyond that… I have reasons of my own for comin’ all this way and seekin’ work in yer castle, but they’re little concern of yers or anyone else’s. I can only say that other than work, I could be seekin’ shelter in yer castle. Would ye turn me away?”
The vague response was somewhat frustrating, but Jude understood both pride and the desire to avoid certain subjects. There were matters in his past and his life that he had no desire to speak of either.
He pushed aside his irritation and took a moment to consider the matter thoroughly, without his pride and stubbornness, or the ever-present melancholy that so often shrouded his thoughts.
The truth was, she had done an excellent job of sewing his trews. They looked better—and would look almost new once they’d been re-dyed—and they felt like they might be comfortable towear as well. Her sewing skills were far beyond anything Moira or his laundry maids, or even any of the village lasses, could produce.
And, if he was being honest with himself, he found her forthright manner, her boldness, her wit, and her courage a welcome change from the way most people tiptoed around him, wary of his temper.
The way she acted was different from Craig’s almost relentless attempts to be cheerful, or Moira’s sometimes smothering attempts to mother him.
Perhaps there’s nay harm in letting her stay, just for a short time.
Jude turned and handed the mended trews to Moira. “See that those are washed, and find someone to re-dye the fabric. As for ye…” He stepped closer to Valerie. “I’ll give ye seven days to show me yer worth. Ye’ll mend whatever Craig and Moira give ye. Pay will be room and meals, and recompense for whatever supplies ye need for yer work and ten silvers for every garment ye repair—triple that for any garment ye make from whole cloth. If ye can also mend tapestries and the like, ye’ll get ten to twenty silvers—depending on the work—and extra for yer skill and speed at the end of seven days.”
“I’ll give ye seven days to show me yer worth…”
At those words, Valerie felt a coiled knot of tension inside her break apart, like a string being snapped. Tension she hadn’t even been aware of drained from her shoulders, and the cold, hard lump of fear and uncertainty that had filled her faded away.
As a seamstress who’d made a living with her needle, she knew Laird MacFinn’s terms were almost ridiculously good—the sort of terms a highly reputable tailor in a larger city might impose. The relief she felt, however, made any further consideration feel unnecessary, as did the sense of smug satisfaction that filled her.
Still, she couldn’t help the soft, sly, teasing question that emerged, daring as it was. “And what of the curtains, My Laird? What am I to be paid for them?”
His scowl was half-hearted, seemingly more frustrated and exasperated than angry, as if this was an argument he’d had far too often to be truly irritated by it anymore. “I dinnae need any curtains—nor do I want ye changin’ them on a whim. I like the castle the way it is, lass, so leave it be.”
She’d proven her skills to Laird MacFinn, and proven them well. She knew that as surely as she knew her name. She’d seen the way he’d studied the trews she’d mended for him, watched his expression, and knew he’d found little, if anything, to criticize.
More importantly, she’d secured herself a haven for the next seven days. Even if she never saw a copper for her work—though she knew instinctively that the man was far too honorable to cheat her, especially after giving his word—the feeling of safety made his terms seem perfectly wonderful.
She stepped forward, her head held high as she met his gaze. “Room, meals, and supplies for a seven-day trial, along with the pay ye offer… Yer terms are agreeable enough, though I have one more request if ye will, My Laird.”
He frowned. “And what might that be?”