Page 50 of Bride of the Mad Laird
She waited by his chair for him to look up. He took a mouthful of porridge, turned back to the fire and, without meeting her gaze, gestured for her to sit.
Despite her wish to confront him, she took the seat next to his, somewhat discomfited by his aloof demeanor. She’d been expecting anger, not this coldness.
Once she was settled, he rang the bell and instructed the maid to bring food to break Lyra’s fast. Still he said nothing. Her impatience was fit to breaking by the time the maid entered with a platter bearing porridge and eggs. He turned to Lyra as the maid laid the tray on the small table by the fire
“I am pleased tae see ye recovered from the exertions of last night.”
“Exertions?” she snapped. “Is that what ye call being half-drowned and practically freezing tae death?”
“Mayhap I could call it ‘yer misguided adventure’. Would that suit ye?”
“Nay, Laird Tòrr. Adventure it may have been, but it was certainly nae misguided. I kent exactly what I was daeing and the risk I took.”
He offered her a haughty, unsmiling look. “And did ye nae think or care that yer impulsive actions could have caused the death of Doddie the fisherman?” His voice had the edge of a growl to it. “And, meself fer that matter.
“I didnae ask ye tae come after me.” She sulked.
“How many times have I had to rescue ye now? I’ve surely lost count.”
She huffed. This was not all the conversation she wished to have. “I believe the number ye seek is four.” She held up four fingers. “One at the Priory gate. Two when ye dragged me from the Sound of Iona. Three when ye carried me on Paden’s back all the way from Fionnphort to Dùn Ara.” She sighed loudly. “And yes, four, when ye rescued me from the sea last night.”
“’Tis a habit I sorely wish tae break.”
She shrugged. He had the upper hand and there was naught she could do about it. Curse the lad. Hehadcome to her rescue more than once, a fact that rankled most painfully.
She spooned in the porridge, lost in thought, composing what she would say.
When she finally laid down her spoon, she turned to him and took a deep breath.
“I should tell ye at once, Laird Tòrr, that I was privy tae yer conversation last night with yer advisor.”
“Ye heard me speaking wi’ Edmund?” He looked puzzled for a moment as if attempting to recall the conversation. “Where was that?”
She huffed. “Why… in yer… chamber. I was in the passage. The door was ajar.” She felt that vexing burn in her cheeks as she recalled the reason she was standing outside his room. She had intended to apologize for her unseemly forward behavior.
Why, I was even such a fool as tae even imagine kissing him.
He stood and poked at the already roaring fire with the iron rod standing beside the fireplace and turned to face her, stern-faced, his hands behind his back.
She looked up at his frowning face and quailed. This stern, grim face was what she remembered from that first terrible day. Since then, she’d come to know that there was a softness there too. But not today.
“And what were the contents of this conversation, Lady Lyra?”
This was proving far more difficult that she’d imagined. She cleared her throat.
“I heard ye two discussing me. Ye spoke coldly, weighing up whether I should be given tae Laird Alexander MacDougall or remain under yer protection. From the sounds of it, ye were considering me as a pawn in a game tae be played between two clans.”
She sucked in a breath, biting down on her trembling lower lip blinking away the tears brewing behind her eyes, refusing to let him see how deeply his words had cut her. Now was not the time to display her misery.
Especially in front of such a heartless brute...
He nodded slowly. “And what did ye conclude from this sojourn intae eavesdropping?”
Rising to her feet with as much grace as she could muster, Lyra stood, facing him, fixing him with a glare.
“I learned that ye intended tae hand me tae the MacDougall if yer Clan Council should wish it, and that ye’ll meet wi’ them taenight.” Her voice shook and she swallowed, attempting to steady herself. She pressed her hands to her sides to hide their shaking. Every part of her was in an uproar as she went over that deadly conversation.
“I had nay choice but tae chance me luck wi’ the sea and strive tae find me homelands. I thought naught of me death, fer it would be better fer me tae die than tae be given over tae MacDougall.” She sniffed. “I didnae wish tae cause harm tae Doddie. Or tae ye, fer that matter. I didnae stop tae think I was taking others intae danger.”
