Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ewan’s gaze followed his sister and Lady Tyra making their way up the stairs to the keep. He puzzled over the strength of his reaction to Duncan’s blatant flirting with the lass.
“Mm.” Duncan was watching them also. “She’s a rare beauty, that lady.” He grinned at his brother causing Ewan another stab of disquiet.
Dear Lord, surely it couldnae be jealousy?
He hastily mustered his thoughts. Of course, he was merely reacting against his younger brother’s tendency to consider every bonnie lass he encountered a potential conquest.
“Come,” he said, and began striding into the keep, Duncan hurrying beside him. “Join me in the study, there are pressing matters I wish tae discuss wi’ ye.”
A fire had been recently lit in Ewan’s study but the room was still cold, so they stood in the meager glow, stamping their feet for warmth, holding their hands to the flames.
A serving-man arrived with a large ewer of ale which he placed on a nearby table, along with two hearty tankards.
Ewan filled the pewters, passed one to his brother and then took his seat as close to the growing flames as was feasible.
“I was nae impressed wi’ the manner in which ye greeted the Lady Tyra,” he muttered, astonished at the flare of anger he felt toward Duncan as he recalled his brother’s lips pressed to Tyra’s soft hand.
Duncan shrugged. “I was merely greeting her as one would—” He trailed off, meeting Ewan’s glare.
“’Tis time ye understood that every lass ye meet is nae a petticoat fer ye tae conquer.”
An uncomfortable silence descended between them as they sipped their ale. Finally, it was Duncan who broke the pensive atmosphere.
“I apologize fer acting hastily. But please dae enlighten me of this tale. Ye’ve been gone overnight, and ye appear at the castle a day later wi’ a bonnie lass who has, according tae ye, met wi’ a misadventure of some kind.”
Ewan gathered his thoughts, still unsure of what he should reveal to his brother. In a sense, Lady Tyra’s story was hers to tell. Yet if she was to be fully protected while at Eilean Donan, he had to reveal what had brought him to invite her to take shelter in his keep.
“Ye may recall the name of the lady’s clan. She’s the daughter of Baldur MacNeacail.”
Duncan thought on this for a moment and after some brief consideration he nodded.
“So, she’s… the… unfortunate…lass who was entangled with the Laird of the MacDonalds of Sleat. The man who betrayed the MacNeacails and was banished from their land fer life, leaving a broken betrothal and a ruined lass.”
“The very same lass. Her half-braither is now the laird, following her faither’s death.”
“I heard past circumstances have played badly for the lass through nay fault of her own.” Duncan shuffled closer to the fire and leaned against the mantle, a frown creasing his brow.
“But, dear braither, ye have yet tae explain what the lady was doing on Mackenzie lands, and what misadventure has brought her here tae Eilean Donan wi’ ye. ”
“I believe I owe ye the facts as I ken them.” Ewan said thoughtfully. “It was quite by accident that I came upon the lass. She was pursued by three blackguards who appeared intent on abducting her.”
Duncan grunted. “And, of course, ye intervened tae save a lady in distress.”
Ewan responded with a short laugh. “Ye ken me well enough that I’d ne’er leave a lass in a dire situation when she calls fer help. Especially on Mackenzie lands.”
“Yet we’re some distance from the Isle of Skye, the lady’s home. D’ye ken what she was doing on our land?
Ewan quaffed the last of his ale and stood to warm himself beside Duncan.
“From what she said, she was bound fer the Priory at Moray where she was to take refuge while her braither sought a suitable marriage fer her.” He coughed. The fire was smoking, stinging his eyes. “Damn these wet logs, there’s nay warmth in them.”
“The lady?”
Ewan continued. “I’m nae saying her story isnae truthful.
Yet I cannae understand why she was traveling in the depths of winter wi’ only two men-at-arms to guard her.
” He paused while Duncan poured another beaker of ale.
“There is more tae tell. I am of the mind tae suspect that Harris MacDonald was somehow behind the attack on her. I believe she shares me suspicions.”
“Revenge?”
“’Tis the act of a coward tae attack a woman, yet I believe he is enough of a rogue tae dae so.”
Duncan took a seat, leaning back, crossing his ankles. “By all the Devil’s fold, braither. Are ye saying ye’ve brought her here because ye believe her tae be in danger? Ye think another attempt will be made on her?
“Ah, yes.”
Duncan swore again. “While the lady is wi’ us we mustnae let our guard down.” Their talk was interrupted by a loud knock at the door and a serving man bringing a light repast of bannocks and jellied eels.
They took their seats at the table, talking over the situation as they ate.
“Ye said the Laird MacNeacail is seeking a suitable husband fer the lass?”
“Aye. ‘Tis unfortunate she’s been compromised the way she has been by the behavior of the man she was tae wed.”
Duncan pondered this for a few moments, as he tore a bannock apart and slowly consumed it. “So, am I correct in deducing that – unlike ye, who has nay wish tae wed again – the Lady Tyra wishes tae be wed wi’out delay tae regain her lost reputation.”
Ewan snorted. “And, I daresay, the Laird MacDonald has nay wish tae see her married tae another.”
“Meanwhile, the honorable council elders of Clan Mackenzie are pressing ye hard tae remarry. They wish tae avoid the possibility of ye leaving them without an heir and yer feckless younger braither becoming laird.”
“Something like that, mayhap.” Ewan gave a hearty laugh. “I ken they hold fast tae the notion that a man is nae fully a man unless he has a wife and weans. It is what they wish… nay, demand of me. They are none too happy tae have a single man as their laird.”
“So, dear braither,” Duncan twirled his knife on the plate. “I can see both yer problem and that of the lass, could dovetail in such a way as tae resolve tae benefit both of ye.”
“And what, pray tell, are ye thinking?”
“Why, it’s obvious.” He laid a hand on Ewan’s shoulder. “Ye marry the lass yerself.”
Ewan spluttered, almost losing the last of his mouthful. He swallowed and coughed, holding a napkin to his mouth. “What in the names of all the saints are ye havering about, Duncan?” He glared at his brother. “I’ve nay wish tae marry. Ye ken that is so.”
“Think on it, braither. Ye’d save her braither, the Laird MacNeacail from the arduous task of finding a suitor, the elders will release ye so ye can draw breath again without their endless carping, and the lass marries intae a powerful clan that will rehabilitate her reputation and stop tongues from wagging. ”
Ewan found himself nodding. Duncan, for once, was making sense. Everything he said rang true.
“I’m liking yer conclusions.”
Duncan tilted his head and pierced Ewan with his dark brown gaze. “I’m mindful that the lass is a rare beauty, milaird, and one I find quite delicious. It would scarcely be a hardship tae have such a lovely lass at yer side.”
What Ewan had not mentioned – and what he could hardly bring himself to acknowledge – was the sudden lurch in his belly at the prospect of taking Lady Tyra as his wife and the way his thoughts were suddenly filled with nothing but her soft curves, the light shining in her green-gold eyes, the delicate scent of her yellow hair, the touch of her soft hand and the lightning that had ripped through him when he met her gaze.
Now, the thought of wedding her was curling into the front of his mind like a pipe dream promising pleasures he’d denied himself forever.
But that was impossible. Ridiculous. He had vowed he would never permit himself to take on the responsibility of a wife and risk her pregnancy and the terrible fate that had befallen his first wife, Marjorie, and their tiny wean.
But marriage without love or intimacy, simply fer the reasons Duncan was spelling out? That seemed possible.
“Truth is, if I marry the lady, we’ll ally ourselves wi’ the MacNeacails, gaining greater access tae the seas and the trade around all the southern and western isles. Our territory would advance greatly, as would our wealth.”
Ewan raised his empty tankard, the idea of proposing a marriage to Tyra beginning to take root.
Even fortified by another ale, Ewan found his courage failing as he took the staircase leading to the guest chamber.
It was all very well, seated in his study with Duncan, to discuss a possible marriage between himself and Lady Tyra MacNeacail, yet once the reality struck home, he was seized with misgivings.
While he’d found himself admiring the lady’s beauty and had found her to be both witty and equipped with a fine sense of the ridiculous, he had no idea what she might think of him. Mayhap she’d scorn him as a barbarian or a brute, wanting nothing to do with him.
He’d heard Harris MacDonald was elegant, with fine-manners and clothing. In comparison, in his own Highland garb, the lady most likely saw him as a ruffian, uncouth and unrefined.
He shivered, pulling his cloak around him and turned, making for the stairs leading to the west tower. From there he could survey the three sea lochs that were guarded by the castle. This was where he always found solace when he was faced with vexing decisions and sought to clear his head.
Ascending the steep staircase he stepped into the tower, nodding to the guard who jumped to attention as he appeared.
He paced the walkway, gazing into the darkness, bracing against the bite of the cold wind.
The dissonance that was addling his thoughts slowly cleared.
He’d vowed never to marry again, yet he was besieged by his Council to find a suitable bride.
He was painfully aware that regardless of his own personal regrets and the guilt that scorched him, he had a duty to his clan to marry, to form another allegiance, to provide an heir.
While he had no intention of the latter, he understood the importance of building his clan’s network of allies.
Finally, he steadied his thoughts with a cold appraisal of the facts.
The Mackenzies were already a powerful clan and an allegiance would be of benefit to Lady Tyra’s clan also.
Her brother would approve. Besides, what lass would not wish to be the lady of such an estate and of the great castle at its heart?
Now armed with certainty, he filled his lungs with the sharp, crisp air. He made his way down the stairs and along the passages until he found himself hesitating outside the guest chamber.
He sucked in a breath and reached his hand to rap on the door.