Page 75 of Bride of the Mad Laird
The priest’s voice was concerned. “Ye’re trembling lass. Are ye certain ye’re under nay duress tae marry? That ye’re freely giving yer hand?”
Lyra’s heart stuttered.
Would I be contemplating marriage if nae fer the threat posed tae me by the MacDougall?
“Aye,” she said, her voice cracking with uncertainty.
She caught Tòrr ’s expression, his brows drawn in a frown, his jaw tight. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders, determined to pay no heed to her own fears and to draw confidence from the firmness of Tòrr ’s hold on her hand.
If anyone had asked her, after the ceremony, what was said, she would have had great difficulty in recalling. Yet, afterwards, as they left the chapel there were many hearty words of approval and well-wishing from all who were in attendance.
Eilidh was there, smiling. Mayhap her calm wisdom would set some of Lyra’s doubts to rights. She decided to slip away as soon as she could to express her disquiet in front of the healer. She needed to soothe away her growing fears.
Before she was whisked away to the refectory by Tòrr to partake of a special noontime repast to which all the castle servants and the local fisherfolk and their wives had been invited, she caught sight of Purdie and Claray among the will-wishers, both of them with broad smiles, nodding their approval.
But then a burly figure shouldered his way through the crowd to stand before herself and Tòrr. It was Doddie, the fisherman, who had almost perished with her the night she’d made her ill-fated attempt to flee to the mainland.
He doffed his cap and tugged a tuft of hair above his forehead.
“Me laird, and me ady, I pledge meself tae ye. Daes me heart good tae see ye’ve resolved yer... er... differences.” He looked up and grinned.
“I thank ye fer yer good wishes,” Tòrr said, with a wink at Doddie before he wandered off to join the throng.
Fortunately, the joyous mood of all those celebrating the betrothal of their laird and his lady filled the hall with an infectious sense of wellbeing. There were many cries of “Slàinte mhath,” glasses and tankards were held aloft and many voices called out their best wishes for a long and happy life to the couple. Before long, Lyra had shrugged aside her woes and was able to wholeheartedly enter into the festivities.
She smiled up at Tòrr, who had been looking at her with concern.
“Slàinte mhath.” She held up her goblet of wine and took a sip. He did the same with his tankard of ale.
“Tae ye, me wife, and tae our life together.”
The hands brushed, and a burst of heat flowed through her. “Tae our life together.”
She gazed at him. He made such an imposing figure in his jacket and great kilt, the kilt-shawl over his shoulder held by a gold brooch bearing the crest of the MacKinnon Clan. His eyes were sparkling, and he was smiling and greeting other clan members lining up to bid their laird a long life with his new bride.
Her spirits soared. Although the MacKinnons were not her people yet, they had welcomed her as if she’d long been a member of their Clan.
She would send up a silent prayer to heaven that none of them would be called on to take up arms on her behalf should MacDougall wage war on them.
Claray came bustling over. “We are all looking forward tae next week’s ceilidh. Bethia is already arranging the feasting.”
Lyra was puzzled. She turned to Tòrr. “Ceilidh?”
“Och, lass, we thought it would be a fine way to celebrate and take our minds off...” He trailed off and she deduced that he too, was troubled by the looming threat from MacDougall.
Hauling in a deep breath, she did her best to focus her thoughts on the ceilidh. She brightened. “Ye’d be aware that a ceilidh is something new tae me. The nuns on the holy Isle of Iona had nay knowledge of jigs and reels and wild Highland dancing. Another of the oblates who was with us for a short while spoke of such a thing.” She gave him a sideways look, full of mischief and then whispered. “I heard it was filled with wickedness.”
He laughed and squeezed her hand. “Aye. ‘Tis the wickedness methinks ye’ll enjoy.”
Her heart jumped, and there was that dart of heat in her veins. She nodded, her tongue on her lower lip as she smiled at him. She watched his eyes darken and the breath hitched in her throat. She wanted to be alone with him again, feeling his strong arms holding her, and his heated kiss on her mouth.
But her wish would not come about for many hours, as their betrothal feast continued long into the afternoon.
There was a rumbling through the crowd and a cheer went up. She craned to see what was going on and was delighted to see two of Tòrr ’s warriors helping young Angus MacGregor to take a seat at the end of the high table. Tòrr strode over to the lad and she got up to wish him well.
Eilidh was there, fussing over her patient.
“He insisted I bring him tae pay his respects tae ye and the laird.”
