Page 32 of Bride of the Merciless Laird
She grinned at Tyra. “I heard the gowns tae be altered have been brought back from Maeve.” There was a flicker in Tyra’s eyes at that, and a sharply indrawn breath but Isla did not seem to notice anything amiss and kept up her exuberant chatter.
“I can’t wait tae see ye wearing them. Promise me ye’ll wear one of them tae dine tomorrow eve. I’m certain ye will look like an angel in them.”
At that, Tyra chuckled. “Mayhap the gowns will make me appear angelic, Isla, but I am far from being an angel.”
Isla reached out to clutch Tyra’s hand. “Well, tae me ye’re an angel who has come tae shed some delights on me life in this wintry castle. Ye have nay idea how it has brightened me life tae have another lass tae talk wi.”
She glanced over at her brother. “And I dae wish ye’d smile a little more, Ewan. Ye’ve become quite grim these days.”
He exchanged a look with Tyra, who pursed her lips knowingly. It was difficult to feel anything but grim at that moment.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tyra welcomed the quiet once she’d returned to her chamber. There was much to think about While the threat from Harris was uppermost in her mind, churning away somewhere in the corner of her thoughts was the knowledge that Ewan had previously married. Her curiosity was mixed with that strange sensation she feared might be a pang of jealousy. She asked herself what on earth that meant. That strange squirming in her heart was not something she’d ever experienced before.
She had to find out more. Mayhap when she met with Isla again, she could question the lass in a subtle manner to see if she would divulge more information about the mysterious wife and what had become of her.
After changing into her night shift and donning her fur-lined robe, she sat by the fire quite wide-awake and not the least bit interested in laying her head on the pillow. Every distant movement, every faint voice, every sound of a shutter banging inthe wind or a door closing was a jolt to her senses keeping her on edge, forbidding her from rest.
Mayhap some warm milk would help her to feel drowsy.
She slipped her feet into the embroidered silk slippers by her bed and left her chamber in search of a maid who could go beyond the courtyard to the kitchen building.
She was on her way, passing Ewan’s study, when she saw the door was ajar. She peeped in, and there in the faint glow of candlelight she spied him at his desk, his quill in his hand, an empty piece of parchment before him on the desk.
He dipped the quill in the ink and began to write. She lingered for a moment too long, torn between wishing to disturb him and enjoying the sight of him, which was also somehow soothing for her. When she decided to turn and go, he must have heard her, for he looked up. Catching sight of her, he put down his quill.
“Is all well wi’ ye Lady Tyra.”
She nodded, slanting him a wry smile. “I couldnae sleep. Me thoughts are tormenting me, refusing tae allow me tae rest quietly.”
“Dae come in and warm yerself. The passages are built of ice.”
She stepped tentatively into the room. He was right. She rubbed her arms, feeling the cold seeping into her bones as she crossed to the fireplace.
“I dinnae wish tae disturb ye, milaird. I see ye are busy.”
“Nay, nay.” He looked a little flustered and her curiosity immediately flared into life as she wondered what he was writing.
As if he’d guessed her thoughts, he went on to explain. “I was composing a ballad, milady. Often a story comes intae me head and I write the words down, finding a way tae make a song.” He gestured to the elegant instrument standing in the corner beside his desk. It had a long neck threaded tightly with several strings of cat-gut, and an almond shaped body.
“Why that is quite a lovely thing tae be occupying ye.” She smiled. “So, ye are a budding troubadour?”
He laughed. “Nay one hears me songs, Lady Tyra. I have a voice that would put the frogs tae shame.”
She laughed at that, thinking of his deep rumble of a voice singing a lilting ballad.
He picked up the instrument. “I’ll nae shame meself wi’ singing, but I’ve taught meself tae strum the lute. It makes a bonnie sound.”
“I’d love tae hear ye play. I love music and singing.”
“D’ye sing?” His eyes lit up.
“I sing and play the clarsach.” A wistful note crept into her voice. “But I’ve left all those frivolous pastimes at Scorrybreac, as I am certain they’d nae be welcome in the hush of the nunnery.”
He brought out a sheaf of parchments. “These are some of the ballads I’ve put me mind tae.”
She took the little bundle and scanned it.
