Page 20 of Bride of the Mad Laird (Sparks and Tartans #12)

CHAPTER TWENTY

E ven before he ripped open the parchment, Tòrr felt the malevolence of the man who had sent it scrabbling with bony fingers along his spine, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise up.

The message was as he’d expected. Hand over Lyra, or death and destruction would follow at the hands of Laird MacDougall.

At least this would provide clarity to his Council. There was no doubting his adversary’s intention.

Resisting the urge to fling it into the fire, he placed the parchment on his desk and returned to his armchair. His mind was made up. There would be no acquiescence to MacDougall. Now, all he had to do was persuade the Council to come to the same decision.

He pulled his cloak around him and leaned back in his seat in a search for a comfortable position in which to spend the night.

* * *

After a fitful sleep, Tòrr woke before dawn. He rose and splashed his face with water, groaning at the discomfort in his back and shoulders.

He headed downstairs to the dungeon where he found the gallowglasses huddled under the watchful eye of the jailer, Tòmas, a stout fellow who always struck Tòrr as being far too cheerful for his role.

The two men were now clad in rough-woven shirts. He smiled at the thought of the itching the flax would incur.

He was yet to decide what their fate would be.

The men greeted him with groveling words.

“Please show us God’s mercy, dear Laird MacKinnon,” one of them said, his hands lifted in a parody of prayer.

The other was equally wretched.

“We bear ye nay ill will, me laird. We merely followed the orders of the man who pays us.”

“And who would that man be, pray tell?” Tòrr said smoothly, having no doubt at all who that man would be.

One of them nodded. “Why, ‘tis the Laird of the MacDougalls, he who resides in Duart Castle.”

Tòrr nodded and turned to go, but the other man cried out to him.

“If ye let us free, we’ll serve ye just as bravely.”

Tòrr pshawed loudly at this affront. “And, I daresay, with as little loyalty.”

He left the dungeon with instructions to Tòmas to provide the men wi’ water to drink and a bucket in which to relieve themselves.

Stripes of pink and gold were breaking through the grey dawn sky when he reached the battlements. He gazed out over the Sound, the water shimmering silver in the morning light.

He knew what he wished to say to his Council, but first they would need to hear about last night’s skirmish. The incursion into the castle was an act of war on the part of MacDougall and his missive laid out his demands in no uncertain manner.

The Council was now faced with a clear choice – hand over the Lady MacInnes, or face war.

A cruel fist was tightening in his belly when footsteps on the stone walkway had him turn to find Edmund hurrying toward him.

“Good morrow, Edmund.”

His advisor’s face was etched with lines he’d not seen before today.

“I cannae lie, me laird. From the few words I’ve spoken with a number of different Councilors, I am of the mind they’ll nae support the wisdom of keeping the lady under our protection.”

“But nay all share the same view?”

Edmund offered a grim smile. “I am certain ye will find some who support ye. ‘Tis yer task tae bring them all tae the same view as yerself. That we should risk war.”

Tòrr shook his head. “Nae. Risking war is nae longer the question, there will be war. He drew the parchment out of his sporran and displayed it to Edmund. “MacDougall makes it clear.”

As he read the parchment, the etched lines on Edmund’s features deepened. He handed it back, with a deep sigh of resignation.

Tòrr placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I dinnae trust that the man will leave us in peace, even if the Lyra is delivered into his hands. He will come tae punish us regardless.”

“I agree. MacDougall is nae a man who brooks defiance without inflicting dire punishment.”

Tòrr shrugged. “So we must prepare. Send word tae our allies that their support is needed and in the meantime we must make ready fer a siege.”

Edmund fixed him with a quizzical expression, an eyebrow arched. “And fer all this, ye have a plan tae persuade the Council tae accept yer wishes?”

“Aye.” Tòrr sent his gaze across the water to the distant horizon before turning back to Edmund. “Nae only dae I intend tae tell them I will seek the MacInnes help in battle. I intend tae marry Lady MacInnes meself.”

“Is that truly what ye wish?”

Tòrr followed this with a bitter laugh. “’Tis nay the way I ever thought I’d wed a lass – tae save her from another man’s bed – but I see it as the only way it may be possible tae deter MacDougall.”

“And will the lass agree?”

“Who can say?” Doubt curled in Tòrr’s belly. “She’s a headstrong lass, and I daresay being wed isnae what she wishes. I can but hope she would choose me before accepting MacDougall.”

This brought a laugh from Edmund. “Unless she’s wholly taken leave of her senses.”

At that moment Claray appeared at the head of the stairs, sparing them both any further speculation.

“Masters, the Council members are gathered, breaking their fast as we speak. Yer presence is required in the hall.”

“Thank ye, Claray.”

They followed her down the stairs ready to confront the Council.

It was clear from the dour faces that greeted them that most, if not all, had thought carefully about the words Tòrr had left them with last evening. Some were frowning openly, their disapproval hanging in the air like smoke. No doubt, many were already aware of the intrusion into the castle the previous night by the gallowglasses.

Once they were all seated and the serving maids had cleared away the empty platters, leaving naught on the table but ewers of ale, Tòrr stood to address the assembly.

“I thank ye fer yer attention and fer the effort ye all have made in attending this meeting at short notice. The matter we have tae discuss today is, in short, whether we are prepared tae go tae war with Laird Alexander MacDougall, or nae.”

The men greeted Tòrr by a shifting in their seats and an ominous rumbling of comments.

One of the grey-hairs spoke up. “Ye speak with unwonted directness Laird Tòrr.”

Tòrr dipped his head. “I regret that I am nae able tae offer alternatives that might sweeten the matter. But the events of last night, when our castle was invaded by four of MacDougall’s paid henchmen, puts paid tae any suggestion there is aught else on the laird’s mind. The men went straight tae the Lady Lyra’s bedchamber. Their intention tae abduct her was clear.”

Another of the older men, a stout, powerful figure with scars to prove his history as a warrior, responded.

“How could such a thing have occurred? Were yer guard nae keeping watch? I believed this castle tae be impregnable.”

“Nay, cousin. Our guards were able tae keep track of who entered, and so it was that we were warned of the intruders’ presence in time tae deal wi’ them.”

He went on to describe how his guards had been able to track down the miscreants. “All of them wore kilts in our plaid.”

Another younger man, who Tòrr recognized as another from the Isle of Ulva, raised his voice.

“So what this means is that MacDougall has already declared war. We cannae accept his men entering the castle, in disguise, fer the purpose of abducting a guest of our clan.” He thumped his fist on the table for emphasis.

This was met with a loud murmur of agreement that inched Tòrr’s spirits up a tad.

After this, there were calls for information about their allies and what numbers could be recruited to stand against the MacDougalls. Tòrr called upon Edmund to answer.

“I’ve already requested our local lads to gather and they’ll be here within days. Word has been sent tae the clans MacNeill, MacLeod and MacKinnon of Pabay, who have all pledged themselves as our allies.”

“But these are new allies. Will they hold, in face of a greater adversary?”

Tòrr rose to his feet to respond. “All these are allied wi’ our Clan through kinship. We are strong in our alliances and each of our allies is against MacDougall. I also intend tae write Clan MacInnes to ask fer help tae protect the Lady Lyra.” Several members nodded in approval at that declaration.

“Further, since King Robert took the throne of Scotland, MacDougall’s position is weakening. He supported Balliol against the king and he stands tae lose much of his wealth and lands.”

Another grey-hair stood to challenge him. “Aye, but if MacDougall is weakening, will that nay make him even more determined tae enter a marriage with the Lady MacInnes? She is heir tae substantial lands on the mainland which would be of great benefit tae MacDougall.”

“And they will be of great benefit tae the MacKinnons.” Tòrr said firmly. “Fer I intend tae wed the lady meself.”

At this, the hall dissolved into an uproar. Some folded arms and shook their heads, others poured tankards of ale and raised them. The cry of “Slàinte mhath,” rang out.

Edmund was grinning.

"Very clever lad. Clearly, yer stated aim of marriage with Lady Lyra has met with approval. At least among the younger ones. Their eyes lit up like beacons as the idea of expanding our lands caught fire. They'll nae resist the opportunity of thumbing their noses at MacDougall and building a new alliance wi’ a powerful clan.”

Tòrr’s grin widened. “If nothing else, I believe me marriage will buy us time. Once the word reaches MacDougall, he will make his own preparations. Yet it will take him some time tae assemble his forces if they are tae outnumber those of Dùn Ara and our allies.

“Before he advances we will assemble our men and reinforce the castle, and our allies will travel across the seas tae join us.”

Encouraged by nods of agreement all round, Tòrr decided to put the matter to the vote and have it decided once and for all.

Once the gathering had finally quietened, he made his announcement. “Those in favor of me marriage tae the Lady Lyra MacInnes, please raise yer right hand.”

To his great relief almost all hands were raised. Some were hesitant but eventually it was clear the majority supported his edict. The few dissenters were those he’d anticipated. Several of the older Council members and only one of the younger members.

Someone again raised a hand. “Now we’re agreed ye’re tae wed, the banns must be published without delay.”

Tòrr nodded. This would mean his wedding could not take place for at least three weeks. But it could not be helped. No priest would be prepared to officiate at a wedding if the banns had not been published and it was proven that no impediment to the marriage existed.

He brought the meeting to a close, with each of the chiefs heading back to home with promises to arm and return at once should they be called upon.

Basking in the glow of his success, Tòrr was happy to reassure all members of the Council that he was certain MacDougall would now accept that the Lady Lyra would never be his, and cease his threats and the prospect of war would diminish.

Night was falling as Edmund and Tòrr farewelled the last of the Council. All of them, even those who had not raised their hands in assent, wished him well and promised to attend the wedding in three weeks’ time.

Once the gate had closed behind them, Tòrr and Edmund adjourned to Tòrr’s study to discuss plans. Neither of them had any illusions that MacDougall would give up his pursuit of Lyra and that war would be averted for long.

“We have three weeks in which tae keep the Lady Lyra safe. She must be under guard at all times. We cannae risk another incursion from MacDougall’s men. And I swear the man will stop at naething tae carry out his plans.”

“Now,” said Edmund, as Tòrr poured them each a wee dram of whisky. “All that is left is the small matter of persuading the Lady MacInnes that ‘tis ye she should wed, rather than the MacDougall.”

Tòrr gave a rueful laugh and raised his glass. “Slàinte mhath.”

After fortifying himself with a few more splashes of whisky, Tòrr made his reluctant way to the Lyra’s bedchamber. He knew he must apprise her without delay of what had taken place at the meeting, ye he quailed at the prospect. She’d made it clear that the prospect of wedding MacDougall or any man was not what she wished. She had, more than once, told him in no uncertain terms that what she wanted, above all, was to return to her clan lands and make her own choices about how she would live out her life.

He wiped clammy hands on his kilt.

What if she refuses me. I cannae be like MacDougall and claim her against her will. Yet I dinnae ken another way tae keep her safe from the monster.

He was halfway along the passageway when he came to a halt, swiveled in his track and headed back the way he’d come. He made for the stairs and went up to the battlements.

This was the place he’d always come to when he was troubled by thoughts and problems for which there was no simple solution. The wind blowing through his hair helped to blow sense into his thoughts, and the deep velvet of the night sky and the tiny shining diamonds of the stars kept his troubles in perspective. There was something so much bigger than he was, that would prevail even after he was gone to his Maker. In the great scheme of things, his troubles were like grains of sand in the ocean.

Although it seemed simple enough to wed the lass, he’d given little thought to his own heart’s need. While he knew he wanted her in his bed – and there was no doubt of that – what would his life be like if he were tae take an unwilling bride?

He knew well enough there were many loveless marriages meant as nothing more than allegiances between clans and the siring of an heir. But he’d seen the pain that caused and he’d always hoped for more when it came to his turn to wed. His own parents had been deeply unhappy. His mother had given her heart to another before she wed, yet was forced into marriage with his cruel father.

He’d lived that disaster first-hand, and vowed to himself he would never repeat such a complete failure and the terrible unhappiness it engendered.

Now, here he was, contemplating what Lyra would think of as a marriage of convenience. Nothing more than a marriage forced upon her, with her lands and the allegiance with Clan MacInnes as the stakes.

He remained there in the dark, inhaling the cold, salt air coming off the sea, his mind drifting, thoughts of Lyra uppermost. He pictured her golden tresses floating around her like a glorious cloud, her green eyes flecked with silver gazing into his, the softness of her alabaster skin and her scent of lavender and wildflowers.

His heart was beating fast by the time he took to the stairs, heading for Lyra’s chamber. For him, this was not a marriage of convenience, a mere game of dice with the spoils of land going to the winner, but rather a lifetime of protecting and caring for someone who made his heart sing, and his shaft stand to attention with desire.

His heart was hammering against his ribcage by the time he reached Lyra’s chamber. He knocked softly, not wishing to alarm her.

“Who is there?”

“’Tis Tòrr, may I enter?”

There was a half-smile on her face when she opened the door, but it did nothing to conceal the anxious expression in her eyes and the line drawn between her winged brows.

“This is a rare moment, Laird Tòrr. ‘Tis something of a change tae have ye tap at me door rather than fling it open without knocking and stomp inside without an invitation.”

He grinned. “I’ve learned tae practice caution, me lady. I’ve become used tae the fact that there’s a lady staying under me roof at Dùn Ara.”

She made a small curtsy. “And I am most grateful. But I must ask, what news dae ye bring tae me chamber this evening?”

He bowed from the waist, returning her curtsy. “I am here tar tell ye about the decision made at the Clan Council meeting today.”

“I see.”

She stood tall, facing him, her gaze unflinching, her head high, as if she was proudly preparing to meet the executioner’s axe.

“Me day has been spent on tenterhooks, as I ken me fate was in the hands of yer Council. I await yer news, Laird Tòrr. Am I tae be thrown like a piece of meat at the mad dog who wishes tae force me tae wed?” Her voice wavered slightly, but she remained composed despite what he knew was the agony of the moment.