Page 33 of Bride of the Mad Laird
Once Claray had left them, Tòrr turned to Lyra.
“I’ll leave ye tae break yer fast, Lyra.”
His heart registered her soft, flushed cheeks, and the tumble of wayward curls falling across her face.
She gave him a sleepy smile. “Were ye by me side the rest of the night?”
“Aye. Ye slept like a wee bairn.”
She laughed softly and briefly touched his hand. “I thank ye fer yer concern.”
Her touch was as soft as a butterfly’s, yet it brought the ghost of a smile to his face.
She raised a hand. “If ye’re hoping tae protect me good name, Laird Tòrr, I fear the damage may already be done, should Claray take it upon herself tae gossip at finding the laird in the lady’s chamber at daybreak.”
He frowned. “I dinnae believe this will happen. Claray kens enough tae hold her tongue.” His frown faded and he smiled. “If ye dinnae intend me tae leave fer fear of wagging tongues, are ye inviting me tae stay and break me fast wi’ ye?”
She moved to one of the chairs by the fire and seated herself there. “I wish tae thank ye fer yer kindness tae me last night, nae tae send ye on yer way as if ye were naught but a servant.”
With that small encouragement, Tòrr seated himself by the fire. “‘Twas me pleasure Lady Lyra. When I heard yer scream, it turned me blood tae ice and I rushed tae save ye from the gallowglasses I imagined had invaded yer chamber.”
“Yer comfort helped me through the night.” She reached a hand and rested it on his thigh.
Something like a lightning bolt shot up his leg, coming to rest in his manhood. He felt himself growing hard.
He hauled in a deep breath and turned his gaze to Lyra. She was not looking at him with lust in her eyes as he half-hoped but seemed to be quite unaware of the storm she was raising in his blood.
He gritted his teeth. “Lass, dinnae ye ken what it daes tae a lad when ye place yer hand in such a way?”
She snatched the offending hand away, frowning. “Whatever d’ye mean, me laird?”
He huffed a deep sigh. “D’ye nae understand what happens between a lass and a lad, when they…?”
“Are ye speaking of the way that weans are made?” She made a moué of disgust. “I heard a lass in the convent speak of it. It sounded quite ridiculous tae me.”
He sighed again. “Did nay one tell ye that it felt good?”
She threw him a puzzled look. “I cannae believe such a thing could be pleasant.” Growing thoughtful, she spooned the now almost-cold porridge into her mouth. “So…” She thought some more. “How daes such a thing relate tae me hand on yer… er… leg?”
He laughed. “Never mind, lass. I cannae explain it. Mayhap ye can seek out yer new friend Eilidh and ask her these questions.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “She seems a wise lass, mayhap she will be able tae help me understand.” Turning to him she proffered a sweet smile. “I’m certain that ye could place yer hand on me leg in the same manner as I did yers, and I would still nae ken what ye talk of.”
Now there’s a perfect challenge.
“I ken the nuns didnae include such matters in yer education at the Priory.”
“Of course nae.” She shook her head, causing the curls to fall about her face and neck in a way that sorely tempted his fingers. He reached across and teased one long strand over her shoulder, tucked it behind her ear, and trailed a finger softly down her throat.
A glance through long lashes and a flush of pink on her alabaster cheeks were his reward. He inhaled a satisfied breath. It seemed his touch may have affected her in a manner similar to his, after all.
“So what did ye learn in the nunnery, except fer yer prayers and complines?”
“Why, I learned all manner of household things – making soap, darning worn clothing and torn stockings, stitching, embroidery. I helped wi’ the laundry and the garden.”
“Were there nay lessons other than the Good Book that told ye of the world of men, then?”
“As I said, the nuns taught nay such things.” She gave a soft chuckle. “Yet, when I learned tae read, I read many forbidden stories that some of the other noble charges brought hidden with them, that spoke of men and women.”
