Page 60 of Bride of the Mad Laird
What if she refuses me. I cannae be like MacDougall and claim her against her will. Yet I dinnae ken another way tae keep her safe from the monster.
He was halfway along the passageway when he came to a halt, swiveled in his track and headed back the way he’d come. He made for the stairs and went up to the battlements.
This was the place he’d always come to when he was troubled by thoughts and problems for which there was no simple solution. The wind blowing through his hair helped to blow sense into his thoughts, and the deep velvet of the night sky and the tiny shining diamonds of the stars kept his troubles in perspective. There was something so much bigger than he was, that would prevail even after he was gone to his Maker. In the great scheme of things, his troubles were like grains of sand in the ocean.
Although it seemed simple enough to wed the lass, he’d given little thought to his own heart’s need. While he knew he wanted her in his bed – and there was no doubt of that – what would his life be like if he were tae take an unwilling bride?
He knew well enough there were many loveless marriages meant as nothing more than allegiances between clans and the siring of an heir. But he’d seen the pain that caused and he’d always hoped for more when it came to his turn to wed. His own parents had been deeply unhappy. His mother had given her heart to another before she wed, yet was forced into marriage with his cruel father.
He’d lived that disaster first-hand, and vowed to himself he would never repeat such a complete failure and the terrible unhappiness it engendered.
Now, here he was, contemplating what Lyra would think of as a marriage of convenience. Nothing more than a marriage forced upon her, with her lands and the allegiance with Clan MacInnes as the stakes.
He remained there in the dark, inhaling the cold, salt air coming off the sea, his mind drifting, thoughts of Lyra uppermost. He pictured her golden tresses floating around her like a glorious cloud, her green eyes flecked with silver gazing into his, the softness of her alabaster skin and her scent of lavender and wildflowers.
His heart was beating fast by the time he took to the stairs, heading for Lyra’s chamber. For him, this was not a marriage of convenience, a mere game of dice with the spoils of land going to the winner, but rather a lifetime of protecting and caring for someone who made his heart sing, and his shaft stand to attention with desire.
His heart was hammering against his ribcage by the time he reached Lyra’s chamber. He knocked softly, not wishing to alarm her.
“Who is there?”
“’Tis Tòrr, may I enter?”
There was a half-smile on her face when she opened the door, but it did nothing to conceal the anxious expression in her eyes and the line drawn between her winged brows.
“This is a rare moment, Laird Tòrr. ‘Tis something of a change tae have ye tap at me door rather than fling it open without knocking and stomp inside without an invitation.”
He grinned. “I’ve learned tae practice caution, me lady. I’ve become used tae the fact that there’s a lady staying under me roof at Dùn Ara.”
She made a small curtsy. “And I am most grateful. But I must ask, what news dae ye bring tae me chamber this evening?”
He bowed from the waist, returning her curtsy. “I am here tar tell ye about the decision made at the Clan Council meeting today.”
“I see.”
She stood tall, facing him, her gaze unflinching, her head high, as if she was proudly preparing to meet the executioner’s axe.
“Me day has been spent on tenterhooks, as I ken me fate was in the hands of yer Council. I await yer news, Laird Tòrr. Am I tae be thrown like a piece of meat at the mad dog who wishes tae force me tae wed?” Her voice wavered slightly, but she remained composed despite what he knew was the agony of the moment.
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
Lyra kept her gaze on Tòrr’s features. He licked his lips and cleared his throat. It seemed what he had to say was making him uneasy.
This could only mean one possibility. As she’d feared, the Council, cowed by MacDougall’s wrath, had chosen to give her up to their enemy. She held her breath, her hands curling into fists, fear curdling her belly.
“The Council has decided ye willnae be turned over tae MacDougall, but ye will remain under the protection of Castle Dùn Ara. I will write yer clan taemorrow tae tell them ye are safe here at me castle and tae ask fer their army tae help us and our allies tae protect ye against MacDougall.”
The relief surged through her like the turning of the tide.
I am saved.
She turned a beaming smile to Tòrr, anticipating he would share her jubilation. Yet he did not smile, but stood there fidgeting, flexing his hands, his feet tapping.
There was more! He had not told her everything.
Her smile faded. “What is it ye’ve nae told me? I can see it in yer face, there’s more tae come.”
His hesitation was driving her insane. A million thoughts raced through her head. What more could there possibly be? What was to be asked of her? Was she to be sent back to the Priory?
