Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Once the door had closed behind Ewan’s towering form, Tyra slipped out of the bed. She made her way to the panier holding her garments and withdrew a clean petticoat and a fresh, simple gown suitable for travel.
Ewan was right. The room held steady and the dizziness had passed.
She shook her head, appalled as the recollections of the previous evening began tumbling into her mind.
Oh Lord. I have never had so much wine. I must have looked like a dreadful lush. Mayhap the Laird Mackenzie now considers me tae be a drunkard?
A part of her was consumed by shame, yet another part of her rejoiced at her own wickedness.
Drinking more than a tiny sip of wine was something she’d never have done while she was betrothed to Harris MacDonald.
He had supervised her constantly, watching her every move with disapproval, dictating to her how she was to speak, and what she could say or not.
He had ruled on what she dined upon and when, and even the clothes she wore were matters for his consideration.
A sense of freedom began to take shape in her heart, something she’d never experienced before.
All the same, her cheeks burned as she recalled herself stumbling and being scooped into Ewan’s arms. Worse still, she’d relished that every bit as much as she’d enjoyed her brief moment being held by him when he’d whisked her onto his horse.
But such thoughts should be banished and never entertained again for she was bound for the Priory and her dear Edmund would decree a suitable betrothal.
She undid the many buttons on the front of her gown and peeled it off. Next came the stays which caused her no end of trouble attempting to unlace them. Her stained and muddied petticoat was next until all she was clad in was her chemise.
Standing there, shivering half-naked in front of the fire she felt too vulnerable and uncertain of what the day held in store.
With all haste she splashed herself with the warm water and washed with the rose scented soap.
After hastily drying off, she donned the petticoat and the dark brown woolen gown.
Inhaling a deep breath, she rolled on a new pair of stockings and slipped her feet into her still damp ankle boots and tied the laces.
Feeling half decent at last, she brushed out her braids and wound her hair into a knot at her nape. Then, heart in her mouth she snatched up her cloak and headed down the stairs. Not at all ready to face Laird Mackenzie, she steeled her features into the bravest expression she could muster.
When she entered the kitchen Malcolm was busy with a small wooden box containing a supply of cheese, bannocks, and shortbread.
“These will keep ye fed me lady, should the weather slow ye down and ye need something to keep up yer strength.”
He filled a small flagon with ale and tucked it in beside the other treats before closing the hinged lid and fastening the box.
Malcolm gave her a serious look that she found somewhat puzzling. “It seems yer safety means a great deal to the laird.”
“Pardon?”
“Laird Mackenzie slept the night on the hard, cold floor at yer door last night.” He handed over the little box.
Tyra shook her head, taken aback at his words. Laird Ewan had said nothing of this. Her heart jumped. The danger must be greater than she had thought if he saw it fit to guard her door.
Thanking him, she took the parcel and made her way through the inn’s front door to the courtyard, where Ewan waited holding the reins of their two horses.
Once again, she noticed how handsome he was.
Walking over, she noted the panniers containing her worldly goods had been fastened to her little mare’s saddle. He helped her to mount and then sprang onto his own horse. “I’ll nae take the short way, there’s too much snow fer me horse tae find a sure footing, we’ll take the longer road.”
She spoke quietly as they walked their horses across the cobblestones toward the open gate. “I learned from the landlord that ye guarded me door through the night. I am beholden tae ye fer yer protection.”
He grunted. “Dinnae feel obliged, Lady Tyra. I am mindful of me duties as laird. Mackenzie hospitality binds me tae protect all travelers on our lands.”
She nodded, taking her lower lip in her teeth, shocked at the sudden pang she felt to learn that she mayhap he did not consider her to be special, but merely the recipient of his duty.
“Ye were expecting a further attack…” she realized.
He turned his horse into the road. It was wide enough for them to ride abreast. There was a deep drift of snow but a cart must have been along earlier, cutting a path they could follow. The horses picked their way carefully through the rutted road.
“Lady Tyra, I have been a warrior fer half me life. I ken it is never wise tae assume the enemy will nae regroup and attack again.”
She gave a sharp little laugh. “Even when ye’ve dispatched all three of the assailants?”
He said nothing but she was not prepared to leave the matter there. If he believed there was a likelihood of another attack she wished to know of it.
“So, ye are expecting another onslaught.”
He turned and glanced at her, offering a cheeky smile.
“Mayhap it was nae me fear of attack, Lady Tyra, but simply me wish to sleep as close tae ye as was decent.”
A sudden rush of heat seared her cheeks.
Really! The Laird Mackenzie has a way of tripping up me thoughts in a manner that is almost unseemly.
Studying his profile Tyra attempted to discern a hidden meaning behind his words. But his jaw was set and his eyes scanned ahead, giving her no hint of whatever thoughts might be sauntering through his mind.
They’d not gone far when he reined in his horse. Tyra did likewise, coming to a halt beside him, her stomach lurching.
“What is it? Is something wrong?”
“Dinnae fash, Lady Tyra.”
She calmed at once at the sound of his deep voice.
“I merely wished tae show ye me home.” He gestured into the distance, where, by the shores of a loch she spied the towers of an imposing castle rising up from the mists of a tiny island, with a dramatic background of mountains and lochs.
She sat transfixed, drinking in the beauty of the snowclad hills, the sparkling waters and the castle that seemed to emerge from the very loch itself.
“’Tis Eilean Donan, the Island of Donan.”
“Why, ‘tis beautiful. A magical place.”
“It is that. I pray ye will enjoy yer stay wi’ us.”
She nodded. “I thank ye fer yer hospitality, Laird Mackenzie.” Once the words were out, a little flutter of anticipation curled itself into her belly. That charming place would be her home for at least the next few days.