Page 11 of Bride of the Mad Laird
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 thisexactset of circumstances.
She pushed the troublesome thought from her mind, cuddled closer to Tòrr and was immediately claimed by sleep.
CHAPTERFIVE
Tòrr, wakened by the first morning birdsong, rolled over gently and got to his feet careful not to disturb the sleeping form snuggled in behind him.
He smiled to himself as he recalled drowsy, sleepy Lyra, curling herself into his back during the night.
Mayhap the lass hardly kent what she was about, but her soft, warm form, pressed so close stirred me in a manner that would have shocked the prudish nun to the core.
He stretched to relieve the crick in his back and strolled over to Paden. He gave the horse’s shoulder a rub and walked him down the slope to the burn for a long drink of the crisp, clear water. He washed his hands clean, splashed water on his face, and filled his leather water-pouch. Only when Paden had drunk his fill did he make his way back.
Lyra was already up. She’d unbound her braided hair and was combing it with her fingers. In the sunlight it shone bright gold as it tumbled down her back.
God’s hooks, she was fair to look upon with her bonny pink cheeks, her eyes green as emeralds, her long yellow hair and her rounded, womanly form. Recalling the softness of her breasts warming him in the night caused another troublesome twitch in his groin.
“Ah, yer ladyship, ‘tis good that ye’ve decided to grace us with yer presence.” He made her a mocking bow, all the better to hide the bulge thrusting itself under his kilt.
Head back, she stretched long, graceful arms above her head, letting her hair flow free, seemingly oblivious to the discomfort she was causing him.
He cleared his throat, stifling a threatening moan, reminding himself that this lass was not for dalliance, but to be brought to safety to Dùn Ara. Once there he would decide what should become of her.
They broke their fast with bannocks and hard-boiled eggs and were on their way while the sky was still streaked with a pink and grey sunrise.
Foregoing the shoreline, they followed the one taking them to the east. On the smoother road Paden kept up a steady pace, but when they came upon a rough patch where cartwheels had rutted the mud, Tòrr dismounted and walked beside the horse to ease his load, leaving Lyra to sit on the horse on her own.
“Ye’ll make a good rider, lass,” he admitted, looking on with admiration at the way she sat straight, holding the reins with one hand as if she’d been born to it. She flushed pink and looked sideways at him, grinning at the compliment. “I find I rather enjoy being on horseback after all.” She leaned over and patted Paden’s neck. His name suits him well, he is indeed noble.”
They stopped briefly to refresh themselves with a draft of water from his waterskin and the last of the bannocks with some cheese. When they continued on their way, with Tòrr once again in the saddle, it seemed she leaned a little more against his chest, her wild, fair curls tickling his chin.
It was strangely pleasant to trot along with her cradled against him.
Once or twice they passed a lumbering cart, also heading in their direction, but otherwise the road was clear.
Although he had no fear of the gallowglasses, he was concerned about Lyra. Paden was strong and could outrun any Highland pony, but with two on his back he would struggle to keep up the pace.
Before long, they arrived at the coast on the eastern side of the isle but Tòrr once again ignored the road along the shoreline and continued north.
“Ye dinnae wish tae continue by the sea?” Lyra had been enjoying the pleasant sea breeze, the wheeling gulls and the scent of salt in the air again.
He shook his head, his jaw set grimly. “Nay lass. I’ve good reason tae keep in a northerly direction.”
“Oh.” She was tempted to question him for his choice, but one look at his grimly set jaw dissuaded her.
Not long afterwards, they came to a crossroads. Tòrr shook his head, and continued on the course he’d set.
