Page 7 of Bride of the Mad Laird (Sparks and Tartans #12)

CHAPTER SEVEN

T òrr poured a dram of whisky each for himself and for Edmund.

“ Slàinte mhath ,” he raised the glass, savoring the smoky, peaty fragrance before taking a sip of the amber liquid.

“And tae yer continued good health, me friend,” Edmund responded.

The whisky was mellow but with just the right amount of fire. Tòrr savored the burn as it slipped down his throat.

The two men stood by the fire in Tòrr’s study. Gazing into the flames, Edmund cleared his throat before turning to Tòrr, his usually smooth features etched with a deep frown. He hesitated.

Tòrr braced himself. Something was not right.

“Out with it man, what’s this news ye’ve gleaned fer me?”

“First off, we’ve nae entirely escaped the gallowglasses.”

Tòrr started. “Hell and its devils lad, what d’ye mean? Did they follow ye all the way?”

Edmund shook his head, “I was certain I’d escaped them, nae long after I left ye and the lass back in Fionnphort. Me horse had nay trouble outpacing those Highland ponies of theirs. I made good time, while ye went slow on the road by the shore.”

Tòrr gulped another mouthful of the fiery spirit. “So, what makes ye think they’re still on our tail?”

“’Tis fortunate ye came under cover of darkness. Me men tell me they were awaiting ye at Tobermory, expecting ye and the lass would pass there.”

“So yer men have seen them?”

“Aye, in one of the taverns in the town. There’s nay mistaking the rowdy bunch of ruffians in their dun-colored kilts. ‘Tis easy enough tae tell by their way of speaking that they’re nae from hereabouts.”

“So what else did yer men discover?”

Edmund let out a deep sigh and reached for the decanter of whisky to pour another dram for them both.

“It seems the gallowglasses are in the pay of the Laird Alexander MacDougall.”

Tòrr sucked in a surprised breath between his teeth. God’s blood. MacDougall was behind this?

“I kent the man was nae our friend before today, although he masquerades as such, and I’ve long believed the rumors that he’s allied himself wi’ the English king.” He scratched his head in disbelief. “Yet I’d ne’er have thought he would so openly be our enemy as tae send his mercenaries intae our lands.”

Edmund nodded, giving this several seconds of thought before he replied. “Aye. I’ve puzzled on this since me men brought me the news. I’ve dispatched them tae return and seek out the gallowglasses. I want tae ken what they want wi’ us.”

Tòrr placed his glass on the table. “I cannae but think this is connected tae the lass, Lyra, who they hunted at Iona. Somehow they’ve discovered she has accompanied me back to Dùn Ara.”

“Och.” Edmund gave a small laugh. “Seems our rescue of the lady has brought more trouble tae our doorstep than we could have imagined.”

“Aye. We’ll need tae take care. Make sure Lyra daes nae leave our walls, and make sure the men are aware of possible danger.”

“I’ll instruct the men tae keep an eye on her and prevent her from leaving the castle walls.”

Tòrr nodded. That would not be good news for Lyra, who fancied herself strolling on the cliff tops, the wind in her wild curls, enjoying her freedom from the constraints of the Priory.

He walked to the study door and stepped outside into the passageway with Edmund by his side.

“We can discuss more of this later Now, ‘tis time I took some nourishment. ‘Tis been a hard three days and I’m looking forward tae me own bed and some good fare tae fill me belly.”

As they sauntered toward the refectory, Tòrr’s thoughts were swirling with the news he’d just been given. It was a startling revelation that the mercenaries were in MacDougall’s pay. However, it made sense for he was one of the few men with sufficient wealth to hire a company of gallowglasses. Yet what he wanted with Lyra remained a mystery that Tòrr needed urgently to unravel.

While his mind was busy with plans to find out more, he recalled the lass’s horrified reaction when they’d arrived at the road leading to Duart castle, MacDougall’s stronghold on the Isle of Mull.

Certain that the answers lay with Lyra, he entered the refectory determined to find out who exactly she was and the reason for MacDougall’s pursuit of her.

They’d only just seated themselves at the table when Claray, accompanied by Lyra, entered the hall.

Although she was still clad in the worn kirtle that was certainly showing signs of wear after their travels, her face lit up when their eyes met, and her plush lips had him hankering for a kiss. Her hair, tumbling freely down her back, enticed his fingers.

He pulled his glance away as she advanced toward them. He would do well to keep his wits about him. Whoever this lass was, she’d brought them much closer to a powerful enemy than he cared for. A clan war with MacDougall was to be avoided at all costs. While his father Murchadh was alive, there had been an uneasy truce between the MacKinnons and MacDougall, but he’d never trusted Laird Alexander.

Tòrr’s alliance with the MacLeods and the MacNeils built on marriage and kinship, strengthened the advantage of the MacKinnons. Yet the bond between the three clans was new and untested.

Would those clans risk MacDougall’s wrath and come to his aid should it be necessary?

Tòrr and Edmund rose to their feet as Lyra joined them.

“I trust yer chamber is tae yer liking?” Tòrr shifted in his seat to make room for her as she sat.

She smiled prettily. The sparkle in her green eyes meeting his gaze aroused a certain discomfort beneath his kilt.

“I’m nae at all certain that I willnae lose meself in such a large space. In me life at the Priory there was nowhere I could call me own. Everything was shared with others.”

“Is the idea of solitude distasteful tae ye?”

She shook her head, causing an abundance of curls to dance enchantingly about her face.

“’Tis something I look forward tae discovering.”

“Me dear sister will visit soon and she will provide ye with the companionship of a lass, at least fer a short time.”

She nodded politely, but he could see this line of talk held little interest for her. Clearly her thoughts were elsewhere.

Bowls and platters of food were put before them, a haunch of venison, lobster and cockle shells, yet it seemed Lyra had no appetite, for she ate little. He was a little affronted by her disdain for the hearty spread.

He leaned over and said softly. “Ye’ve eaten naught but a few cockles and a carrot. Is the food nae tae yer liking?”

She placed her spoon on the bowl. “’Tis rich food fer me. I’m nae used tae meat and these savory sauces.”

He chuckled.

Of course. How could I forget? The lass has brought the ascetic world of the Priory with her.

If he remembered right, St. Augustine discouraged all but the most rudimentary meals and was a strong supporter of fasting.

He signaled to a passing scullery maid. “Lass, bring a platter of cheese and oat cakes, with berries and nuts.”

Lyra reached over laid her small hand over his. “There’s nay need. I’m nae hungry.”

A delightfully wicked tingling shot up his arm from the place where her hand lay. It progressed all the way to his groin where it teased his shaft in a most unseemly manner.

By the saints! What in all that’s hellish is wrong wi’ me? The lass has nay idea what she daes wi’ her smiles and her touches. It was sheer hell riding fer three days wi’ her sweet form pressing against me – and she couldnae have cared less.

Taking a deep breath he shifted in his seat, glancing at Lyra sideways. He could swear she didn’t so much as register when he gently removed his great hand from beneath hers.

As the meal drew to a close, Claray appeared beside them at the table. She curtsied and smiled at Lyra.

“If ye please, there’s hot water ready fer a bath if ye wish tae bathe before ye take tae yer beds.”

Lyra grinned and, without a care, pressed her hand on his arm. “Och, that would be wonderful. I cannae wait tae wash away the grime of me days of travel.”

The sudden vision of Lyra, naked and pink in a tub of hot water almost took his breath away. He nodded his head, shifting in his seat to hide his discomfort.

“Thank ye, Claray. But I’ve more business tae attend tae this evening before I can claim me bed.” He turned to the beaming, delighted Lyra. “But, of course, by all means enjoy yer bathing Lady Lyra.”

He stood as Lyra rose to her feet. She gave him a graceful curtsy. “I am grateful fer yer hospitality and yer protection, me laird. I wish ye good night.”

He watched her following Claray down the hall until she disappeared through the door. Then he turned to Edmund.

“I’d like to meet wi’ ye again in me study, if ye please. There are matters I wish tae discuss.”

Nodding his acquiescence, his trusted advisor frowned. “Aye. There is much tae consider.”

No doubt Edmund would have some well-formed thoughts on the vexing matter of MacDougall and his pursuit of Lyra.

He waited in his study, his thoughts swirling as he poured two more drams of whisky for himself and Edmund.

A short while later, Edmund entered the study and joined him.

They both raised their glasses and seated themselves in Tòrr’s leather chairs before the fire. “ Slàinte math .”

Tòrr heaved a sigh. “I had hoped that once we were safely at the castle there would be time fer the Lady Lyra tae recover after her ordeal. And then, in an orderly fashion we could assist her tae travel wherever she needed to go.”

Impatient with himself, he clicked his tongue. “I had foolishly paid little heed tae the gallowglasses. Assuming that once they realized we’d escaped, they would put their tails between their legs and go after some other poor fool.”

Edmund nodded. “I held the same idea. Once I’d outrun them, I gave them little further thought.”

Tòrr twisted the stem of his goblet in his hand, needing to get to the bottom of this urgent matter. “What we learn now is that they are here. How they found us is of nae consequence. What matters is the risk that we now face. First, it is clear that they are relentless in their quest to take the lass. Why MacDougall has employed them tae dae so we have yet to learn.”

“So, should we send word tae our allies, the MacLeods on the Isle of Skye and the MacNeils of Barra, informing them of this situation?”

“Aye. After we’ve discussed this, I shall this night write to both, requesting their support if it should be needed.”

Edmund sipped his whisky and pondered this. “I agree. ‘Tis better tae prepare them so that they standby, in case…” he gave a resigned shrug, “MacDougall’s men decide tae attack.”

“This brings me tae the next point.” Tòrr layered another log on the fire and stoked it with the iron poker by the fireplace. “Depending on what yer men can discover from the gallowglasses, we must arrive at a decision about whether it is safe fer Lyra tae remain here.”

Edmund gave a reluctant nod. “And whether it is safe fer us tae keep her here and risk MacDougall’s wrath.”

“I dinnae wish tae hand her to MacDougall. Nay matter what his reason may be, I’d ne’er countenance handing a convent-bred lass tae that brute. Ye ken his reputation.”

“I’ve heard terrible rumors.”

“Aye, and they are tae believed. Nae only daes he force a lass inte his bed, but he’s unsparing with his fists.” Tòrr folded his arms. His heart stuttered painfully at the thought of Lyra in MacDougall’s clutches. “On one occasion, or so I heard, he took tae a lass wi’ a whip after he’d forced her intae his bed and had his way wi’ her. He beat her, so that her flesh was torn and bleeding. It was nigh on a miracle that the healer was able tae save her.”

Edmund snorted. “And they call ye the Mad Laird. That title should be awarded tae MacDougall. He is truly a mad man fer all his fancy English manners and his fine clothes.”

“This is why I am so concerned fer the lass. I’m afeared that if it comes tae it, the Council might insist I hand her over tae MacDougall tae prevent clan warfare. Even if we turned tae our allies, the MacLeods and the MacNeils, it would take days fer them tae arrive at Dùn Ara. A swift attack by MacDougall could well see us overrun.”

“Then, wi’ yer permission, I’ll ready me men and bring in our recruits from across the clan lands. There are many lads who will serve us well if there’s a call tae arms.”

Tòrr nodded and got to his feet. The prospect of war with the MacDougalls was something he’d contemplated for some time.

“Ever since me faither’s death and me ascent tae the lairdship, the relationship with Alexander MacDougal has grown cold. Nay doubt he is well aware of the new allegiances existing between his two clan enemies and the MacKinnons of Mull.”

“Of course.” Edmund shrugged. “His damned spies are all over both the Isle of Skye and Mull.”

“Because of this, it’s likely he will nae be inclined tae negotiate, but tae attack if we afford him an opportunity.”

“I can only agree.

“Tomorrow I will speak wi’ the Lady Lyra and explain what I’ve learned. She must reveal tae me her true identity and help me understand why it is that MacDougall is so unyielding in his pursuit of her.”

Edmund also stood, but made no move to leave the study. “What of ye?”

Tòrr tilted his head, granting him a quizzical look, his brows drawn in a frown. “I dinnae ken what it is ye’re asking.”

“I’m asking how ye feel about the lass? I observed ye this night. Yer eyes never left her while she was with us. Ye fussed over her at the table as if she was some precious object that might break if the wind blew too hard.”

Tòrr pshawed loudly. “Whatever are ye talking of, lad?”

“I’ve nae seen that look in yer eyes before, even when there was a fair lass who was giving ye the eye and all but begging ye tae take her tae yer bed.”

“Ye’re wrong.” Tòrr gave his head a vigorous shake. “Lyra is nay more than a nuisance. A bothersome wee lass who was foisted upon us by pure chance. I’ve offered her aid because there seemed tae be nae other choice. If we’d nae interfered, she’d have been taken by the gallowglasses, tae be killed or worse. Or, as we now learn, given over tae MacDougall.”

Edmund gave a disbelieving grunt. “Me eyes didnae deceive me when I watched ye look upon her, Tòrr. Mayhap ye dinnae ken it yerself.”