Page 40 of Bride of the Mad Laird
“Och. Ye’re right. Now we must summon the Council. This is a matter we cannae resolve without their input.”
“And dae ye think we should comply?” Tòrr snorted. “Ye believe we should simply hand the lass tae him wi’out a fight? Me chief concern is her fate.”
“Hold on. ‘Tis nae what I’m saying. But it’s nae our decision tae make without consulting the elders and the other clan leaders. If this leads tae war wi’ a powerful clan, we must tread carefully. There are many considerations tae be made. Nae least of these is that the Lady Lyra, as it turns out, is the only heiress to the MacInnes castle and lands. I ken the Council will nae be inclined tae see MacDougall taking so much power and control of the western Highlands. I think we should contact Clan MacInnes and let them ken she is with us and safe, but that if we are tae keep her that way, we need their help.”
“Aye. I agree, ‘tis good thinkin’. The man already has far too much sway across the islands. The Council will surely agree tae that.”
Edmund gave him a penetrating look. “Ye ken the Council will care naught fer the lass’s mishandling at MacDougall’s hands. She is a mere pawn in the game being played out between clans. Their decision will be based on whether it best benefits the MacKinnon clan tae hand her over, or whether tae refuse him, and risk warfare.”
Tòrr groaned. His blood was pounding in his ears. “Me temper is fraying and threatening tae break.” He took the last gulp of his whisky. “I need tae wield me claymore and feel me strength. I cannae sit idly in me study scribbling on bits of parchment. Come wi’ me tae train in the courtyard.”
“Only if ye swear nae tae take me head off in yer rage.” Edmund grinned.
“Well, ye’d best make sure ye have yer stoutest targe wi’ ye, if ye wish tae keep yer head on yer shoulders.”
Edmund saluted. “Aye, ‘tis time we honed our skills. It seems we’ll be in sore need of them before long”.
Tòrr wasted no time in exchanging his kilt for britches and a worn shirt. He pulled on his chainmail hood and hauberk, hefted his claymore and torge and headed to the courtyard, eager to vent his rage. Edmund, who was clad similarly, appeared moments later wielding his claymore and lance.
“I’ll pretend yer handsome features are MacDougall’s ugly visage.” Tòrr gave a grim laugh.
A sizeable group of members of the guard, two young lads training as knights, along with the stable hands and grooms, gathered to watch the bout between the two noblemen.
It was an evenly matched fight, with each of them giving as good as he got. But as the bout wore on, Tòrr had the edge over Edmund. His fury and horror at the prospect of MacDougall claiming Lyra burned the brighter.
By the time they’d had enough, both were sweating, their muscles were aching, and their energy was depleted.
The effort they’d put into their fighting had served Tòrr’s purpose.
Although his rage had not diminished, it was no longer red hot, gnawing at his limbs like a giant rat. Instead it had settled into a cold resolve.
By all the saints in heaven, while I live and breathe, MacDougall willnae claim the lady as his bride.
He called past the kitchen on his way back into the keep and requested hot water for a wash. One of the serving lads trailed behind him up the stairs carrying a large ewer filled with water.
Tòrr lowered his claymore and removed off his hood and hauberk while the lad scuttled across to fill his washbowl with steaming water. Once the lad had left the room, he stripped off his shirt, his boots and his britches and took his time washing, cooling himself with soaked linen cloths. By the time he was dry, both his body and his mind had calmed.
He about to don clean clothes when there was a firm knock at his door.
Assuming it was either a servant or Edmund with further news, and not giving a jot for his state of undress he called, “Come”.
The door opened and Lyra marched in with his great kilt folded over her arms.
He froze.
She took two steps through the doorway before she caught sight of him.
He studied her face as she registered his nakedness. First there was a jolt of shock, her mouth fell open and her eyes widened. She blinked twice, closed her eyes briefly, but he was still standing there naked before her when she opened them.
As her eyes darted over him, her chest rose with a sharply indrawn breath.
That delicious flush he’d come to enjoy turned her face deep pink. She looked down, then looked up at him through her long, dark, lashes.
The shock drained from her sweet face and a shy smile curled her luscious pink lips as she walked across the chamber and draped the folded kilt over the fireside chair.
He followed her graceful movements hungrily, the sway of her hips as she walked heating his desire. She kept her gaze averted yet she seemed to vibrate with awareness. And something else. A streak of wantonness that kept her in the room.
He threw back his head, giving a great bellow of a laugh. He was more than amused. Her insouciance aroused his desire. He could have sworn he heard a giggle, but she’d put a hand to her mouth and the sound may have simply been the movement of a log on the fire.
