Chapter Seven
Laila had been given a bed in the servants’ quarters. By the time she retired after a lengthy orientation from the Lady McGowan, all the other maids were asleep, and Laila quietly found an open bed and fell into it. She was dead tired, and though the day had been a whirlwind that left much on her mind, including the striking physique of the blood-spattered brother who had burst into the study like a storm, she fell immediately asleep. Waking, unfortunately, was not as easy as sleeping, for she was still exhausted as the servants' quarters began to stir and snap into their morning action.
“Get up there, lass,” someone said.
The noise was incredible. There were dozens of voices chattering away, and as Laila opened her eyes, she saw a woman standing over her, wearing an apron covered in various kitchen stains, hands planted firmly on her hips.
“I said up!” she said, tossing a pile of clothes at Laila. “Me name’s Mary, I’m the one tellin’ ye what tae do, understand?”
“Yes,” Laila croaked, blinking her eyes open and grabbing hold of the clothes that had been thrown at her.
“Good! Now get dressed. It’s breakfast soon.”
“Oh good, I’m starving,” Laila muttered, rousing herself the best she could.
“Nay fer ye,” the woman laughed. “Fer the Laird an’ his brither. Now up!”
Laila glanced around at the bustling room, looking sheepishly for a place to change her clothes, and to her dismay, saw women changing in front of one another in the cramped room that served as their sleeping quarters. She also saw through a nearby window that the sun had not begun rising in earnest and was baffled at how early the servants started their day.
Trying her best to project a strong image, Laila slipped off her clothes, donned the servant garb, a plain dress with an apron fold, and threw her hair back behind her shoulders. The woman who had spoken to her a moment ago had vanished, but the smell of freshly baked bread floated into the room from the far end of the hall, and Laila began drifting that way between the clamor of the servant girls making ready for their day.
She found herself in the kitchens through the door at the end of the hall and was taken aback once more by how many people were at work so early in the day. It wasn’t even properly daytime yet, Laila thought and wondered how they could do it week after week. She was still exhausted from her travels and hadn’t slept near enough.
“Ye there!” the woman called out, waving for Laila to come over to the counter. Laila gingerly weaved her way between a pair of bakers carrying loaves of hot, piping bread, and she felt her stomach gurgle with want. “Right, Sir Kyle’s new servant?”
“That’s right,” Laila said, blinking the crust from her eyes.
“Oh, he’s a bleedin’ dream,” another servant gushed.
“Ye see him out in the yard, swingin’ that sword o’ his,” yet another chimed in. Suddenly Laila was flocked with servants, all doing some small task, while they got their piece in about the Laird’s brother. “Strong as all hell!”
“I’ll swing his sword fer ‘im,” another said, and the group burst out into a giggle.
“Me, I’d settle fer a kiss,” another said. “Just tae feel those shoulders.”
“Enough then!” the first woman boomed out, and everyone seemed to take heed. “Ye can play pretend later, ye got work tae do! Go!” and the crowd dispersed. Laila was entirely overwhelmed by everything around her and looked at the woman in charge with a helpless gaze.
“So, what do I do?” Laila asked, still amazed that the servants would talk so openly and vulgarly about one of the castle’s nobles. She wondered what had been said in the servants’ quarters back home at Willby.
“Take the Laird’s brither his breakfast,” the woman said, gesturing to a tray that was already made up with a loaf of hot bread and a flagon of ale. “Be quick aboot it. He’ll be done trainin’ soon. Likes it ready when he gets back. Go on now!”
Laila grabbed up the tray and followed another servant out the kitchen doors into the hall. She saw the servant set the tray down at the head table and walked that way, but the servant saw her and said, “Nay, he likes it in his chambers, in tae tower.”
“Right,” Laila muttered, turning around. She had no idea what she had gotten herself into and was beginning to doubt she could survive as a castle servant. On the surface, she knew how to sew and serve but keeping up with everything around her was something else entirely.
She carried the tray carefully through the yard to the tower and sheepishly asked a passing servant where Kyle’s chambers were. After being directed, she reached the door and fumbled awkwardly to hold the tray with one hand while she knocked on the door with the other. There was no response, so she knocked again, but still, there was nothing, so she cautiously pushed the door open.
What she found on the other side surprised her a great deal. She had seen the way her brothers kept their chambers back home, and she had expected some sort of mess along those lines, but the room was incredibly clean. In fact, it was practically barren.
There was a long chest at the foot of the bed, a small washbasin near the window, a sheepskin rug laid out on the floor, and a wooden table near the hearth. For someone of his stature, she would have expected perhaps multiple rooms with fine furnishings, but instead, she was looking at a sparse closet of a room. Unsure of what to do next, she walked over to the table and set the tray down.
“Good morrow tae ye,” Kyle’s voice made her jump, and she spun around to see him standing in the doorway, shirtless, with a large rag draped over his shoulder. She noticed two things immediately. First was his near herculean form, with a thin layer of glistening sweat coating every inch of his exposed skin, highlighting the line his muscles etched in his rugged torso. Second was his eyes. They were not the same flaming spouts of energy and fury they had been the night before when he had entered the study in a rage. Instead, they were calm, like the waves lapping gently at the shore after a storm had subsided.
“Good morrow,” she said, still flustered from the surprise and still not entirely awake from the early rising. “I have just brought your breakfast.”
“I cain see that,” he said, wiping down his chest with the rag and then tossing it atop the chest at the foot of the bed. “Thank ye.” Then he crossed the table, standing only a few feet from her, and drained the flagon of ale.
“How else can I help?” she asked, trying not to look his hulking body up and down. She had never seen a man so well built.
