Page 27 of Bride of the Mad Laird (Sparks and Tartans #12)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
T òrr was smiling to himself as he strode down the passageway to his bedchamber. His soul and body were on fire for Lyra, yet he held back, aware that for all her glorious passion she was an innocent and he must bide his time.
He was in a haze of her touches, her scent and her taste when to his surprise and dismay he saw Edmund approaching.
His smile faded as he opened his chamber door. “Come in lad. I wasnae expecting tae see ye again this night.”
Edmund cast him a knowing look. “’Tis a pleasant perfume ye have this night. Rose is it? Or lavender?”
Tòrr pshawed loudly. “Ye’re a cheeky lad. I warn ye, tread warily.”
“Indeed, Tòrr. I’d nae be here tae disturb yer pleasant musing, but I’ve had word from our guards.”
Tòrr’s stomach lurched. “What dae the lads tell ye?”
“Two of the four scouts we sent out tae patrol have returned.”
“And what of the others?” A stoned dropped into Tòrr’s belly. He was already anticipating bad news when Edmund shook his head.
“They dinnae ken where the others are. Their story is they were ambushed half a day’s ride from here. They fought hard and managed tae ride ahead of their attackers.”
Tòrr poured them each a whisky and handed the glass to Edmund. “MacDougall’s men?”
“They cannae be certain. It was dark and they had nay clear view of the numbers or whether the men wore the dun clothing that distinguishes them.” He gulped a mouthful of the amber liquid. “They heard them speak in a foreign tongue and believe them to be part of MacDougall’s party of gallowglasses.”
“Thank ye. I shall consult wi’ the men later when they’ve had some nourishment fer their trouble. We must go in search of the missing pair. How many were there that ambushed our lads?”
“Mayhap eight, yet they cannae be sure, as I said.”
“So, we must set out at first light. We’ll take a few of the lads who were wi’ us the other night at ‘S Airde Bein. I wish tae ken if we are dealing wi’ the last of MacDougall’s men or whether he’s sent a fresh cohort.”
Tòrr sighed heavily, his thoughts flying to the promise he’d made to Lyra to continue their evening delights. “Well at least we were granted enough time fer Faither Pádraig tae publish the banns.”
Edmund swilled the last of his whisky and headed for the door. “Let us pray that the Good Lord brings us all back safe tae Dùn Ara so that ye can marry the lass and put an end tae this skirmishing.”
* * *
It was still dark when the men left the keep the next morning. The party consisted of Tòrr, Edmund and six of their guards. At least their numbers matched the possible number of gallowglasses they were likely to encounter.
Before they set off, Tòrr scribbled a hasty note for Lyra, regretting his absence. He pushed the parchment under her door before he walked down the passage, imagining her sweet form, warm and safe beneath her coverlets, the scent of lavender and strewing herbs in the air.
This foray, no matter how he wished it was not necessary, would, with luck bring them sufficient peace for the reading of the banns two more times and for their wedding to be solemnized without delay.
The sun was already climbing when they reached the ambush spot pointed out by the two guards. They saw no sign of the two missing men. The knot in Tòrr’s stomach tightened as they searched for any sign but found nothing.
The earth had been well-trodden yet the tracks leading away were clear. He could make out the marks left by his two guards heading north to Dùn Ara and the rest heading south.
They rode on until they came to ‘S Airde Beinn and resumed the same position they’d been in two days before, when they’d first encountered MacDougall’s men.
This time they found the place empty. The bodies from their past skirmish still lay where they fell, the crows and buzzards making short work of them. Clearly, the other men had not ventured to this spot.
That meant they would have to continue their search.
By the end of the day there was still no sighting of the men they sought and it was decided to make camp. They did not light fires, not wanting to give away their position and they hunkered down, cold and exhausted.
Once again, Tòrr turned wistful thoughts to Lyra in her soft, warm bed at the castle.
The following morning, he hesitated before ordering the men to the more rugged country further west, where there were many mountainous places in which a troop of men could hide. Instead, they went east.
When, at the end of their second day of fruitless searching, Edmund approached him, Tòrr nodded. “Aye. We must head west. I have been reluctant to take that path, as we will be leaving the Dùn Ara castle all but undefended.”
They followed the tracks of a large party of horsemen, through the rough hill country and along the coast.
Edmund knelt and examined the tracks on one stretch that was muddied grass. “I’m guessing a party of more than ten horses made these tracks.”
Tòrr nodded. If these were MacDougall’s men, they were a long distance from Castle Duart.
“I ken they are taking a roundabout way to MacDougall's castle, supposing we willnae follow.” He gave a sharp laugh. “If we continue much further, I suspect we will be walking intae another ambush.”
“Aye. It may be wise tae turn back and let the swine go. At least they will be leaving our lands.”
They continued to the nearest village, wishing to replenish their supplies as best they could from the few local fisherfolk and small farms that clung to the coast.
They came to a scattering of poor dwellings close to the shoreline. Edmund and Tòrr dismounted as a tall, thin man walked from one of the cottages to greet them. He looked Tòrr up and down suspiciously as he introduced himself.
“Ye’re the laird?” the man, asked disbelieving.
“Aye. We are searching fer a party of rough men who have been menacing our lands.”
“They were here days ago. Like ye, they wished to ransack our supplies.” The man spat contemptuously on the ground.
“We’re nay here tae ransack, lad. We wish water, and if ye have any provisions ye can supply I’ll pay ye in coin.”
The man nodded. “We have little enough and even less since the thieves were here. I can give ye water, mayhap some bread, naught else.”
“What can ye tell us about these men?”
He looked Tòrr up and down. “Only that they went south after they left here. They spoke a tongue I dinnae ken. They held two men as prisoners. I’d say they were yer lads, they wore the same plaid as ye. The smaller of the two, a red-head, was sorely injured. He didnae go with them, fer he didnae make it. We buried him outside the reaches of our settlement.”
That would have been young Jaimie Ferguson.
Tòrr 's blood was rising to boiling point. It was a painful blow to discover that one of his lads had been killed. And the other...?
He turned to Edmund. “Tell the men to make haste filling their waterskins, fer we must return with all speed tae Dùn Ara. Once MacDougall learns from our man that I plan tae wed the Lady MacInnes, I have nay doubt he will dae all in his power to prevent the ceremony from taking place.”
They left the fishing village and rode north along the coast, Tòrr pushing them hard making every effort to return to the castle before MacDougall made a move.
Even travelling during the night with few stops for rest, it was already dusk on the second day before the castle was sighted. By the time they trotted their horses across the cobbled courtyard they and their horses were bone weary.
To Tòrr ’s enormous relief he found a pleasant sense of normality, almost as if the dark cloud of threat hanging over them did not exist and there was nothing but sunny blue skies.
He dismounted and left Paden in the care of the grooms and made his way inside the keep.
The place was buzzing with preparations for the ceilidh. Claray hastened to greet him and Lyra was not far behind.
As always, she dazzled him with her beauty, her face flushed with pleasure at the sight of him, her yellow hair falling in a long braid down her back to her waist. She brushed back wisps of hair as she curtseyed.
“Welcome back, me laird.” Her eyes danced with delight as she regarded him and he caught his breath.
Dear God, thank ye fer allowing us tae get back here in time.
“Yer presence has been greatly missed, yet in yer absence all preparations have been made fer the ceilidh tomorrow night.”
He slapped a palm against his forehead and gave a short laugh. “The ceilidh...?” While his head had been filled with nothing but war and kidnapping, the castle had been bustling with preparations for a celebration which he had altogether forgotten.
“Lass, there are urgent matters in hand. I wish ye tae attend Faither Pádraig wi’ me at once.”
She shook her head, her brows drawn together in bewilderment, but she did not protest.
Taking her hand, he strode down the steps of the keep and crossed the courtyard, Lyra almost running to keep up with him. At the door of the priest’s lodging beside the chapel, he rapped loudly on the door and barged in without so much as a greeting when the grey-clad priest opened the door.
“Apologies fer me rude haste, Faither, but I have news that has chilled me blood. I fear the castle will soon be under attack, and the reason fer that attack will be the Laird Alexander MacDougall’s intent tae prevent our marriage from taking place and tae kidnap the Lady MacInnes.”
Beside him Lyra gasped and clutched his hand tighter.
The priest looked at him in horror.
“I wish ye tae marry us, Faither, without delay, fer I believe it is the only way we may deter this evil from assailing us.”
Father Pádraig shook his head. “I cannae. The banns...”
“Ye’ve published the banns already, tomorrow is Sunday and I wish ye tae read the banns twice, before yer Mass and at it close. That will satisfy the requirement fer the banns tae be published three times. After that, ye will marry us.”
The priest looked askance at this. “It is most irregular, yet I believe it will stand. I will advise the bishop that this step was taken under special circumstances, in an effort tae ensure the lady’s safety.”
“Good. I thank ye Faither, and we will meet wi’ ye on the morrow.”
With that, he turned, still holding Lyra’s hand and headed back to the keep.
Once they had ascended the stairs and were inside, he took her in his arms, planting a row of small kisses in her lavender-scented hair. “Now, I must leave ye. I have sad business tae attend tae.”
Her features crumpled with concern. “What is it?”
“I must go tae the croft belonging tae the family of Jaimie Ferguson and take them the tiding of their lad’s demise.”
Lyra blinked away tears. “I was told two of yer lads were missing. Was he...?”
“Aye, he was one of the two taken captive by the gallowglasses.”
“I could go wi’ ye, tae honor one of the lads who had died because of me.”
He enfolded her in a tight embrace, his voice choking in his throat. “Nay, lass. Ye must stay safe within the castle, I cannae risk ye goin’ outside. I well understand yer need and yer kindness, but Jaimie died because of the wickedness of Laird MacDougall. That man is solely tae blame and ye must take it on yer conscience.”
“Then please pass me sincere condolence tae the Fergusons. Tell them I will light a candle in the chapel tomorrow fer Jaimie and he will always be in me prayers.”
“That will be a balm tae ken ye care fer their loss.”
She wiped a tear trickling down her cheek. “MacDougall should pay fer his crimes.”
Tòrr nodded, knowing in his gut that, with his Lady Lyra by his side, his role as laird would be all the stronger. She would care for his people as he did.
Encircling her with his arms, he bent to take her lips with his in a bittersweet kiss. He lost himself in her for a few short moments before he tore himself away.
“While I am gone stay safe, dinnae leave the keep, dinnae venture into the bailey.”
She nodded, but he could see she was reluctant to do as he said.
“Dinnae fret, lass. I dinnae wish tae treat ye as me prisoner, only tae keep ye safe.”
He dashed down the stairs and hastened across the courtyard. Glancing back before turning toward the stables his heart lifted. She was still standing where he had left her, gazing after him.
If everything goes well, tomorrow she will be mine.