Page 6 of Bride of the Merciless Laird
“The lady requires a warm fire and a bowl of good broth tae warm her.”
“Of course, Laird Ewan. It is all prepared and awaiting her pleasure in the parlor, even though I was afeared she was lost tae us.”
Within the space of only a few minutes, Tyra peeled off her damp outer garments, placed a soft, warm rug around her shoulders, and was seated by a roaring fire, with a large steaming bowl of chicken broth beside her on a small table.
She supped on the delicious broth, savoring the taste of carrots and barley along with the chicken, slowly feeling the return of life to her fingers and toes.
All at once, both her prospects – a return to Skye, or the onward journey to the Priory – overwhelmed her, washing over her likea king tide. One false step and she’d be swallowed whole. For several long moments she felt herself deluged with hopelessness.
But soon she straightened her shoulders. This self-pitying would never do. She must make sense of what had taken place, summon her courage, and make plans.
After consulting with the landlord for some minutes Ewan strode back into the room standing tall before the fireplace.
“I’ve given instructions fer yer two lads tae be taken care of. If ye wish, I shall make arrangements for them tae be returned tae Skye tae their families.”
She nodded her agreement. It was painful to think of the terrible fate that had befallen her trusty companions. There would be much grieving in the MacNeacail keep at their loss.
He turned to her and dipped his head so that his face was captured in the golden light of the fire and she saw him fully for the first time.
His features were rugged and weather-worn, indicating a man who spent much of his time outdoors. His nose was straight and proud, his cheeks had seen the angles of a sharp blade, and his mouth was wide and generous. She would not call him handsome but something more compelling. This was a man who stood his ground proudly, who would not quail in the face of danger, a man who could earn the trust of a lady, not demand it. He was unlike any man she’d ever seen.
Her heart jumped. His appearance was as distant to that of her former fiancé as day was to night. Where Harris was tall and slender, this man towered, his shoulders and chest were expansive, while the great size and strength of his arms robbed her breath. She’d seen him wield his hefty claymore as if it was nothing but a twig. And, where Harris’s hands were elegant and soft, this man’s hands were broad, scarred, and calloused, hinting at the warrior she knew him to be.
For the briefest, most foolish moment, she wondered if those roughened hands might, at a touch, prove soft… even gentle.
What am I thinkin’?This is but a stranger I’ll ne’er see again.
CHAPTER THREE
“Lady Tyra,” when he spoke, his voice was a deep rumble. “I am concerned for yer wellbeing. Yer face is yet pale. Ye’ve been through an ordeal that nay lady should ever endure.”
She looked up, meeting his clear-blue eyes and a little jolt of lightning flashed through her veins. It was as if his eyes could see right into her soul and something there stirred to life. She was washed by feelings she’d never believed she could experience, a kind of floating, a sense of the world slipping away. The feeling lasted for only an instant before she hauled in a deep breath.
She shook her head.
This cannae be. Am I so starved fer the company of a man that I imagine this Mackenzie tae be like one of the heroes of old
Clasping her hands together in her lap so that he was unable to see them tremble, she schooled her voice into a formal tone and spoke brusquely.
“I appreciate yer concern, Laird Mackenzie, and, fortunately, I am quite uninjured.” She allowed herself a brief glance at him from beneath her lashes. “I believe yer intervention spared me from harm and I offer ye me gratitude.”
“May I take the chair beside ye?”
“Of course.” At least this man had the good manners to understand he might be intruding on her reflection.
He lowered his huge frame into the adjacent armchair and leaned back, gazing into the flames.
“It would be most remiss of me if I didnae tell ye what’s in me thoughts.”
“Indeed?” This blunt comment took her by surprise, causing her brows to draw together in a frown, “I am most interested tae hear what is on yer mind, Laird Ewan.”
“News travels in the Highlands, milady. If ye’ll pardon me saying so, I ken the story of the lad who was yer betrothed, Laird Harris MacDonald. Word of his perfidious treachery tae ye and yer clan is well-known. He is nae a lad who is welcome beyond MacDonald lands.”
Tyra shifted uncomfortably in her chair, crossing her ankles as if to defend herself against the creeping shame overtaking her. Being reminded of the way she’d been betrayed by a man she had trusted still caused her pain.
The Mackenzie continued. “I cannae help suspecting that Harris MacDonald was the one behind the attack this evening.”
Her stomach squirmed as she took this in. She cast a suspicious gaze over the laird. Could she trust this man? Surely if he was an ally of MacDonald’s he’d not admit to the man’s treacherous behavior? Deciding not to reveal details of the threats she’d received she sucked in a deep breath, taking a moment to gather her thoughts before responding.
