Page 53 of Bride of the Mad Laird
It took an effort, but Tòrr managed to appear outwardly calm as he made his way to the courtyard accompanied by Edmund.
The plan he had formulated to put before the Council would be persuasive Yet, he was well aware that most of the elders – those who had spent much of their youth in battle – would do all in their power to dissuade the others from acquiescing to any plan that would lead them into war with a powerful clan.
While Willie MacKinnon was the first of the Council members to arrive, the others were not far behind. Tòrr and Edmund spent the rest of the day greeting their Council and members of their entourage and seeing to it that the typical island hospitality was available to all.
Whisky and wine flowed, old friends reconnected and the atmosphere was one of conviviality and celebration. The reason why they had been summoned hung unspoken in the air between them, with Tòrr brushing aside questions with the word “Later.” The details would be revealed when the time was right.
Both he and Edmund strived to keep the mood mellow, knowing that tomorrow’s meeting was likely to be stormy, bringing a clash of wills that Tòrr dreaded but accepted as inevitable.
When word came that the Lady Lyra was ready, Tòrr went to her chamber to escort her to the hall.
He lost his breath at the sight of her in the blue velvet gown, her hair streaming down her back, while tiny braids surrounded her face.
“Ye’re a bonny lass,” he whispered as they walked down the stairs, and was rewarded by the flush of pink on her alabaster face. That evening her eyes sparkled with a new light causing him to wonder if their kissing had enlivened her in the way it had him.
Since he’d held her close, he was more determined than ever that Laird MacDougall would never have her and he was ready to fight. He cared not a jot for whatever the Council would decide. He would defy them to the end of his days if that was what it took.
He kept Lyra by his side. As the council members brought their wives to greet him, he was proud to introduce Lyra. At the same time, he was cautious to say very little about why it was that the Lady Lyra MacInnes was staying at Dùn Ara.
She smiled and was charming to each of them, although, by the end of the evening he could sense she was tired. Nevertheless, her smiles did not falter. She was well aware that earning the Council’s good will was a matter of survival. It was clear that all those present were quite dazzled by her.
Exactly as he’d planned.
Eventually, all the council members, their ladies, knights and even in some cases, weans, were seated in the refectory for the feasting.
Bethia and her kitchen lasses and lads did them proud. For all the short notice they had provided a worthy feast. A pig roasted on the spit, a haunch of venison, and a pair of roasted wild ducks were served, alongside assorted tasty broths, honeyed carrots and neaps, followed by sweet cakes in rosewater syrup, and custards in the French style.
“They’re smiling,” Edmund said as an aside.
Tòrr laughed. “Mayhap the smiles will soon disappear.”
After the feasting was over and the ladies had excused themselves to take a cup of mead in the solar with Lyra, Tòrr gathered the Council around his high table.
“Tomorrow is our meeting and we will be determining on matters of great seriousness.”
He glanced around. Only one of the older members was frowning, the rest paid attention with pleasantly bland expressions on their faces. No doubt they were keen to take to their beds. For most, it had been a long, tiring day of travel.
“What we must decide on involves the possibility of a clash between the MacKinnons and our allies, and Clan MacDougall.”
Then the rumbling started among them.
Tòrr held up a hand. “I leave ye with this to think on before we meet on the morrow. Laird Alexander MacDougall wishes to take the Lady Lyra against her will and force her intae marriage.”
The rumbling grew louder, more frowns appeared and questions were flung at Tòrr and Edmund.
Tòrr put up his hand in a gesture of restraint.
“Save yer questions fer the meeting, when there will be time enough tae answer all.”
The night had worn on by the time the last of the Council took to their beds and Tòrr and Edmund retreated to Tòrr’s study for a quiet dram.
They were discussing what they’d gleaned about who might be supportive of allowing the Lady Lyra to continue under the protection of Dùn Ara and who would be against, when there was a loud and urgent-sounding banging on the door.
Edmund got to his feet and strode over to open it and ushered in the captain of the castle guard.
“’Tis Colin Broyard, me Laird Tòrr.”
The man was out of breath, his features drawn and anxious.
