LITMIR.BIZ

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her head, she glanced around the chamber for her gown and did not see it. Had Beathas taken it?

      No matter, she thought, grasping the side of the tub and easing her stronger leg over the side. Once on the bottom of it, she pulled her bad leg into the water. Using the sides of the tub, she slid slowly down until she sat. It was large enough for her to stretch out her legs and she moaned as the hot water surrounded her tight muscles and the scars. Other than walking, a hot bath did much to loosen the tightness when the cramping came upon her. After the last several days, this was nigh to heaven, so she leaned back and let the heat seep into her.

      Though used to Isla’s gentle ministrations during her baths, Lilidh managed to scrub the dirt from her legs and arms and even wash her hair, though she thought she might spill more water from the tub than she left in it. Once done, she soaked in the water until it lost its heat. Having a care not to slip, she climbed from the water, wrapped her hair in a cloth and then used another to dry off the rest of her. She’d just claimed the warm, woolen blanket again, clutching it around the once again worn shift, when the door opened.

      ‘The laird has called for your presence down in the hall,’ Beathas said. She placed the bundle of clothing she carried on the bed and reached up to help with Lilidh’s hair. ‘I will plait it for you for now. He was clear that you not delay.’

      From the frown on Beathas’s face and her lack of encouragement, Lilidh knew this could not be a good thing. Feeling more revived from the bath, she allowed Beathas to help her dress in the plain gown, stockings and shoes she’d brought. Once done, she tried to fortify herself for whatever would come. When the door opened and Rob’s man stood waiting with a rope, Lilidh was not certain she would ever be ready.

       Chapter Six

      Symon strode through the hall towards the tower where his and Tyra’s chambers were. Climbing the stairs and reaching her rooms, he knocked and lifted the latch without waiting for a response. Angered at the path his plans had taken, he would not be left standing in the corridor waiting like some fool. His sister glared at him, but said nothing. With a nod of his head, the two maids helping her dress fled. Tyra turned back to her looking glass and arranged a ribbon that drooped loosely down her cheek.

      Women! Damn them all!

      Symon crossed the chamber in a few strides and yanked the ribbon free, causing several locks of Tyra’s hair to fall as well. He tossed the ribbon in her face and crossed his arms. Instead of looking fearful or giving him the respect he deserved from her, she just smiled, selected another strip of material from her collections and wove her hair back in place. All without a word to him! Just when his fist itched to teach her her rightful place, she spoke.

      ‘So what is my betrothed’s new mistress like, Symon?’

      ‘Mistress? Give her not some title as exalted as mistress, Tyra. She is nothing but a MacLerie whore warming his bed.’

      ‘Only that, then?’ she replied. Symon’s own brow twitched as Tyra raised one of hers in question. ‘Only a woman in his bed?’

      ‘You know the way of things, Sister. He will use her until her father gives in to our demands and then she will be gone from here.’

      ‘Was that your plan? When you brought her here?’ Her voice was so calm it gave him pause. Instead of screaming at him as her usual custom would be, she had not raised her voice or seemed angered by what he’d done.

      ‘My plan was to keep her as my captive, in my bed, until her father paid for her release,’ Symon admitted.

      The sight of Lilidh MacLerie riding along the forest road had aroused him. He’d planned on claiming her body and using it as he wished when she was his to command. Then her daring actions, fighting his men and trying to protect the old woman, heated his blood and his lust for her almost overpowered him. Oh, aye, she would be good for some bold bedplay. Even now his body readied to take hers. Only his sister’s cough brought his attention back to their conversation.

      ‘Now she is Rob’s plaything to bed and use. I am not happy about this, Symon.’ Tyra stood, smoothing her gown down as she stepped closer to him. Leaning in, she whispered to him, ‘Take her back, Symon. Get her out of his bed.’

      Symon almost took a step back at the vehemence in her tone. Almost. But he was the man here and, though Tyra was his elder sister, he would not take orders from a woman.

      ‘You will listen to me, Tyra,’ he commanded in a low voice. There was no need for servants and the like to overhear this conversation. ‘She is a temporary stone in the path here. A means to an end. Once we have the gold from the MacLerie, she will be gone and we will be richer. And I will be able to take the chieftain’s chair from the bastard. Our plans will all see success.’ She made to step around him, but he grabbed her arm to stop her.

      ‘I will be laird here, so you had better watch your step and do as I tell you to do. I will not be as pliable as that whoreson Rob is when it comes to giving you your way if you disobey me in this.’

      Something flickered in her eyes for a moment before she masked it. Something he could not identify. Something dead.

      ‘But, of course, Brother,’ she replied, bowing her head. ‘I value your guidance in all things.’

      He huffed out a breath and released her. As long as she realised that she was beholden to him for her position, things would work out. Symon lifted the latch and pulled on the door before glancing back at Tyra. Her expression was one of humility and obedience, but that was not what he’d seen there before.

      Not at all.

      Tyra kept her gaze blank until Symon left her chambers and then her anger filled her. Clenching her fists, she searched for something, anything, to throw and break. The need to smash something into the floor or wall grew uncontrollable and she finally spied just the thing—her looking glass.

      A present from her stepfather, Symon’s father, she took the heavy metal object with both hands and flung it to the floor, sending pieces off in different directions across the chamber. The larger reflecting piece skidded satisfyingly on the rough wood until it slammed into the wall.

      Tyra seethed with rage. Men always controlled her life. Her father, then her stepfather, her brother and now the newly made laird who had agreed to take her as wife. Agreed, aye, after having to be convinced by the worthless elders! Yet now he felt no shame or hesitation in sleeping with another woman before all of them. No explanation to her, no words to soften the blow to her pride. She was simply expected to accept this treatment as her place in life and be grateful for it.

      Grateful was not something that she did easily or well.

      Damn that fool Symon! This move had cost much and confounded her own plans. If he had only left well enough alone and let those elders who agreed with him push Rob out, all would have been well and her future would have been as she’d desired. Now, Rob was exerting his own pressures on the elders and the rest and the MacKenzies seemed less and less appealing as allies in the face of the MacLerie’s forces.

      Damn him!

      The sound of footsteps approaching her door alerted her that she had to regain control of herself. Men might not know how to control themselves, but Tyra would not her plans fail because of excessive emotions. Letting out her breath, she forced her face to relax and cleared her mind of thoughts, until she could allow a smile to alight on her mouth.

      ‘I misjudged its weight,’ she said apologetically as she turned to face her serving woman. The woman went scurrying around the bedchamber, gathering up the scattered pieces of metal.

      ‘Oh, my lady,’ Margaret whispered, holding out the broken looking glass. ‘’Tis the one that your stepfather gave you on the anniversary of your birth!’

      ‘Mayhap the smith can repair it? Would you take it to him and ask him?’ she said, smiling at the maid.

      ‘Oh, aye, my lady,’ Margaret said, ever trying to please her mistress since she and the others expected her to be the woman who would rule over

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