Page 8 of Bride of the Mad Laird
He turned to go. “Very well. The weans will direct ye along the road tae the tavern if that is yer desire. I’ll be on me way as soon as I’ve washed up and broken me fast. I’ll say nae more about it.”
She huffed defiantly and shook her head. “A gentleman would see me safely tae the tavern.”
He gave a cold laugh. “Dinnae mistake me fer a gentleman, Lyra. I’ve rescued ye twice already and I’m in nay mind tae dae it another time because ye insist in putting yerself in harm’s way.” With that he was out the door and heading for the stairs, paying no heed to the angry retort following in his wake.
He smiled to himself as he took the stairs. The lass, Lyra, was a feisty one. Her imperious ways intrigued him. It seems she was used to being obeyed and her manner made him curious about who exactly she was. If she was an oblate, mayhap she’d been sent to the nunnery to protect her from some kind of trouble, like a clan skirmish or an ill-advised marriage. That seemed more likely than her learning to be submissive and gain an education. Mayhap she was the daughter of an important clan. If so, he needed to learn if her clan was friend or foe to the MacKinnons.
And who was the laird who had hired the gallowglasses to hunt for her with such urgency?
He shrugged. He had come to her aid without any knowledge of her kin, and if she chose to defy his warning there was naught he could do. Of course, if she made her mind up to relinquish her foolish idea of visiting the tavern and decided to travel with him, that was another matter altogether.
CHAPTERFOUR
Lyra stared in dismay at the puddle of black wool on the floor that was all that remained of her nun’s garb. Truth to tell, she was glad to shed the voluminous, scratchy, woolen garment. She undid the bundle of clothes Tòrr had left beside the bed and gazed at the unfamiliar clothing.
She quickly donned the striped linen kirtle, and the blouse. She rolled the thick knitted stockings above her knee and tied them, then she slipped the fur-lined tunic over her head. Her boots were still soggy, but they would have to do. She untied the string under her chin, and took off her cap. From now on, she was no longer a nun, but was determined to embrace the world that was still an unknown. Even though she greeted that thought with trepidation, her heart beat a little faster at the thought of whatever adventures lay in store.
If only the Laird Tòrr had agreed to escort her to the tavern. As that thought crossed her mind her resolve wavered. Yesterday’s encounter with the gallowglasses was still too present in her mind. She quailed at the prospect of finding her way alone to the tavern in search of a stranger who was meant to help her.
But what if the gallowglasses were in the tavern? She’d have no chance to escape. What if the man she sought was not there?
All at once the excitement at the adventures before her shrank to the size of a walnut, replaced by a growing certainty that there was wisdom in travelling with the laird. She fumbled with the lacing on the shirt. She must make ready to travel with the laird. Mad or nay, at least she could be sure he meant her no harm.
While she was lacing her boots, the door opened and Ailsa came into the room bearing a bowl of hot water and linen cloths. “Fer ye tae wash,” the bairn said. “There’s porridge and cream awaiting ye downstairs.”
“Thank ye lass.” Lyra quickly rolled up her sleeves and splashed water on her face and neck, removing the salty tang. She took one of the linen cloths and dried off.
Ailsa cleared her throat as if she wished to speak.
“What is it, little one?”
“Yer hair, me lady. I dae believe I could braid it fer ye.”
Lyra’s hand shot to her hair. Part of it was hanging in untidy wisps around her face, the rest of the braids had come undone and sat like a bird’s nest under her cap.
She laughed. “That would be helpful. I must be a sorry sight.”
“Why nae, me lady, ye are very pretty and yer hair is a most pleasant yellow color.” The child’s nimble fingers straightened out the knots and tangles and smoothed out the fair curls down Lyra’s back. It was only a matter of minutes before her hair was braided and wound around her head.
“There, ye look a right picture.”
Lyra smiled at that. Vanity and concern with appearance were strictly forbidden at the Priory, yet a secret part of her was enjoying her first compliment. Unbidden, the thought flashed into her head that the Laird Tòrr might also find her pretty. Strangely, she rather hoped he would.
“Is Laird Tòrr still breaking his fast?”
Ailsa nodded. “Shall I take word tae him that ye will be joining him?”
Lyra hesitated, slowly coming to a decision. “Yes, Ailsa. And please inform him I shall be travelling with him.”
Once Ailsa had trotted off, Lyra rolled up the remaining items, a chemise, another shirt, and stockings and tied them into the bundle. She would have liked a hair-brush, but fingers would manage well enough. Leaving behind her cap and the remnants of her nun’s habit, she left the room and hurried down the stairs. She was somewhat puzzled at the way her spirits lifted at the decision she’d made to accompany Laird Tòrr on his journey. Surely, she was only exchanging one savage for another.
He was seated at a table by the fire and looked up as she entered the room. “So ye’ve seen sense and decided tae forgo yer addled scheme of visiting the gallowglasses in the tavern?”
Bristling at his scornful words, she threw her own back at him. “Aye. There is little to choose between yer rough manners and the brutish gallowglasses. But ‘tis better tae stay with the devil one already kens than tae strike out with acompletestranger. I’ve decided ye are the better of the two.”
He gave a sharp laugh. “Och. ‘Tis indeed flattered I am tae hear that. And what makes ye think I am prepared tae take ye with me?”
Her heart stuttered.
