Page 11 of Bride of the Mad Laird (Sparks and Tartans #12)
CHAPTER ELEVEN
T òrr’s meeting with Edmund in the afternoon had resolved nothing. Although they’d been over the details of everything they knew about Lyra – starting from their first meeting with her in dire circumstances at the Priory gate. There they’d dispatched four of MacDougall’s gallowglasses, yet they still had no knowledge of why the man was pursuing her with such determination.
Edmund had simply shrugged when Tòrr asked what he thought was going on.
Tòrr persisted. “We protected a lass who was being abducted by four men. Since then, we’ve learned that the men we killed were in the pay of MacDougall.”
Edmund nodded, sipping his whisky. “D’ye think it likely that MacDougall is aware it was we who killed his paid men?”
“If him going tae war wi’ us spins on that detail, we could claim we ken naught about it.”
“Aye. His men cannae speak, they’re all feeding the fishes by now I would guess.”
Tòrr gave a short, sharp laugh. “Aye. I think dear Maither Una would have made certain they disappeared without a trace as soon as it was dark enough.”
“And the men who pursued me? They never got close enough tae recognize me.” Edmund refilled their glasses. “This is a fine dram, lad.”
“Aye. ‘Tis a good whisky.” Tòrr raised his glass. “Me thanks to the lads on the Isle of Jura.”
“I can only deduce that MacDougall’s men gained information in Fionnphort that made them assume I was taking the lass north to Dùn Ara. Thinking they were on our trail they made their way here in the hope of intercepting us.”
“And ye didnae oblige. Instead ye kept to the longer coast road. Because the rain delayed ye two, ye made it safely back to the castle in the darkness.” Edmund snorted. “Luck was wi’ ye.”
“Aye.” Tòrr shook his head at the thought of how close a call it had been. “But I dinnae like to rely on luck.”
They sat, lost in thought, sipping their drams, the fire sparking now and then.
Tòrr finally spoke. “So, we’re agreed. MacDougall is after the lass and he’ll likely pay nay attention tae the MacKinnons as long as we stay out of his way. “
“And that’s the problem lad. We are in his way, as long as Lady Lyra remains at Dùn Ara.”
Tòrr got to his feet to stoke the fire. He well understood the situation. Once his Clan Council became aware of what was at stake, they would command the return of Lyra to the powerful Laird MacDougall.
He returned to his chair and gazed bleakly into the fire. “The Council will nae agree tae her remaining here if it means risking MacDougall’s wrath.”
Edmund shook his head. “So, ‘tis a simple matter. We hand the lass to MacDougall, he’ll nae lay siege to Dùn Ara and the Council will be happy.” He studied Tòrr for a long moment. “But ye’ll nay agree tae giving over the lass.”
Tòrr shook his head, gritting his teeth at the thought of Lyra in the hands of Laird Alexander. “’Tis nae right wi’ me soul tae hand over an innocent lass tae the likes of a lecherous brute like MacDougall. Mayhap if we kent what he wants wi’ her, that could make a difference.”
“Aye.” Edmund nodded warily. “If he’s changed himself overnight into a good man, he may simply wish to return her to the bosom of her clan, where she’ll be cared for and petted like a lamb.”
Tòrr snorted. “That’s one for the fairies, lad.”
“Our men should return tonight or sometime tomorrow. I expect they’ll bring us news of MacDougall’s intentions.”
It was news Tòrr was dreading. Lyra had put her trust in him to keep her safe and, no matter what it cost, he would not break that trust. If, as he was almost certain, Laird Alexander MacDougall had naught but wickedness in his heart, Council or nae, he would not satisfy his demand. If that meant war between the MacKinnons and MacDougall’s men, then so be it.
He shook his head. “I cannae imagine the man has good intentions. The MacInnes clan have substantial lands on the mainland. Me guess is that he has designs on the land and Lyra is naught tae him but a useful pawn in his power game.”
Edmund could only agree with Tòrr’s assessment. “If ye’re right, and we uncover his plan, then then ye must call a meeting of the Council and ask fer their advice.”
“And if I convince them it is our duty tae protect the lass, we must prepare fer war.”
“Aye.” Edmund gave a resounding sigh. “I’ve already sent our scouts tae call up the lads tae make ready. Once they’ve assembled, both ye and I will need tae make sure they are well-armed and properly trained.”
“And we should make preparations fer a siege.” Tòrr kept his gaze on the dancing flames in the fireplace. Dùn Ara, with its sturdy protecting walls, was a strong fortress and had withstood more than one siege in its history. But withstanding a siege was punishing. Especially so, if the enemy was as well-resourced as Tòrr was confident MacDougal would be. “I’ll speak wi’ Bethia and ask her tae prepare supplies in preparation should such a dire event occur.”
The afternoon wore on with less pressing matters: the sale of a horse, the improvement of the track from the village, repairs to one of Tòrr’s several birlinns lying at anchor in the noost below the castle. Then there was the important issue of a fair price for trading wool with the nearby islands for their weavers to return with cloth.
Claray tapped on the door. “Yer supper is ready fer serving. Will I let Bethia ken ye’ll be taking yer seats in the refectory hall any time soon?”
“Thank ye Claray. We’ll be there forthwith.”
The two men rose to their feet, Tòrr, stretching to relieve a crick in his back after remaining seated too long.
As they wandered down the passage to the hall, Tòrr was thoughtful. “Once we’ve heard back from yer men, I’ll decide whether tae call the Council tae meet. But, until then…” He flashed a grin to his friend, “…I intend enjoying whatever delicacies Bethia has prepared fer our supper.”
They’d been seated only a few minutes when he caught sight of Lyra as she entered the hall. He found it impossible to keep his eyes off her tall figure as she walked gracefully toward the high table. With every step she took, his sister’s gown of deepest blue velvet swayed over her slender curves in such a way as to make his heart beat a little faster, shamelessly stirring his manhood.
She took his breath away. By the Gods, she was a true beauty. And tonight, with her hair wound around her head in a circlet of golden braids, wearing a gown fit for a princess, she was both untouchably regal and charmingly enticing at the same time.
As she took her seat between himself and Edmund, Tòrr found to his disgust that his hands were clammy and his mouth was dry. The Lady Lyra was unwittingly playing havoc with his senses.
“Ye’re looking well me lady,” he ground out.
She smiled, fixing him with her green-eyed gaze, her cheeks flushing pink.
There went that unwelcome movement between his thighs.
“Thank ye, Laird Tòrr. Ye are most kind.”
Several serving maids entered the hall with platters of hot food. Tòrr looked up with interest.
Edmund pointed to the platter placed before them. “Ah, haggis, one of me favourites.”
Grinning, Tòrr took up his dirk, ready to slice the haggis and turned tae Lyra.
“Would ye care fer some of Bethia’s haggis, me lady Lyra,” he asked, pointing to the traditional dish of oats and offal boiled in a sheep’s stomach.
She threw him a beaming smile.
“Why yes, thank ye, I should enjoy a piece.” She lifted her head, inhaling, as the steam rose from his first slice. “It smells delicious. Nay doubt Eilidh’s herbs make it extra tasty.”
He looked at her in amazement.
“Would St. Augustine approve? I thought ye didnae eat meat at the Priory.”
She spooned up a morsel of the haggis. “At the nunnery we would ne’er partake of the rich meats ye served last night. But, as ye ken, the nuns lead a frugal life, and made as it is from the left-over meat that the wealthy disdain, haggis suited all of us very well.” She took a mouthful, chewed and swallowed with a pleased expression on her face. “Mm. I must pass on me thanks tae Bethia.”
“And what d’ye ken of Healer Eilidh and her herbs? Which were used?” Tòrr asked.
“I’d say, rosemary, sage…” She pondered a moment. “And mint. Aye, definitely mint.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. She’d got the best of him and her gloating smile and the wicked gleam in her eyes told him she was only too well aware of her small victory.
He took up his spoon and loaded it with haggis. “Ye’ve fair surprised me lass.”
“After I spent time with Seamstress Purdie, I wandered in the bailey. ‘Twas glowing in the late afternoon sun, and there I came upon Eilidh.”
“Ah,” he said, nonplussed. “So ye are comfortable at the castle.”
She nodded, devouring the rest of her meal with gusto.
“And I thank ye again fer yer generosity in having Purdie make me a selection of gowns tae wear while I am here wi’ naught tae me name.”
His smile faded. “And methinks ye may be here with us longer than ye wish tae be.”
She threw him a sideways look. “Why, what d’ye mean?”
“Depending on what news me men bring from the village, it may be too dangerous fer ye tae travel. If MacDougall’s men are seeking ye…” He trailed off, not wishing to alarm her any further with the possibilities he and Edmund had discussed earlier.
She shook her head. “Ye mean, as long as I am at Dùn Ara ye will earn MacDougall’s wrath.” Frowning she turned to him. “Ye dinnae need tae hide the truth from me. I ken the kind of brute MacDougall is.”
He raised a tankard of ale and took a long draught. “Me chief concern is fer yer welfare, lass.”
She looked around, her eyes widening as if she half expected MacDougall and his men to materialize out of nowhere and advance into the refectory.
Edmund, who had been listening quietly, raised a hand. “Dinnae fash me lady. We’ve yet tae learn more. Mayhap tomorrow there will be news from our men as tae what he intends.”
Tòrr nodded. “Edmund is quite correct. Until then, ye must stay calm and trust that I am a man of me word. We have nay intention of letting harm come tae ye, Lady Lyra.”
Her hand on the table was trembling and he placed his own large hand to envelop it.
When she looked up and caught his gaze, the anguish in her green eyes tugged hard at his heart.
She remained quiet for the rest of the meal, only giving a wan smile when they served her a French-style flan with honeyed raspberries. Once she’d finished every last scrap, she wiped her lips on her linen napkin and turned to Tòrr and Edmund.
“Will ye excuse me from yer table, me lairds. I am tired now, yet I have enjoyed the day I’ve spent here. ‘Tis a beautiful place and I only wish I was able tae explore beyond the bounds of the castle.”
Both men stood as she rose from her seat.
“I’ll walk ye back tae yer bedchamber lass.” Tòrr offered what he hoped was a reassuring grin. “Just tae make sure ye ken there is naught evil or wicked lurking in the shadows tae make ye afeared.
She responded with a forlorn smile. “Ye did indeed read me mind. Our conversation has made me alert tae the danger that may nae be far away. I am thankful fer today, which I spent in such carefree terms. Mayhap from now on I’ll nay be so sure all is well.”
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm as they walked. The need to protect her swirled in his veins with his life-blood, growing stronger every passing moment he spent with her. He was hell-bent on keeping her from harm, whatever it cost. He would find a way to convince the Council that she must stay at Dùn Ara, to ensure she remained under the protection of the MacKinnon Clan at all times.
He opened the door of her chamber and glanced inside. All was safe and secure. A fire blazed merrily in the hearth, candles glowed on the mantel and the side tables, the scent of roses drifted in the air.
He waited until she was inside, then stepped out into the passage. She turned to him, all gold and midnight blue in the firelight. His heart stuttered momentarily as she dazzled him with her beauty.
“Thank ye, and good night, Laird Tòrr.”
* * *
Edmund looked up with concern when Tòrr re-entered the refectory and took his seat again.
“What of the lass? Is she nae feeling well?”
Tòrr shook his head. “Mayhap I said too much and made her afeared.”
“’Tis well she’s afeared. She must be cautious at all times. We still dinnae ken MacDougall’s intent, but I’m willing tae gamble a gold coin that whatever he intends fer her ‘tis nae good.”
“Ye’ll get nay taker fer yer bet from me.” Tòrr gave a short laugh. “I’m in full agreement. Yet I dinnae wish the lass tae spend her days and nights afeared.”
“Then the sooner we have the certainty of the Clan’s protection the better.”
“Och. Aye. If yer men return wi’ the grave news I expect, I’ll send the messengers out at once tae call the Council fer an urgent meeting.” He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the thoughts stream through his mind. “’Tis me fervent wish tae keep the Clan safe from bloodshed, yet I cannae sacrifice the Lady Lyra tae ensure this willnae happen.”
Edmund gave him a quizzical look, his brows drawn in a deep frown.
“I understand and I agree wi’ ye. But… can ye honestly tell me the lass hasnae bewitched ye?”
Tòrr drew in a long breath. “Pshaw. I’m nae a fool fer a bonny face, Edmund. Ye should ken that by now. Mayhap I’m too much of a hard-head tae fall in love. I’m merely concerned that a lass willnae be thrown intae the clutches of a man we ken tae be nay more than a brute and a savage.”
Edmund’s lips quirked in a wry smile. “Aha. So ye admit she’s got a bonny face then?”
Ignoring Edmund’s remark, Tòrr got to his feet. “If word comes tae me from our men, whatever time of day or night it should be, I will relay it at once tae ye.”
“And I will dae the same should the word come first tae me.”