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Later that day, Tyra was striding down the hallway when a hand reached out and pulled her inside one of the empty chambers.
She was about to scream when she heard, “Tis just me, love.”
“Lachie! You scared the hell out of me,” she hissed.
“Sorry, mo leannan, I’ve been dying to hold you, and I miss you,” he said before caging her against the wall.
“You’re lucky I did not stab you with my dirk.”
Lachlan grinned. “You’re such a spit-fire and so passionate.”
Tyra finally calmed and placed her hands on his chest. “You’ve missed me? Truly?” she whispered.
“Aye, I have. My very soul feels lost when I dinnae see you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Dinnae woo me with honeyed words.”
“Tis true. I have not stopped thinking about our night together. I want to feel your naked skin against mine.” He kissed her neck. “I want to feel these in my hands.” His hands roamed under her tunic, and he caressed her breasts.
Tyra’s breathing became erratic. Then Lachlan moved forward and pressed his groin against hers. She felt the evidence of his arousal when he said, “I want to be buried deep inside you.” He bit her ear lobe. “I want to feel your sheath shudder while you take me.”
He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers.
Tyra wound her arms about his neck and deepened the kiss as they writhed against the wall.
Lachlan eventually broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “But most of all, I want to make you mine forever.” He then framed her face with his hands and said, “I’ll come to your cottage tonight. We will talk about our future and....”
“And?”
“We will do other things.” He kissed her again then stepped away. He gave her a warm smile, said, “Tonight,” and snuck back out into the hallway.
Tyra touched her lips, still feeling the tingling feeling of his caresses. Then she smiled and left the chamber.
***
JUST BEFORE NOON, TYRA made her way to the weavers’ room when her niece Mysie came running up to her.
“What is it, love?”
“Have you seen Aunt Sorcha?”
“No, why do you ask?”
“I wanted to play with the babe, but she is not in the solar.”
“Did you check the nursery on the top floor? She is usually there around noon.”
“Och, I forgot to check there, thank you,” Mysie said as she took off running.
Tyra continued to the weaving room. She heard laughter and chatter, but when she entered, the women immediately quietened down.
She heard whispers as they eyed her with curious glances.
“Good Morn,” Tyra greeted them.
They nodded.
Tyra set up her workspace and noticed Blair kept looking at her as if she wanted to say something.
“Is something amiss, Blair? Did you want to ask me something?”
“Aye, Tyra, are you courting that braw Lachlan?”
Tyra blushed and said, “I dinnae ken why that is anyone’s concern, but no.” She sat down and set about threading her needle.
“Are you sure about that?” Blair asked again.
The women gave furtive glances to one another.
“Aye, I am.”
There was silence again as Tyra tried to ignore them all and their speculation.
“Blair is asking because she saw the two of you in the hallway earlier today, and we want to ken whether there was any stock to the rumors,” Esme said.
Tyra sighed, “What rumors?”
“About the wager,” Blair said.
Tyra paused, threading her needle, and asked, “What wager?”
Several women tsked and shook their heads. Tyra looked about the circle as their expressions turned to one of pity.
Esme said, “You really dinnae ken?”
“No. What wager?”
“That bloody Dermid, he is such a trickster!” Esme huffed.
“What has this got to do with Dermid?” Tyra asked.
Blair said, “I heard from my Tamhas he was there that night at the Inn, and he swears that Lachlan made a wager with Dermid after they had a huge row.”
Tyra was already feeling her hand shaking. “Wha... what did he wager?”
Blair hesitated then said, “That he could bed you before Dermid did.”
Tyra felt the blood drain from her face. An acute sense of betrayal and humiliation assailed her. She felt like she was going to be sick. Then she recalled Dermid trying to woo her in the cottage and Lachlan’s response. It felt as if her heart was shattering into a thousand different pieces. Lachlan bedded her to win a wager.
Tyra stood. She was unsteady on her feet, but she needed to get away from the pitying looks directed at her. “Thank you, Blair and Esme. I assure you there was no harm done. If you will excuse me, I just remembered I have something to do.”
Tyra quit the room. She could already feel the tears on her cheek as she wiped them away. Tyra had to find out for herself if this was true. She needed to give Lachlan the benefit of the doubt. Could it all be a lie? Urgency gave flight to her feet, and she started running towards the one place she knew she would find Lachlan, and that was the training grounds.
When Tyra arrived, she paused to catch her breath and scanned the area to find Lachlan. Her eyes rested on him by the water pales. Lachlan was shirtless, wearing his trews, and drinking water from a scoop while others milled around.
Tyra made her approached and fought the panic inside. She was determined to hear the truth from him. As Tyra strode towards him, she was about to yell his name when Dermid appeared beside Lachlan. She moved a little closer to hear what they were talking about.
***
“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” Lachlan said as he took a large gulp of water from a scoop. He had been sparring for over an hour, and he was perspiring with sweat.
“Calm doon, Gair. I came to give you these,” Dermid said.
Lachlan looked down as Dermid held something out to him. He opened his palm. Three sceats fell into his hand.
“What is this?”
“For the wager. You won fair and square.”
“I dinnae want it, take it back,” Lachlan said with a scowl.
“I cannot take it back. A deal is a deal. Tis rumored she spent a night in your chamber, so I take it the bargain is sealed. You bedded her before I even had a chance.”
“Are you daft, Dermid? There was no wa—”
“Lachie? Is it true? Did you wager that you could bed me?”
Lachlan turned to face Tyra and stopped breathing. Her face said it all. Devastation.
“Tis not what it looks like, love, I swear it. I did no such thing.”
She looked down at the coins still in his hand. “Then what are those?”
Lachlan glanced at his hand and threw the coins on the ground. He shook his head, starting to panic. “Twas a stupid foolhardy thing, but I forgot about it, I was drunk and—”
Tyra just shook her head and started backing away. Then the tears started falling.
“Mo ghràidh, please....” He moved towards her.
Tyra put her hand up, warning him away. “Dinnae come near me,” she yelled.
He paused. “Mo chridhe, no, you have to, believe me, I would never do that, you ken?”
“But you did,” she whispered.
Lachlan moved towards her again, and Tyra pulled out her dirk and pointed it at him. “So help me, Lachlan, if you ever come near me again, I’ll cut your heart out!” she screamed.
Lachlan raised his hands palm up and said, “Please dinnae fash. Let’s go talk somewhere private. I can explain.”
“Does everybody ken? Was this all part of the game?” Tyra shouted.
There was silence. She saw Kieran nearby and said, “Did you ken Kieran?”
Kieran looked guilty then said, “Tyra, c’mon lass tis not like that.”
Tyra deflated in disappointment.
She turned back to Lachlan. “I am so stupid. You were always so cold to me, and suddenly you were nice. I thought maybe you had forgiven me, but it was all about revenge.”
Lachlan took a step closer, and Tyra waved the dirk higher to stop him.
“Dammit, Tyra! Are you going to let me speak, or are you just going to the point that thing at me and keep crying?”
“I am going to bloody well point this thing at you and keep crying, you bastard!” she shouted.
“Mo leannan, I love you, and it is not because of some blasted wager. I ken you’re angry now, but when you calm down, we are going to discuss our wedding plans because I am going to marry you!” Lachlan growled.
“Tis not that easy, Lachie, I honestly thought... I loved you. But now I dinnae trust you. I hope the sceats were worth it.” With those words, Tyra turned on her heels and ran.
“Tyra! Wait!” Lachlan shouted and started after her. He got about five steps before Iain Henderson blocked his path.
“You bedded my sister? You sleekit bastard!” Iain bellowed before he pulled his arm back and punched Lachlan right in the face.
As Lachlan hit the ground, his one hope was that the siblings let him get a word in sometime in the future.
***
TYRA WAS LIVID, UPSET, and emotionally spent. Her eyes were swollen from bawling, and she felt humiliated in front of the entire Keep. She stormed back down the pathway headed back to the longhouse. She wanted to put as much distance between her and Lachlan. She decided she would just work at the longhouse and stay away from the Keep.
Tyra was almost at the glen when she heard a twig snap. The feeling of being watched assailed her again. Tyra scanned the woods and kept moving. She gripped the handle of the dirk tighter and silently berated herself for not paying attention to her surroundings. She had been distraught, but that was no excuse for dropping her guard.
“Who goes there? Show yourself?” she yelled.
There was no response. Tyra took a deep breath, silently counted to three, and sprinted towards her cottage.
That was all it took for the unknown watcher to reveal himself because, in the next instant, Tyra heard the rustling of leaves and the tell-tale signs of someone giving chase. A rasping voice yelled, “Miriam!”
She dared not look back or question why he called her that lest she break her stride. Instead, she surged forward and kept running. She made it past the woody pathway and calmed a little, knowing there was always a guardsman milling about in that area. When she arrived, there was no guardsman in the usual place. She was still trying to deal with that fault in her plan when she tripped and went flying head over bottom, hitting the ground hard. Tyra rolled over to see what tripped her, and she stared straight into the guardsman’s dead eyes. His throat was slit.
She screamed and scrambled on all fours, panic urging her to get back on her feet and keep running. Her dirk now lay a foot away. She dropped it in the tumble. She felt someone right behind her. Tyra lunged for the blade then screamed when someone grabbed her hair and pulled her backward. She fought like a wildcat trying to get him to release her. Then she was on her back staring straight up at a stranger, a man with deep blue eyes.
His hand still gripped her hair.
“You are not Miriam. Where the hell is Miriam?” he roared.
“I dinnae ken any Miriam.”
“Fucking liar.”
Tyra shuddered in fear when he pulled out a knife and aimed it at her chest. He twirled it around in his hand before he struck. The last thing Tyra saw was the dagger’s handle aiming straight for her temple before everything went black.
***
BACK AT THE TRAINING grounds, another battle was raging.
“I’m going to beat you to a pulp for ruining my sister!” Iain shouted as he came at Lachlan again with fists flying.
“I didnae ruin her if you would just listen to me!” Lachlan yelled, trying to dodge the fists and kicking Iain in the shin.
“So you’re saying she was already ruined?” Iain landed a punch right under Lachlan’s chin.
Lachlan returned the favor with a jab to the ribs before he pushed Iain away. “I said no such thing, you daft prick!”
“Fuck you!” Iain said, planting two quick hits to Lachlan’s jaw.
Lachlan roared and punched Iain in the rib cage. Iain was priming to pummel him some more, but Lachlan was not having a bar of it. He stepped to the side and ran at Iain, knocking him to the ground.
Iain bellowed in outrage, and it was on for young and old as the two men grappled in the dirt.
“All right, that’s enough!” Bram Henderson yelled. “You have made a spectacle of yourselves long enough. Not to mention dragged Tyra’s name through the mud airing all your secrets for the world to hear.”
Bram grabbed Iain and pulled him away as Kieran pulled Lachlan away.
They realized then a large crowd had gathered.
Lachlan shook Kieran off him, picked up his sword, and started walking out of the Keep. Still shirtless with just his trews.
“Where are you going now?” Kieran asked.
“To find Tyra and talk some bloody sense into that woman.”
Kieran just sighed and said, “Good luck.”
***
WHEN TYRA CAME TO, she was shivering with cold and lying on the riverbank. The damp soil was seeping through her bones. Her head ached from the hit, and she was slightly groggy. But she tried to focus on her surroundings.
She pretended to be unconscious when she heard footsteps nearby and murmuring conversation. She felt around her and found a jagged-edged rock; she grabbed it and clutched it tight in her hand. She caught a glimpse of two men. One wore pilgrim garb, the other wore a brown robe with a cross. Their hair was cut peculiarly, and from their speech, they were Normans. She knew they were most likely part of a religious order. Clerics, she thought.
“She’s not Miriam,” the one who attacked her said.
“Then Miriam must be in the Keep. There is a way to get to her.”
“What do you want me to do with this one?”
“Kill her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Aye. But hide the body well; we cannot have people alerted just yet.”
Tyra stiffened with fear. She knew she had to try and do something, but she waited for the right moment.
“I’ll meet you back at the Inn when the deed is done.”
Tyra remained still. She worked through all the scenarios in her head of what she needed to do to survive.
When the cleric turned back towards her Tyra, lay still and feigned sleep.
He approached and stood over her talking to himself. “Tis a pity I have to kill you. You’re a pretty one, that’s for sure.” He pulled out his knife then thought better of it. “I think I’ll drown you.”
He picked her up, and that’s when Tyra struck. She said, “I think not.” Then struck him on the side of the head with the jagged-edged rock.
He dropped her a stunned look on his face. The blood was trickling down the side of his face.
Tyra rolled onto her feet and scrambled up the ravine.
Shaking his head several times to stop the dizziness, her attacker unsheathed his blade and ran after her.
Tyra stumbled and lost her footing. She slid back down the ravine. It was a crucial error because the cleric was already on her, his dagger raised.
He aimed for her face, but she moved her head to the side as the blade sunk deep into her shoulder. Tyra screamed and struggled to push him off her. He withdrew the knife and lifted it up to stab her again.
Tyra grabbed his wrist to stop the downward momentum, but she knew it was futile.
As her entire life flashed before her eyes, her last thought was that she wished she had given Lachlan a chance to explain himself. The blade came down again, she moved, and this time it sliced her arm. He raised his arm again, aiming straight for her heart. Tyra blocked it with her forearm. She grabbed his wrist with both hands, trying to stop the blade from piercing her chest.
“You should not have hit me. I would have given you a peaceful death,” he said.
He raised himself and put more weight and pressure on the blade, knowing that eventually, Tyra would have to let it sink into her heart.
Tyra could feel her strength waning as the blade inched ever closer to her chest. She was losing blood as it seeped into the ground. Like the mighty Samson and the pillars of the Temple of Dagon, Tyra sent a prayer for just enough strength to hold a little longer. She pushed back as hard as she could and closed her eyes, accepting the inevitable.
Within moments she opened her eyes; she heard running footsteps followed by a bellowing roar, “Get off her!”
In an instant, the cleric was gone, the blade was gone, the pressure gone, and Tyra heard the clash of steel. Tyra turned her head to the side as she watched two men battle with swords. She whispered, “Lachie.” Then she passed out.
***
IAIN HENDERSON WAS fuming. If Bram had not interrupted him, he would have loved nothing more than to pummel Lachlan Gair until there was nothing left of him. He was primed for a good fight and was annoyed the opportunity was stolen from him.
Lately, Iain had been feeling out of sorts. Liosa was messing with his head again, and things had changed between them. Or maybe he was just changing. In the past, he would have bent over backward to please her; now, he just felt a distance he could not explain.
“I am getting too old for this shite,” he muttered to himself as he climbed the steps to the first floor of the Keep where the family stayed. Bram was away seeing to crofters, and he asked Iain to check on Sorcha and the bairn. Iain trudged up the steps, and he felt bone-weary and tired. He had been feeling weary about life in general lately. The only bright spot in his day apart from his nieces and nephews was someone entirely unexpected. Yesenda MacDonald had breezed into his life like a gale-force wind. Even the thought of her had him grinning to himself.
Iain wiped the smile from his face when he wondered why her brother Ruadh thought she attracted trouble. Iain had spent enough time with Yesenda to know she was too quiet to cause any concern. His inner thoughts were interrupted when he heard a woman urgently whisper, “Iain.”
He froze and looked around.
“Up here,” she said.
Iain looked up at the ceiling, and his heart lodged in his throat. Yesenda MacDonald was balanced and propped up on the high corner of the wall adjacent to the large Drawing Room. Anyone inside would not see her, but she had a clear view. Her left foot rested on one wall, and her right rested on the other. She wore trews, a tunic, and a cloak. One hand gripped the wall to maintain balance; the other hand made a ‘Sh’ signal in front of her face. Then she pointed at the large room ahead and mouthed, “Sorcha. Mysie.”
Iain instantly reached for his claymore and made his way quietly towards the door.
“Iain!” she whispered again.
He whipped his head up when she mouthed, “You stay. I go.”
Iain ignored her and stepped closer to the Drawing Room. There was a second entrance through an old stairwell that had since been boarded up. But it could be reached via the rafters.
Iain peeked through a crack, and his blood ran cold.
Sorcha was on her knees, her hands tied behind her back. A guardsman lay unconscious just inside the doorway. When he looked beyond the guardsman, he saw why Sorcha was not moving or shouting for help even though he knew she could fight off any attacker. It was because a terrified Mysie held baby Cináed in her arms while a pilgrim pointed a spiked head war club at her. One hit from it could kill them both. Iain knew Sorcha was at a disadvantage, and she would not risk losing the children.
“I will ask you again. Where is Miriam Ferguson?” the pilgrim demanded.
“I am telling you, we dinnae ken who she is!” Sorcha said, exasperated. “Please let them go. “They are just bairns.” Her voice was wavering with emotion.
Iain knew the only way to save them was to find a way inside the room so he could distract the pilgrim long enough for the others to escape. He looked up to signal Yesenda that he was going in, but the blasted woman was gone. He had not even heard her move. His only thought was, What the hell?
***