“You know,” Duncan whispered, “when I first saw you at your father’s house, you looked so tough, so full of wildness and spirit. I knew you’d challenge me. That is why I chose you, Eliza. I knew that you would relish a battle of wits.”
Eliza laughed softly. “You are a very good judge of character, My Laird.”
“I hope so,” he replied, “but I was wrong in one respect, Eliza. I never knew about your tenderness because you keep that side of you hidden under a mask of propriety. Thank you for showing me what lies underneath that mask, you wonderful woman.”
Eliza’s eyes were glittering with tears. “It is I who should be thanking you, Duncan,” she said, her voice husky with emotion. “You taught me what it feels like to truly give myself to you, and how beautiful it can be. I never dreamed anything could feel like that.”
Duncan cupped Eliza’s face in his big hands and kissed her again. “Let me show you again,” he said tenderly.
Eliza had not bothered to try to hide her presence from the household staff in Duncan’s bedroom that morning, but neither of them cared who knew about it any more.
“I am the Laird, and what I say is law,” Duncan said, when Eliza mentioned it to him.
She often remembered him saying those words when she was alone because she longed for him every moment when he was away from her.
The sewing kit was the most wonderful present Eliza had ever received, and she began to work on the dress she had promised Maisie straight away, much to the young woman’s delight.
Accordingly, Eliza took Maisie’s measurements and began to cut out the fabric, while she looked on in amazement.
Eliza talked her through the process and showed her how to do each kind of stitch, unhurriedly and precisely. She was a hard taskmaster and Maisie had to sew every stitch perfectly before she could proceed with the next one, sometimes having to unpick them several times.
When Eliza saw frustration and anger on Maisie’s face, she smiled. “I’m doing this for your own good, Maisie,” she told her. “I know what you are going through because I went through exactly the same thing when my mother taught me. It’s tiring and frustrating, I know, but you are improving with every stitch, and you will be glad you did it in the end, I promise.”
Maisie sighed, but smiled. “I know ye are right, Milady, but I have never had tae learn anythin’ like this before. It is hard, but I know ye’re right.”
Eliza smiled at her, then Maisie stopped sewing and went to fetch them some tea and cake. Cake was a rare treat for a servant, but Eliza valued Maisie’s service and loyalty and was happy to indulge her, after all they were not that different. She had been bought like cattle to play a part, she was not a real Lady. She also felt a great deal of pity for the girl, since her life had been so hard, and she wanted to improve it.
Eliza knew she could not help everyone, but when she saw the circumstances that many ordinary people found themselves in, she was determined to do whatever she could for them.
When Maisie brought the tea tray Eliza picked up her cup and sipped it without a second thought. She never tried it before she drank it any more, because she had learned to trust Maisie, and was sure that her maid would never do her any harm.
When they had finished a couple of seams on the skirt, Eliza inspected Maisie’s work and said warmly, “Well done, Maisie. This is excellent work.”
Maisie blushed. “Thank ye, Milady. I am so happy that ye think so.”
Maisie had to return to her work, though, and Eliza sat alone for a while, feeling warm and happy inside. She was helping her maid to acquire a skill that would stand her in good stead for the rest of her life, and she knew that Maisie would use it well.
Then came the unwelcome thought that she would not be around to see the results—which made her wonder what Duncan would do with her in the future after they had uncovered the traitor in their midst. If he did not marry her, would he set her free? Or would she have to suffer the sight of him marrying and perhaps loving a woman like Iona while she stayed in the castle as a servant or his mistress?
Eliza sighed and walked over to the window, trying to banish the unwelcome thoughts from her mind. Now was not the time to be dwelling on such things; whatever happened in the future, she was determined to enjoy her time with Duncan while she could.
Thoughts of their lovemaking came back to her; his big hands on her breasts, the feeling of fullness when he entered her, the blinding ecstasy of her climax, and the look in his eyes when he held her afterwards. She would never feel like this again—she was sure of it, and the memories that she was storing up now were all the more precious because she knew they would have to last forever.
Eliza shook her head to clear it of her unhappy thoughts, then picked up her embroidery hoop and a piece of fabric. She had a project in mind, and she was ready to begin, so that even if she was forced to leave Lennoxburn Castle, she would have something else to remember it by.
She remembered sitting by her mother’s side one morning when she was around ten years old, watching as she embroidered a picture of a rose which was so detailed it almost looked real, on a piece of pale blue silk. It was a work of art, and Eliza had been extremely jealous of her mother’s skill.
“Do you think I will ever be as good as you, Mama?” she asked.
Maria Tewsbury put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders and kissed her forehead. “You will be. Do you know why?”
Eliza shook her head. “Tell me,” she said.
“Because you love what you do,” she replied, her dark eyes smiling into her daughter’s. “So you will do it as well as you can.”
Her words had been prophetic because Eliza had indeed become an artist with her needle, and she had her mother to thank for it. Yet, the memory was bittersweet, after so many years without her.
She decided to wander around the Keep to occupy herself. As she was passing one of the main reception rooms, she saw that the door was slightly ajar, and she caught the sound of voices. They were not the voices of servants, for they were speaking English, not Scots or Gaelic, and her ears pricked up when she heard her name mentioned.
