Page 4 of Bride of the Mad Laird
He turned to the other tall lad who also bowed. But where Tòrr was elegant, the second man was burly, his shoulders wide. “Me companion is named Edmund Sinclair.”
Still trembling, Lyra studied the two men. Both were good to look upon in their own way, although she had seen few men during her years in the Priory to make comparisons. Edmund’s strong face was marred by a scar that travelled from his temple to his jaw while Tòrr’s features were fine-boned, unblemished and aristocratic. Truth be told, there was something in Tòrr’s face that appealed to her more than Edmund’s, despite his fierce frown.
Hauling in a deep, steadying, breath, she curtsied, “I thank ye kindly fer yer valor. I dinnae ken who these wretches were, yet I feared fer me life when they took me.”
At that moment Mother Una came darting from the gate where she’d remained while the fighting took place. She carried the carved box containing Lyra’s precious items and the bundle of clothing they had put together. She seemed to recognize the dark-haired man.
She squinted, taking in the warrior’s features, a flash of recognition in her eyes. “I believe ye’re the Laird Tòrr MacKinnon, are ye nae? I remember ye from many years past. Now ye’re grown and have earned a reputation.”
Tòrr nodded, gravely. “Aye. That is me name.” He gave a soft laugh. “And, I ken some have called me The Mad Laird. I came here fer a meeting with the Abbott Finguine, who is one of me kin. We had business at the Monastery.” He gestured toward the distant Abbey, further along the path. “We were making our way back tae the village of Baile Mòr, planning tae take a boat over tae Mull, when we came upon these ruffians.”
“I thank ye most kindly fer yer intervention. Without it, I fear this lass would have been dragged with them tae a terrible fate.” Mother Una reached for Lyra’s hand. “I beg ye tae take the Lady Lyra wi’ ye tae the Isle of Mull.”
Lyra gasped.
What is this? I’ve only barely escaped from those barbarians and now Maither Una wishes tae foist me on tae these strangers.
In despair, she turned to Mother Una who spoke but quiet enough for Lyra to be the one hearing the words. “Lyra, dinnae forget the plan we made and the steps ye were tae follow if ye were in danger and needed tae escape.
Lyra nodded, recalling the instructions she’d memorized long ago. She had to flee across the water to Fionnphort. At the tavern there she was to ask for a man named Thorfinn Comyn, who would help her return to her clan lands.
She squared her shoulders and looked up at the Laird Tòrr. “I dinnae wish tae travel wi’ ye.”
Tòrr dipped his head. “Dinnae fash, lassie. I’ve nay intention of taking ye away from Iona. I’ve nay need fer a nun at me castle. The priest who bides at Dùn Ara is a solitary soul who’d nae take kindly tae a young nun disturbing his solitude.”
Mother Una quickly intervened. “Ye dinnae understand, me laird. This lady is nae nun but an oblate who has been wi’ us since she was a bairn. Enemies of her family have sought her out.” Here Mother Una caught her breath, signing the Cross. “She is in grave danger now they’ve discovered where she bides. She raised pleading hands. “I implore ye tae take her wi’ ye tae safety on the isle of Mull.”
Lyra observed this with a sinking heart. If she was taken to Mull in the custody of the Laird Tòrr, how would she ever be able to make her way back to the mainland, to her clan? She huffed with indignation.
The laird bowed deferentially to Mother Una. “I regret I cannae be of assistance tae the lass, Maither. I am nay sailing back tae Dùn Ara, but travelling tae me home on horseback.”
He turned to go.
Mother Una was wringing her hands in desperation, while Lyra looked on with a measure of satisfaction.Shecould hardly be blamed if Laird Tòrr was the one to refuse to take her.
“Look!” Mother Una cried out suddenly in great alarm, her hand pointing toward the waters of the Sound of Iona that separated Iona from the Isle of Mull. Although the light was fading and darkness would soon fall, it was clearly visible from where they stood. A boat was making its way toward the shore. “There are more of those evil men coming here. If ye abandon her she’ll be taken.”
Catching sight of the boat, Lyra felt a stab of ice through her heart.
Rowing hard against the tide were another eight men, dressed similarly to the four gallowglasses who had been defeated by Tòrr and his companion.
He groaned. “I see them. Ye’re right, there will be nay protection fer the lass.” He turned to Edmund who was nodding. “We must take her wi’ us. There’s nay choice fer I’ll nay leave the lass tae be taken by those vicious barbarians.” He reached a hand to seize Lyra’s arm. “Come, there’s nay time tae waste.”
Before she could so much as protest or even bid farewell to the Priory, Mother Una thrust her belongings into her arms and waved her away. “Go, quickly. Be safe. I shall send word tae yer clan of yer whereabouts, me dear.”
With that, the three of them hurtled down the path heading toward the village.
They raced along the shore; Tòrr held out a supporting hand to Lyra as she stumbled on the rocks, but she shook it away.
“Hurry lass,” Edmund urged. “We must reach our fisherman before the others reach the shore.”
Lyra ran as fast as she was able, Tòrr carrying her bundle and the carved box. Still her skirts tangled around her knees and the rocks underfoot caused her to tread too slowly. She felt as if she was a great burden to these men, a prisoner they’d been forced to take and protect.
When at last they came upon the boat they sought, the fisherman Tam who was to row them across the sound was waiting nearby. Lyra refused to stand by submissively, but bent her back along with the others as they hastily pushed the boat from the shore. Once they were in deeper water and Tam plied the oars, she took her place beside them without a word.
It was only as she watched the disappearing shore of Iona and the distant stone walls of the Priory, gulls wheeling overhead, that Lyra’s perilous situation truly dawned on her. Little did she know when the day had dawned, what would befall her by nightfall. Even her worst nightmare would not have prepared her for this day. Now, here she was, in the company of two strangers, fleeing from the only place she’d ever felt safe, having narrowly escaped being poisoned and kidnapped. She was heading for an uncertain future in a place she knew nothing about, except that it was taking her even further from her clan lands.
Trying to catch her breath, Lyra looked along the beach where the gallowglasses were just pulling their boat into the shore. As they reached it, to her horror, she saw one of them pointing in their direction. Several dun-clad men started along the beach heading their way.
