Page 24 of Bride of the Mad Laird (Sparks and Tartans #12)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
H e shook his head in surprise as she raised a dampened cloth and wiped the blood away.
“’Tis naught, lass.”
Shaking her head she glanced around the infirmary, where some men slept fitfully, others were slumped, groaning, heads or arms bandaged.
“It may nae be a deep as some, but it needs attention nevertheless.” He grinned, but did not protest as she directed him to sit in the one remaining chair.
He sat still while she cleaned the wound and wiped the dried blood from his neck
She dabbed at the cut, cleansing it with warm water and Eilidh’s special tincture.
Tòrr screwed up his nose. “Ugh. That smells bad.”
She pshawed. “Dinnae be such a wean. Ye may nae enjoy the smell, but it will keep this cut from festering.”
She spread the healing salve over the now clean wound. Tòrr was right, it was only a small cut, but she enjoyed tending to him. After all, he’d shed his blood on her behalf, even if it was a small amount.
“There,” she said, when she was satisfied. “It will heal quickly. Ye were fortunate the brute who did this was too slow, or he’d have taken off yer head.” She shivered.
“Aye, I believe that was what he intended.” Tòrr gave a quick laugh. “Now he’s feeding the crows.”
Her eyes clouded. It was impossible to smile at the thought of what they’d all risked on her behalf.
“I thank ye, Laird Tòrr, fer all ye and yer men have done tae keep me safe.”
Meeting her eyes, he reached for her hand. “Ye’ve gentle fingers, lass.”
He pressed it to his lips and brushed it with the gentlest of kisses. Caught in his darkened gaze Lyra breathed in his manly aroma. He smelled of leather and sweat and an indefinable scent that was his alone. Something passed between them as their eyes met. He held her gaze for a long moment while the flame inside her ignited, sending instant shards of heat coursing through her veins. She sucked in a breath, her fingers curling softly around his, as his eyes grew storm-dark. Her heart hammered against her ribs in a most unseemly manner that she was certain he could hear.
It seemed suddenly impossible to withdraw her hand from his.
Eilidh came bustling up and Lyra hastily pulled her hand away.
“Laird Tòrr, yer men will be well cared fer. Bethia has prepared special broths that will aid their recovery and several lads will be here tae lend their strength tae aid the men.”
She turned to Lyra with a smile. “I am most grateful fer all yer assistance today me lady.”
“I am happy I could be of use.” She picked up the bowl and cloth. “Now I will assist ye in cleaning up.”
Tòrr turned to go, but before leaving, he turned to Lyra. “If ye are able, Lady Lyra, I would welcome yer company in the solar this evening fer supper.”
She nodded and curtsied.
Once Tòrr had gone, Lyra and Eilidh set about gathering discarded hauberks which they left in a pile by the door for the blacksmith to repair, then they gathered soiled clothes and bloodied and torn shirts for the laundry women and the seamstresses to make good.
They rinsed their cloths in what was left of the clean water and spread them to dry on the bushes at the rear of the infirmary.
They were sweeping the floor, doing their best not to disturb the injured men when the first of the scullery maids arrived with bowls of broth and bannocks.
They set about feeding the patients, some of whom could manage by themselves, while two needed help. Angus MacGregor slept on peacefully, the only one who did not partake.
When the men were settled again, Eilidh placed a hand on Lyra’s shoulder.
“’Ye’ve done enough.” Her eyes were kind. “Now ‘tis time tae get ready tae meet wi’ the laird in the solar.”
Lyra’s heartbeat kicked up a pace at the mention of Tòrr.
“Are ye any closer tae deciding what ye wish?”
“Me heart battles wi’ me head. One wishes tae be wi’ the laird and the other longs fer me homelands.”
“Is it nae possible tae have both? I saw the way the laird looked at ye.” She chuckled. “Mayhap ye cannae see it, but he’s a man besotted if ever there was one.”
Lyra shook her head. “Why nae. Can ye explain to me what it is tae be besotted?
This brought another chuckle from Eilidh. “Besotted? Mad wi’ love. Cannae think of aught but the loved one. Lovesick.”
Lyra listened carefully. “Mayhap it is meself who is the besotted one, fer ye’re describing me.”
Eilidh drew her into a hug. “I see the longing in his eyes, lass. Now go and dine wi’ him and let both heart and head talk wi’ him and see what he has tae say.”
As Lyra traipsed back to the keep she pondered on Eilidh’s words. The notion that Tòrr could be in love with her had never occurred before now. He always seemed so aloof and was often at odds with her. Cross or even disapproving at times.
Yet, he had rescued her… how many times was it now? She was losing count.
But then, he was a laird, it was his duty to protect all those under his care.
And most bedeviling of all, when she’d kissed him, he’d moaned and held her tight. Surely that meant something. And, Eilidh was right, his eyes darkened when he looked into hers and she sensed a longing there.
Oh, it was altogether too confusing.
That evening she decided on the red dress, the last of Purdie’s creations. As she twirled in front of the looking glass she felt herself becoming bold and playful. Mayhap the laird is besotted. There was that wicked heat rushing through her veins at the very thought of it.
Elspaith brushed her hair so that it floated down her back in a waterfall of gold. For good luck, she went to her mother’s box and put on the gold amulet, turning it on her wrist, her thoughts on the mother she’d never known.
“Ye look very beautiful, me lady.” Elspaith said, seemingly awestruck.
Lyra was smiling as she swept out of her chamber and walked along the passageway and down the stairs to the solar.
He was there, by the fire, a glass of whisky in his hand when she walked in.
When he turned to greet her and their eyes met, she searched them for anything that would tell her of his feelings, but the firelight danced a reflection there and she could not read his thoughts.
She was breathless, quivering inside as if she would jump out of her skin at the slightest thing.
“Would ye care fer a tot of whisky, me lady?”
Offering a mischievous smile, she shrugged. “Why nae? I’ve nae had the pleasure before, as the nuns didnae partake of such luxuries.”
She took a sip, spluttering as the fiery liquid went down, but its peaty, smoky flavor was not at all unpleasant.
He was grinning. “Is that tae yer liking?”
She coughed. “Aye,” her voice was croaky, but she smiled, determined not to waver. She took another sip, this time the whisky slipped down with hardly a splutter. She felt it warming her veins.
“I wished tae thank ye fer yer care. Nae only tae me, fer me cut was small and of nae consequence, but I saw how kindly ye treated the men.”
Her cheeks burned at his compliment and she lowered her eyes. This acknowledgment meant far more to her than words of admiration for her hair or her dress. When she looked up, searching his eyes, she felt a glow of happiness, basking in his approval.
“I was pleased tae be of assistance tae Eilidh. I ken ye and all the men shed blood on me behalf. I wish ye tae ken I am grateful.”
He turned his gaze away from her and stared into the fire, leaving her with a sense of loss. His voice was gruff when he replied.
“I am at yer service Lady Lyra. As I have been since our first meeting in such inauspicious circumstances on the Isle of Iona. I care fer naught but yer wellbeing.”
Those were noble words, but surely not the words of a lad who was besotted? Her heart plummeted. His concern for her, as she’d always thought, was nothing more than the performance of his duty as a warrior and a laird.
“Thank ye fer yer duty tae one who is, unwittingly, under yer protection.”
She heard him give a soft huff, and when he turned back to face her, she saw with dismay his expression had changed. He frowned, his mouth drawn in a tight line.
“Me lady, surely ye ken by now that me feelings fer ye extend far beyond duty. Dinnae ye ken I am ready tae lay down me life fer ye? Surely, by now, I have proved it tae ye?”
Something wild and strong went surging through her at his words, and she drew herself up to stand tall, meeting his burning gaze.
“So, if ‘tis nae yer duty, what causes ye tae risk yer life fer me? What is it then, me laird?”
He gazed long into her eyes and she held her breath as his eyes darkened.