Chapter Thirteen #2
Rory lifted a hand to point at a map Laria kept on the wall of her room, a rendition of the isles with Skye at the center.
“The sea between the isles and the mountains between the territories on the mainland work to keep us apart, which in turn keeps the clans in ignorant dispute. Kenan’s list has lasses on the other isles and the mainland.
” He rubbed his short beard. “I hear that Murdo Matheson has a sister coming of marriageable age. Reagan or Ranell or some such. And another sister who has been widowed.”
“So I should let Laria and her people die off while I marry some lass to bring peace.” Cyrus tried but failed to keep the ice from his voice.
Rory’s jaw hardened. “I said nothing about letting her and her people die.”
Cyrus grabbed the lantern Rory had set by his feet and turned toward the emergency stairway, but Rory caught his arm.
“I’m just saying that ’tis best if ye don’t marry a woman who will bring nothing to our plan for peace.
A woman who may be…possibly mad. At least not when there are so many other bonny young ladies who could help unite Scotland. ”
Cyrus’s lips pulled back in a snarl. “If Sara had not been Chief Walter Macdonald’s daughter, ye would have waited to find another who would form an alliance?”
“Sara is different,” Rory said. “There is something between us that goes beyond strategies for peace.”
“How do ye know that there isn’t something between Laria and me?”
Rory’s brow rose high. “Is there? I thought ye just said that ye didn’t want to wed her.”
“I…I just know that I must find out if my sister is legally bound to a mother-murdering fiend, and I would see Laria and her group of people warm and fed through the winter. Both of those involve Iain Macqueen. That’s all I can focus on at the moment.”
Cyrus turned back to the steps and descended, holding the lantern up to light his way.
“I’ll be back by morning. Tell Iain that Laria and I are cloistered away discussing our upcoming wedding.
” At the bottom, the inside bar leaned next to the door where Laria had placed it to exit.
Cyrus worked the latch, pushing against it, but the door didn’t budge.
Had a key been used to lock it, or had Iain nailed a bar across the outside after she sneaked out?
“Daingead.” She’d been right to leave as soon as she could.
Someone was trying to contain her in Tuath Tower.
Cyrus climbed back up the steps to find that Rory had already left, so he closed the staircase door and went out into the corridor.
’Twas dark with only small windows cut up high to allow in minimal daylight.
But instead of heading toward the main staircase, Cyrus strode to his sister’s new bedchamber, which also belonged to Iain.
Rap. Rap. He knocked, glancing up and down the vacant corridor.
There was no answer, and he tried the latch.
Open. If his sister was the last out the door, of course it was unlocked.
She never locked anything. She’d never had a need to before.
Lord help her. She might be clever and courageous, but she was also naive after being protected from disagreeable people her whole life.
Cyrus locked the door with a key hanging on a hook next to it.
It was obviously meant for Grace to use.
He turned to the bedchamber, which was half as large again as Laria’s and had a sitting area by the hearth.
The large bed was neatly made with luxurious pillows and drapes.
A thick, woven rug adorned the floor planks, muting the tap of his boots.
Embers glowed a slight red when the wind whistled down the chimney.
Iain had said he also had an escape staircase.
Cyrus strode to the hearth, feeling along the walls in approximately the same place as Laria’s hidden door.
His hand snagged on a raised piece of molding.
He pulled the molding out, showing the cord attached to it, and a lever behind the door clicked.
The door swung open on greased hinges. A nub of a candle sat under a glass lantern at the top of the staircase, shedding light down the steps.
Was it used often, or did Iain just light it every day in case of emergency?
That seemed unlikely. He must use the stairs frequently.
Entering the secret door, he relocked it from the inside and hurried down the steps.
The dankness reminded him of his time in Carlisle Dungeon, the slight musty smell making his nose twitch.
An alcove sat in shadow at the bottom, but it was empty.
He lifted the bar from across the door and set it in the brackets provided before opening the door and peeking through the crack.
This door opened on the opposite side of the tower behind tall bushes, making it even better hidden than the one from Laria’s room.
It was, however, obvious from the broken twigs and parted branches that someone often passed through the screen of bushes.
Stepping out, he closed the door and walked along the tower until he had a clear view of the path leading out of town in the direction to where he needed to go.
He’d follow it into the forest and circle around.
Hopefully, there would be a burn he could walk down to hide his tracks.
He’d be delayed in getting to Laria, but he couldn’t risk leaving tracks directly to her hidden location.
’Twas amazing that she trusted him enough to tell him where they would be.
But she doesn’t trust me enough to marry me.
In the past, Cyrus’s pride might have turned him away from Laria and her plight.
But the wrongs that had been thrown upon her shoulders drew him toward her.
As a future chief of a great clan, he couldn’t turn his back on people who needed help, even to protect his pride.
I’m doing this for her people. And for Grace.
And because the whispered question in his mind wouldn’t let him rest. Why wouldn’t Laria marry him?