Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
They set off again, and before long had arrived at the shore where the castle, on its small island, towered overhead.
They dismounted and Ewan found a tether nearby for the horses while they took shelter inside a small hut situated close to the edge of the loch.
They took a seat at an old, makeshift table.
“We must wait until the tide is low enough fer us tae ride over. This was why I kent we should bring some refreshments wi’ us. It can be a long and cold wait at times.”
While they waited, nibbling on the bannocks and shortbread and quaffing the ale, the sky, which had been a glorious blue only an hour earlier, began to darken with fat, heavy clouds hanging low overhead.
“More snow is on the way.” Tyra observed.
Now that she was sitting still, her limbs were icing over and she was shivering, her teeth chattering with the cold.
The small brazier Ewan had lit provided little respite from the brisk wind that had sprung into life across the nearby loch and was howling between the cracks in the rough-hewn timber hut where they had taken shelter.
“Och, lass, ye’re shivering fit tae fall intae little pieces.”
She nodded, attempting to smile, folding her arms across her chest for warmth.
Ewan stood, undoing the brooch holding his thick fur cloak at his neck.
He removed the cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders, tucking it under her chin and enveloping her arms. The cloak still held the warmth of his body and she breathed in his rich man-scent, musky and leathery and distinctly his.
She snuggled into the fur, relishing his kindness and the gentleness of his touch. “Now ‘tis ye who will freeze,” she said.
He shook his head. “I’m used tae being outdoors in all weathers, Lady Tyra, ‘tis naught tae me.”
She gazed across to the castle where the tide still swirled, too high for them to cross yet.
He followed her gaze. “’Tis near, yet far. But the tide has turned and the water sweeps out fast tae the sea lochs. Ye’ll soon be basking by a giant fire in the great hall of Eilean Donan.”
She nodded, cuddling deep into his warm cloak.
“Ye’ll meet me sister Isla, and me braither Duncan. They reside wi’ me in the castle. Me sister will be glad of another lass tae keep company wi’.”
At last, the tide receded enough to reveal the little causeway, and they mounted their horses to make their way across the rocky, hand-built, crossing.
Tyra’s little mare followed Ewan’s sure-footed horse and in no time, they were on the island, the great castle towering above them.
Gazing up at the massive curtain walls extending over almost all the surrounding land, Tyra breathed a sigh of relief.
Vastly bigger than her own home at Scorrybreac, the Mackenzie castle was, indeed, a mighty stronghold.
She reassured herself with a glance at the thick, stone walls of the perimeter which even the most determined enemy would be hard-pressed to penetrate.
She would be safe there.
They cantered up a slight slope and, as they approached the gate, Ewan waved, signaling to the guards.
By the time they reached the wall, the portcullis had been raised and they dismounted, walking their horses through an archway into a bustling, cobbled courtyard.
Once the grooms had taken their horses to the stables, Ewan turned to Tyra with a smile.
“Welcome tae Eilean Donan, Lady Tyra,” he said and Tyra looked around.
Servants were hurrying to and fro, some with buckets of water from the well, others lugging bundles of carrots and turnips.
One lass carried a small basket of herbs.
A young squire bearing a bow and quiver along with two claymores strode toward a small stone building which Tyra guessed was the armory.
She also noted a large space devoted to growing vegetables and herbs. An inviting fragrance of baking bread drifted from the kitchen out-building.
“Ewan,” a sweet voice called.
Two young people, a lass and a tall lad, came striding down the stairs of the keep, closely followed by a round, smiling older man Tyra took to be the seneschal, judging by the large jangle of keys on his belt.
The lass who was clearly the owner of the voice, raced across the courtyard and flung her arms around Ewan’s neck. She was tall and slender, with a swath of glossy black hair descending to her waist. Her eyes, a shade paler than Ewan’s, sparkled as she greeted him.
“Where have ye been. We expected ye before supper last night. We were all afeared ye’d met wi’ a dreadful mishap when ye didnae return from the village.”
After giving her a quick hug, Ewan turned with a laugh to Tyra.
“This is me overly anxious wee sister, Isla.” he said. “And this is the Lady Tyra,” he placed a hand at Tyra’s waist making, her breath catch in her throat, presenting her to his sister.
Isla curtsied politely, casting a questioning look at Ewan.
“The lady’s travelling party met wi’ a slight… er… misadventure on their journey tae Moray. I have offered her the hospitality of the castle until she is able tae travel once more.”
Isla nodded, her eyebrows still raised in puzzlement.
“And this…” Ewan was saying, as the young man strolled over grinning broadly, “…is me braither Duncan.”
There was no mistaking that Duncan was cut from the same cloth as Ewan.
The brothers shared great height and breadth of shoulders and the same dark hair as their sister’s.
Yet, Duncan’s eyes were brown, and his hair, unlike Ewan’s, fell to his shoulders and was tied with a leather thong at his nape.
He bowed with a flourish, startling Tyra by reaching for her hand and pressing it lightly to his lips.
“We shall be only too happy tae have such a lovely lady gracing us with her presence over the coming days.”
Conscious of a disapproving grunt from Ewan standing beside her, Tyra hastily withdrew her hand. Heat flamed in her cheeks.
Did I dae something tae earn his disapproval?
Hoping her flushed face would pass without notice, she greeted the siblings, bobbing a curtsy, favoring each with a smile.
They were then joined by the seneschal who tugged his forelock in deference to his laird.
“Joseph, this is me guest, Lady Tyra MacNeacail. I trust ye will see that a bedchamber is be prepared fer the lady. She will be our guest fer the coming days.”
Joseph nodded and hastened back to the keep.
“Come wi’ me Lady Tyra,” Isla proffered her arm. “We can sit a while at the solar and talk while the maids see tae yer apartment.” Tyra accepted Isla’s arm and, together, strolled across the courtyard and made their way into the keep.
Tyra was taken aback by the sheer size of the castle. Its passages were wide and seemed to disappear endlessly in every direction. They ascended a staircase, and then another, and traipsed along a further expansive passage until they arrived at a huge room.
Tyra issued a little, admiring gasp as they entered. The plaster walls were gaily decorated in bright and vibrant colors, with images of flowers, birds, deer, men on horseback and ladies being serenaded by troubadours with their lutes. It was by far the grandest solar she’d ever seen.
The floors were covered with wool rugs in vivid patterns unlike anything at Scorrybreac, where mostly woven rushes covered the floor.
This was, clearly, the castle of a powerful laird.
She stood beside the roaring fire bringing her frozen fingers, ears and nose back to life while Isla chattered on about her dislike for the fact that the weather was keeping her indoors.
“I would so much prefer tae be walking in me garden, riding, or hunting wi’ me falcons. Instead, I am cooped up in here wi’ naught but me embroidery tae keep me occupied.” She turned to Tyra and clapped her hands. “I am so happy ye will be here. Yer company will brighten these winter days.”
A kitchen maid brought a tray with baked trout, fried onions, bread, butter, and cheese and a jug of mead for their midday meal.
Isla’s friendly, lighthearted chatter warmed Tyra’s heart every bit as much as the fire warmed her frozen limbs. She found it easy to converse with the lass and it allowed her customary guardedness to give way a little as she kept Isla entertained with stories about her home on the Isle of Skye.
Tyra was just settling comfortably beside the fire when a chambermaid appeared at the door. Isla looked up.
“Aye, Morag?”
The girl gave a brief curtsy. “The chamber next tae yers is ready fer the Lady Tyra. One of the manservants has taken up her panniers and a fire has been lit fer her.”
“Ah. Thank ye lass. I shall guide Lady Tyra tae her room.”
Tyra rose to her feet. “I am most grateful fer yer braither’s hospitality, Lady Isla, and I thank ye fer yer company.”
“Please, dinnae thank me, I am ever so glad of yer charming conversation. I am looking forward tae ye spending time here.”
Tyra was delighted with the bedchamber. In comparison with her small room at Scorrybreac, it was vast. It was decorated in much the same manner as the solar, although the colors were softer, befitting a lady’s room, with swathes of pink roses, bluebells, butterflies and little birds amongst a background of branches and green leaves.
Woven rugs of rushes covered with strewing herbs lined the floor.
Lavender flowers were scattered over the pillows on the enormous bed their delicate, fresh perfume inviting a hint of spring into the wintry room.
Beaming, Tyra turned to Isla. “Why this is enchanting. What a beautiful room.”
“Shall we sit?” Isla gestured to four comfortable-looking chairs covered in deep pink damask, piled with plump cushions in a row by the wall.
The chairs were solid and it took some effort for them to push two of them into place, side-by-side at the fireside.
As Tyra subsided into the deep, warm, comfort of the chair in the glow of the warming fire, the knot that had stiffened her shoulders for too long loosened and unraveled.
She allowed the pleasure of feeling completely safe for the first time since the terrifying moments when she’d been hunted in the darkened village street steal over her.
Isla filled two goblets with mead from the jug on the table and passed one to Tyra. “Slàinte mhath, Lady Tyra. Let us drink tae yer comfort and happiness as the guest of the Mackenzies of Eilean Donan.”
Tyra raised the goblet. “I will drink tae that and tae the hospitality of me generous hosts.”
They each raised the honeyed liquor to their lips and drank.