Page 50 of Bride of the Beastly Laird

“Are ye sure ye can keep safe from Bairre and his men. His anger will grow tenfold when he discovers yer escape from the bothy.

Aware that she may encounter Bairre, Dahlia decided to break her fast in her solar rather than taking it in her room as she’d been doing. She was contemplating a bowl of porridge with very little appetite when Bairre entered the room.

“Me dear,” he cried when he caught sight of her. “I am so pleased ye’re feeling well enough tae rejoin our company.”

Dahlia shuddered as he took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

“I’m still nae completely well, Bairre,” she said, keeping her voice faint.

He studied her for a moment. “Aye. Ye’re very pale melady. Mayhap a walk in the garden would dae ye good.”

Dahlia sighed. She’d taken care to power her face with a dusting of wheaten flour and she guessed she was as white as a lily. All the better to convince Bairre that she’d been out of sorts for several days. Of course, it was unseemly to mention a lady’s monthly flow so she kept her eyes down and did not mention her health again.

“Mayhap Beattie will accompany ye into the garden, where ye will regain yer strength.” He got to his feet, clearly not a man who was comfortable with ‘women’s illnesses’. To Dahlia’s relief, he took his leave and strode out of the solar.

She watched him go with a sense of reprieve washing over her. There was nothing to suggest from his manner that he had any suspicious at all that her story was a long way from the truth. It was impossible to tell whether he was aware that Arran had not been killed by the fire and, if he had escaped, that it was Dahlia who had played an important part in that.

Beattie came bustling in. “I met the laird on his way out and he suggested ye might be well enough tae walk in the rose garden.” She packed up Dahlia’s untouched embroidery and collected the dishes of untouched food Dahlia had left. “Once I’ve returned these tae the kitchen I’ll help ye outside tae the garden. ‘Tis apleasant day fer stretching yer limbs again after being cooped up inside fer so long.”

Dahlia knew only too well that Beattie was aware the reality of her story did not match exactly with what Bairre had been told, but she knew better than to ask questions about Dahlia’s mysterious absence.

Somewhere in the labyrinthine passages of the castle, Arran was lying low. Dahlia wondered just how long he could remain hidden before he emerged again. As long as he remained concealed, he was safe from Bairre’s murderous intent, but, at the same time, he was no closer to discovering where his mother was concealed.

She knew it was only a matter of time before Arran revealed himself to Bairre. If only there was some way she could discover something that could give a clue as to where Emilia was being held.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Bairre was right. It was a perfect day for a stroll in the rose garden. The sun was shining in a cloudless blue sky, the soft breeze held warmth and the sweet fragrance of roses in bloom as it ruffled Dahlia’s hair.

Beattie found a hidden arbor luscious with climbing roses crawling happily across an old wooden archway. Bees buzzed as they went about their business and all around was the hum of insects and the chirping of nesting birds.

Dahlia took her trug and cutting knife with her and set about loading the basket with pink, white, yellow and crimson blossoms which she planned to display in her chambers. The scent of roses always lifted her spirits and she recalled how, as a small girl, she’d accompanied her mother in the garden at Castle MacLeod. She remembered one happy day, putting together a sweet-scented posy to present to her mother in that far-off time when all the family was still together. Before her parents had been killed in battle and before her brother had been murdered.

Today she reveled in the limited freedom she’d been allowed by Bairre.

After a time spent in the sunshine, Dahlia was happy to find a shady seat while Beattie took the trug and the roses away with her to prepare the arrangements for the bedchamber. Tonight, she’d sleep amid the musky, heady fragrance of roses to sweeten her dreams.

She was lost in the charming reverie of childhood conjured by the roses when her peace was shattered by the arrival of the Laird Bairre Mackinnon himself.

“Forgive me intrusion, dear lady,” he said unctuously, “but it was important tae me tae ascertain yer wellbeing.” He looked around at the peaceful scene, his eyes narrowed as if he still clung to his usual suspicious when he was anywhere near her. She was certain that, by now, Bairre would have become aware that Arran had escaped his murderous plot. Although she doubted he considered she was involved.

Does he expect Arran to suddenly leap out from behind a rose bush?

Bairre turned his fullest attention in Dahlia’s direction.

“This is a rare opportunity fer us tae spend time together, and I am delighted.”

Dahlia managed to smile prettily at this as if she was flattered by his attention.

“Why yes, our moments together without company are all too rare.” She refrained from adding that was exactly how she liked it and smiled again.

“Ye dae realize, that our time of betrothal is nearing its end. The banns have been read in church three times and there is only a matter of ten days before the allotted span of time allowed tae us by the king will expire and our marriage ceremony must take place.”

The breath hitched in Dahlia’s throat at his words. She was only too aware of the limited number of days still remaining. Now she was struggling to breathe. It felt as if a vice was tightening around her chest, making breathing difficult.

The already urgent need to discover the whereabouts of Arran’s mother became paramount. They must find Emilia so that Dahlia could at last be free of Bairre and return to Castle MacLeod to await the king’s withdrawal of his marriage decree.

Every day she’d hoped for a messenger from her brothers but she could no longer count on them arriving in time. She must take matters into her own hands.

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