Page 75 of Bride of the Merciless Laird
He caught her hand, squeezing gently. “Ye’ve faith in me.”
“I always dae.”
Their eyes met – and in that look was something steady and fierce, a bond that fear could not shake.
That evening, as the sun dipped low and painted the loch in gold and crimson, Tyra stood at the parapet in the tower overlooking the water. The wind tugged at her hair and cloak, and she could hear the faint shouts of men below, the creak of the portcullis being raised.
Ewan joined her, placing his hands at her shoulders, the weight of command still in his stance, though his voice when he spoke, was soft. “Dinnae fash little one. We’ve set the new watches. The men from Edmund’s company will remain at the lower barracks. They’re good fighters, every last one of them.”
Tyra nodded. “Edmund thought tae leave them here fer that reason. He feared Harris might strike again.”
Ewan’s gaze followed the dark line of the shore, probing the darkness. “Then he judged well.”
They stood together in silence for a time, the three lochs stretching before them, the mist gathering again over the water.
Finally, Tyra said quietly, “Dae ye ever tire of it? The burden of being ferever vigilant?”
Ewan’s mouth twitched in a weary smile. “Aye. But a laird daesnae have the luxury of weariness. The clan looks tae me — and now tae ye.”
“Tae me?” she said, startled.
He turned toward her fully. “Aye. Ye’re their lady now. They’ll take their cue from ye – yer calm, yer courage. Yer smiles will give them heart.”
Her eyes softened. “Then I’ll try tae smile, even when I’m afraid.”
He reached for her hand, pressing it to his heart. “Ye’ve more strength than ye ken, Tyra. Ye’ve already faced worse and yet ye stand tall.”
For a moment, all she could hear was the steady beat beneath her palm. The fear receded, replaced by warmth, by belonging, by strength and the courage to endure. “Then we’ll face whatever comes. Taegether.”
“Aye,” he said, and his voice held the quiet conviction of a vow. “Taegether.”
The loch shimmered below them, the light fading to silver as the first stars kindled above the peaks. Somewhere far out on the water, a lone gull cried – and although the threat of MacDonald’s presence lingered somewhere out there, in the distance, within the stone walls of Eilean Donan, strength and love bound them like armor and shield.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Tyra slipped toward the training yard, hoping to glimpse Ewan there. She breathed in the crisp, morning air, catching the scent of pine from the nearby forest and the briny tang of the sea. The morning sun spilled over the loch, gilding the walls of Eilean Donan in a sharp, dazzling light. The wind tugged at banners and tossed loose straw across the flagstones, waves lapped gently against the rocks below the castle, their rhythmic murmur underscoring the clang of wooden practice swords striking shields in the courtyard. The distant call of seabirds echoed over the water, mingling with the occasional whinny from the stables.
Ewan stood among his guards, the familiar tension of command settling into his shoulders. The men were arrayed in a semi-circle, weapons in hand, ready for the morning drills. Each strike and parry fell into a precise rhythm, a kind of battle dance Ewan led with his commander’s authority. Every motion was deliberate, controlled, yet charged with rippling strength that could break bone if needed. The leather of the men’s glovescreaked and the metal of their swords sang as they met shield and blade.
He had already removed his tunic and she watched as he stripped off even his simple linen shirt so that he was bare to the waist. She sucked in a breath, taking in the coiled muscle along his arms and back shining with his sweat as he moved, cat-like, his every pivot and strike made with absolute precision. She licked her suddenly dry lips. The scents of leather and sweat mingled with pine and the smoke from the castle hearth, a heady mix that made her heartbeat quicken. The faint morning chill lingered on her skin, carried by the breeze that rustled through the banners flying above.
Tyra had wandered into the yard, under the pretense of passing by, but she paused at the edge of the circle, tingling at the sight of Ewan moving with such authority. Every deliberate step he made captivated her – the precision of his stance, his slight shift of weight that turned defense into attack. She could hear the scrape of leather boots on stone, the soft grunt of exertion, the sharp ring of steel meeting steel.
She lingered, tucking her woolen cloak around her, the cold seeping through the soles of her boots, her breath a cloud of mist in the icy air. Even after the time she’d spent at Eilean Donan, seeing Ewan like this – alive, commanding, untamed – still stirred something deep within her.
When the guards finished their drills and dispersed, stretching and wiping sweat from their brows, Ewan’s eyes found hers. His lips curved into a half-smile.
“Watching like a hawk, are ye?”
Tyra felt her cheeks warm. “I… uh, I was passing.”
“Aye,” he said, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Passing. Yet ye stopped by. I shall take that as a compliment.”
She straightened, trying to appear nonchalant. “Would ye… show me some of it? Teach me a few movements?”
He shook his head, a teasing grin on his lips. “Tyra, ye have nay need tae fight. Ye ken I will always protect ye.”
“I dinnae want tae be helpless,” she said firmly. “I want tae ken how tae defend meself if the time ever comes. If ye’re nae here.”
