Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tyra and Isla were still chatting happily when there came a rapping on the door and a deep rumbling voice.
“’Tis Ewan Mackenzie, milady.”
Tyra felt the same stab of excitement jolt through her at the sound of his voice she’d experienced at the inn. “Please enter,” she called.
Both Isla and Tyra rose and curtsied briefly as he swept, unsmiling, into the chamber.
They went to resume their seats when he raised a hand. “I wish tae converse with Lady Tyra in private, sister.” He spoke in a tone that would brook no argument.
What daes he wish tae speak with me about?
Tyra looked at him in surprise.
“Of course, Ewan.” Casting Tyra a rueful smile, Isla moved toward the door. “I understand. Good evening, Lady Tyra. I thank ye fer yer company. It has been a most pleasant afternoon.”
Once the door had closed behind Isla, Ewan signaled to Tyra, gesturing toward the chair she’d been seated on.
“Please sit down again, Lady Tyra.”
He drew his thick, dark brows together, his face clouding as if a shadow was passing overhead.
Tyra stepped back to the chair and seated herself, somewhat disconcerted by the seriousness of Ewan’s expression.
He did not sit, but leaned on the mantel, the deep frown still etched on his forehead as he gazed into the leaping flames in the fireplace.
Whatever daes he want, coming here so late?
After a long and mysterious pause, he finally turned to her. She caught her breath, half-afraid of what he might be about to say.,
“I’ll be brief, Lady Tyra. I ken ‘tis nae seemly fer me tae be here wi’out a companion present. I dinnae wish tae sully yer reputation.”
“Me reputation?” Tyra gave a sharp little laugh.
“I dae believe it has been in tatters ever since the betrothal contract wi’ Harris MacDonald became null and void, and me braither forced him tae return every last item of me dowry.
If ye were truly concerned, however, I would have thought yer sister would have played the part of a chaperone well enough. ”
He had the good grace to appear slightly chastened. “I agree, yet there is a matter of some urgency I wish tae discuss, which merits a little rule-breaking. I assure ye yer reputation will nae be damaged by this meeting between us.”
“That may be, Laird Mackenzie, but I would feel more comfortable were ye tae be seated beside me.”
He grunted, but nevertheless lowered his great length into the chair beside hers. He leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest, stretched his legs and crossed his ankles, looking altogether less threatening than when he was frowning by the fire.
She felt the tension leaking out of her shoulders and her breath slowing.
“Would ye care fer a cup of mead, Laird Ewan?”
“Aye, thank ye.”
Tyra rose and poured them each a goblet of the honeyed liquor. He sat up as she handed him the drink but the frown was back. Clearly, he was bothered by something.
“Laird Ewan, I can see from yer frown that there is something unpleasant on yer mind. I fear ye have bad news.”
He took a gulp of the mead and shook his head. “Nay, I dinnae bring bad news.” He took another sip. “But, ye are correct in thinking there is much on me mind.”
“Then, as ye’ve come here bearing a burden, mayhap ye could perhaps lighten it somewhat by sharing yer concern wi’ me.” She was desperately curious now, yet afraid he was about to inform her of something to do with her attackers. Surely, they would not come to Eilean Donan in search of her?
“Of course. I dinnae wish tae plague ye wi’ misgivings. It is a straightforward matter I wish tae discuss and one which, I hope, is nae tae yer detriment.”
The breath hitched in her throat as he turned to her.
“Me braither and I have been discussing yer situation. Ye revealed tae me ye were reluctant tae continue tae the Priory. Ye also informed me that yer braither was seeking a suitable betrothal fer ye.” He paused and their eyes met for a long moment, sending a strange, fluttering sensation into her chest.
She nodded, clasping her hands in her lap. “’Tis true.”
“I have a suggestion.”
Tilting her head, and catching her breath, she nodded. “Please continue.”
“I am in need of a wife. Me Council members have been pressuring me tae wed fer some time now, and I wish tae silence them. It seems ye are in need of a husband. Common sense has it that we should be wed.”
Her head whirled, the breath stilling in her throat. Tyra stiffened and clutched at the arms of her chair.
“Did I hear ye right, Laird Mackenzie? Are ye making an offer of marriage?”
He turned to her with a wry smile. “Would ye hear more clearly if I went on one knee before ye and asked fer yer hand?”
She found a tiny smile. “Aye. That might be more convincing.”
With that, he rose to his feet, placed his goblet on the mantel, swiveled and went down on one knee in a graceful movement.
“Me Lady Tyra, will ye dae me the honor of consenting tae be me wife?”
She couldn’t help a soft chuckle. “Please sit down, me Laird. Yer proposal has taken me quite by surprise and me thoughts are quite befuddled. Forgive me if I am unable tae provide ye wi’ an answer without further discussion.”
He took up his goblet and sat, swilling another mouthful.
“I realize me proposal is sudden and may seem tae have come out of nothing but thin air, but I assure ye it will be of great benefit fer the two of us tae wed.”
Thoughts reeling, she raised a questioning brow. “How so?”
He outlined the way in which a marriage between them would strengthen the smaller MacNeacail Clan by its allegiance to the larger, more powerful Mackenzie Clan. He also roamed over the advantages there would be for the Mackenzies in having greater access to trade with the islands.
Listening to Ewan extolling the gains for both their clans in the alliance, she was momentarily overwhelmed with sadness.
Was it her lot to serve as nothing more than an asset to her clan and a tool to further a man’s ambition?
She’d had far more than enough of that with her betrothal to Harris MacDonald.
It was the thought of Harris that suddenly made her realize that the threats to her life were all too real. A marriage with Laird Ewan Mackenzie would serve to protect her.
“Yet,” she found herself saying despondently, “we hardly ken each other at all. ‘Tis a mere two days since we first laid eyes on each other. How can we become husband and wife wi’ nay sense of who we are tae each other?”
Ewan shook his head. “I admit I have nay love to offer ye, Lady Tyra, but I will be yer friend and offer me protection I will keep ye safe from whatever danger might befall ye. It will be a marriage in name only, so ye dinnae have tae worry about nae kenning each other.”
She nodded, aware of a pitching in her belly when he confirmed this was no love match. “I ken already ye are a man who would protect me.”
“So, if ye agree to our marriage, I will send word at once tae yer braither, Laird MacNeacail, seeking his permission and requesting a rèiteach be negotiated. Once the formal betrothal is in place, the banns will be published.”
He looked deep into her eyes and, for a moment, she imagined something danced between them that went beyond the coldness of the words they were exchanging.
She tried to gather the thoughts clamoring for attention inside her head but it was all a jumble, quite beyond her ability to bring sense and order to what she might make of the proposal.
“I dinnae wish tae say ‘nae’, Laird Mackenzie yet ‘aye’ is still at some distance. I beg ye tae grant me until tomorrow tae give ye an answer. There is much I need tae think on.”
He got to his feet and bowed from the waist.
“Of course. I didnae expect ye’d answer me without thought. I shall look forward to speaking further wi’ ye on the morrow.” He glanced around the chamber. “I trust ye are comfortable here.”
“Oh, yes.” She slanted him a smile, taken aback at his polite, formal manner.
“Then I shall take me leave, Lady Tyra. Shall we arrange a time tae meet again?”
She got to her feet, quite lost for words.
Whatever will I tell him? He expects me tae give him an answer.
“On the morrow, in the morn, in me study.”
Without waiting for her response, he turned on his heel and strode to the door. As he opened it, he turned, a smile quirking his lips as their eyes met.
“Sleep well.”
Alone at long last, Tyra was far too disturbed by what had taken place to contemplate sleep. Instead, she paced the room, struggling to bring order to her thoughts.
There was sense in what he’d proposed, she could not fault that. Yet it seemed far too abrupt to consider marriage with Laird Ewan.
But how could she baulk at the suddenness of his proposal? If her half-brother were to arrange a betrothal for her while she was with the nuns at the Pluscarden, it would be with a lad she’d had no dealings with. Mayhap it would be someone she’d never met. A stranger from strange lands.
After all, she’d met Harris MacDonald on only two occasions before their betrothal.
He had courted her with embellishments and flourishes and at the time she had found Harris irresistibly beguiling.
But looking back, it was apparent his courtship had held even less meaning than the empty gesture made by Ewan’s flirtatious younger brother.
More to the point, her betrothal to Harris had been arranged when she’d spent less time alone with him than the minutes and hours that had already passed between herself and Laird Ewan with no other soul was present.
While his proposal had been bluntly phrased, lacking in Harris’s persuasive, courtly gestures, she appreciated his honesty. He was not for making flowery promises he would not keep, only that he would protect her.
Ewan had gone as far as leaving love and intimacy out of the agreement. He’d spoken only of alliances, convenience, and protection.
Sighing deeply, she recalled the time when, as a na?ve young lass, she’d believed in marrying for love.
She’d imagined herself to be wildly in love with her handsome fiancé, even though he’d never treated her as she wished he would.
They’d never shared amusements or pastimes, never chatted and laughed together.
To her chagrin his constant criticism had led her to believe that not only did he disapprove of everything that was dear to her, but that she, herself, was inferior and unworthy of love.
But for all her dreams ideas of adoration, and for all of her infatuation with her previous fiancé, with Harris she’d never experienced the darts of fire and the rush of heat through her veins she experienced when her gaze locked with Laird Ewan Mackenzie’s blue eyes.
Done with pacing, she was washed with tiredness, her eyes drooping. Falling into the chair by the dying embers of the fire she pulled her cloak tighter around her against the growing chill.
What shall I decide?
There was no point in bemoaning that this would be a loveless marriage of convenience. There was much to commend their union.
Uppermost was the knowledge that with the might of the Mackenzies on her side, she would be safe from any threat Harris MacDonald would care to make.
That was no small thing.
Of course, her union with Ewan would mean a greatly advantageous alliance for her clan. She had no doubt her half-brother Laird Edmund would approve the match.
And, for her, to become the wife of such a powerful laird, would go far to address the humiliation that had been heaped upon her since Harris MacDonald’s perfidy became common knowledge throughout the Highlands.
She mused that it was much to Ewan’s credit that he had no qualms in proposing marriage to a lass whose reputation was as tarnished as hers.
But, despite her musing, there was one question that insisted in leaping repeatedly to the front of her mind.
If an alliance was his chief concern – along with silencing the vexatious carping of his Council – surely there were chiefs of more important clans than hers, with willing daughters, who would be eager to form an alliance with the Mackenzies? Why had Ewan chosen her?
It was this niggling question she took to bed with her and which kept her awake for longer than she expected, without finding an answer.
Save for the memory of the dancing fire between them that sprang into life whenever their eyes locked.