At The Laird's Command (Sword and Thistle Book 3) by Laurel Adams Read Free Book Online Page A

a way to assist with the day-to-day work of the castle.  
    In the morning, I set aside the pearls with a wistful sigh, then donned the most respectable garment I had. When Brenna came to tend me, I had her help me loop my braid at the nape of my neck for modesty.
    Then, mustering my courage, I went to billeting room where the respectable ladies and Macrae kinfolk were gathered to make cloth for the effort. I knew how to spin and sew; I was eager to do it. But no sooner had I appeared in the doorway than did Lady Fiona rise and block my entrance. Smiling brightly—too brightly—she escorted me from the sewing room to say, “My dear, I have my daughters and their reputations to think about. I cannot have them associating with a woman of your ilk.”
    She was the daughter of a laird and the sister of a laird and the aunt of my laird. Even before the laird ruined me, she would likely have said the same thing. I was a crofter’s daughter; she was a lady of landed wealth. But now that the laird had taken me to his bed, I knew that my lowly social origins were not her foremost objection. “My lady, surely at a time like this, all hands are needed—”
    “This isn’t the first siege I’ve lived through,” Lady Fiona snapped. “And it probably won’t be the last. But a lady’s virtue must be guarded well, so that it may endure eternal.”
    I swallowed, waiting for the pain of my shame to blossom in my chest.  
    Yet, it did not.  
    Because if the laird was pleased with me, then I ought not care what Lady Fiona thought. Nor her daughters. And I suddenly realized what a blessing the laird had given me by asking me to devote myself to his pleasure and his alone.  
    Why he’d given me some manner of armor!
    “I find my virtue in doing my duty by the laird,” I said simply.  
    Then I turned and left her gawping, for she could hardly argue with that.
    Having no where else to go, I wandered down the stairs to where my sister worked with the physicker, madly grinding something to a powder with a mortar and pestle. She knew herbs—healing herbs—and was determined to keep the castle well-stocked or well-organized. I had to confess, while she’d never been terribly reliable at home on my father’s croft, away from our father’s oppressive presence, my little sister had recently come into her own.
    “Can I grind that for you?” I asked, discomforted by the change in our roles.
    Blowing a tendril of hair out of her eyes, Arabella looked up from her worktable and held out a jar for me. “You can tell me what this says before I end up mixing the wrong things together.”
    I stared at the smudged markings on the jar, but could make no sense of them, a thing I was embarrassed to admit, since I’d been taught to read at the laird’s command and expense. “I’m—I’m not sure what it says. Does the physicker have some idea?”
    “He says he’s never seen it before and doesn’t know how it came to be amongst his collection. And he also said he didn’t have time for my nonsense. A direct quote…”
    “I can try to find out if you let me take the jar.”
    “Take it where?” Arabella asked.
    “To Ian Macrae. He’s the one who taught me to read.”
    She snorted. “I don’t see what place a big brawny warrior has playing your school master.”
    “The laird told him that he must,” I said.
    She snorted again. “Is he always obedient? Because between you and me and these gray stone walls, I must say, I’m not sure the man can be trusted.”
    “He…” I trailed off, not knowing exactly what I meant to say of Ian Macrae. He was the laird’s kinsman, but a thorn in his side. He was a close advisor, but a hostile one. Though he’d never been particularly kind to me, he’d also risked his life to protect me. “Before the siege, when you were captured by the enemy, and the Donalds tried to capture me too, Ian was nearly killed defending me, so I cannot say a bad thing about him.”
    But I also couldn’t speak