The fireplace was growingdimmer by the second, and Lily had instructed Daisy not to throw in any more logs.
The day had drained her just as the previous one had, but she couldn’t complain. It was all good work, and while she wouldn’t directly admit this to Alasdair, she had felt far more fulfilled doing this than she had in a while.
Her eyes settled on the dying fire as it cast long shadows on the stone walls. She pulled her nightshift over her head and folded it away while Daisy stood close with a fresh gown.
“I thought the council meeting went well, daenae ye think so?” Lily asked as she raised her arms.
Daisy’s hands moved quickly, tugging and tying the fabric into place. “It did, me Lady.”
“If I am being honest with ye, a part of me thought the men would despise me and send me back to me village. Now that I say it out loud, I realize how ridiculous it sounds.”
Daisy laughed. “Ye were right to be worried, me Lady. But it all turned out well, did it nae? The council liked ye. I saw it in their eyes, though none of them would admit it so easily.”
A smile pulled faintly at Lily’s lips. “If only me parents were here,” she whispered.
The words ached, and she looked down at her hands as if they could carry the weight of her thoughts.
Uncomfortable silence stretched until she lifted her head again. “Tell me, Daisy. What of yer parents? What do they do?”
Daisy ran a hand over a crease in her sleeve. “Me ma died of a fever when I was seven. Me da works as a farmhand in Inverness.”
Lily’s brow softened. “Do ye see him often, yer da?”
Daisy shook her head. “Nay. I rarely see him, if at all.”
Lily frowned at her words.
“Ye daenae have to worry, me Lady. ‘Tis easier that way.”
“Easier?”
“Aye.” Daisy’s voice lowered. “After me ma passed, grief overtook him. He loved her too much, I think, and I reminded him of her—too much, maybe. Even the sight of me dragged him into despair, so I thought it best to do him a kindness and move away. Clan MacRay gave me a place. The former Lady MacRay took me into her service, and it steadied me. It did him quite a lot of good as well.”
Lily touched the maid’s wrist lightly. “Grief is illogical, Daisy. When tragedy strikes, folks seek someone to blame, and most times when they find nay one, they turn on themselves.”
Daisy smiled faintly, though her eyes glimmered. “I think he blames himself more than he ever blamed me. He always said there was nothing more he could have done to save her. Yet he never believed it.”
Lily’s gaze drifted to the fire. “I ken the feeling. ‘Tis the helplessness of watching someone ye love slip away while ye stand powerless. Me ma passed away some years ago as well. Grief shapes us all in different ways. But we must learn how to carry it, ye ken? Or else it will carry us.”
“Thank ye, me Lady,” Daisy said softly.
“Give him me regards when ye visit him.”
“I will. And… may I confess something?”
Lily arched an eyebrow at her. “Daisy, if this is about those dresses again?—”
Daisy laughed, shaking her head. “Nay. Nae this time. I only meant… I am surprised by yer kindness. Ye have shown me more of it in one week than I’d received in all the years I served here. The former Lady MacRay wasnae cruel, but she was indifferent. Ye are different. Ye look at me, and sometimes it feels like ye see through me.”
Lily exhaled, her mouth curving slightly. “That is what growing up with sisters will do to ye. One learns to read moods without words.”
She paused, remembering something.
“Speaking of which, I will need paper. I should write to me sisters and invite them to the cèilidh.”
Daisy’s face brightened. “That is a wonderful idea. The clan needs as much cheer as it can find. The wounded soldiers will be heartened by it, and their spirits will be lifted. The council hasnae stopped talkin’ about it?—”
Lily’s head turned sharply. “When did the Laird hear about it?”
