Page 34 of Bride of the Merciless Laird
Ewan was the first to wake, his body betraying him, their closeness and Tyra’s body playing havoc with his senses, desire that he was helpless to resist spiked in his groin. He carefully withdrew the arm he’d flung over her in the night and rolled over, disturbing her as he did so.
He rose to his feet, his hands covering the front of his kilt where his arousal was only too obvious.
Tyra sat up, bleary eyed, shaking her head.
“Milaird, did ye sleep the night at me side?” Her cheeks flushed pink as her green eyes locked with his.”
“Indeed, lass, ye were suffering from great terrors in yer sleep and begged me tae remain by yer side.”
She nodded slowly. “I remember now. I dreamed Harris MacDonald had me by the throat.” She shuddered, rubbing her arms. “I thank ye fer helping tae soothe me fears and keep me safe from harm.”
“I understand the terrors of the night. Are ye often haunted by such fearful dreams.”
She shook her head. “Nay. I believe this is the first time I’ve been held by such a dream.”
“And, I pray, the last of them.”
He released a long breath, gazing at her. She was adorable, her hair mussed about her face with tiny curls, her eyes still sleepy, the lids drooping. The memory of her warm body pressed to his during the night hardened his arousal.
He paced to the fireplace where the last embers of the fire still glowed. Hoping to conceal the enormous bulge in his groin, he turned his back to Tyra and made a great show of adding fresh logs to the fireplace. He took up the iron poker and set about bringing the fire back to life.
When he glanced around, Tyra had already got to her feet and was smoothing her crumpled gown.
“I shall leave ye tae wash and dress in yer new finery.” He was unable to keep the smirk from his face at the thought of her stripping naked at the washbasin.
He swiveled and strode toward the door.
“Laird Ewan, once we have washed and changed our clothing, mayhap we could break our fast taegether?” She gave him a shy smile.
Her suggestion caught him by surprise. All at once, the prospect of sharing his breakfast with her seemed most charming.
Turning again to her, he grinned. “I would most certainly enjoy that.” With that he made his departure, hoping she had not noticed his strutting shaft.
He hastened back to his chamber where washed and changed to a clean, white, linen shirt. He adjusted his kilt and jacket and, as he well kent the lengthy time it took for a lass to make ready, he went looking for Duncan.
He found him with the armorer, testing the sharpness of his weapons.
As Ewan approached, Duncan threw him a curious look. “Well, braither, I returned from the village past midnight. As ye bid me tae speak wi’ ye when I came back, I went straight tae yer chamber. I knocked loud and long, but ye didnae answer.”
He raised a brow. “Were ye sleeping soundly, Braither?
Ewan cleared his throat but offered no explanation. “I wasnae in me chamber last night, as well ye would ken if ye’d opened the door.” He gave a frustrated laugh. “So, what did ye discover.”
“The seamstress gave me the name of a lad who had come requesting the gowns fer Lady Tyra. He was hurrying and didnae wait fer her tae properly package them and rode off with them bundled on his saddle.” He chuckled. “Maeve was most indignant that her delicate stitching should be treated with such disrespect.”
Ewan tapped his foot impatiently. “Did ye pass on the name tae Joseph so he could point out the lad?”
“Aye. It was a lad, name of Alexander Ranald. Joseph daesnae ken him and swears there’s nay lad of that name among the castle staff.”
“God’s blood,” Ewan thundered. “Clan Ranald is closely allied with the MacDonalds of Sleat. I daresay, the young caitiff,having delivered his message, will be long gone tae rejoin his master.”
Duncan looked at Ewan calmly. “Ye were tae tell me what this is about when I returned. Please dae enlighten me.”
“Along wi’ the gowns, this lad delivered a message meant fer the lady, which she judges tae have been sent by Harris MacDonald. He kens she’s here and was issuing a threat that she could nae escape him.”
Duncan gave a disgusted huff and turned back to the matter of his claymore’s sharp blade. “We’ll match that lowlife MacDonald if he dares his luck at Eilean Donan. Sharpen yer blades, milaird.”
“Aye. This is the second indication that MacDonald is close by. We need our war-band tae increase our patrols both on the water and on land. And when ye’ve arranged that, send soldiers from the garrison that ye can trust, tae question the villagers and advise them tae keep watch fer any stranger. If an outsider is spotted, tell them tae send word tae the castle at once.”
