“Might I have an escort to Frances now?” Lorna repeated, turning her back to Lady Murdina.
“Aye. Ye may.” Gunn spied the perfect maid for the task. “Ebby!”
The gangly lass set down the candlestick and polishing cloth, then jumped when it fell over and clattered to the table. After righting it again and giving it one last dusting off, she came running.
“Aye, my chieftain?” The eagerness in the bumbling maid’s eyes made her a favorite in the keep even though she fumbled at everything, often destroying everything in her path. Mrs. Thistlewick shrewdly kept her away from any tasks involving fragile items.
“Take Mistress Lorna to Bella’s floor,” Gunn said. “See her settled into Freyda’s old room.”
Lorna’s devotion to the children had decided him. He trusted her. At least for now. The entirety of the situation bore watching. He considered himself a fair man and would give Lady Murdina a chance. After all, the contract stipulated thirty days. Perhaps the woman was just a wretch when weary.
“And I wish ye to become Mistress Lorna’s personal maid,” he added to Ebby. “With this being her first time here at Thursa Castle, she will need yer help in settling in and being at her best for the weans. There are plenty of bedchambers in Bella’s suite. See that everyone is made comfortable.”
“I will, my chieftain.” Beaming a proud smile, Ebby curtsied, then turned to Lorna. “This way, mistress. I shall see ye want for nothing.”
“Thank ye, Chieftain Sinclair,” Lorna said.
Leeriness and something unidentifiable still flashed in her eyes. This lass needed something. If only she would trust him.
He offered her a polite bow. “Ye are quite welcome, Mistress Lorna.” He watched her walk away, finding himself wishing she had stayed so they could talk longer.
Lady Murdina’s faint huff made him turn to address what appeared to be petty jealousy. He countered her unreasonable huff with a snort of his own. “I felt sure ye wished the nurse caring for yer son to always be close to him and at her best, aye?”
“Of course, m’lord,” she said. “I feel certain whatever ye decide is always best.” Her pained expression did not match the tone of her sentiment.
“And that is another thing,” he said. “I prefer to be addressed asmy chieftain, the Sinclair, or by my Christian name,Gunn.” With a dip of his chin, he added, “I feelm’lorddistances us too much. After all, we have thirty days to see if we can reach an accord. We shouldna keep ourselves aloof from one another. Do ye agree?”
“Of course. I shall bear that in mind, my chieftain.” Lady Murdina’s left eye took to twitching again. It fluttered so hard and fast, she pressed a finger to it.
“Are ye unwell?” Gunn hoped she would use that as an excuse to flee back to her rooms. The way their first meeting had gone so far had filled him with nothing but regret. The only bright point was he knew he would never love her.
Well, that wasn’t the only bright point. The mystery surrounding Mistress Lorna Merriweather intrigued him. Almost as much as the lass herself.
“Perhaps ye wish to return to yer rooms for a while?” he asked.
“I am rather tired.” Lady Murdina dipped a weak curtsy and offered her hand. “Pray excuse me. I shall see ye after I have rested, m’l…my chieftain.”
He took her hand and bent over it but chose not to kiss it. He just wasn’t in the mood to play the game. “Rest well, m’lady.” A calculating smile curled his lip. “Once ye are rested, ye can meet my daughter, Bella.”
“I look forward to it.” Her eyes narrowed as she slid her hand out of his. Without another word, she flounced away.
Gunn didn’t spare her a second thought. He was more interested in discovering more about Mistress Lorna.
“Jasper!” he bellowed. “I have a task for ye!”
Chapter Four
Lorna sat onthe stone ledge, hugging her knees as she stared out the window. Her warm breath fogged the glass, but it didn’t matter. She looked within rather than out at the frozen land. Nothing made sense. And she had no clue how to survive or what to do next. The immediate choices that sprang to mind were to laugh hysterically, sob uncontrollably, or simply throw up. Or a combination of the three. Seventeenth-century Scotland. How the bloody hell had this happened?
“Mistress Lorna!” Ebby gently scolded as she chunked another log into the fire. “Ye will catch yer death sitting there. Come here to the fire and see the table I set for ye. And I didna chip a single dish!”
“I am really not hungry.” Lorna didn’t pull her gaze from the snow-covered landscape. She hated to dampen the friendly maid’s enthusiasm, but eating was at the bottom of her agenda at the moment.
“’Tis nothing grand. Just warmed bannocks and soft cheese. Enough to settle yer wame till supper.” Ebby sidled closer to the hard ledge of the windowsill and patted it. “Whilst ye eat, I can fetch some pillows for yer seat here. Make it more comfortable. Would ye like that, mistress?” The tall young woman clasped her hands in front of her narrow middle and rocked back and forth from heel to toe.
Lorna bowed her head and covered her eyes. A heavy sigh left her. It took every last shred of control she possessed to keep from crumbling into an inconsolable mess.
“What can I do, mistress?” Ebby asked softly. Her tone echoed with sympathy as warm and caring as a hug. “I will do whatever I can to make things better for ye. Swear it on my grandmam’s grave.” She perched on the ledge, leaned over, and peered up into Lorna’s face. “Do ye wish for someone else to be yer maid ’stead of me? I can run and ask the chieftain or Mrs. Thistlewick. They’re sure to send another lass who doesna bumble about as much as I do. She could be here quick as a wink.”
