Page 29 of Bride of the Merciless Laird
Tyra took a gulp of the ale, directing her gaze to the flames in the hearth, thinking over what she’d just learned.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ewan whistled cheerfully as he strode out of his room, heading toward the banquet hall. Although he’d been chagrined at having intruded into the Lady Tyra’s private bath time, the incident had not been without its pleasures.
There’d been the tiniest glimpse of her pink skin before he’d realized his error and pivoted away. Now, he found his thoughts dwelling on that creamy skin and the warm, sensual play of water. His nose was filled with delicate rose scent and the warm, steamy air that had pervaded his senses.
For once, he did not attempt to shut down his lust-filled thoughts but allowed himself the indulgence. He huffed in a breath. The lady Tyra was a beautiful flower, ripe for the plucking, but he would not be the man to do so. He couldnotbe the man to do so.
As he strolled the passageways toward the banqueting hall he came upon a maid hurrying toward the place where Tyra’s andIsla’s chambers were located, several gowns draped over her arms, slipping and sliding out of her grasp, one of them almost trailing on the floor.
“Hold, there lass.” He raised a hand and bent to collect the straying gown. “Where are ye headed with these?”
The maid, who was little more than a wean, reddened, looking flustered. “I was taking them tae the Lady Tyra, milord. They’ve been wi’ Mistress Maeve from the village fer alterations:
“Ah.” He reached for the gowns. “Methinks ye are too small a wee lass fer these. I’ll take them tae the lady.”
The young maid bobbed a curtsy and, still red-faced, proceeded down the passageway leaving him to take the gowns.
Arriving at Tyra’s door, he knocked.
Surely, she would have dressed herself by now?
When there was no response to his sharp rap on the door, he entered, with the intention of laying the gowns across the bed for her to find when she returned.
He straightened the skirts, picturing how charming Tyra would look in those new gowns. A great improvement on the drab garments she’d been clad in ever since they’d met.
As he smoothed them, he heard the rustle of parchment in one of the pockets and removed it. Mayhap this was an accounting of Maeves’s endeavors, which was not for meant to the lady but for him to pass to the seneschal for payment,
He glanced at the note, which was folded and sealed, with nothing written on the fold. Without giving it further thought, he broke the seal and perused it, surprised to see it contained only one sentence.
Holding it near the fireplace for light to make out the words, he peered closely.
Nay matter how far ye run, I will find ye.
His stomach lurched as he read it – not once, but twice. There was no mistaking the threat it contained. His hands clenched into involuntary fists by his sides.
He turned the note over, examining the seal, but there was no imprint of a signet ring that would give him a name or a hint of who had sent such a thing.
This was meant fer Tyra. It could only be from MacDonald, fer who else would send such a blatantly threatening missive.
He sucked in a long breath, exhaling through his rage, calming himself, allowing his tumbling thoughts to settle.
If this message was from Harris MacDonald, Tyra was in even greater danger than he’d anticipated. Whoever had sent it –and with every passing moment he was more convinced that it was from MacDonald – clearly knew she was at the castle. Even worse, they could only have learned about the gowns at the seamstress’s house from one of the servants at Eilean Donan.
He left the chamber and hastened downstairs in search of the seneschal. He found him in his rooms at his desk.
Joseph put down his quill and stood when Ewan entered.
“Ne’er mind, Joseph. Please sit.”
“What is it Laird Ewan, ye’ve a thunderous look.”
“Aye. I seek a name.”
Joseph nodded. “I ken all the castle servants.”
“Who was the lad who brought the Lady Tyra’s garments from the seamstress this afternoon.”
