Page 74 of Bride of the Merciless Laird
Isla caught sight of them near the well and waved, her apron dusted with flour. “There ye are. I was beginning tae think ye’d vanished.”
“We were tending tae the horses,” Tyra said. “And a few other matters.”
Isla arched a brow, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Ah. Other matters, is it? Best nae let the gossips hear that. They’ve little enough tae occupy them as it is.”
Ewan groaned good-naturedly. “Ye’ve a tongue sharp enough tae cut stone, Isla.”
“And someone must keep ye men humble,” she replied, hands on hips. “Now, come… I’ve been thinking, we’ve yet tae hold a proper feast tae mark Lady Tyra’s arrival. If she’s tae be mistress of the castle, the people ought tae know her as such.”
Tyra flushed. “Oh, that isnae necessary?—”
“Nonsense,” Isla interrupted. “It’s more than necessary. A gathering will raise spirits after the troubles we’ve had of late.”
Ewan nodded thoughtfully. “Ye’re right. A feast would remind the men what we’re fighting tae protect –hearth, and kin. Ourclan.” He turned to Tyra. “As the lady of Eilean Doran, will ye see tae the preparations?”
“Gladly,” Tyra said, her mood brightening. “We’ll make it a night tae remember.”
Isla clapped her hands. “That’s settled, then. And of course I’ll be here tae help ye. We’ll roast two boars and a stag and open the best casks of ale and liberate some of that French wine ye’ve been hiding in the cellar, Ewan. And mayhap the pipers will play us something merrier than last time.”
Ewan laughed. “Aye, dae that. Their last tune near sent the dogs howling.”
They shared an easy moment of camaraderie, the kind that made the courtyard feel like the heart of something strong and enduring.
Sadly, that peace was short-lived.
Duncan appeared from the gatehouse, his stride brisk, his expression dark. Mud spattered his boots and cloak, and his hand rested thoughtlessly on the hilt of his sword. He spotted Ewan and crossed the yard with grim purpose.
“Milaird,” he said curtly. “We’ve a problem.”
Ewan’s tone shifted at once. “What is it?”
“The men guarding the boat landing – there were three of them – havenae returned from last night’s watch. We found their torches near the shore, burnt out. There was nay sign of struggle, nay blood. But they’re gone wi’ nay trace.”
A cold prickle creep up Tyra’s spine. “Gone? Could they have wandered elsewhere? Taken tae the mainland? The village?”
Duncan shook his head. “Nae all three. They were seasoned men, good warriors and the night was clear. Someone has taken them. Or worse – thrown them tae the fishes.”
Ewan’s jaw tightened. “Ye think it was Harris MacDonald.”
“Who else? It bears his mark,” Duncan said grimly. “He’s nae one tae leave peace long unbroken.”
Tyra’s breath caught. Though she had not seen Harris since that final confrontation between him and Edmund, the memory still haunted her. His hand raised, curling into a fist, the hate in his eyes. The very thought of him was enough to freeze her bones with fear.
Ewan’s gaze flicked to her, as if sensing her terror. “We’ll nae give him the chance tae strike again.”
He turned back to Duncan. “Send word tae the garrison. I want double patrols along the shore and the sea wall. Keep the signal fires ready.”
“Aye, milaird.” Duncan nodded before striding off, barking orders as he went. The sound of clanging armor and hurrying boots soon filled the yard.
Isla made a little mewing sound, her mouth turned down in dismay. “And the feast…?”
Ewan looked at Tyra, his expression softening a fraction. “We’ll nae cancel it. Let Harris see that we’re unafraid. But we’ll hold it within the keep. There’s tae be nay one tae go beyond the keep walls after dark.”
Tyra stood silent a moment, watching the sudden new activity. “Duncan’s right, isn’t he? Harris won’t rest.”
“Nay,” Ewan admitted. “Men like him never dae. But he’ll find us ready.”
She looked up at him, her hand brushing his arm. “I dinnae doubt that. Nae with ye leading them.”
