Page 13 of Bride of the Merciless Laird
Ewan stood, undoing the brooch holding his thick fur cloak at his neck. He removed the cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders, tucking it under her chin and enveloping her arms. The cloak still held the warmth of his body and she breathed in his rich man-scent, musky and leathery and distinctly his.
She snuggled into the fur, relishing his kindness and the gentleness of his touch. “Now ‘tis ye who will freeze,” she said.
He shook his head. “I’m used tae being outdoors in all weathers, Lady Tyra, ‘tis naught tae me.”
She gazed across to the castle where the tide still swirled, too high for them to cross yet.
He followed her gaze. “’Tis near, yet far. But the tide has turned and the water sweeps out fast tae the sea lochs. Ye’ll soon be basking by a giant fire in the great hall of Eilean Donan.”
She nodded, cuddling deep into his warm cloak.
“Ye’ll meet me sister Isla, and me braither Duncan. They reside wi’ me in the castle. Me sister will be glad of another lass tae keep company wi’.”
At last, the tide receded enough to reveal the little causeway, and they mounted their horses to make their way across the rocky, hand-built, crossing.
Tyra’s little mare followed Ewan’s sure-footed horse and in no time, they were on the island, the great castle towering above them.
Gazing up at the massive curtain walls extending over almost all the surrounding land, Tyra breathed a sigh of relief. Vastly bigger than her own home at Scorrybreac, the Mackenzie castle was, indeed, a mighty stronghold. She reassured herself with a glance at the thick, stone walls of the perimeter which even the most determined enemy would be hard-pressed to penetrate.
She would be safe there.
They cantered up a slight slope and, as they approached the gate, Ewan waved, signaling to the guards. By the time they reached the wall, the portcullis had been raised and they dismounted, walking their horses through an archway into a bustling, cobbled courtyard. Once the grooms had taken their horses to the stables, Ewan turned to Tyra with a smile.
“Welcome tae Eilean Donan, Lady Tyra,” he said and Tyra looked around.
Servants were hurrying to and fro, some with buckets of water from the well, others lugging bundles of carrots and turnips. One lass carried a small basket of herbs. A young squire bearing a bow and quiver along with two claymores strode toward a small stone building which Tyra guessed was the armory.
She also noted a large space devoted to growing vegetables and herbs. An inviting fragrance of baking bread drifted from the kitchen out-building.
“Ewan,” a sweet voice called.
Two young people, a lass and a tall lad, came striding down the stairs of the keep, closely followed by a round, smiling older man Tyra took to be the seneschal, judging by the large jangle of keys on his belt.
The lass who was clearly the owner of the voice, raced across the courtyard and flung her arms around Ewan’s neck. She was tall and slender, with a swath of glossy black hair descending to her waist. Her eyes, a shade paler than Ewan’s, sparkled as she greeted him.
“Where have ye been. We expected ye before supper last night. We were all afeared ye’d met wi’ a dreadful mishap when ye didnae return from the village.”
After giving her a quick hug, Ewan turned with a laugh to Tyra.
“This is me overly anxious wee sister, Isla.” he said. “And this is the Lady Tyra,” he placed a hand at Tyra’s waist making, her breath catch in her throat, presenting her to his sister.
Isla curtsied politely, casting a questioning look at Ewan.
“The lady’s travelling party met wi’ a slight… er… misadventure on their journey tae Moray. I have offered her the hospitality of the castle until she is able tae travel once more.”
Isla nodded, her eyebrows still raised in puzzlement.
“And this…” Ewan was saying, as the young man strolled over grinning broadly, “…is me braither Duncan.”
There was no mistaking that Duncan was cut from the same cloth as Ewan. The brothers shared great height and breadth of shoulders and the same dark hair as their sister’s. Yet, Duncan’s eyes were brown, and his hair, unlike Ewan’s, fell to his shoulders and was tied with a leather thong at his nape.
He bowed with a flourish, startling Tyra by reaching for her hand and pressing it lightly to his lips.
“We shall be only too happy tae have such a lovely lady gracing us with her presence over the coming days.”
Conscious of a disapproving grunt from Ewan standing beside her, Tyra hastily withdrew her hand. Heat flamed in her cheeks.
Did I dae something tae earn his disapproval?
