Page 5 of Bride of the Merciless Laird
She felt a moment’s relief. Surely the Mackenzies were nae friends to the MacDonalds of Sleat. But in the tumble of thoughts bedeviling her mind, she struggled to recall what she knew of the clan’s alliances.
“I am half-sister tae Laird Edmund of the MacNeacail Clan of Scorrybreac on the Isle of Skye.”
“I am well pleased tae be of service milady. But what were ye thinking lass, tae be abroad on such an inclement night as this in a place where those ruffians could attack ye?”
She huffed in indignation. “’Twas nay fault of mine that I was waylaid. I had merely taken a turn tae stretch me legs after arriving at the inn with me two men-at-arms.” She sniffed loudly, recalling the dreadful fact that both Dugal and Ghillie were no more. “I believed we were in a place of safety.”
He grunted as he untied is horse’s reins from where he was tethered. “I can only apologize that ye met danger here on me lands. I didnae ken there were bandits hereabouts. I shall have me men patrol the braes and the glens tae ensure there are nay other ruffians here tae imperil travelers in me lands.”
She raised a hand, slanting him a smile. “Nay mind, Laird Mackenzie. I believe it was me those blackguards were pursuing.”
He glanced up at her in alarm. “How so?”
“I cannae say at this moment.”
“It seems a hidden menace may have caught up with ye.”
She peered at him warily. In the dim light it was not possible to see if his eyes were honest. While her body still surged with the shock of the attack, it seemed sheer foolishness to trust this man. Though his words and brave actions identified him as a noble man, she had no way of being sure he was the laird he claimed to be.
For all she knew, he could be an ally of MacDonald.
Sucking in a desperate breath she continued to search her memory for any recollection of Clan Mackenzie and their alliances. Her head swam as she tried to remember anything she’d heard of the Mackenzies from Harris MacDonald when she’d been in his company.
She only knew MacDonald was a traitor who had betrayed her and her clan. His allegiances were not to other Scotsmen, but to English and southern barons who could buy him with gold and influence from their king.
No. She made up her mind. This man was not allied with MacDonald.
His hand was still on her waist and she found herself reassured by the strength of his arm. Even though, in the hint of moonlight she could only make out his tall, broad outline, there was something in that deep, baritone voice flowing like treacle over her senses that warmed and comforted her.
“We’d best be gone from this place.” He enfolded her in his wool cloak, keeping her close. Are ye fit tae ride before me on the saddle, lass? I’ll take ye tae the village.”
Tyra thought she could trust him to escort her to the inn. “Aye. I would be grateful if ye could take me tae The Thistle and Briar where me horses and belongings are being held.”
He held out his hand to assist her to mount. “There’s nay telling if those evil-doers have companions close at hand waiting tae finish the job they were set tae dae.”
She placed one hand on the saddle and he lifted her with ease. Once she was settled, he sprang up behind her.
It seemed natural to lean against him as the horse began its slow and difficult walk through the trees toward the roadway. The uneven ground was blanketed with white and a smattering of snowflakes still swirled in the air. Tyra was shivering now, her teeth chattering both with cold and the horror of what she’d been through.
Something stirred deep inside her. It had been so long since she’d been held and comforted, feeling the strength of a man supporting her. She allowed herself to sway with him, inhaling his scent of horse, leather and sweat, and even the faint, metallic, reek of blood.
Tyra MacNeacail, what on earth are ye thinking? Ye cannae let down yer guard, even fer a second, nay matter how tired and cold ye might be. Unseen danger is all around.
She stiffened, shifting in the saddle, creating distance between herself and the Mackenzie – if that was truly who he was – shocked at the power of her reaction to his nearness.
Her mind struggled with the question of what she should do once she reached the inn.
Should she seek to employ two men from the village to act as her guardians and continue on her journey? Or should she return to Skye? If Harris had, as she now believed, tracked her, there was no longer any call for secrecy. Wherever she went he would likely know her whereabouts.
She caught her breath, her heart foundering, as the danger she was in fully dawned.
Ewan swung his horse into the inn yard. The landlord who had been standing by the door, rushed forward to greet them, wringing his hands.
He nodded to Tyra and bowed to Ewan, tugging his forelock between fingers and thumb.
“Thank the dear Lord the lady is safe wi’ ye, Laird Ewan. When word came that two men had been slain and there was nay sign of her, we feared the worst.”
Ewan dismounted and lifted Tyra out of the saddle to stand, still unsteady, beside him. She inclined against him, still unsure of her footing, greatly relieved to hear the landlord addressing him as “laird,” verifying who he claimed himself to be.
