Page 45 of Bride of the Mad Laird
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CHAPTERSIXTEEN
The cold wind from the sea blew harsh and strong on the battlements where Tòrr paced. He pulled his cloak closer around himself.
Tomorrow the members of his Council would begin to gather at Dùn Ara and he would be forced to seek their decision about Lyra’s fate.
All he knew was that he would fight for her.
His reverie was interrupted as a figure emerged from the stairs and came toward him.
For a moment his heart lifted as the notion crossed his mind that this was Lyra approaching, but as she drew near, he recognized his housekeeper, Claray. At once a sense of grim foreboding rattled through him. This was one part of the castle Claray almost never visited.
He turned toward her, the wind catching his hair and whipping it about his face. “What is it, Claray?”
The light was dim, but he could make out the frown drawing Claray’s brows together.
“The wee lass, Elspaith, Lady Lyra’s maid, came tae me a while ago. She was somewhat concerned about Lyra’s whereabouts.”
His heart jolted. “Concerned?”
“Aye, she went to the lady’s bedchamber tae help her prepare fer supper. She knocked fer several minutes, guessing that the lady was sleeping. When there was still nay answer she went tae the solar. But she wasnae there. So, she came tae me.”
A feeling of dread was blowing over him, even more fiercely than the wind.
“So, ye cannae find the lady? Is that the problem?” His voice betrayed the fear stalking him at the thought of what might have befallen Lyra.
Claray bobbed a curtsy. “I beg yer pardon me laird. It occurred to me that she might be here wi’ ye. I’ve looked all over and this was the last place I considered.”
His heart was jumping like a frightened frog. “As ye can see, she isnae here.” He turned and walked back toward the stairs, his arm at Claray’s elbow. “Did ye check with the guards at the gate?”
“Nae yet. I wished tae check wi’ ye before I raised the alarm with the men guarding the gate.”
“Never mind, I’ll speak wi’ them.”
On reaching the foot of the stairs he set off at a run, down the steps to the courtyard and across the bailey to the outside wall.
“Who goes?” came the call when he reached the gate.
“’Tis yer laird. I am seeking a lady who may have passed through the gate earlier.”
He was groaning inwardly, wracked with impatience, tapping his foot, as the men conversed among themselves.
Finally, one of them spoke. “Me laird, there was a lass who slipped through the small gate some time ago. We’ve seen naybody since then.”
“She was alone?”
