Page 23 of Bride of the Mad Laird
“’Tis where I bide.”
Lyra tilted her head and gave him a look that seemed to say “too close,” but he smiled anyway. His blood ran thicker at the thought of her chamber only steps away. But that was of no concern. He had no intention of debauching a lass who’d known naught but nuns, prayer and a chaste existence. If only she wasn’t so beautiful… and that damned dress was surely made to incite a man’s passion. He would ask Claray to find something less provoking for the lass to wear. A nun’s robes mayhap?
They continued down the stairs and their first stop was the solar. It was a pretty room, favored by his mother, the walls hung with colorful tapestries depicting countryside scenes, flowers and animals. The painted furniture held comfortable needlepoint cushions and a cloth of rich fabric was spread on the table.
He recalled spending hours here while his mother embroidered and painted, playing with his sister in front of the fire. It was a warm-hearted room, and for too long had been unused.
“If ye wish tae use this room fer yer own pursuits, please feel free tae dae so.” He gestured to a timber chest standing in the corner. “If ye wish to take up embroidery or sewing, painting, or any other lady’s pursuits, ye’re most welcome tae whatever ye may find in there.”
Lyra looked around smiling with delight and unthinkingly placed her hand on his arm. Her careless gesture set his blood racing.
“I thank thee, Laird Tòrr. Tae have time fer me own pursuits is something I’ve nay experience of. I like reading, mayhap if there are books, I might come here and read awhile. I enjoy stitching and I’ve never tried me hand with a paintbrush but I’ve often wished tae.”
It pleased him that she might be satisfied spending time here and mayhap she would not chaff too much at being confined to life within the castle walls.
He took her to his study, and she looked up the bookshelves lining the wall. “Mayhap ye have books I could borrow?”
“Aye lass. Ye’d be more than welcome.”
After a quick glance into the kitchen, a room separate to the main part of the keep, where she was introduced to Bethia, the cook in charge, they made their way outside the keep, across the courtyard and into the bailey.
The bailey courtyard garden was in full bloom. Poppies and lavender, and briar roses climbing on wooden arches and trellises created a picture that Tòrr was pleased to see delighted Lyra. The sun was warm, protected from the chill autumn breeze by the outer walls, the buzzing of bees amongst the flowers filled the air.
They strolled past the infirmary, a small stone building, and beside it, the healer’s cottage.
“Eilidh, our healer, is off getting herbs and healing plants. Ye’ll meet her when she returns. A bonny lass.”
Lyra nodded. “I look forward tae that. There is scarce company here fer a lass who’s always been surrounded by other lasses.” She sighed. “I’m nae used tae the company of men.” She looked up at him and gave him a wicked grin. “Especially savage warriors such as yerself and Edmund.”
He laughed. This was something he was constantly reminding himself of. Most lasses of his acquaintance had grown up wi’ boisterous brothers and were never fazed by the sometimes-uncouth behavior of the lads. Why, young Malie MacKinnon, the daughter of one of his distant cousins, was every bit as unruly as her eight brothers.
“I understand. Yet I cannae say our manners will ever meet yer high standards, Lady Lyra.”
Together they strolled back to the keep, where Tòrr guided Lyra up the stairs so they could walk on the battlements.
They caste their eyes to the west, where the dim shape of another island was visible. The day was so clear, the sky so blue, that from their height they could look down the coast a long way to the south of where they stood. “That is where we came from yesterday.” Tòrr pointed to the narrow track leading up from the rocky shore. In the distance were a scattering of cottages by the sea. “That wee place is Tobermory, home tae only a few folk and a tavern.”
At the mention of the tavern, Tòrr’s thoughts immediately turned to the sighting of the gallowglasses there. Edmund’s men would likely return this evening, with news of what MacDougall’s men were seeking. He hoped this would settle the questions surrounding Lyra.
Lyra looked around eagerly. “It is very beautiful. I cannae wait tae walk along that path.” She indicated with a wave of her hand over the clifftop below.
He took a deep breath, knowing his next words would not be welcome.
“I’m sorry me lady. I cannae allow ye tae leave Dùn Ara Castle. It’s…”
Before he could explain to her that he was concerned for her safety, she rounded on him, frowning.
“Ye cannae tell me nay. If I wish tae walk than I shall dae so.” Her voice was shrill with indignation. “I am nae yer prisoner. Or is it that I have only escaped capture by one lot of ruffians tae be held as captive by another.”
Her cheeks had reddened and her eyes flashed fire.
He put up his hands, in an effort to quieten her.
She huffed angrily. “Dinnae try and silence me, Laird Tòrr.”
“Lyra. Lyra. Ye didnae give me a chance tae explain.”
She straightened her spine, drawing herself up in defiance. “Explain, then.”
