Suburban Cyborg

by Gloria Martin

  He must have seen the fear in her gaze, for when he smiled it was soft and comforting. "I will keep my word," he murmured, "ye need not fear."

  Lyla nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Lachlan squeezed her hand and tugged her up beside his horse. When his hands dropped to her waist, Lyla felt the heat of them through her clothes. He grunted gently as he lifted her into the saddle, then swung up behind her. He whistled sharply and his men fell in line behind him. Lyla kept her eyes on the horse's ears, leaning back into Lachlan's solid form to keep from falling off.

  She didn't speak until the village was a speck behind them, chimney smoke lazily curling into the sky. "How far are we going?"

  "Not very," Lachlan replied. "Perhaps a day, if we keep a good pace." He paused and shifted his weight, giving Lyla a bit more room to sit. She leaned back into him, letting his body support her. It would save her an aching back, if nothing else, and he was comfortably warm. "

  "'Twas a very brave offer ye made," Lachlan continued. "I was nae lyin' when I said as much."

  "Thank ye," Lyla replied, the words feeling awkward in her mouth. "What is it like, yer home?"

  "Ye'll find much to like about it, I think," Lachlan replied. 'Tis not so different from yers."

  "'Tis very different," Lyla replied. A single question stood out in her mind, one she was hesitant to ask, afraid of the answer she would receive. She managed to resist for a time, instead stewing on all the different things she could have said, but her thoughts kept returning to the same curiosity. "Why did ye say aye?"

  "I'm in need of a wife," Lachlan replied, "and my chief will be just as happy, if not more so, with the tribute yer lands will provide. Yer beauty, of course, did nae fail t' catch my eye."

  To her horror, Lyla found herself blushing furiously. She wanted to scold Lachlan for trying to win her with flattery, but his compliment felt genuine.

  "I hope 'tis as ye say," she said. "I would hate to be stolen away from my new home as I have been stolen from this one."

  "'Tis not stealing if ye come willingly," Lachlan replied.

  Lyla heard the smile in his voice and it put a frown in hers. "I chose the lesser of two evils," she said, "though now I'm starting to wish I let ye raze my village to the ground."

  "So quick to choose death over a life of comfort, are ye?" Lachlan asked. "Do I need to fear ye runnin' off in th' dead o' night?"

  Lyla twisted about in the saddle so she could face him, fixing him with a scowl that had cowed many a man before. Lachlan swallowed hard and glanced away.

  "I will keep my word," Lyla said, "though it means I'm a prisoner to my own promises."

  "I hope ye don' truly feel tha' way," Lachlan said. "I mean ye no harm. 'Tis not ye I have a quarrel with, but with the man ye call yer chief."

  "You?" Lyla asked. "Or yer chief?"

  "'Tis th' way things 'ave always been," Lachlan said firmly. "Ye should be grateful I have faith that my chief won' simply burn yer village regardless, and ye and I along with it."

  His tone brought an end to the conversation. Lyla almost wished she had kept her mouth shut. It was bad enough to ride with a strange man, and worse even still to do so when such tension thickened the air around them. She tried to distract herself somehow, but there was only so much interest to be gained from looking at the same hills and fields she had seen her entire life. With nothing to occupy her mind, the homesickness settled in. Lyla rubbed circles on her palm with her thumb, the ache that started beneath her skin running up her arm and straight to her heart. She looked behind them, past the men that followed Lachlan's horse, hoping for one last glimpse of her home, but the village had long disappeared under the horizon, and all she saw was the curving road and the hills they had passed.

  They stopped for lunch when the sun was at its zenith. Lyla slid easily off of Lachlan's bay, despite her unwieldy skirts, and waited for him to dismount. Whilst he fished around in his saddlebags for his rations, Lyla took advantage of the pause to stretch her legs, beginning to cramp from the long ride. Her backside was aching as well, but at least she had been right in her assumption that using Lachlan as a rest had kept her back from joining it.

  A few of the men dismounted to do the same, but others remained in their saddles, snacking on bits of bread and hard cheese. Lachlan approached her, and for the first time Lyla took a proper look at him, without the hindrance of pouring rain or the distraction of her nerves. He stood half a head taller than her, and the wind had tousled his hair, giving him an almost rakish look. It hung past his jaw, just barely brushing the tops of his shoulders. The look he was giving her was gentle, his eyes the color of the sky before a storm, when it was a chaotic clash of blue and grey.

  He smiled, and held out strips of dried meat and a small chunk of cheese for Lyla to take. "I hope yer hungry," he said. "'Tis not the finest fair, but t’will fill yer stomach."

  The meat was salty, but good, if a trifle hard to chew. Lachlan's men ate far faster than she did, and she had only barely finished before Lachlan was placing his hands about her waist again and lifting her up. This time she sat straddling the horse, tugging on her skirts until they were less of a burden, and found herself far less at risk for falling off and a good deal more comfortable as well.

  So comfortable, in fact, that she found herself dozing off, her head pillowed against Lachlan's chest, confident that he would stop her from slipping to one side or the other. Her lack of rest the previous night was quickly catching up with her. Warm and full, it took more will than she possessed to keep her eyes from drifting closed and staying so, her body growing heavy and her breathing slowing. She was aware, in the tenuous place between sleep and wakefulness, of Lachlan's jaw brushing against the top of her head, and the feel of his lips on the side of her brow, before she crossed into a dreamless slumber.

  *****

  When she woke it was growing dark, the sky before her painted red and orange, and there was a devilish cramp in her neck. Biting back a groan, Lyla shifted in the saddle, every inch of her body feeling sore, and let the back of her head rest against Lachlan's shoulder.

  "So she wakes," he said, amusement in his voice. "We're nearly there. 'Tis just over that rise there in the distance."

  Lyla saw little other than the sunset and the hills, but she had to trust Lachlan's word. Despite herself she felt an almost eager anticipation at seeing Lachlan's home. Their little band crested the rise of the hill and beyond it she could see the top of a small estate, built around what looked to be an old watch tower. The only houses she saw looked more like little crofts, and likely housed Lachlan's servants. The only other large structure on the estate that she could see was a kirk around the size of the chapel in Lyla's village, though probably fancier.

  "I did nae ken there was a castle so close," she said, and hated how wondrous she sounded.

  "Ye've ne'er left the village before?" Lachlan asked. He sounded genuinely curious.

  "Nay," she said. "There was ne'er a reason."

  Lachlan hummed, as if considering her words. "Well, 'tis yer home now, this. A deal better than before, nay?"

  Lyla was reluctant to agree, but she had to admit that even from a distance the estate looked wonderful. She could hardly imagine what standing in front of it would be like, or how the inside looked. Her family had treasures that went back through generations, but she doubted they were anything compared to what a man like Lachlan would possess.

  "What if MacKintosh catches word?" she asked. "What then?"

  "Who's t' tell?" Lachlan replied. "There's men t' watch, and me and mine will treat them better than any MacKintosh ever could."

  "I hope ye're right," Lyla said softly.

  "I'm rarely wrong," Lachlan replied.

  Lyla bit her lip against a snarky reply and focused on the estate they were steadily moving towards. Her nerves were back, but it was mixed with excitement as well. When they were perhaps half a mile from the estate, at the base of the hill on which it rested, Lachlan sent a man ahead to
alert the staff to his return, and inform the pastor that there was to be a marriage. At least that was something familiar, Lyla told herself, watching the appointed messenger canter off up the hill.

  "I heard it told you were t' be wed," Lachlan said.

  "Aye," Lyla replied. "Ye heard true."

  "Did ye love the lad?"

  Lyla hesitated. "Nay," she finally said. "'Twas my father's wish, not mine."

  "What would he think of this, I wonder?"

  "I find myself wondering the same," Lyla muttered.

  Lachlan gently gave his horse his heels, both beast and master eager to be home again. Lyla wished she could share some of their excitement. All of the girls she knew would have killed to be in her position, soon to marry a wealthy landowner. The fact that he was so handsome only added to his appeal. Lyla herself would have been quite smitten with him had he not approached the way he did. To her slight horror, even the small amount of conversation they had had was already endearing her to him. Perhaps his first impression would be easier to forget than she had initially thought.

  There were servants lined up outside the door when Lachlan and Lyla arrived, patiently waiting for their master. One of them stepped forward to take the reins of the bay and hold him steady while Lachlan slid off and lifted his arms to help Lyla down as well. Compared to how easily he had dismounted, Lyla felt clumsy and awkward. He held onto her waist perhaps a touch longer than he truly needed to, only letting go when an older man stepped forward to address Lachlan directly. He spared Lyla a curious glance before he spoke.

  “Did ye carry out what was required, sir?” he asked.

  Lachlan slipped an arm around Lyla's waist again, pulling her close against his side, the hand on her hip almost possessive.

  “In a manner of speaking,” he said. “Have the lady's chest brought t' my chamber.”

  “I beg pardon?” Lyla said. “I'll nae be sleepin' with ye until we're married. I'll have my own room.”

  Lachlan gave her a startled look, his blue eyes wide. Lyla felt her cheeks grow warm as she realized just how forceful her tone had been. She quickly pushed her shock at herself aside. She may have made Lachlan the offer that had placed her in her current position, but that did not in any sense mean that she had to lie down and do as Lachlan wished.

  “I fail t' see what difference a night makes,” Lachlan replied.

  “Then ye must no' be as smart as I thought,” Lyla said sharply.

  Her father would have taken command of the situation in whatever way he could, and Lyla knew she needed to do the same. To her surprise, Lachlan relented with a nod.

  “As ye will,” he said. His hand on her hip tightened fractionally.

  “Are ye going t' show me around my new home?” Lyla asked. Lachlan started, ever so slightly, as if he had been woken from a dream, and loudly cleared his throat.

  “Have th' lady's effects taken t' a guest room,” he said to the older man, presumably the head of staff.

  “Will ye be wantin' dinner as well?” he asked. Lyla had the distinct feeling that the man was far from fond of her. She narrowed her eyes at him, the way she used to when she knew she was being lied to.

  Lachlan glanced to Lyla, almost as if asking her permission. She inclined her head. “Aye,” Lachlan said when she did. “Make it so.”

  His hand moved to the small of Lyla's back and guided her towards the front doors, already open and waiting for them to enter. They came into a fine hall, the stone walls decorated with paintings and tapestries, brightly lit by the candles that hung at even intervals down its length. It branched off in two directions, the house being wider than it was deep, into what Lyla imagined were two separate wings.

  Lachlan pointed to the left. “Th' kitchens and dining room are down there, along with th' servants' rooms. Th' other end is th' parlor and th' stairs to the bedrooms.”

  He paused, then took Lyla down that way, giving her a look into each of the rooms. It was plain to see that Lachlan was a wealthy man. The size of his house would have spoken enough to that without all the trinkets and fine furniture and artwork on display in nearly every place Lyla looked.

  They were passed at one point by the men instructed to carry Lyla's things upstairs. She followed them with her eyes, but despite trying to keep her curiosity to a minimum, Lachlan caught on and with a slight pressure on the base of her spine turned her around and guided her upstairs. Lyla had no way of telling which room was which, but she saw the one the men disappeared into just as she and Lachlan reached the top of the stairs and immediately began to make her way towards it.

  Lachlan stood in the doorway, nodding ever so slightly to the men that quickly ducked out of the way, and clasped his hands behind his back. Lyla poked her head into the room, then entered it fully. It was close to the size that her room at her parents' house had been, though the bed was much larger, and the writing desk and chair by the far window of a finer make than anything her parents could have afforded. Her chest had been placed at the foot of the bed, the wardrobe directly across the room from it left open in preparation for her things to be neatly hung.

  "I will have a girl sent up to assist ye," Lachlan said behind her. Was Lyla imagining things or did she detect a hint of awkwardness in his voice. She spared him a glance and caught him shifting his weight from foot to foot. "And I'll have ye summoned when supper is ready. I've matters t' attend."

  He lingered, as if there was something else he wished to say, then abruptly turned on his heel and strode off, leaving Lyla to explore the small details of her new room in peace.

  The view from the window was nothing short of breathtaking. Lachlan, or his fore-bearers, had chosen a marvelous place to build their home. Beyond the segmented panes of glass, the highlands stretched in all their glory. The sun was setting off to Lyla's right, its sharp shadows giving the land an almost foreboding look. Lyla could only imagine how it looked when the sun was rising in the morning, casting its pale, golden light over all of God's creation.

  A woman called Mary presented herself to Lyla a handful of minutes after Lachlan had left her. She was a pretty girl, with dimples in her cheeks and a cheery disposition, nothing like the dour old maid that had been with Lyla's family for her entire life.

  "Go off and explore, miss," Mary urged. "I'll have this place in tip top shape, never ye mind it."

  Lyla nodded, instinctively trusting Mary around her things, valuables included, and stepped back out into the hall. She looked down towards the far end, and wondered which of the closed doors opened into Lachlan's room. She would find out soon enough, she imagined, and lifted her skirts as she made her way down the stairs.

  Whilst Lachlan had made a point of showing her the house proper, he had neglected the east wing. It was just as fancy as the west wing, if smaller. Lyla passed by the dining room, peeking in to see one man setting the table for Lachlan, herself, and what looked like all of the men who had ridden with them as well.

  She continued on, following the smell of roasting meat towards the kitchen. It was far warmer in that room, despite the open door to the outside, and so busy that Lyla went unnoticed as she slipped through, the desire to explore every inch of her new home temporarily overriding the sense of propriety that her parents had worked so hard to instill in her.

  Over the din she heard a small bark echoing off the stone, coming from the hatch that led down into the cellar. Lyla frowned, thinking perhaps she had simply heard wrong, but when the sound came again she figured a quick investigation would do no harm. When no one was looking she hurried down the rough stone steps to the room beneath the kitchen. It was filled with boxes and sacks and kegs of wine and ale, and was thankfully well-lit.

  Away from the noise above her, Lyla could hear a soft whimpering. She followed it, and in the back corner of the cellar, where the light was the dimmest and the temperature the coldest, was a runt of a dog, little more than a bag of skin and bones, looking up at her with big brown eyes. Lyla's heart ached. She crouched down in
front of the beast and held out her hand. The dog cautiously sniffed at her fingers and then nudged a dry nose against them and licked them with an equally dry tongue.

  "Come on now, wee thing," Lyla said softly, very gently scooping the dog up into her arms. He hung limply, feeling very light, and snuffled at her neck. "How in th' world did ye end up down here, ey?"

  No one in the kitchen paid much mind to Lyla or the dog until the little thing squirmed free and landed with a thump on the floor, his claws scraping against the stone as he barreled towards a scrap of food that one of the cooks had dropped and nearly knocked someone over. Everyone in the room stared at the pup, and then turned their gaze to Lyla. Finally, when someone new entered the kitchen, one of the cooks spoke up.

  "Angus, isn't this that pup ye said ye lost out huntin'?"

  Lyla turned. Angus, one of the men that had ridden out with Lachlan, looked down at the dog with a surprised look on his face. The puppy licked the floor where the food had fallen, oblivious, his tail wagging happily.

  "I though' th' wee thing had died!" he announced. "Where was he?"

  "Trapped in the cellar," Lyla announced loudly. "Back in a corner, scared and half-starved t' death." She picked the pup up, cradling him in her arms again. He licked her chin. "Where's Lachlan?"

  "Damned if I know," Angus replied. He looked the pup over, then clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Runt o' th' litter," he said, more to himself than Lyla. "No good fer huntin'. Leg looks bad, too. Might as well jus' put 'im ou' o' his misery."

  Lyla hugged the pup protectively to her chest. "Ye'll do no such thing."

  Angus scoffed. "If ye want a broken dog that's yer business," he said. "Naught to do wit' me."

  And just like that their interaction was over. Angus went on to steal food from the table, and the cooks went back to their work, part of which consisted of stopping Angus from eating all of their ingredients.