Page 19 of Bride of the Merciless Laird
She got to her feet, quite lost for words.
Whatever will I tell him? He expects me tae give him an answer.
“On the morrow, in the morn, in me study.”
Without waiting for her response, he turned on his heel and strode to the door. As he opened it, he turned, a smile quirking his lips as their eyes met.
“Sleep well.”
Alone at long last, Tyra was far too disturbed by what had taken place to contemplate sleep. Instead, she paced the room, struggling to bring order to her thoughts.
There was sense in what he’d proposed, she could not fault that. Yet it seemed far too abrupt to consider marriage with Laird Ewan.
But how could she baulk at the suddenness of his proposal? If her half-brother were to arrange a betrothal for her while she was with the nuns at the Pluscarden, it would be with a lad she’d had no dealings with. Mayhap it would be someone she’d never met. A stranger from strange lands.
After all, she’d met Harris MacDonald on only two occasions beforetheirbetrothal. He had courted her with embellishments and flourishes and at the time she had found Harris irresistibly beguiling. But looking back, it was apparent his courtship had held even less meaning than the empty gesture made by Ewan’s flirtatious younger brother.
More to the point, her betrothal to Harris had been arranged when she’d spent less time alone with him than the minutes and hours that hadalreadypassed between herself and Laird Ewan with no other soul was present.
While his proposal had been bluntly phrased, lacking in Harris’s persuasive, courtly gestures, she appreciated his honesty. He was not for making flowery promises he would not keep, only that he would protect her.
Ewan had gone as far as leaving love and intimacy out of the agreement. He’d spoken only of alliances, convenience, and protection.
Sighing deeply, she recalled the time when, as a naïve young lass, she’d believed in marrying for love.
She’d imagined herself to be wildly in love with her handsome fiancé, even though he’d never treated her as she wished he would. They’d never shared amusements or pastimes, never chatted and laughed together. To her chagrin his constant criticism had led her to believe that not only did he disapprove of everything that was dear to her, but that she, herself, was inferior and unworthy of love.
But for all her dreams ideas of adoration, and for all of her infatuation with her previous fiancé, with Harris she’d never experienced the darts of fire and the rush of heat through her veins she experienced when her gaze locked with Laird Ewan Mackenzie’s blue eyes.
Done with pacing, she was washed with tiredness, her eyes drooping. Falling into the chair by the dying embers of the fire she pulled her cloak tighter around her against the growing chill.
What shall I decide?
There was no point in bemoaning that this would be a loveless marriage of convenience. There was much to commend their union.
Uppermost was the knowledge that with the might of the Mackenzies on her side, she would be safe from any threat Harris MacDonald would care to make.
That was no small thing.
Of course, her union with Ewan would mean a greatly advantageous alliance for her clan. She had no doubt her half-brother Laird Edmund would approve the match.
And, for her, to become the wife of such a powerful laird, would go far to address the humiliation that had been heaped upon her since Harris MacDonald’s perfidy became common knowledge throughout the Highlands.
She mused that it was much to Ewan’s credit that he had no qualms in proposing marriage to a lass whose reputation was as tarnished as hers.
But, despite her musing, there was one question that insisted in leaping repeatedly to the front of her mind.
If an alliance was his chief concern – along with silencing the vexatious carping of his Council – surely there were chiefs of more important clans than hers, with willing daughters, who would be eager to form an alliance with the Mackenzies? Why had Ewan chosen her?
It was this niggling question she took to bed with her and which kept her awake for longer than she expected, without finding an answer.
Save for the memory of the dancing fire between them that sprang into life whenever their eyes locked.
CHAPTER NINE
Tyra was slow to rise from her warm bed next morning. She luxuriated under the coverlets until a maid entered bearing a tray containing porridge, cream, honey, and bannocks with soft, white cheese, to break her fast.
Another maid tiptoed in bringing a steaming ewer of hot water for washing, and then set to preparing the fire. Once the room warmed, Tyra left her nest, flung on her warm robe and, seated herself near the fireplace at a small table. Lost in thought she dallied, taking her time over her meal.
