Page 32 of Bride of the Mad Laird (Sparks and Tartans #12)

One Month Later…

Lyra had been up since before daybreak, creeping from the warmth of her bed while Tòrr slumbered on. She gazed on her husband’s dear face while he slept, his dark eyelashes curling on his cheek, his hair a messy tangle after their lovemaking.

After she’d washed and dressed quietly so as not to wake him, she hurried off in search of Claray.

She found her seated in the kitchen, gossiping with Bethia over a bowl of porridge and they both curtsied as Lyra entered.

“Oh please, dinnae let me disturb ye, I’m just...”

Both Claray and the cook chuckled.

“...ye’re just checking again that all the arrangements are in order fer the visit of dear Davina and her husband.”

Lyra huffed. “Of course. I am so tired of waiting; I need something tae dae.”

Claray laughed. “’Tis a long journey from Barra as ye ken. The Isle is several sailing days away. They’ll likely arrive today.”

Bethia silently filled a bowl with porridge and slid it across the table. “Come, Lady Lyra, break yer fast wi’ us.”

Both women knew well enough that Lyra, although she was now wed to the laird, did not stand on ceremony and often broke fast with them when Laird Tòrr was absent.

She ate her porridge, her head whirling, filled with thoughts of Davina, now the Lady Davina MacNeil of Barra, wife of the Laird Everard MacNeil, and how much delight she would take in her company when they finally arrived.

Once she’d finished breaking her fast, she took her leave of the two friends and made her way up to the battlements. The sky was pink and gold, a rare morning where the sun rose into a clear sky. As she peered across the blue sea for the umpteenth time, hoping to catch a glimpse of a sail approaching from the west, a brisk sea breeze caught her braid and blew wisps of hair around her face. The coming winter was in the air, yet the gardens in the bailey were still filled with the scent of roses in bloom.

She was gazing absently into the distance when Tòrr appeared beside her. Her heart lifted at the sight of him and when he neared, he took her into his embrace, folding his arms about her and layering her hair with little kisses.

He looked out to sea. “There.” He pointed toward the horizon. “D’ye see that wee speck?”

She narrowed her eyes, straining to see what it was he was drawing her attention to.

Her heart jumped. There they were, two specks in the vast blue sea. She turned to him, “Are they ships?”

He studied them with a well-practiced eye. “Birlinns, I’d say. I think I can make out their sails. If ye can contain yer impatience fer a few more minutes, ye’ll see them plain enough.”

They stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, as the tiny specks grew larger.

“Before they arrive, I have some good news fer ye, me love,” announced Tòrr, caressing Lyra’s hair.

“And what would that be, husband?” she smiled back at him.

“Ye ken we had tae write yer clan when MacDougall died, to tell them everything had happened very fast and that decisions had to be made before receiving an answer from them tae our first letter?” he said.

“Aye…” Lyra replied, with a hint of anxiety.

“The Council has written back, and fully supports our marriage and alliance. Of course, we ken now, after receiving their original answer, that yer whereabouts were not such a surprise to begin with, as they had received a letter from Maither Una telling them that she had entrusted ye tae me. However, they now wrote that they fully understand that there was nae time to plan a defense and are aware that marrying was the best possible decision fer ye, as the heir. We shall travel tae see them as soon as possible and to make arrangements fer the future of Clan MacInnes.”

“Oh, Tòrr! That is wonderful news!” Squealed Lyra in delight, her happiness knowing no bounds.

As they finally parted from their embrace, it was clear to see the two ships sailing proudly toward them.

“At last!” Lyra could scarcely contain her excitement.

After leaving instructions with Claray for a retinue of servants to join them, Lyra and Tòrr descended the path that would take them down to the noost, where the visiting birlinns would dock.

They passed the houses of the fisherfolk, all their small boats already at sea. As they walked along the strand, Lyra craned her neck hoping to catch a glimpse of Doddie, but he was nowhere to be seen. They arrived, finally, at the place where Tòrr’s birlinns rode at anchor beside the jetty, where the two ships would tie up and their guests would alight.

It was no small thing for Tòrr to be greeting his half-sister and her laird. He’d only seen her once before when she was first married and they’d made the journey to meet with him. Lyra knew he was looking forward to her meeting Davina, as much as he was looking forward to seeing his sweet sister and her husband again.

After what seemed an eternity of Lyra’s jumping from one foot to the other, the birlinns finally came into sight just beyond the noost. Within the space of a few short minutes, they were pulling into the dock.

A gangplank was lifted for the passengers to alight and Lyra’s delighted eyes finally alighted on her friend’s figure, her lovely mane of chestnut curls catching the sun in the dappled light. Catching sight of Lyra, she waved, a smile splitting her face.

As Davina stepped ashore Lyra ran to greet her.

“Ye’re here! I can scarce believe it.” They eagerly hugged for several moments and then clasped hands.

Davina turned to the tall, broad-shouldered man who came up behind her just as Tòrr stepped forward.

“This is me husband, Laird Everard.”

Lyra curtsied deeply. Looking up into the lad’s blue eyes she caught her breath. It was almost impossible to believe that her friend was married and now the Lady of the Isle of Barra.

Everard smiled, bowing from the waist. “I am most happy tae meet ye, Lady Lyra, me new sister-in-law.”

Lyra clapped her hands and turned her delighted gaze to Tòrr who had bent to place a kiss on Davina’s cheek and a solid hand on Everard’s broad shoulder.

“Come,” Lyra said impatiently, “I cannae wait tae hear all yer story.”

They had exchanged letters once Lyra was safely returned to Castle Dùn Ara, the place where her friend had spent the days of her childhood, yet very little of their stories had been related.

“But I wish to hear everything.” Davina responded with a laugh. “How was it ye came tae meet me braither Tòrr? When last we spoke ye were beside me at the Priory wall, where nay man would ever venture.”

Lyra couldn’t contain a laugh, even though it was a dire memory. “He saved me life.”

Tòrr chimed in. “That was the first of many times, as I recall.”

Lyra laughed. “Och. I’ve almost lost count of the many times me Mad Laird has saved me life.” She regarded him with glowing eyes. Although they laughed together now at how often he’d been called upon to rescue her, there was still an element of sadness that caught at her heart when she recalled his bravery and the way he had been so ready to sacrifice his life for her sake.

She reached for his hand and squeezed it briefly, an unspoken message passing between them. “Yer braither is a bonny lad indeed,” she told a smiling Davina.

They left the shore, where Tòrr’s crew were unloading their luggage and the cargo the MacNeils were trading – large jars of honey, mead and dried fruits and newly harvested sacks of barley. In exchange, there would be barrels of ale, and woven linen and woolen goods.

Upward they went along the rocky track, Tòrr and Everard guiding their ladies over the rough terrain. The gates of the castle were opened and it was Claray who stepped forward first among the assembly of chambermaids, scullery maids, and serving men, to welcome Davina home again.

Lyra watched, her eyes misting with tears to see the happiness on all their faces. Her own heart swelling with pride and the great joy it was to be reunited with her friend at last. No longer was Davina simply her beloved friend, but she was now her dear sister-in-law.

Claray whisked Davina and Everard away to their prepared bedchamber to wash and change their clothes in preparation for the evening’s feasting. Lyra and Tòrr took the opportunity to do the same.

Once the door of their bedchamber had closed behind them Tòrr seized a smiling Lyra and twirled her in his arms.

“It makes me glad tae see the happiness in yer eyes, me dearest.”

“And I am so grateful tae ye fer making it possible fer me tae meet with Davina once again.”

“Ye will nae only be dear tae each other as friends, but ye are family tae each other now.”

She stood on tiptoe to reach his lips for a tender kiss. “I didnae ken it was possible tae be so happy.”

“Ye’ve earned yer happiness, ye’ve waited so long fer this day and endured so much.”

“Aye.” She grinned, a hint of mischief in her green eyes. “I can hardly wait tae hear Davina’s tale, she also has suffered much.”

Tòrr nodded, a glimmer of regret in his eyes. “There were many sad times fer her, and dangerous ones, as there were fer ye.”

“But now all is well, and I can look forward tae the rest of me life as part of Clan MacKinnon.”

He chuckled, holding her tight, half drunk on her lavender scent. “We’ve yet tae return tae the MacInnes lands and re-acquaint ye wi’ yer people and the Castle Kinlochaline.”

She nodded, weaving her arms about his neck. “There is so much that awaits us.” She issued a heartfelt sigh. “Now, let us prepare fer the feast. There are hours of storytelling awaiting us.”:

Over the following days while Davina and Everard were at Castle Dùn Ara, there were many opportunities for talking.

Lyra was at last able fulfill her dream of walking freely on the clifftops. She and Davina spent many hours strolling together above the sea, the gulls wheeling overhead, as they related the events that had led each of them to the place of happiness they had finally arrived at.

Lyra begged forgiveness for her lies, and Davina readily forgave her, understanding precisely why it had been necessary.

The days passed all too quickly, their friendship renewed and deepening, while their husbands spent time in Tòrr’s study with a good bottle of whisky shared between them, discussing trade and their clans’ alliance.

Now that MacDougall was no more, trade flowed freely between the islands and south to England. They would prosper and the past would slowly lose its power to encroach into their thoughts.

The day of Davina’s and Everard’s departure came all too soon.

Although both Lyra and Davina shed tears as they clung together at the noost, Davina hardly able to tear herself away to board Everard’s birlinn, they were consoled in the knowledge that this was only the first of many visits.

Plans were already afoot for Lyra and Tòrr to travel across to the Isle of Barra and visit Davina and Everard at Castle Kiessimul.

“Dry yer tears, sweet lass.” Tòrr’s tone was tender as they watched the birlinns draw away and head for the open sea. “All sorrow is behind us now and the future shines bright before us.”

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