Page 6 of Bride of the Mad Laird
Edmund handed the reins of his horse to Tòrr along with Lyra’s box and the bundle of clothing, which Tòrr placed in his saddle bag.
“If ye mount yer steed I’ll hand ye the lass. She can lie across yer saddle for the short distance to the village.” Edmund held Lyra upright. Her teeth were chattering and she was shivering mightily in the remains of her cold, wet, habit.
Tòrr placed his foot in the stirrup and, with one quick move, threw his leg over the horse and settled into the saddle. Lyra made a feeble protest but then grew quiet as Edmund hoisted her up and Tòrr positioned her in front of him over the saddle where he could grip her with one hand.
The voices were now ominously close. Within minutes their pursuers would be upon them.
Edmund gave a loud shout and urged his horse forward, making sure the sound of the bridle rang out in the night. As he disappeared into the darkness, Tòrr, with his soaking wet burden slung over his saddle, spluttering and gasping, set out, walking his horse in silence in the opposite direction, heading for the flickering lights coming from the string of houses further along the shore.
He could only pray that their adversaries were foiled by the ruse and would hurriedly set off in pursuit of Edmund. No doubt Edmund would enjoy the chase and, ultimately, leave his pursuers in the dust. He couldn’t help but envy his friend. Far better to be racing with the wind, outpacing his foe than plodding here, burdened with this pitiful, sodden, bundle of a lass.
They passed the straggling cottages, all of them small with one room only where the family slept and ate their meals, until he came to a larger, stone-built sturdy cottage. This was a place he’d stayed many times, where travelers could find a night’s rest. A lantern hung from a hook above the door, guiding the way.
Tòrr dismounted and lifted Lyra from his saddle.
She wavered unsteadily and he reached a hand to hold her upright. “Can ye stand, lass?”
Her only response was a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a sob. He took her arm to support her as her legs almost went from under her.
“I see. Ye cannae.” With that he hoisted her in his arms and proceeded to the cottage door where he lowered her, keeping one arm at her back to prevent her falling. With his other hand he rapped on the timber door.
At first there was silence, then came the sound of hurrying footsteps and the door creaked open. A small face looked up at him.
“Hello wee lad. Is yer faither at home?”
The lad shook his head. “He’s gone up tae Craignure.” He puffed out his chest. “Me name is Colban and I am in charge of me sister until Da comes home again.”
Tòrr chuckled. “He was here last night when I stayed wi’ me friend. He said naught about leaving fer Craignure.”
“His mam is sick. The word came this morning.”
“Ah, I see.” Tòrr nodded. “I was tae bide here this night. Did yer Da leave ye instructions?”
Colban nodded. “If ye’re the Laird MacKinnon, me sister Ailsa has made bannocks and soup fer yer supper and yer bed fer the night is ready.” He squinted into the darkness at Lyra. “This is yer friend?”
Tòrr ignored the question and stepped over the door stoop and entered the cottage, half lifting Lyra with him.
“Take down the lantern, lad. There are men who might wish us ill. Gallowglasses if I’m nae mistaken. If they come in the night ye must nae answer the door.”
The lad quickly took down the lantern. “I’ll nae open the door tae any wicked gallowglass. Da would nae wish it.”
In the cottage’s dim light, Davina’s half-naked state was obvious. Tòrr tucked his cloak around her damp, cold shoulders. She was shivering uncontrollably and he led her across to sit in one of two small chairs before the fire that blazed merrily in the hearth. He took her hands in his, chafing them to warm them.
“This lady is half frozen, Colban. Can ye bring me a warm blanket tae wrap her in?”
The lad hastened up the adjacent staircase and hurried back with a plaid rug which Tòrr draped over Lyra’s shoulders.
“Thank ye, lad. Now can ye see tae me horse? I dinnae want the bad lads tae notice him tethered there.”
Colban nodded and disappeared out the door. At that moment a small girl emerged from the kitchen attached to the rear of the cottage, bearing a tray with bowls of fragrant vegetable soup, bannocks and tankards of ale. She placed them on a small table near the chair.
Tòrr took a spoonful of the soup and held it to Lyra’s lips. Once he had spooned in a sufficient amount, he set to eating his own meal. He offered her a tankard of ale and she drank greedily for a few mouthfuls before handing the tankard back. Her eyes drooped and she dozed in the warmth of the fire.
Tòrr sipped his ale thoughtfully, grateful for a moment’s respite to gather his wits. With any luck the men hunting Lyra would have been fooled by Edmund and, as they were all on foot, would have given up their chase. He assumed they too had horses waiting, but by the time they had saddled up and set off in pursuit, Edmund would have been too far ahead for them to catch.
He could only hope they would be long gone by the time the morning came before he set off. It seemed there was nothing for it, but for him to take Lyra with him. It was clear she had little knowledge of the world and she was in no fit state to be abandoned here to fend for herself.
He had only one horse and for a single horseman the ride from Fionnphort to Dùn Ara at the furthest end of the island would take at least two days but, he calculated, with two on his horse, the pace would be a good deal slower.
