Page 49 of Bride of the Mad Laird
“I ken the Council’s inclination will be tae insist the lass be handed tae MacDougall. Avoiding a war with the MacDougalls will be uppermost. Yet I willnae give up the lass. And they dinnae want MacDougall obtaining more power.”
Edmund shook his head. “In that case, there’ll be nay choice but tae fight. And that is where the letter to Lyra’s clan becomes essential.”
Tòrr gave a grim smile. “What I must dae is find a solution that will satisfy the Council.”
Edmund raised a dark brow. “Aye. That may be nay small task.”
He patted Tòrr’s shoulder. “’Tis clear tae me ye’ve been captivated by the lass’s considerable charms. I ken ye’ve been lusting after her since the first moment ye set eyes on her dressed as a nun at the Priory gate.”
This brought a spluttering of the whisky Tòrr was sipping.
“By God, Edmund Sinclair, ye’re an observant lad.” He laughed.
“Och, lad.” Edmund wiped the smile from his lips. “I’ve ne’er seen ye so bewitched by a lass. And I’ve kent ye a long while.”
Tòrr gulped the last of his whisky and looked up at Edmund shaking his head. “Trust me. I’ll find a way tae resolve the dilemma.”
Raising his whisky, Edmund laughed. “Here’s tae the joining of two willful, headstrong, impulsive, stubborn, souls. “Tis surely a match made in heaven.”
“Slàinte mhath!”
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
Bathing the previous night when she was at last in her bedchamber was, to Lyra’s mind, only a tad short of heaven. She’d warmed her bones in the hot water, and washed the salt water from her hair with lavender soap.
That morning, after having slept the sleep of the blameless and innocent, she was seated by the fire and Elspaith was brushing her hair.
On waking, her thoughts had flown to Laird Tòrr. She suspected he’d not taken kindly to her frantic attempts to escape that had almost ended in disaster.
Going over the events of the night she felt a flash of the anger that had driven her to take such a terrible risk on the wild waters of the Sound of Mull.
He wishes tae hand me intae the Laird Alexander’s cruel hands.
There was a soft tap on the door. Elspaith put down the brush and hurried across to open it. “Tis Claray, me lady.”
“Come.” She’d been dreading it would be Laird Tòrr demanding an explanation for her impulsive flight. But, then again, he would more than likely storm in without so much as a single knock.
Claray entered, carrying another gown that Purdie had only just completed.
“Lady Lyra,” Claray curtsied and addressed her formally, “Laird Tòrr has asked me tae convey the message that he wishes tae meet wi’ ye in the solar so that ye may break yer fast wi’ him.”
Lyra gave a reluctant nod. She was by no means ready for a meeting with Tòrr, but it was impossible to avoid. Thanks to Purdie, at least she wouldn’t be appearing before him in the now sadly somewhat ruined saffron gown.
“Aye, Claray, could ye please tell the Laird I shall meet him when I have finished dressing.”
Elspaith helped her into the forest-green dress.
It was then she thought of the little carved wooden box containing her mother’s things.
“Can ye bring me the box ye’ll find in the wee cloth bag?”
She opened the box and took out the emerald ear bobs. This morning she needed to look her best.
“Why ye’re a picture, milady.” The little maid was filled with admiration. “The kirtle matches the green of yer eyes and the ear bobs are perfect. I’m certain Laird Tòrr will take pleasure in yer appearance.”
Lyra nodded in thanks for the sweet compliment, telling herself she cared not a fig whether the laird approved or nay.
He was seated before the fire, contemplating a bowl of porridge, when she flounced into the solar, quite ready to do battle with him. She’d given a great deal of thought to the overheard conversation that had prompted her flight and she had no intention of allowing him to slide over it without calling him to task.
