Page 10 of Bride of the Mad Laird
She gave a disgusted huff at the unmentionable word ‘backside’. How dare he even think of such a private part of her body. She gripped the pommel even tighter, holding herself rigid.
They continued on for the rest of the morning without seeing another soul on the road, the horse walking most of the way over the rutted path. Occasionally he broke into a trot, which shook Lyra to the very bones. But she somehow managed to stay upright, clinging for dear life to the saddle, determined not to touch Tòrr if she could possibly help it.
Coming to a stone bridge over a burn he slowed the horse. “We can stop here fer a few moments tae ease Paden’s load and fer him tae drink and graze a while. Ye can relieve yerself if ye wish, but dinnae tarry. I wish tae be on me way with all speed.”
He dismounted and helped her down and after tethering Paden to a low-slung branch he headed upstream.
Left alone, Lyra was uncertain whether she should be grateful or cross at having been ignored again. Apart from birdsong and the burn’s gentle burbling, all was quiet. For the first time since she’d left the Priory her senses absorbed the calm and she felt the tenseness in her body draining away. She breathed the fresh, crisp air, and took in the beauty of the forest, clad in its gold and crimson autumn glory.
Nevertheless, despite Tòrr’s uncouth mentioning of it, and not knowing when they might stop again, she decided it would be wise to relieve herself.
The problem was, as she tried to venture into the nearby woods, her legs had turned to water and she could scarcely lift her feet. Finding a broad, concealing tree, she lifted her skirt and attempted to lower herself. It was then that the true discomfort of her rigid seating arrangement and her hours in the saddle over the rough track made its presence felt.
Apart from the weakness in her legs, the pain darting up and down her back, and the terrible stiffness in her arms, her poor backside was suffering mightily. Just as that mad brute had foreseen.
Why, this sorely mistreated part of her anatomy was bound to be black and blue after only a morning’s ride.
It was with great difficulty that she managed what she’d intended and finally hobbled back to the place where the horse was tethered. Tòrr was waiting, a mean grin spreading across his face.
“I am pleased I can provide ye with such amusement,” she snapped in a voice tinged with sarcasm.
This only brought on a guffaw and a smug expression that made her itch to slap his face.
Head high, she allowed herself to be unceremoniously hauled into position on the saddle in front of Tòrr.
“Are ye certain ye wish to ride stiff-as-a-tree-trunk. I can assure ye, ‘tis a sight more comfortable tae let yerself be loose and flow with the movement of the horse.”
She pshawed at that, maintaining her stalwart position, her unfaltering gaze on the road ahead.
Yet, it was not long before she allowed her shoulders to loosen. Gradually her back eased and her tight grip on the pommel slackened a little. Tòrr was right after all. Rigidity was miserable. It was far more comfortable to sway with the horse’s movements and to rise and fall as he trotted.
Without realizing, she found herself molded to Tòrr’s broad chest, attuned to the rhythm of his breathing, feeling his soft breath in her hair.
This was altogether pleasant. Just as she’d feared it would be.
They continued in this way throughout the afternoon, without a word passing between them.
It was one thing to be nestled against this wild man, but quite another to engage in friendly talk.
They avoided a tiny village clinging to the shore, following a track through the forest until the village was long out of sight before resuming their journey on the rutted road. It was not until the daylight began to wane and the twilight bloomed around them that Tòrr spoke again.
“We’ll stop before long. I’ll make a fire so that we’ll sleep warm under the stars tonight.”
By the time he found a suitable spot among the trees, not far from a small burn, it was almost dark.
“I hope we’re concealed here. I dinnae wish me sleep disturbed by the likes of those ruffians.”
Lyra shivered. “Dae ye think they may still be after us, even here?”
Tòrr shook his head. “I’ve nay idea, lass. But if they are determined tae seek ye out, there’s nay telling what they might dae.”
Her growing peace-of-mind shattered into tiny pieces. She’d been imagining all day that they’d escaped her pursuers, but Tòrr’s words were a stern reminder of their vulnerability.
Although she had witnessed Tòrr’s fighting ability and reckoned he could defeat his enemies, hardly turning a hair, if he was sorely outnumbered, even such a strong warrior as he was, might succumb.
After helping him gather stones from the burn to make a fire circle, she wandered among the trees in search of kindling. She gathered an armful of suitable twigs and dried leaves while Tòrr dragged in a hefty branch that would keep the fire lit for hours.
In a few moments a friendly fire was blazing.
