Page 25 of Bride of the Mad Laird
She gave a small laugh. “I saw ye and milady Lyra come down the stairs from the battlements and I kent ye’d be heading in here tae warm yerselves.”
She laid out the platter of sweet things and poured mead into two goblets on the side-table.
After she’d gone, Lyra eyed the spread, smiling. “I thank ye fer making me welcome, Laird Tòrr. I can see ye wish tae make me captivity as comfortable as can be.”
Leaning on the mantel he studied her for a moment. “It is me custom tae treat all me guests hospitably.”
“Of course,” she said, “I dinnae expect special treatment fer meself. But I am grateful.”
Her smile did not hold the brightness he’d been so enchanted by over the past days. He sighed. “I regret I am nae able tae allow ye tae walk freely, as ye’d wish, but I am concerned fer yer wellbeing. MacDougall is nae a man tae give up readily and I believe he may try tae take ye again as he did at the Priory.”
She shuddered, gazing into the fire. “I dinnae wish tae make trouble fer ye. If I could only return tae me own clan…”
He held up a hand. “If ye did so, ye’d be walking straight into MacDougall’s clutches.” He held out the tray as if to end that line of talk. “Here, enjoy one of these treats.”
She looked up with a grin, reaching for one of the honey-cakes he proffered. “These are, indeed, a rare treat.”
Taking one of the goblets of mead Claray had poured, she raised it in salute. “Slàinte mhath.”
“Slàinte Mhath.” He returned the toast. “Tae yer good health, lass, and just as importantly, yer safety.”
She heaved a sigh, gazing into the dancing flames. “Aye. Me safety.” Her voice held resignation, yet something in him did not altogether hold that she could be content to leave things as they were.
Claray came bustling in. She was accompanied by one of the scullery maids who at once set about collecting the empty dishes and the tray and hurried out.
Once the maid had left the room, Claray dipped her head to Tòrr.
“Beg pardon, Laird Tòrr. If ye wish it, our Seamstress Purdie is willing tae make some suitable gowns fer Lady Lyra. There are but two grand gowns yer sister left when she visited, and they are mayhap nae comfortable fer a lady’s daily attire.”
Tòrr nodded, turning his gaze to Lyra. He studied her for a moment too long and watched as her cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink. “While I consider the lady looks very well in this gown of me sister’s, I hear what ye say. This is nae everyday wear. Please ask the seamstress tae stitch whatever she thinks is suitable. What say ye, Lady Lyra. Four new gowns? Six?”
Lyra looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Oh, I couldnae consider…”
“Done,” he said. “Six gowns fer me lady. And please make sure they are made of the finest of fabrics, wool or linen whichever ye please. Mayhap there should be one in silk tae be worn on special occasions.”
Lyra burst out laughing. “Laird Tòrr, such largess is quite uncalled fer.”
“On the contrary, it’s time ye left the convent fer good. Yer life as an ascetic is over. Ye shall wear fine cloth. Enough of those scratchy, black, woolen robes that are only good fer a scarecrow.” He turned to Claray, who was watching this exchange with an expression of amusement.
“Please convey me message tae Mistress Purdie and tell her I expect tae start tae see the Lady Lyra in her new finery within a day.”
“Indeed, me laird, I will convey this message at once.” She glanced sideways at Lyra. “And if ye can part with the lady’s company, mayhap she can accompany me fer her tae take her measure.”
Tòrr rose to his feet. “Aye, I have business waiting in me study.”
As Lyra got to her feet, he bowed slightly. “I look forward tae dining with ye in the refectory this evening.”
He watched as Lyra followed Claray out of the solar, his lips quirked in a half-smile. Mayhap he was taking far too much enjoyment in teasing the lovely Lady Lyra and observing those delicate cheeks turn various shades of pink. But it was a pleasure he was hellbent on continuing.
He poured himself another goblet of mead, seated himself by the fire and savored a sip of the honeyed drink. There would be time enough, later, to meet with Edmund and discuss the unpleasant business of taking the matter of MacDougall and his pursuit of Lyra to the Clan Council.
CHAPTERTEN
The seamstress took one look at Lyra and exclaimed, “Why she’s a right bonny lass. I’ll enjoy the sewing fer this one.” She patted Lyra’s hand. “Ye’ll nae require too many tucks and flounces to disguise the shape of this or that, fer ye’ve a fine figure and ye’re tall enough tae look like a princess in even the simplest garment.”
Claray smiled. “Well, the laird wishes tae order six new garments fer me lady.”
“I’m sure I can manage with a couple,” Lyra added hastily.
