She could only say what she knew to be true.
“He’s a brave warrior, kind and protective.” She went on to talk of how he’d fought with the privateers. After Tyra’s earlier rudeness toward Edmund, Annora was at pains to paint him in only the most glowing terms.
“He was ready tae give his life tae save me from those evil men.”
Regardless of her dislike of Edmund, Tyra had the good grace to seem impressed with the story.
Of his life at Dùn Ara, Annora had no idea, but managed to relate the little she remembered from what he’d told her. “He is highly regarded. He grew up with the Laird Tòrr Mackinnon, who thinks so well of him that he made him Advisor and War Chief.”
Beyond that there was little to say, but Tyra seemed satisfied with her answers. She made a mental note to ask Edmund to tell her more about himself and his life at the castle.
Besides, she too was curious to know more about him.
Tyra did not remain with her for long and soon departed, with an invitation to join her later in the solar. Annora, although grateful for the gowns, was left with the unpleasant sense Tyra was not as friendly as she presented herself to be.
Her tone had been caustic and sharp when she’d asked about Edmund. Not at all the warm-hearted curiosity of a sister thinking the best of a newfound brother but as if she was probing for faults, rather than virtues.
Pondering on this, Annora couldn’t help but guess that Tyra’s fiancé, Harris MacDonald, was behind the air of hostility she’d detected. Despite the couple’s welcome the day before, Annora had sensed an undercurrent of something else. Envy? Jealousy?
Of course, if Edmund was to be offered the lairdship of the MacNeacail Clan, it was inevitable that Tyra and Harris would take a lesser role within the clan hierarchy than the one they presently held. Whatever power Harris MacDonald held would be diminished.
It was something she wished to discuss with Edmund, along with details of his former life.
Some scullery maids brought her a bath and several buckets of warm and cold rose-scented water. She sponged herself thoroughly, happy to at last rinse away the sea water that had caked her body and hair ever since she’d jumped from the slavers’ ship.
After drying off, she took a seat front of the fire clad in the under garments Tyra had brought, combing her long hair free of tangles. Once it was dry and rippling in sweet waves over her shoulders, she formed it into loose braids which she wound around her head. Only then did she slip on the new woolen kirtle. As predicted, it fit her to perfection, outlining her slender curves in a way that was bound to be flattering. If only she had a looking glass to see her new appearance.
Gliding her feet into the silk slippers a new sensation of delight stole over her. For a brief moment she had glimpsed a freedomshe’d never known. Now, all she had to do was survive the next two weeks without her secret being revealed and she would be free to begin her new life. Edmund had promised to take her wherever she wished. Mayhap he would take her to Denmark, or even as far as Russia. She wondered what life would be like in such far-flung places.
With the warm mantle fastened at her throat, she made her way down the stairs. She encountered a chamber maid, who cheerfully escorted her to the solar.
Tyra was in front of the fire busy at her embroidery hoop when Annora entered. She looked up with a smile that did not reach her eyes and bade Annora take a seat beside her.
She was working at a piece of fine linen with a delicate design of circles and diamond shapes interspersed with little flowers. When Annora admired the design, Tyra rewarded her praise with a genuine smile.
“I am making this to be made into a gown fer me dowry.” Her face lit up. “I am soon tae wed the Laird Harris.”
There was no doubting the excitement in her voice or the sparkle in Tyra’s eyes when she mentioned her fiancé. Clearly, for her, her forthcoming marriage was not simply a convenient merging of two clans, but a love match that filled her heart with joy.
Annora could only hope that the icy-cold Laird Harris MacDonald shared his betrothed’s feelings.
Tyra put down her stitching. “Would ye care tae explore the castle? I’d be happy tae take ye around.”
“Why yes, that would be grand. I was almost lost finding me way here.”
They set off on an exploration of the keep, starting with the refectory hall, where they had dined the previous night, and continuing to the library, where shelf after shelf of leather-backed tomes reached to the ceiling far above. They stopped briefly by the laird’s study, an expansive room with plaster painted in bright colors and tapestries suspended from beams.
They came to another large closed oaken door. Tyra explained “That is the meeting room where Edmund Sinclair is tae meet with Elders of the Clan MacNeacail.”
Annora took note of the bitterness in Tyra’s voice and the way she referred to Edward as ‘Sinclair,’ whereas others – such as Tormod – called him by his birthright name of MacNeacail.
“The meeting will be starting so I’ll nae open the door,” Tyra added in hushed tones.
Annora’s thoughts flew to Edmund and how he would fare with the Elders.
They took a quick peep into the kitchen, a stone building at the rear of the refectory, where there were many hands at work on the luncheon they would shortly serve.
“Something smells good.” Annora breathed in the mouthwatering aroma of roasting potatoes and the spicy fragrance of vegetable soup. They continued into the lush green of the herb garden and past another smaller stone building which housed the infirmary.
