Page 60 of Bride of the Sinful Laird
Annora sat up, uncertain of how to respond. It seemed that as far as Tyra was concerned, Harris, would be the next laird of her clan.
Tyra must have detected something of Annora’s thoughts, for she flushed a delicate pink, and, seemingly flustered, spoke too quickly, giving a garbled response to Annora that hardly made any sense.
“I didnae mean… I’ll be busy… nay doubt there will be weans. Of course, yer husband will be the laird here, will he nae?”
It was too late for Tyra to take her words back, but Annora was determined not to make anything of the chance remarks. Instead, she picked up Tyra’s embroidery and admired the stitching.
“I’ve ne’er had the patience tae dae such delicate work.”
It was fortunate that, at that moment, Edmund and Lionel entered the solar.
They both greeted Tyra politely, and for once, she managed a smile in response.
“Are ye ladies ready fer supper?”
Annora rose, and turned to Tyra, “Dae ye wish tae accompany us tae the refectory?”
Tyra shook her head. “Nay. Thank ye, I shall wait here fer Harris.”
Once they were out of earshot of the solar, Annora whispered to Edmund. “From what Tyra said, we are correct in our thoughts that Laird Harris is determined tae take the lairdship of the MacNeacails.”
Edmund nodded. “The only surprise is that Tyra has said it outright.”
Annora tucked her arm in his as they entered the hall. “I dinnae think she meant tae say it, it slipped from her tongue. She tried tae cover it after.”
“We are tae meet with Tormod after supper, so the knowledge of MacDonald’s intentions will be useful tae me.” He placed a hand on hers. “Thank ye lass.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The sun was little more than a sliver of gold against the dark line of the horizon when Edmund strode the battlements the following morning. The conversation with Lionel and Tormod had lasted well into the night and, although nothing was resolved, it had focused his mind on the situation he was facing.
He cursed himself for not having foreseen the issues that had arisen.
First and foremost, were his feelings for Annora. When he returned from speaking with Lionel and Tormod she had been fast asleep and he’d not disturbed her. Yet he could scarce think of anything but plundering her lush lips with his mouth and plying his fingers to the curves and crevices of her soft body.
He hauled in a long breath and gave his head a shake to dispel the lusty visions.
He had not anticipated that when the time came for her departure, he would feel as if his heart was being torn in two.
There’d been other lasses, of course, but his dalliances had never been anything but pleasurable interludes meaning little and, when he’d taken his leave of said lady, neither she nor he had been greatly concerned.
He’d never given a thought to marriage. Believing himself to be of low birth, he would never have contemplated being with the daughter of a laird.
Now, there he was, wracked by regret at the carefree manner in which he had committed both himself and Annora to the masquerade that they were husband and wife, and the promise he had made to speed her departure at the end of two weeks.
Now that end of that fortnight was looming, he was tortured by feelings he’d never experienced and did not fully understand.
He’d found himself unable to put thoughts of her out of his mind. At night, lying beside her was an agony of wanting. Yet he knew that to take her, no matter how eager she seemed for his kisses, would be wrong, for she was a virgin betrothed to an English nobleman.
Worse still, it seemed possible that he had unwittingly placed her in danger.
He groaned, and ran long fingers through his hair, watching the daybreak and seeking answers.
It had once seemed so straightforward. He’d had not the slightest intention of taking up his birthright as laird. He had decided he would spend two weeks with the MacNeacail Clan and learn what he could of his heritage, then, without a backward glance, he’d sail the lass wherever she wished to go and return to his life at Dun Ara.
He snorted a quiet laugh to himself. Now all that certainty had crumbled into a thousand pieces.
Scorrybreac and its people had stolen his heart and now the possibility of taking up the lairdship was becoming real.
