Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ewan whistled cheerfully as he strode out of his room, heading toward the banquet hall. Although he’d been chagrined at having intruded into the Lady Tyra’s private bath time, the incident had not been without its pleasures.
There’d been the tiniest glimpse of her pink skin before he’d realized his error and pivoted away. Now, he found his thoughts dwelling on that creamy skin and the warm, sensual play of water. His nose was filled with delicate rose scent and the warm, steamy air that had pervaded his senses.
For once, he did not attempt to shut down his lust-filled thoughts but allowed himself the indulgence. He huffed in a breath. The lady Tyra was a beautiful flower, ripe for the plucking, but he would not be the man to do so. He could not be the man to do so.
As he strolled the passageways toward the banqueting hall he came upon a maid hurrying toward the place where Tyra’s and Isla’s chambers were located, several gowns draped over her arms, slipping and sliding out of her grasp, one of them almost trailing on the floor.
“Hold, there lass.” He raised a hand and bent to collect the straying gown. “Where are ye headed with these?”
The maid, who was little more than a wean, reddened, looking flustered. “I was taking them tae the Lady Tyra, milord. They’ve been wi’ Mistress Maeve from the village fer alterations:
“Ah.” He reached for the gowns. “Methinks ye are too small a wee lass fer these. I’ll take them tae the lady.”
The young maid bobbed a curtsy and, still red-faced, proceeded down the passageway leaving him to take the gowns.
Arriving at Tyra’s door, he knocked.
Surely, she would have dressed herself by now?
When there was no response to his sharp rap on the door, he entered, with the intention of laying the gowns across the bed for her to find when she returned.
He straightened the skirts, picturing how charming Tyra would look in those new gowns. A great improvement on the drab garments she’d been clad in ever since they’d met.
As he smoothed them, he heard the rustle of parchment in one of the pockets and removed it. Mayhap this was an accounting of Maeves’s endeavors, which was not for meant to the lady but for him to pass to the seneschal for payment,
He glanced at the note, which was folded and sealed, with nothing written on the fold. Without giving it further thought, he broke the seal and perused it, surprised to see it contained only one sentence.
Holding it near the fireplace for light to make out the words, he peered closely.
Nay matter how far ye run, I will find ye.
His stomach lurched as he read it – not once, but twice. There was no mistaking the threat it contained. His hands clenched into involuntary fists by his sides.
He turned the note over, examining the seal, but there was no imprint of a signet ring that would give him a name or a hint of who had sent such a thing.
This was meant fer Tyra. It could only be from MacDonald, fer who else would send such a blatantly threatening missive.
He sucked in a long breath, exhaling through his rage, calming himself, allowing his tumbling thoughts to settle.
If this message was from Harris MacDonald, Tyra was in even greater danger than he’d anticipated.
Whoever had sent it –and with every passing moment he was more convinced that it was from MacDonald – clearly knew she was at the castle.
Even worse, they could only have learned about the gowns at the seamstress’s house from one of the servants at Eilean Donan.
He left the chamber and hastened downstairs in search of the seneschal. He found him in his rooms at his desk.
Joseph put down his quill and stood when Ewan entered.
“Ne’er mind, Joseph. Please sit.”
“What is it Laird Ewan, ye’ve a thunderous look.”
“Aye. I seek a name.”
Joseph nodded. “I ken all the castle servants.”
“Who was the lad who brought the Lady Tyra’s garments from the seamstress this afternoon.”
Joseph opened a large ledger on his desk.
“The names of all those who carried out tasks beyond the castle are written here.” He peered at the parchment for a moment and looked up, frowning.
“The ink is smeared.” He said, shaking his head.
“I cannae see the names. ‘Tis as if someone has poured water on the page to obscure what is written.”
Ewan felt his anger rise in his throat. The miscreant he sought had covered his tracks. He swiveled. “I thank ye, Joseph I shall look further afield.”
By the time he strode into the banqueting hall his rage had hardened into a cold fury.
He experienced an overriding sense of violation as he marched across to the fireplace where Duncan and Tyra were still chatting.
The obvious camaraderie between them riled him.
For some inexplicable reason the ease of their friendly manner toward each other offended him.
He pushed his emotions away, focusing on the matter at hand.
Taking his startled brother aside, he instructed Duncan to ride at once to the village to the house of the seamstress.
“Enquire the name of the messenger who collected the gowns from her today. Ask her, also if she’s had any other visitors to her house.”
“The weather… the tide…” Duncan blurted.
Ewan shook his head. “This must be done at once. Take a good horse, the tide is low at this time so ye can cross and be back before it rises. Wrap yerself well against the snow and report to me the instant ye return. Regardless of the hour. I’ll grant ye an explanation once it’s done.”
Duncan hurried off without another word and Ewan turned to Tyra who was looking on with an expression of alarm.
“What is it?” she asked in a hushed whisper. “Has something untoward taken place?”
Ewan glanced around. They appeared to be alone, yet he was uncomfortable speaking aloud to her here.
“Come. We cannae converse here. Follow me tae the study.”
With that he swiveled and walked through the arched entry and headed along the passageway, to the study. Tyra scrambled at his heels.
He closed the study door and ushered her to a chair, before taking out the note from his jacket and handing it over.
Observing her reaction as she read it, he noted the color rushing from her cheeks, her indrawn breath, and the trembling in her hand holding the parchment.
“What daes this mean, Lady Tyra?”
Her green-gold eyes were glazed with tears as she looked up at him from beneath her dark lashes. It was clear she was greatly affected by message, and his heart went out to her. Yet, for all his compassion, it was necessary for him to understand what was going on.
She held a hand to her throat. “Where did this come from?”
“It came from the village wi’ a parcel of altered gowns from the seamstress. It was concealed in the pocket of one of them. I opened it, opining it had been sent tae me as a reckoning from Mistress Maeve.” He shook his head. “There can be little doubt this was meant fer ye.”
She nodded, placing an arm at her waist and, as if she was struck with a sudden pain, she seemed to fold in on herself. Her lovely eyes were clouded with deep resignation.
He waited. Her chest heaved as she drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. It was patently clear she knew something of this.
Her hand fluttered and came to rest in her lap.
“It’s Harris, of course.”
“Och. How d’ye ken he’s the knave who sent this?”
She gave a soft laugh. “I ken it is written in his hand. Besides…” She glanced into the fire for a moment and then met his gaze, her brows drawn together.
“The reason fer me journey tae the nuns at Pluscarden is nae simply a place fer me tae bide while Edmund seeks a suitable match fer me future and me protection. The nunnery was tae be me haven from the threats I’ve been receiving these past months since me braither banished MacDonald from our clan lands. ”
He said nothing, and she went on. “I traveled with only two lads tae guard me, leaving me home in the dead of winter in the hope we would evade notice.” She sighed. “But, as ye saw when ye came tae me rescue the other night, despite all our efforts at secrecy, they were on me trail.”
“What manner of threats did ye receive?”
She tossed her head and he saw a glint of fury lighting her eyes. “Mostly, they detailed the various torments in store fer me. From the pulling of me nails, tae flogging, and far more terrifying forms of torture.”
“Was that all?” His rage against that monster was building. He could scarcely keep his voice even as he spoke to her. Foul words sizzled on his tongue at the thought of the blasted rogue who had subjected her to such terror.
She snorted. “Oh no. The torture was only the beginning. Then there were all the ways I might be put tae death. From burning as a witch, being trampled by horses, drowned, sliced intae small pieces.” She caught his gaze. “Would ye care fer me tae continue? There were many more.”
He shuddered. “Nay, Lady Tyra. I believe ye have given me sufficient information.” He looked up, meeting her eyes. “I am pleased ye’ve at last seen fit tae reveal this. I only wish ye had spoken sooner.”
“I didnae ken if I could trust ye, milaird. I ken me former fiancé’s acquaintances go wide and deep. When we met, I didnae ken if ye were in league wi’ him and would bring me tae him.” A single tear trickled down her cheek and she wiped it away with her fingers.
Ewan pshawed loudly. He got to his feet and took the whisky decanter from its cabinet beside the hearth. He poured a splash into two glasses and handed one to her. He downed his in a single gulp and refilled his tumbler.
Tyra took a tiny taste, screwing up her face in distaste.
“D’ye nae care fer whisky, lass?”
She managed a faint smile. “I havenae a liking fer the taste or the burning in me throat. Yet the whisky is most pleasant as it warms me veins on the way down.”
He grew thoughtful. Her revelations came as no surprise. He’d long suspected MacDonald was behind the attack on her. What she’d told him confirmed it. Yet it rankled that she may have considered him a part of it.
“’Tis a disappointment tae me that ye could think me in any way connected with a scoundrel such as Harris MacDonald.
I dinnae recollect ever making the lad’s acquaintance.
” He scrubbed troubled fingers through his short, crisp, hair.
“I’m aware of his infamy, and that Laird MacNeacail banished him from yer clan’s territory.
” Turning to her, his heart stuttered against his ribcage.
He was startled to suddenly discover that it meant a great deal for her to not view him as a man who would be connected with the likes of MacDonald.
He poured another finger of whisky into his goblet, turned and paced before the fire, his head whirling with the new discovery of the danger Tyra was in.
The message he’d found brought the danger home. Someone inside the castle knew enough of her whereabouts and activities to continue the threats against her.
It was only a matter of time before another attempt was made to abduct her. What her fate would be after that, he could only imagine. His anger ran through him like a molten river at the very thought. It must not come to pass.
He paced again while she sat, gazing deep into the leaping flames.
Finally, he turned to Tyra, his mouth set in a grim line.
“’Tis nae safe fer ye anywhere. It seems ye are dogged by MacDonald’s minions wherever ye travel. There is only one possible answer that I can see.”
She looked up, meeting his eyes, her face lit by the glow of the fire, and his heart jumped.
The lass is a true beauty.
Her lip curled in a shaky smile. “What is the solution ye have tae offer?”
“The marriage we’ve agreed upon must take place without delay.
Only when ye are wed can I offer ye the full protection of Clan Mackenzie.
While I can stand wi’ ye against MacDonald, I cannae command me soldiers without the full compliance of the Council.
Once we are wed, should MacDonald attack, it will be war with the Mackenzies he brings down upon his head. ”
She sucked in a breath and released it as a loud huff. “So ye are suggesting we wed before the rèiteach has been agreed?”
“I’m nae saying that, but I am saying we shouldnae delay. I expect a response from yer braither shortly.”
“I understand. I…”
Before Tyra completed the sentence there was a rapid knocking on the door. Without waiting, Isla swept into the room, a little out of breath.
She looked from Tyra to her brother, tilting her head a little in puzzlement. “I’ve been waiting fer ye in the hall. Yer presence is required without delay, supper is being served and if ye wish tae eat it while it is still warm, ye’d best come now.”
Tyra got to her feet, smiling at Isla’s friendly persuasion. She straightened her skirt and tucked a loose strand of hair into her circlet of braids.
Turning to Ewan, she nodded. “Methinks we should obey yer sister’s commands, milaird.”
The laird gave a short laugh and followed them through the door.
They took their seats at the table. There was a vacant space for Duncan, while Tyra was seated beside Ewan, and Isla next to her.
During the meal, Ewan kept watch on Tyra. She seemed more subdued than usual. That was not surprising, given the discussion they’d just left and the arrival of the note.
Isla’s chatter kept them from utter dejection.
She grinned at Tyra. “I heard the gowns tae be altered have been brought back from Maeve.” There was a flicker in Tyra’s eyes at that, and a sharply indrawn breath but Isla did not seem to notice anything amiss and kept up her exuberant chatter.
“I can’t wait tae see ye wearing them. Promise me ye’ll wear one of them tae dine tomorrow eve. I’m certain ye will look like an angel in them.”
At that, Tyra chuckled. “Mayhap the gowns will make me appear angelic, Isla, but I am far from being an angel.”
Isla reached out to clutch Tyra’s hand. “Well, tae me ye’re an angel who has come tae shed some delights on me life in this wintry castle. Ye have nay idea how it has brightened me life tae have another lass tae talk wi.”
She glanced over at her brother. “And I dae wish ye’d smile a little more, Ewan. Ye’ve become quite grim these days.”
He exchanged a look with Tyra, who pursed her lips knowingly. It was difficult to feel anything but grim at that moment.