Page 13 of Bride of the Mad Laird
The man bowed and tugged the lock of hair at his forehead. “Indeed sir. I thank ye.”
As they approached the inn door it swung open and a shabbily-dressed man stumbled out, reeking of brandy, with another, stout man at his heels.
“Out wi’ ye, wretch. Ye’re nay welcome here if ye’ve nay coin tae pay fer yer drunkenness.”
The man pulled up with a start as he caught sight of Tòrr and Lyra.
“Beg pardon me lord. I’ll nay have riff-raff the likes of him in the place. I keep a decent lodging.” He threw them a grin. “Name’s John MacNaughton, at yer service.”
“I’m fair pleased tae hear that, as I’m after a room fer the night.”
The innkeeper’s smiles widened. “Nae many travelers this time of year.”
They followed him inside to a well-lit parlor. He gestured to a small table and two chairs. “Ye can wash up out the back and I’ll bring yer meal.”
They walked down the hall and out the back door to a small tub filled with fresh water. Beside the tub was a table with soap and coarse flax cloths. They both washed their hands and dried off with the cloth and headed back inside.
Tòrr looked around, giving a satisfied nod. “I think we’ll be safe here fer the night. Seems we’ve avoided our pursuers.”
The meal was a tasty salmon pie, which Tòrr washed down with a serving of ale. He offered a cup of warm mead to Lyra who was toying with her spoon, seeming reluctant. She shook her head.
“It seems strange. But now I’m afeared tae eat when I’m nay sure who has prepared the dish. What happened at the Priory is taking hold.”
He was puzzled. “Ye’ve said little tae me about that night.”
She shuddered as the memory came tumbling in. “At first I didnae have time tae think, but now, when I look at the meal, I cannae get Sister Morag’s pain out of me head.”
“Poison?”
“Aye. The dear sister’s started her meal afore me. I ne’er thought it would end in such a cruel way. She took the poison that was meant for me.”
Tòrr leaned back in his chair. “Who would wish tae dae such a thing, lass? We’ve said little about yer plight as I was waiting fer ye tae speak. But as I am traveling with ye and trying tae bring ye tae safety, I have many questions. Who was the cruel lord who would breach the sanctity of the Priory?”
A deep sigh issued from her lips and she closed her eyes. “I cannae speak of it yet.”
Studying her for downcast gaze and observing the tremble in her lips as she spoke it was clear to Tòrr that Lyra’s memories were distressing. He would let her be for now. For both their safety, he wished to know who had sent the gallowglasses on her trail. Only a wealthy laird could afford to pay a company of mercenaries and only a laird who wished to hide his identity would use such men to carry out his evil work. And finally, only a lass of some importance would be the quarry of such a man.
There was no doubt in Tòrr’s mind that he was up against a formidable foe that so far, they had evaded. But he was not fooled. Someone had invested in Lyra’s capture and that someone would not give up. The danger they were in was more pressing with every passing moment.
Which was why he had to find out exactly who Lyra was and why she was being hunted.
“Lass, I’ve eaten me meal with nae ill effects. Ye’re safe enough and ye need yer strength fer our ride tomorrow.”
She glanced up, her pretty lips managing a smile and took a spoonful of the pie. “Aye. Ye’re right. I shall dae me best tae finish what is on me plate.”
Several older men entered the inn and sat on the other side of the parlor nearer the fireplace, playing a game of dice, with many a raucous shout from around their table as they quaffed their ale.
Once Lyra had put down her spoon and could eat no more, Tòrr nodded to their landlord, who hurried across. “We’ll take tae our room now, thank ye.”
MacNaughton guided them up the stairs to a small but clean dormer room. Tòrr was dismayed to see there was only one narrow bed pushed against the wall under the window. He’d been looking forward to something cozier, even though he’d somehow managed to shut down all thoughts of a warm, soft, body, cuddling close.
“Tonight I shall sleep on the floor,” Lyra announced. “’Tis me turn. I’ve nay wish to be coddled. Ye slept on the hard floor at Fionnphort so ‘tis only fair fer ye te have the bed this night.”
Tòrr was taken aback. “I cannae let ye sleep on the floor. T’would nae be right. Ye’re a lass.”
“Ha. Ye’re wrong. D’ye nay ken how the nun’s sleep at the Priory? Why our dormitory would pass fer an icehouse and our hard pallets make this kindly oak floor seem like a feather bed.”
He laughed. “Of course. I was forgetting. Although ye’re a lady, ye’ve been cloistered with the nuns.”
