Chapter Twenty
It had been two days since Rhoslyn’s visit, and Giselle was still avoiding him. Lyall watched her stride across the yard with a bowl of scraps for the chickens, balanced against her hip. She did not look in his direction, and it irked him, but he would not approach her first. By Christ, and all that was holy, he had treated Giselle better than most men would in his position, yet still, she thought him dishonourable. If that was her opinion of him, maybe he should live up to it and…’
‘Cormac, you are insufferable.’ Morna’s voice was a shriek.
‘And you are wilful and disobedient,’ shouted his brother. ‘I should give you a good thrashing.’
Oh God, not this again.
Morna rushed up to him. ‘Lyall, tell Cormac that I do not want a husband, and I don’t care how grand, or how rich, he is.’
‘What husband?’ replied Lyall wearily.
Cormac came up to him, rolling his eyes. ‘Ian Drummond came to call seeking leave to court Morna. For some reason, and I can’t think why, he has decided he is in love with our sister.’
‘How can that be? I’ve scarce said two words to that wretch in my whole life,’ spat Morna.
‘I don’t think he is basing his affection on the wit of your conversation, sister,’ said Lyall.
‘Nor the sweetness of her tongue,’ laughed Cormac.
‘Oh, you two are just as bad as each other, trying to foist a husband onto me.’
‘As laird here, and your brother, it is my duty to see you settled, and with the protection of a man,’ said Cormac. ‘If that poor fool Ian is brave enough to want to court you, then I have no objection. He’s a decent enough fellow.’
‘Aye,’ said Lyall, ‘strong sword arm, good with his fists, too. I fought alongside him once at Roxburgh, and the lad has a certain belligerence about him. He is more than a match for our sister.’
‘Shut up, the both of you.’ Morna narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips, which was a sign that a storm was about to break. ‘Why don’t I save you all this trouble, Cormac? Why don’t I just wed the next fool of a man that rides into Beharra, whoever he may be, and then I will be off your hands for good.’
‘Aye, please do for that, for it would suit me very well.’
Lyall turned back to staring at Giselle, trying to blot out all their noise. She needs a man’s protection, he thought.
‘Lyall, there’s a rider coming,’ shouted Cormac.
‘Where?’ squeaked Morna.
Seconds later, a tall, and very grubby, man galloped through the gates on an enormous black stallion and skidded to a halt in front of them.
‘Lyall Buchanan. It has been too long, my friend,’ he shouted out.
Lyall grinned as Owen Sutherland flung his leg over his horse’s neck and jumped lithely off the great beast. He came forward, beating dust off his clothes, arms flung wide in greeting. It really was quite an entrance.
‘I am fearfully dirty from the road. When will this devilish heat abate? I am on my way to see my family, and so I must beg food and a bed for the night,’ he said, surveying with interest several pretty girls who were pointing and staring. His eyes found Morna, standing open-mouthed next to Cormac. ‘I don’t care where you put me. House me in the stables if you will,’ he said, distractedly, smirking back in her direction.
Lyall took him into a bear hug. ‘I will tell Ravenna to make a huge supper. You look to have quite the appetite, my friend.’
‘Don’t I always,’ Owen replied, still staring at Morna.
Across the yard, Lyall noticed Giselle, who stood, frozen, her face pale. Owen had been part of the attack at Wulversmeade, so she would be frightened of him. He wanted to go and reassure her, but she would not want him to.
He wondered at his friend’s visit. If Owen was on his way home, then Beharra was well out of his way. Lyall had never known Owen to do anything without a purpose, and he wondered what it was.
Hours later, he was still wondering, as Owen ingratiated himself with the Buchanans. They had dined well on a roast piglet, and now Morna was amusing herself by flirting shamelessly.
‘Owen, do tell me more of your battles for King Robert. How brave you must be to suffer it. Goodness, I am sure I could scarce lift a sword, let alone wield it,’ she said, breathlessly.
Lyall almost choked on his ale at the absurdity of her words. Not only could she wield a sword well enough, but she could also handle a bow almost as well as he could, ride a horse like a fury, and his sister had a mouth on her that would make a dockside whore blush.