Page 9 of Bride of the Mad Laird
Am I mistaken? I believed he offered tae take me tae his castle Dùn Ara.
She raised her head imperiously. “Well, if ye’ve changed yer mind, I’ll chance me luck at the tavern.”
“Nae, lass.” He shook his head and gestured to the chair next to his. “Ye’ll be safe wi’ me. Now come break yer fast so we can be on our way without delay.”
She huffed with indignation at his teasing. He was so mercurial she had no way of knowing if he spoke seriously or was merely playing his own game with her. She made up her mind not to fall into his trap but to keep her distance. Her life at the Priory had not prepared her for one who was a savage who could kill without turning a hair, in the next moment jest with her and bring a smile to her lips, while before another breath, he could cut her with coldness.
All the same, he was good to look upon with his chiseled features and his grey-blue eyes that regarded at her so piercingly and safety was her prime concern. Once she was well away from danger, she could make plans to return to her clan.
“Thank ye, Laird Tòrr. I appreciate yer offer of protection.” She took her seat, placing her bundle beside her.
Without responding he raised his tankard and drained the ale. “There’s porridge, cream and honey fer ye there.” He rose to his feet. “I’ll go see saddle me horse. Make haste.”
She watched him stride toward the door, observing his confident gait and the way he held his head high. It was near impossible to believe she would soon be riding with him to some distant place she had no knowledge of, save that it was his home.
After a mouthful of porridge, she put down her spoon. Her stomach roiled and her appetite fled, even though she’d eaten naught since the previous morning. After her close brush with poison last night, she feared she might never enjoy a meal again. She collected her bundle, straightened her skirt and went in search of Tòrr.
He was waiting beside a tall, black horse at the end of the path outside the cottage, an impatient frown creasing his winged brows. The two children stood with him, but upon her arrival they bowed their heads and said their goodbyes.
Taking her bundle, he thrust it into the saddle bag and re-fastened the leather strap. His eyes lingered on Lyra for a few long moments as he looked her up and down. He nodded. “’Tis a pleasure tae see ye are nae a black crow after all.”
She narrowed her eyes. Black crow? So that was how he’d seen her. She ignored the tiny pang of disappointment that followed his words.
He placed one foot in the stirrup and with one graceful movement was seated astride the great horse. She glanced around, seeking the second horse she’d be riding. Although she’d never ridden one before, Tòrr made it look as easy as being seated in front of the fire.
Once he’d settled himself in the saddle he reached for her hand. “Ye’ll be sharing the ride wi’ me lass.”
Was it fear of being too close to the laird, mayhap being held by his strong arms, or just the sudden fright at the reality of her situation that made her heart stutter so annoyingly.
“Nay, I’ll nae share yer saddle,” she blurted out with a fury that surprised even her. “How dare ye. I am a lady, nae some common wench who would sit a horse alongside wi’ a… wi’ a…” She had trouble finding a word for him, “…an ill-mannered lad such as yerself.”
He wiggled his hand with a degree of impatience. “Ye’re nae in the cloisters now, lass. Ye’re in the big bad world, where ye’ll find manners are nae as they are wi’ the good nuns.”
She tossed her head and folded her arms. “I’ll nae share yer saddle.”
He grinned. “Ye’re in the world of men now and ye need to take care. Dinnae delay. I wish tae be gone and I’ve nay mind tae waste time. If ye wish me tae leave ye here…”
His horse moved restlessly and he tightened his hold on the reins and the horse tossed its head. “Steady Paden.” Tòrr turned back to her, extending his hand.
Grumbling under her breath she reached for his hand. He lifted her so she could fit one foot in the stirrup for leverage then he hauled her to sit sideways on the saddle.
“Ye’ll need tae place yer leg tae the side. Perched where ye are, ye’ll nay stay long on Paden’s back.”
Gritting her teeth, she managed to extricate her leg from her skirt and gingerly place it across the horse, so that, finally, she was seated astride. As Tòrr urged the horse forward with a click of his tongue she took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and clinging to the pommel leaned as far away from him as was possible in such an intimate space.
At one point, he leaned forward, tugging on the reins and his hand brushed her thigh. She sucked in a breath. It seemed that out of sheer devilment he allowed his hand to linger there for a longer than was seemly. Her thigh burned as if he’d placed a hot coal against her flesh.
She gave an indignant squeal, pushing his hand away, gritting her teeth, “How dare ye take such a liberty.”
His smug laughter simply enraged Lyra even more.
“Have ye ne’er felt the caress of a man, wee nun?”
She huffed. “Yer behavior is most improper.” She raised her chin even higher, waiting for an apology that never came.
Once they’d left the village the road forked. He chose the rougher track leading along the waterside.
“Edmund would have taken the other road.” His tone was nonchalant and altogether unrepentant. “It’s shorter, but any of the gallowglasses who failed to catch up with him will be returning the same way. Taking this track, we’ll be sure to avoid them.” He gave a short laugh. “It’s makes for a bumpy ride, lass, so yer backside will be in fer a pummeling.”
