Page 80 of Bride of the Mad Laird
“Aye, he was one of the two taken captive by the gallowglasses.”
“I could go wi’ ye, tae honor one of the lads who had died because of me.”
He enfolded her in a tight embrace, his voice choking in his throat. “Nay, lass. Ye must stay safe within the castle, I cannae risk ye goin’ outside. I well understand yer need and yer kindness, but Jaimie died because of the wickedness of Laird MacDougall. That man is solely tae blame and ye must take it on yer conscience.”
“Then please pass me sincere condolence tae the Fergusons. Tell them I will light a candle in the chapel tomorrow fer Jaimie and he will always be in me prayers.”
“That will be a balm tae ken ye care fer their loss.”
She wiped a tear trickling down her cheek. “MacDougall should pay fer his crimes.”
Tòrr nodded, knowing in his gut that, with his Lady Lyra by his side, his role as laird would be all the stronger. She would care for his people as he did.
Encircling her with his arms, he bent to take her lips with his in a bittersweet kiss. He lost himself in her for a few short moments before he tore himself away.
“While I am gone stay safe, dinnae leave the keep, dinnae venture into the bailey.”
She nodded, but he could see she was reluctant to do as he said.
“Dinnae fret, lass. I dinnae wish tae treat ye as me prisoner, only tae keep ye safe.”
He dashed down the stairs and hastened across the courtyard. Glancing back before turning toward the stables his heart lifted. She was still standing where he had left her, gazing after him.
If everything goes well, tomorrow she will be mine.
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
After watching Tòrr’s tall figure disappear into the darkness near the stables Lyra requested Bethia to have her supper brought to her bedchamber and retreated to the comfort of her room. She had much to think on.
All week, during his and his men’s absence, everyone in the castle had busied themselves with preparations for the ceilidh. It was good to have a distraction from the possibilities swirling around them.
What if the men were captured or worse?
What if MacDougall’s men attacked the castle while Tor was gone?
As the days had worn on, Lyra’s worries had worsened, and her only confidant had been Eilidh, and to her she had been able to confess a small component of her worries. She longed for her dear friend Davina who, as Providence worked in her favor, and to her eternal amazement, was Tòrr’s half-sister. They had shared all their hopes and fears together at the Priory and she had missed her sorely when Davina had made her escape, as she missed her now.
In between helping out with the preparations that were turning the castle upside down, she had attended to the needs of the men remaining in the infirmary as best she could.
All of them were mending well. Angus MacGregor could use his arm with only the slightest wince of pain and his spirits were high. The other lads were all grateful for the help provided by Eilidh and herself, and she welcomed the opportunity to be of service.
As well, Eilidh was a good teacher and she had been learning more each day about the healing properties of the plants growing in the garden in the bailey. She was looking forward to learning how to make poultices, salves and tisanes.
She had helped Claray to beat woolen rugs and tapestries free of dust, strewing sweet, scented herbs on the freshly swept floors in all the bedchambers and spreading fresh rushes. She had helped Bethia in the kitchen where she could.
But despite all these distractions, as each day went by and the men were still absent, her fears had grown.
When she had heard the clatter of hooves on the cobbles and realized the men were back, she had run to the entrance to the keep, and there he was. Her spirits had soared with a heady mix of emotions as her promised husband had come toward her and swept her into his arms.
Yet, although the laird had returned, the shadow had deepened. They were to be married, but instead of the perfect wedding day she’d been imagining, the ceremony would be barely legal, performed in haste by an unwilling priest. All because one evil man threatened their lives with his greed and cruelty.
After consuming her supper, Lyra sat warming herself by the fire, waiting and hoping Tòrr would return. But, as the night wore on and he did not come, she gave up her vigil and retired to her bed, allowing sleep to finally close over her fears.
Her wedding day dawned at last. Not with the blue skies and sunshine she’d hoped for, but dark clouds and a misty curtain ofsmirrthat dampened her mood with a cloying sense of foreboding.
Nevertheless, Elspaith greeted her with her usual smiles and a palpable excitement.
The new gown Purdie had made for her hung beside the garde robe, a glorious cloud of pale blue velvet with long drooping sleeves made of white Belgian lace, the waistline encircled by a silver girdle. The neckline – which Lyra considered to be far too low – and the hemline, were embroidered in gold and silver with swirling bands of laurel leaves signifying peace and harmony for the forthcoming marriage.
