Page 12 of Bride of the Mad Laird (Sparks and Tartans #12)

CHAPTER TWELVE

S leep proved elusive.

Tòrr had finally succumbed to slumber when he was jolted wide awake by a loud, terrified scream.

He pulled on his britches, grabbed his dirk and his cloak and dashed out the door of his chamber and into the corridor. He halted, listening, his heart racing. God’s hooks . Had the castle been invaded? Were they under attack?

He waited, poised, flinging his cloak around his shoulders, his hand clutching his dirk. All was quiet. Had he dreamed that dreadful sound? He shook his head as if to clear it and make certain he was not dreaming.

He was about to retrace his steps when he heard another sound. This time, the scream was muffled, as if a hand had been placed to suppress it. His heart leaped. It came from Lyra’s bedchamber.

Approaching her door, silent in his bare feet, he pressed his ear to the heavy timber. Nothing. Then it came, a soft, heartbroken sobbing.

Without further thought, he put his foot to the door to the door and rammed it open. The broken inside-latch fell onto the stone floor with a loud crash.

Instead of the intruders he’d anticipated, all he found was a startled Lyra sitting up in bed, horror struck, her eyes wide.

He raced to her bedside. “Lass, are ye all right?”

She seemed dazed, her eyes not yet fully awake, her hands scrabbling at the bedcover, tears dampened her cheeks.

“I heard ye scream. I thought…” He did not dare finish the sentence and say aloud the terrible thought that had assailed him in the brief time since he’d heard her scream.

That she was harmed.

She clutched at his hand and he took it in his and held it tight. Tears continued to fall from her eyes.

“What was it,” he asked when her eyes finally met his.

She sniffed and gave a small shudder. “’Twas something I dreamed.” She looked up, her eyes almost pleading. “Yet it seemed real.”

After a long pause, still holding his hand, she went on. “’I dreamed I was in a castle and I was wi’ me faither. He was telling me a story when two men suddenly came into the room where we sat by the fire.” She shuddered again, her face clouding. “Mayhap me thoughts went over what I saw when I was awake. It seemed real tae me. I saw the men take out their dirks and in a trice me faither was nay more. I ran from the room.” Her voice trailed off.

Tòrr shook his head, his jaw set in a grim line. “Ye dreamed yer faither’s murder?” When she didn’t respond he spoke again. “Mayhap it was real enough. Mayhap ye were present when it happened.”

She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, shaking her head. “I dinnae ken. Yet when I came tae the Priory, Maither Una kent me faither had been murdered. His men who took me there must have told her.”

When Lyra looked up, there was a question in her eyes. “I always understood there was danger, but tonight I believe I understand more than I did. I believe I saw the murderers.”

“Would ye ken them if ye were tae see them again?”

“Aye. I believe I would. Their features were clear. One of them may have been the Laird Alexander MacDougall himself.”

“’Tis but a dream, lass.” He attempted to reassure her. There was more horror in her story than he had comprehended. If it were the case that she had seen the faces of the men who had taken her father’s life, she was in even greater danger than he had previously believed. His resolve to keep her away from MacDougall became iron clad.

He ran his fingers through his dark hair, his mind racing. He was even more anxious for word from his men he needed the Council’s approval to keep Lyra at Dùn Ara.

Her eyelids drooped, so he quietly laid her hand under the covers and she slid her head down, coming to rest to the pillow.

“Dinnae fash, Lyra,” he whispered. “I’ll nae leave ye.”

He sat beside the bed, watching her slowly drift off to sleep, listening as her breathing grew deep and even. Then he rested his back against the form, satisfied that she was peaceful again. By the time he finally closed his eyes, the grey light of dawn was creeping through the window above.

Claray’s knock roused them both.

Tòrr got to his feet from his place of discomfort beside the bed, rubbing his back and yawning as the housekeeper entered the room.

“The lady had a bad dream…” He made as if to explain his presence in the chamber.

God’s hooks. Why am I explaining meself tae the housekeeper? If I wish to visit a lady’s bedchamber I dinnae have tae make excuses.

He glanced at Lyra who had left the bed and shrugged on a linen robe over her night shift. She offered a grin that was pure mischief.

“Mistress Claray,” she said politely. “I was grateful tae the laird fer his comfort during the night after I was visited with a dream of horror.”

Claray nodded, glancing from Tòrr to Lyra. “I am glad ye found some solace in the laird’s good company.”

Her disbelief was patently obvious, yet her face, wreathed in smiles held no disapproval. She presented a tray with a bowl of porridge, honey and cream along with oatcakes and jam, placed it on the table in front of the fireplace, and reached for the iron poker beside the fireplace.

“Dinnae bother, Claray. I’ll see tae the fire.” Tòrr took the poker from Claray and brought a flickering fire back to life.

“Thank ye, me laird.” Claray bobbed a curtsy and hurried out of the room.

Once Claray had left them, Tòrr turned to Lyra.

“I’ll leave ye tae break yer fast, Lyra.”

His heart registered her soft, flushed cheeks, and the tumble of wayward curls falling across her face.

She gave him a sleepy smile. “Were ye by me side the rest of the night?”

“Aye. Ye slept like a wee bairn.”

She laughed softly and briefly touched his hand. “I thank ye fer yer concern.”

Her touch was as soft as a butterfly’s, yet it brought the ghost of a smile to his face.

She raised a hand. “If ye’re hoping tae protect me good name, Laird Tòrr, I fear the damage may already be done, should Claray take it upon herself tae gossip at finding the laird in the lady’s chamber at daybreak.”

He frowned. “I dinnae believe this will happen. Claray kens enough tae hold her tongue.” His frown faded and he smiled. “If ye dinnae intend me tae leave fer fear of wagging tongues, are ye inviting me tae stay and break me fast wi’ ye?”

She moved to one of the chairs by the fire and seated herself there. “I wish tae thank ye fer yer kindness tae me last night, nae tae send ye on yer way as if ye were naught but a servant.”

With that small encouragement, Tòrr seated himself by the fire. “‘Twas me pleasure Lady Lyra. When I heard yer scream, it turned me blood tae ice and I rushed tae save ye from the gallowglasses I imagined had invaded yer chamber.”

“Yer comfort helped me through the night.” She reached a hand and rested it on his thigh.

Something like a lightning bolt shot up his leg, coming to rest in his manhood. He felt himself growing hard.

He hauled in a deep breath and turned his gaze to Lyra. She was not looking at him with lust in her eyes as he half-hoped but seemed to be quite unaware of the storm she was raising in his blood.

He gritted his teeth. “Lass, dinnae ye ken what it daes tae a lad when ye place yer hand in such a way?”

She snatched the offending hand away, frowning. “Whatever d’ye mean, me laird?”

He huffed a deep sigh. “D’ye nae understand what happens between a lass and a lad, when they…?”

“Are ye speaking of the way that weans are made?” She made a moué of disgust. “I heard a lass in the convent speak of it. It sounded quite ridiculous tae me.”

He sighed again. “Did nay one tell ye that it felt good?”

She threw him a puzzled look. “I cannae believe such a thing could be pleasant.” Growing thoughtful, she spooned the now almost-cold porridge into her mouth. “So…” She thought some more. “How daes such a thing relate tae me hand on yer… er… leg?”

He laughed. “Never mind, lass. I cannae explain it. Mayhap ye can seek out yer new friend Eilidh and ask her these questions.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “She seems a wise lass, mayhap she will be able tae help me understand.” Turning to him she proffered a sweet smile. “I’m certain that ye could place yer hand on me leg in the same manner as I did yers, and I would still nae ken what ye talk of.”

Now there’s a perfect challenge.

“I ken the nuns didnae include such matters in yer education at the Priory.”

“Of course nae.” She shook her head, causing the curls to fall about her face and neck in a way that sorely tempted his fingers. He reached across and teased one long strand over her shoulder, tucked it behind her ear, and trailed a finger softly down her throat.

A glance through long lashes and a flush of pink on her alabaster cheeks were his reward. He inhaled a satisfied breath. It seemed his touch may have affected her in a manner similar to his, after all.

“So what did ye learn in the nunnery, except fer yer prayers and complines?”

“Why, I learned all manner of household things – making soap, darning worn clothing and torn stockings, stitching, embroidery. I helped wi’ the laundry and the garden.”

“Were there nay lessons other than the Good Book that told ye of the world of men, then?”

“As I said, the nuns taught nay such things.” She gave a soft chuckle. “Yet, when I learned tae read, I read many forbidden stories that some of the other noble charges brought hidden with them, that spoke of men and women.”

“And what were these men and women daeing in these stories, pray tell?”

She flushed again. “They disrobed and lay wi’ each other.”

He guffawed. “And what else did they dae, these men and women of ancient times?”

“There was kissing and embracing. And sometimes a lad climbing into a window tae lie abed wi’ a beautiful lady. There was much talk of pleasuring, but they were all godless heathens.”

“And did ye like those saucy tales?”

She sighed. “I took enjoyment in reading them.”

“And did Maither Una ken ye were reading those wicked tomes?”

“Why, I am certain nae.”

“Yet, fer all that, the thought of making a wean makes ye pull a face and turn up yer nose.”

“Oh, that’s an altogether different thing,” she said, airily.

He decided that he’d progressed far enough with this turn in their conversation. He now had some understanding as to why she was so unaware of the way her touch set his heart racing and the blood pounding in his veins. He silently accepted the challenge she’d unwittingly laid down. One day – he hoped not be too far in the future – he might have a chance to test it. His mind took a rough path through the possibilities that would open up once he started imagining his hand, her satin skin, her thighs…

Once again, he pulled himself back from the brink. She’d only just now demonstrated her innocence and he was not a man for debauchery. Especially not with a lass who’d known nothing but convent life since she was a bairn. No matter how she twisted his heart and made his shaft hard.

Once he was confident the bulge in his britches had faded, he got to his feet.

“I must off, lass, there is much I must see tae.”

She gave a knowing nod. “Ye’ve nae heard back from the men who went seeking word of MacDougall?”

He offered a wry smile at her astuteness. “Ye’re correct. I will meet wi’ them as soon as the news comes that they’re back. They are expected tae return any time.”

She got to her feet and clasped his hand. “I am afeared of MacDougall. Me belief is that the presence of his men so near tae Dùn Ara bodes nay good.”

He pressed his hand to hers. “I share yer concerns lass. I dinnae wish tae lie t’ye and neither dae I wish ye tae be afeared. Ye are safe within the walls of the castle, and ye must remain here.”

He saw the flash of fear once again in her green eyes and wished it were otherwise.

“But I wish tae return tae me own clan. All those years, resigned as I was tae spending me days at the Priory, I remembered me home with longing in me heart.”

“When the danger is over, I will make it me duty tae escort ye back tae yer home.”

“D’ye promise?”

He hesitated. The thought of her leaving, was like a sudden lead weight on his soul.

“Aye lass, ye have me promise.”

Once he had returned to his chamber he thought long and hard on that, resolving that he had to harden his heart. The Lady Lyra had somehow slid under the cold, hard, shell he’d constructed since childhood to guard him from pain. Knowing he must abide by her wishes and take her home once she was free to leave, he would do all in his power to close himself to her.

However difficult that might prove to be.