Page 47 of Bride of the Mad Laird
There was another whimper, then, suddenly, she was with him, clinging to his back, her arms around his neck. He released his hold on the side of the boat and the churning water swept them away.
“Hold tight,” he ground out.
She held fast to him as he struck out for the shore. It was not far, but, battling the waves, it seemed an insurmountable distance away. He struggled, using all his strength against the foaming tide, each stroke more tortuous than the one before.
He hardly dared to think of what would happen should her grip on him falter. She’d surely be swept away and, if need be, he would drown in the attempt to save her.
Then, at last, it was solid underfoot. He took a step, and then another. As he stumbled into the shallower water, the man he’d helped came to their aid, guiding Tòrr’s last few steps onto the beach.
He lowered Lyra and she crumpled, gasping, onto the sand at his feet. He waited while she gulped in enough air to return her ragged breathing to something close to even, and helped her to stand. Her little fabric bag was still slung around her neck.
By now they were both shivering, their teeth chattering loudly. He embraced her half-frozen body, holding her against him as he regained some of his own lost body-warmth.
The man beckoned briskly. “Hasten wi’ me tae me cottage ‘Tis warm there.” He gestured toward a dim shape across from the rocks at the end of the beach.
“What is yer name, lad,” Tòrr asked.
“Name’s George, but most folk call me Doddie,” came the gruff response.
Tòrr hoisted Lyra into his arms and followed the man along the path to the cottage, collecting his discarded cloak and boots along the way.
At the door, Doddie and Tòrr wrung out the seawater from their shirts while Lyra hauled off her soaking tunic and twisted her dripping skirt, shaking off the droplets off.
Once they were inside, Doddie lit a candle and held it up, peering into the faces of his visitors. When his eyes came to rest on Tòrr he gave a start. Stepping back a pace, he tugged at his damp forelock.
“Begging yer pardon, me laird. In the darkness I didnae ken it was ye.”
“Never mind, Doddie, ye helped me.” He turned to Lyra who was shivering beside him. “I have yet tae discover what it was that ye were thinking of tae brave a sea voyage on such a night as this.”
She lifted her chin, glaring at him. “I shall tell ye everything as soon as I am able tae gather me wits.”
Doddie stoked the still-warm embers remaining in his hearth and added another log. Within minutes, the flames were dancing and the smoke was whirling up the chimney.
Lyra hung her sodden cloak and tunic over the rope strung above the fire and all three of them stood at the fireside, rubbing their frozen hands back to life.
Although Tòrr was more than impatient to learn the details of what had driven Lyra to take such a deathly risk, he held his tongue. Once she was back safely in the castle and sufficiently recovered from her ordeal there would come a time for the questions and answers he desired.
Doddie bustled off and returned with a rough flax towel and handed it to Lyra. “Here lass, this might be of help.”
“I thank ye, Doddie.” She took the towel, blotted and rubbed her hair.
Warmed by the fire they were quickly drying off as Doddie poured them each a bowl of ale and handed it to them.
“Thank ye, lad, I’ll see tae it that ye’re rewarded fer yer kindness.”
The man shook his head. “Nay bother, me laird. ‘Twas me foolish greed that led me tae agree tae the lady’s request.” He glanced at Lyra. “She seemed most desperate tae be on her way.”
He dug into his pocket and proffered the silver coin Lyra had given him.
Tòrr shook his hand. “Nay need, lad. ‘Twas nae fault of yers that the weather turned bad and the lass insisted on being taken tae— Where, exactly?”
He cast a quizzical glance at Lyra who was gazing into the fire. Doddie answered in her stead.
“The lady asked me tae take her across the sound and along the mainland tae Morvern.”
Tòrr nodded. That made sense. Morvern was MacInnes land. So, that could only mean she was attempting to return to her people. He felt a lessening of the tightness in his shoulders at this knowledge, reassured she was not going to MacDougall.
Furthermore, he would see to it that she would never become MacDougall’s plaything. So, the sooner they were back safely within the castle walls the better it would be.
