Page 17 of Bride of the Merciless Laird
He sucked in a breath and reached his hand to rap on the door.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tyra and Isla were still chatting happily when there came a rapping on the door and a deep rumbling voice.
“’Tis Ewan Mackenzie, milady.”
Tyra felt the same stab of excitement jolt through her at the sound of his voice she’d experienced at the inn. “Please enter,” she called.
Both Isla and Tyra rose and curtsied briefly as he swept, unsmiling, into the chamber.
They went to resume their seats when he raised a hand. “I wish tae converse with Lady Tyra in private, sister.” He spoke in a tone that would brook no argument.
What daes he wish tae speak with me about?
Tyra looked at him in surprise.
“Of course, Ewan.” Casting Tyra a rueful smile, Isla moved toward the door. “I understand. Good evening, Lady Tyra. I thank ye fer yer company. It has been a most pleasant afternoon.”
Once the door had closed behind Isla, Ewan signaled to Tyra, gesturing toward the chair she’d been seated on.
“Please sit down again, Lady Tyra.”
He drew his thick, dark brows together, his face clouding as if a shadow was passing overhead.
Tyra stepped back to the chair and seated herself, somewhat disconcerted by the seriousness of Ewan’s expression.
He did not sit, but leaned on the mantel, the deep frown still etched on his forehead as he gazed into the leaping flames in the fireplace.
Whatever daes he want, coming here so late?
After a long and mysterious pause, he finally turned to her. She caught her breath, half-afraid of what he might be about to say.,
“I’ll be brief, Lady Tyra. I ken ‘tis nae seemly fer me tae be here wi’out a companion present. I dinnae wish tae sully yer reputation.”
“Me reputation?” Tyra gave a sharp little laugh. “I dae believe it has been in tatters ever since the betrothal contract wi’ Harris MacDonald became null and void, and me braither forced him tae return every last item of me dowry. If ye were truly concerned, however, I would have thought yer sister would have played the part of a chaperone well enough.”
He had the good grace to appear slightly chastened. “I agree, yet there is a matter of some urgency I wish tae discuss, which merits a little rule-breaking. I assure ye yer reputation will nae be damaged by this meeting between us.”
“That may be, Laird Mackenzie, but I would feel more comfortable were ye tae be seated beside me.”
He grunted, but nevertheless lowered his great length into the chair beside hers. He leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest, stretched his legs and crossed his ankles, looking altogether less threatening than when he was frowning by the fire.
She felt the tension leaking out of her shoulders and her breath slowing.
“Would ye care fer a cup of mead, Laird Ewan?”
“Aye, thank ye.”
Tyra rose and poured them each a goblet of the honeyed liquor. He sat up as she handed him the drink but the frown was back. Clearly, he was bothered by something.
“Laird Ewan, I can see from yer frown that there is something unpleasant on yer mind. I fear ye have bad news.”
He took a gulp of the mead and shook his head. “Nay, I dinnae bring bad news.” He took another sip. “But, ye are correct in thinking there is much on me mind.”
“Then, as ye’ve come here bearing a burden, mayhap ye could perhaps lighten it somewhat by sharing yer concern wi’ me.” She was desperately curious now, yet afraid he was about to inform her of something to do with her attackers. Surely, they would not come to Eilean Donan in search of her?
“Of course. I dinnae wish tae plague ye wi’ misgivings. It is a straightforward matter I wish tae discuss and one which, I hope, is nae tae yer detriment.”
