Page 30 of Bride of the Mad Laird
She smiled, fixing him with her green-eyed gaze, her cheeks flushing pink.
There went that unwelcome movement between his thighs.
“Thank ye, Laird Tòrr. Ye are most kind.”
Several serving maids entered the hall with platters of hot food. Tòrr looked up with interest.
Edmund pointed to the platter placed before them. “Ah, haggis, one of me favourites.”
Grinning, Tòrr took up his dirk, ready to slice the haggis and turned tae Lyra.
“Would ye care fer some of Bethia’s haggis, me lady Lyra,” he asked, pointing to the traditional dish of oats and offal boiled in a sheep’s stomach.
She threw him a beaming smile.
“Why yes, thank ye, I should enjoy a piece.” She lifted her head, inhaling, as the steam rose from his first slice. “It smells delicious. Nay doubt Eilidh’s herbs make it extra tasty.”
He looked at her in amazement.
“Would St. Augustine approve? I thought ye didnae eat meat at the Priory.”
She spooned up a morsel of the haggis. “At the nunnery we would ne’er partake of the rich meats ye served last night. But, as ye ken, the nuns lead a frugal life, and made as it is from the left-over meat that the wealthy disdain, haggis suited all of us very well.” She took a mouthful, chewed and swallowed with a pleased expression on her face. “Mm. I must pass on me thanks tae Bethia.”
“And what d’ye ken of Healer Eilidh and her herbs? Which were used?” Tòrr asked.
“I’d say, rosemary, sage…” She pondered a moment. “And mint. Aye, definitely mint.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. She’d got the best of him and her gloating smile and the wicked gleam in her eyes told him she was only too well aware of her small victory.
He took up his spoon and loaded it with haggis. “Ye’ve fair surprised me lass.”
“After I spent time with Seamstress Purdie, I wandered in the bailey. ‘Twas glowing in the late afternoon sun, and there I came upon Eilidh.”
“Ah,” he said, nonplussed. “So ye are comfortable at the castle.”
She nodded, devouring the rest of her meal with gusto.
“And I thank ye again fer yer generosity in having Purdie make me a selection of gowns tae wear while I am here wi’ naught tae me name.”
His smile faded. “And methinks ye may be here with us longer than ye wish tae be.”
She threw him a sideways look. “Why, what d’ye mean?”
“Depending on what news me men bring from the village, it may be too dangerous fer ye tae travel. If MacDougall’s men are seeking ye…” He trailed off, not wishing to alarm her any further with the possibilities he and Edmund had discussed earlier.
She shook her head. “Ye mean, as long as I am at Dùn Ara ye will earn MacDougall’s wrath.” Frowning she turned to him. “Ye dinnae need tae hide the truth from me. I ken the kind of brute MacDougall is.”
He raised a tankard of ale and took a long draught. “Me chief concern is fer yer welfare, lass.”
She looked around, her eyes widening as if she half expected MacDougall and his men to materialize out of nowhere and advance into the refectory.
Edmund, who had been listening quietly, raised a hand. “Dinnae fash me lady. We’ve yet tae learn more. Mayhap tomorrow there will be news from our men as tae what he intends.”
Tòrr nodded. “Edmund is quite correct. Until then, ye must stay calm and trust that I am a man of me word. We have nay intention of letting harm come tae ye, Lady Lyra.”
Her hand on the table was trembling and he placed his own large hand to envelop it.
When she looked up and caught his gaze, the anguish in her green eyes tugged hard at his heart.
