Page 4 of Bride of the Mad Laird (Sparks and Tartans #12)

CHAPTER FOUR

L yra stared in dismay at the puddle of black wool on the floor that was all that remained of her nun’s garb. Truth to tell, she was glad to shed the voluminous, scratchy, woolen garment. She undid the bundle of clothes Tòrr had left beside the bed and gazed at the unfamiliar clothing.

She quickly donned the striped linen kirtle, and the blouse. She rolled the thick knitted stockings above her knee and tied them, then she slipped the fur-lined tunic over her head. Her boots were still soggy, but they would have to do. She untied the string under her chin, and took off her cap. From now on, she was no longer a nun, but was determined to embrace the world that was still an unknown. Even though she greeted that thought with trepidation, her heart beat a little faster at the thought of whatever adventures lay in store.

If only the Laird Tòrr had agreed to escort her to the tavern. As that thought crossed her mind her resolve wavered. Yesterday’s encounter with the gallowglasses was still too present in her mind. She quailed at the prospect of finding her way alone to the tavern in search of a stranger who was meant to help her.

But what if the gallowglasses were in the tavern? She’d have no chance to escape. What if the man she sought was not there?

All at once the excitement at the adventures before her shrank to the size of a walnut, replaced by a growing certainty that there was wisdom in travelling with the laird. She fumbled with the lacing on the shirt. She must make ready to travel with the laird. Mad or nay, at least she could be sure he meant her no harm.

While she was lacing her boots, the door opened and Ailsa came into the room bearing a bowl of hot water and linen cloths. “Fer ye tae wash,” the bairn said. “There’s porridge and cream awaiting ye downstairs.”

“Thank ye lass.” Lyra quickly rolled up her sleeves and splashed water on her face and neck, removing the salty tang. She took one of the linen cloths and dried off.

Ailsa cleared her throat as if she wished to speak.

“What is it, little one?”

“Yer hair, me lady. I dae believe I could braid it fer ye.”

Lyra’s hand shot to her hair. Part of it was hanging in untidy wisps around her face, the rest of the braids had come undone and sat like a bird’s nest under her cap.

She laughed. “That would be helpful. I must be a sorry sight.”

“Why nae, me lady, ye are very pretty and yer hair is a most pleasant yellow color.” The child’s nimble fingers straightened out the knots and tangles and smoothed out the fair curls down Lyra’s back. It was only a matter of minutes before her hair was braided and wound around her head.

“There, ye look a right picture.”

Lyra smiled at that. Vanity and concern with appearance were strictly forbidden at the Priory, yet a secret part of her was enjoying her first compliment. Unbidden, the thought flashed into her head that the Laird Tòrr might also find her pretty. Strangely, she rather hoped he would.

“Is Laird Tòrr still breaking his fast?”

Ailsa nodded. “Shall I take word tae him that ye will be joining him?”

Lyra hesitated, slowly coming to a decision. “Yes, Ailsa. And please inform him I shall be travelling with him.”

Once Ailsa had trotted off, Lyra rolled up the remaining items, a chemise, another shirt, and stockings and tied them into the bundle. She would have liked a hair-brush, but fingers would manage well enough. Leaving behind her cap and the remnants of her nun’s habit, she left the room and hurried down the stairs. She was somewhat puzzled at the way her spirits lifted at the decision she’d made to accompany Laird Tòrr on his journey. Surely, she was only exchanging one savage for another.

He was seated at a table by the fire and looked up as she entered the room. “So ye’ve seen sense and decided tae forgo yer addled scheme of visiting the gallowglasses in the tavern?”

Bristling at his scornful words, she threw her own back at him. “Aye. There is little to choose between yer rough manners and the brutish gallowglasses. But ‘tis better tae stay with the devil one already kens than tae strike out with a complete stranger. I’ve decided ye are the better of the two.”

He gave a sharp laugh. “Och. ‘Tis indeed flattered I am tae hear that. And what makes ye think I am prepared tae take ye with me?”

Her heart stuttered.

Am I mistaken? I believed he offered tae take me tae his castle Dùn Ara.

She raised her head imperiously. “Well, if ye’ve changed yer mind, I’ll chance me luck at the tavern.”

“Nae, lass.” He shook his head and gestured to the chair next to his. “Ye’ll be safe wi’ me. Now come break yer fast so we can be on our way without delay.”

She huffed with indignation at his teasing. He was so mercurial she had no way of knowing if he spoke seriously or was merely playing his own game with her. She made up her mind not to fall into his trap but to keep her distance. Her life at the Priory had not prepared her for one who was a savage who could kill without turning a hair, in the next moment jest with her and bring a smile to her lips, while before another breath, he could cut her with coldness.

All the same, he was good to look upon with his chiseled features and his grey-blue eyes that regarded at her so piercingly and safety was her prime concern. Once she was well away from danger, she could make plans to return to her clan.

“Thank ye, Laird Tòrr. I appreciate yer offer of protection.” She took her seat, placing her bundle beside her.

Without responding he raised his tankard and drained the ale. “There’s porridge, cream and honey fer ye there.” He rose to his feet. “I’ll go see saddle me horse. Make haste.”

She watched him stride toward the door, observing his confident gait and the way he held his head high. It was near impossible to believe she would soon be riding with him to some distant place she had no knowledge of, save that it was his home.

After a mouthful of porridge, she put down her spoon. Her stomach roiled and her appetite fled, even though she’d eaten naught since the previous morning. After her close brush with poison last night, she feared she might never enjoy a meal again. She collected her bundle, straightened her skirt and went in search of Tòrr.

He was waiting beside a tall, black horse at the end of the path outside the cottage, an impatient frown creasing his winged brows. The two children stood with him, but upon her arrival they bowed their heads and said their goodbyes.

Taking her bundle, he thrust it into the saddle bag and re-fastened the leather strap. His eyes lingered on Lyra for a few long moments as he looked her up and down. He nodded. “’Tis a pleasure tae see ye are nae a black crow after all.”

She narrowed her eyes. Black crow? So that was how he’d seen her. She ignored the tiny pang of disappointment that followed his words.

He placed one foot in the stirrup and with one graceful movement was seated astride the great horse. She glanced around, seeking the second horse she’d be riding. Although she’d never ridden one before, Tòrr made it look as easy as being seated in front of the fire.

Once he’d settled himself in the saddle he reached for her hand. “Ye’ll be sharing the ride wi’ me lass.”

Was it fear of being too close to the laird, mayhap being held by his strong arms, or just the sudden fright at the reality of her situation that made her heart stutter so annoyingly.

“Nay, I’ll nae share yer saddle,” she blurted out with a fury that surprised even her. “How dare ye. I am a lady, nae some common wench who would sit a horse alongside wi’ a… wi’ a…” She had trouble finding a word for him, “…an ill-mannered lad such as yerself.”

He wiggled his hand with a degree of impatience. “Ye’re nae in the cloisters now, lass. Ye’re in the big bad world, where ye’ll find manners are nae as they are wi’ the good nuns.”

She tossed her head and folded her arms. “I’ll nae share yer saddle.”

He grinned. “Ye’re in the world of men now and ye need to take care. Dinnae delay. I wish tae be gone and I’ve nay mind tae waste time. If ye wish me tae leave ye here…”

His horse moved restlessly and he tightened his hold on the reins and the horse tossed its head. “Steady Paden.” Tòrr turned back to her, extending his hand.

Grumbling under her breath she reached for his hand. He lifted her so she could fit one foot in the stirrup for leverage then he hauled her to sit sideways on the saddle.

“Ye’ll need tae place yer leg tae the side. Perched where ye are, ye’ll nay stay long on Paden’s back.”

Gritting her teeth, she managed to extricate her leg from her skirt and gingerly place it across the horse, so that, finally, she was seated astride. As Tòrr urged the horse forward with a click of his tongue she took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and clinging to the pommel leaned as far away from him as was possible in such an intimate space.

At one point, he leaned forward, tugging on the reins and his hand brushed her thigh. She sucked in a breath. It seemed that out of sheer devilment he allowed his hand to linger there for a longer than was seemly. Her thigh burned as if he’d placed a hot coal against her flesh.

She gave an indignant squeal, pushing his hand away, gritting her teeth, “How dare ye take such a liberty.”

His smug laughter simply enraged Lyra even more.

“Have ye ne’er felt the caress of a man, wee nun?”

She huffed. “Yer behavior is most improper.” She raised her chin even higher, waiting for an apology that never came.

Once they’d left the village the road forked. He chose the rougher track leading along the waterside.

“Edmund would have taken the other road.” His tone was nonchalant and altogether unrepentant. “It’s shorter, but any of the gallowglasses who failed to catch up with him will be returning the same way. Taking this track, we’ll be sure to avoid them.” He gave a short laugh. “It’s makes for a bumpy ride, lass, so yer backside will be in fer a pummeling.”

She gave a disgusted huff at the unmentionable word ‘backside’. How dare he even think of such a private part of her body. She gripped the pommel even tighter, holding herself rigid.

They continued on for the rest of the morning without seeing another soul on the road, the horse walking most of the way over the rutted path. Occasionally he broke into a trot, which shook Lyra to the very bones. But she somehow managed to stay upright, clinging for dear life to the saddle, determined not to touch Tòrr if she could possibly help it.

Coming to a stone bridge over a burn he slowed the horse. “We can stop here fer a few moments tae ease Paden’s load and fer him tae drink and graze a while. Ye can relieve yerself if ye wish, but dinnae tarry. I wish tae be on me way with all speed.”

He dismounted and helped her down and after tethering Paden to a low-slung branch he headed upstream.

Left alone, Lyra was uncertain whether she should be grateful or cross at having been ignored again. Apart from birdsong and the burn’s gentle burbling, all was quiet. For the first time since she’d left the Priory her senses absorbed the calm and she felt the tenseness in her body draining away. She breathed the fresh, crisp air, and took in the beauty of the forest, clad in its gold and crimson autumn glory.

Nevertheless, despite Tòrr’s uncouth mentioning of it, and not knowing when they might stop again, she decided it would be wise to relieve herself.

The problem was, as she tried to venture into the nearby woods, her legs had turned to water and she could scarcely lift her feet. Finding a broad, concealing tree, she lifted her skirt and attempted to lower herself. It was then that the true discomfort of her rigid seating arrangement and her hours in the saddle over the rough track made its presence felt.

Apart from the weakness in her legs, the pain darting up and down her back, and the terrible stiffness in her arms, her poor backside was suffering mightily. Just as that mad brute had foreseen.

Why, this sorely mistreated part of her anatomy was bound to be black and blue after only a morning’s ride.

It was with great difficulty that she managed what she’d intended and finally hobbled back to the place where the horse was tethered. Tòrr was waiting, a mean grin spreading across his face.

“I am pleased I can provide ye with such amusement,” she snapped in a voice tinged with sarcasm.

This only brought on a guffaw and a smug expression that made her itch to slap his face.

Head high, she allowed herself to be unceremoniously hauled into position on the saddle in front of Tòrr.

“Are ye certain ye wish to ride stiff-as-a-tree-trunk. I can assure ye, ‘tis a sight more comfortable tae let yerself be loose and flow with the movement of the horse.”

She pshawed at that, maintaining her stalwart position, her unfaltering gaze on the road ahead.

Yet, it was not long before she allowed her shoulders to loosen. Gradually her back eased and her tight grip on the pommel slackened a little. Tòrr was right after all. Rigidity was miserable. It was far more comfortable to sway with the horse’s movements and to rise and fall as he trotted.

Without realizing, she found herself molded to Tòrr’s broad chest, attuned to the rhythm of his breathing, feeling his soft breath in her hair.

This was altogether pleasant. Just as she’d feared it would be.

They continued in this way throughout the afternoon, without a word passing between them.

It was one thing to be nestled against this wild man, but quite another to engage in friendly talk.

They avoided a tiny village clinging to the shore, following a track through the forest until the village was long out of sight before resuming their journey on the rutted road. It was not until the daylight began to wane and the twilight bloomed around them that Tòrr spoke again.

“We’ll stop before long. I’ll make a fire so that we’ll sleep warm under the stars tonight.”

By the time he found a suitable spot among the trees, not far from a small burn, it was almost dark.

“I hope we’re concealed here. I dinnae wish me sleep disturbed by the likes of those ruffians.”

Lyra shivered. “Dae ye think they may still be after us, even here?”

Tòrr shook his head. “I’ve nay idea, lass. But if they are determined tae seek ye out, there’s nay telling what they might dae.”

Her growing peace-of-mind shattered into tiny pieces. She’d been imagining all day that they’d escaped her pursuers, but Tòrr’s words were a stern reminder of their vulnerability.

Although she had witnessed Tòrr’s fighting ability and reckoned he could defeat his enemies, hardly turning a hair, if he was sorely outnumbered, even such a strong warrior as he was, might succumb.

After helping him gather stones from the burn to make a fire circle, she wandered among the trees in search of kindling. She gathered an armful of suitable twigs and dried leaves while Tòrr dragged in a hefty branch that would keep the fire lit for hours.

In a few moments a friendly fire was blazing.

They shared a repast of boiled eggs, oatcakes and cheese that young Ailsa had packed for them. To Lyra it seemed she’d never eaten anything so delicious. She was ravenous, and this moment under the stars, warmed by the fire, with Tòrr by her side, she felt secure and protected in a way she’d never experienced.

Seated cross-legged, savoring the moment, she was lulled by the dancing flames, her eyes gradually closing.

“Come lass.” Tòrr broke into her dreaming. “’Tis time ye slept.”

He went to Paden, who was tethered quietly nearby, and took out a woolen rug from the saddle bag and spread his cloak on a dry spot beside the fire. “Lie yer wee self here.”

She moved to the cloak and rolled into a ball, pulling her own cloak tight around her as he laid the rug over her. “Thank ye,” was all she managed before she contentedly succumbed to sleep.

It was only when the fire had burned down and the cold was creeping into her bones that she registered Tòrr’s sleeping form beside her. Sleepy, her teeth chattering, she curled herself in behind him, seeking his warmth.

He shifted in his sleep, and she tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder. Somewhere, buried deep, was an awareness that it was not at all proper to be lying under the stars with a Highland warrior. But, then again, she reasoned, no one in the Priory had ever explicitly forbidden this exact set of circumstances.

She pushed the troublesome thought from her mind, cuddled closer to Tòrr and was immediately claimed by sleep.