Page 66 of Bride of the Mad Laird
Claray shook her head. “I thought ye would have kent. The Laird along wi’ Edmund and a company of guards left the castle this morning. I dinnae ken when they will return, for they’ve gone tae deal wi’ the remaining troop of gallowglasses.”
Lyra’s hand shot to her mouth. “I didnae ken. I’ve nae been privy tae the war talk between the laird and his advisor.”
“It seems the prisoners in the dungeon have revealed the rascals’ hiding place. Our laird and his men will wait until well after nightfall and make a surprise attack. They plan tae rout them out and tae send those that survive tae Duart with the laird’s message of defiance.”
Hearing this, Lyra was nonplussed, yet hardly surprised that Tòrr had not seen fit to confide in her after their last conversation. Mayhap he was already drawing away from her, believing that she would refuse his offer to wed in preference to returning to an unknown fate at Castle Kinlochaline.
“Thank ye, Claray. I’ll go and wash and return tae the solar.”
Clary curtsied. “I see the concern on yer face. The laird and his men are seasoned warriors, able tae best any who should challenge them. Dinnae fash. They will return in good time.”
Lyra nodded, grateful for the kind words. Claray had been at the castle all her life, she well knew and trusted the laird.
“Is Laird Tòrr a man of his word?”
Claray threw her a puzzled look. “Aye, lass. He daes as he says.”
Lyra continued up the steps, her tread heavier. Again, Tòrr’s life was at risk because of her. This time, his men were also in peril. If only things were different… yet it was impossible to roll back time to the moments before he and Edmund had first intervened on her behalf.
Whether she wished it or not, from the instant Tòrr first tangled with the gallowglasses outside the Priory, her fate had been irredeemably entwined with his. She could only pray that Tòrr and his men would prevail against MacDougall’s hired men and return to Dùn Ara unscathed.
Later, after enjoying a solitary meal in the solar, she again allowed her thoughts to roam back. Tòrr had protected her in many ways. Her resentment of his arrogance had ruled her at first. But she’d come to secretly admire his strength, despite his gruffness.
Yet, as much as she admired him and longed for his kiss, her entire being rebelled against being used as a pawn by any clan wishing to take what was hers, by right of inheritance, and make it their own.
Settling by the fire in her chamber after Elspaith had been in to turn down her bed and brush her hair, Lyra, allowed her thoughts to stray behind the castle walls. They were out on a glen or in the lee of a hill, in the dark, forbidding night, with Tòrr and his men.
Her heart beat a drumbeat against her ribs as she pictured them waiting their chance to strike and the bloody battle that would ensue.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
It was dusk by the time Tòrr and Edmund had seen to the tethering of their horses some distance away before guiding the men up the northern slope of ‘S Airde Beinn.
A visit to the two men languishing in his dungeon after leaving Lyra in the solar had been productive. It took only a little persuasion before they revealed the exact location where the enemy was to be found, and what numbers to expect.
It was a perfect spot. The route here was rough, approachable only by well-worn deer tracks and sure-footed Highland ponies, its inaccessibility ensuring their invisibility. Tòrr guessed that, in daylight there would be a clear view of the fortress of Dùn Ara from the highest point on the ridge.
With narrowed eyes, he peered northward into the gathering darkness, rewarded by a scattering of twinkling lights which he guessed to be the castle. His belly lurched as he pictured Lyra in front of the fire in her bedchamber, readying herself for bed.
From their final vantage point tucked in the lee of the hill, they had a clear view of the gallowglass encampment on the edge of the tiny loch below. A few shelters had been put together from fallen branches and bracken, and the men’s horses were tethered not far from where they sat.
Tòrr counted around twenty-five men gathered around several fires in the rough camp. If he was right, this meant he and his men were outnumbered two-to-one. Yet he was not alarmed by the numbers. They had the element of surprise in their favor and his men were tough soldiers, ready and able to match and overcome any foe.
There was much bawdy laughter and cheering emanating from the fireside as the night wore on, and from the looks of it, a considerable amount of ale was being consumed.
He could only hope that when the ruffians finally put their heads down to sleep, they would not readily stir from their slumber when Tòrr and his men swooped on them from the darkness.
They waited as the night wore on and one-by-one their quarry took to their sleeping places. Three men were left on guard, their shadowy figures visible as they patrolled among the trees.
“Let’s hope the defeat of his mercenaries dampens MacDougall’s ardor fer the Lady Lyra,” Edmund whispered.
Tòrr grunted. “Methinks MacDougall willnae be so readily deterred. Although he may regret the money he’s paid his gallowglasses.”
“Ifhe’s paid them. He’s a notorious tightwad, among his many sins.”
Tòrr gave a soft laugh. “All we can hope is that this defeat will buy us enough time fer the banns tae be published.” He hesitated, keeping his voice to a whisper. “Or, if she daesnae wish tae wed, sufficient time fer me tae safely escort the Lady Lyra tae her home on the mainland.”
“D’ye ken what her answer will be?”
