Highland Groom (12 page)

"Such modesty isnae necessary between a wife and her husband," Diarmot said, smiling faintly at the way Ilsa continued to huddle at the far end of the tub.

He certainly was not troubled with it, Ilsa thought a little crossly, but said, "A bath is a private, intimate thing."

"So is what I intend to do verra soon."

"Now? But, we must soon go down to the great hall for our meal."

"Aye, I dinnae intend to miss that, either."

Her eyes widened as he stood up and stepped out of the tub. The bath had obviously not dimmed his lust at all. She squeaked when he suddenly grabbed her by the arms and lifted her out of the tub, setting her down facing him on the cloth she had spread out on the floor. She murmured a protest when he tugged one of her arms away from her breasts and began to dry it. Slowly, with a sensuous care that sent her passions soaring, he dried her body.

Ilsa was so caught up in how he was making her feel that by the time he knelt before her to begin to dry her feet, she was only briefly concerned about how exposed she was. The way he dried her stomach then heated it with kisses quickly killed that soft flicker of modesty. He did the same to each leg, lingering over her thighs until she was trembling. She groaned softly as he nudged her legs wider apart to dry between them.

When Diarmot dropped the cloth, Ilsa was more than ready to go to the bed.

Then she felt his mouth upon that part of her he had just gently patted dry. She tensed in shock and tried to pull away, but he grasped her by her hips and held her steady. Ilsa was not sure if what he was doing was right, but it took only a few strokes of his tongue for her to decide she did not care. She clung to his shoulders as she lost herself in the pleasure he gave her. Only his hold on her kept her from collapsing as her release tore through her with dizzying force.

Although still dazed as Diarmot slowly rose, kissing his way back up her body, Ilsa felt a twitch of renewed desire. Then she noticed that Diarmot was still damp. Eluding his grasp, she picked up the drying cloth. _Turnabout is fair play_, she decided, and enjoyed the way his eyes widened as she started to dry his arms.

By the time Ilsa reached his taut stomach, she could feel the faint tremors in his body beneath her lips. His passion was running hot and wild. Afraid he might end her play before she was ready, she stepped behind him, almost smiling at his soft grunt of disappointment. As she dried his back, then kissed, licked, and occasionally nipped his warm, smooth skin from his broad shoulders down to his strong calves, she felt her own passion rise. When she moved in front of him again to start at his ankles and moved upward, she was more than ready to be as bold and intimate in her attentions as he had been. She was eager.

Diarmot was not sure how much more he could endure as Ilsa dried and kissed her way up each of his legs. When she meticulously dried the damp from his groin, he tensed, wondering if she would be bold enough to bless that area with her kisses. He shuddered with delight when she dropped the drying cloth, ran her fingernails lightly over his thighs, and touched her warm, soft lips to his aching shaft. Although he was not sure he was very coherent, he muttered his approval and encouragement. He threaded his fingers in her thick hair to hold her close as she drove him to near madness with her lips and tongue.

The feel of her mouth lightly enclosing the head of his staff told Diarmot he had to stop this play. It was both too late and too soon to enjoy such pleasure.

Too late for him to grasp enough control to savor it and, despite her apparent willingness, probably too soon to request her to gift him with the intimate pleasure he now craved. He grasped her by the arms and pulled her away, then gently pushed her back onto the drying cloths scattered over the floor.

"Oh. I thought ye liked that," Ilsa said, afraid she had shocked or offended him with her boldness.

"I did. Too much." He knelt between her legs. "Another time, when I am nay so needful of being within ye."

He looked her over, noting the flush of passion upon her skin, her taut nipples, and the rapid pace of her breathing. Placing his hand over her womanhood, he felt the hot damp of welcome and saw the way she shivered at his touch. Diarmot realized her passion had been stirred by making love to him and the last thin restraints he had clung to snapped. He fell on her, thrusting himself inside her heat, blind need driving him onward. Even as his release shook him, he heard her cry out and felt her body tighten around him. The only clear thought he had as he collapsed on top of her, was that at least he had not hurt her.

Ilsa blinked when, after several minutes of lying together, sated and a little dazed, Diarmot got up. She clumsily wrapped a drying cloth around herself and sat up. It irritated her when she saw that Diarmot was silently dressing.

Surely he could at least manage some inconsequential talk without threatening the truce they had agreed to. Her eyes widened in surprise when he paused on his way to the door to press a kiss to the top of her head.

"Dinnae tarry too long," he said. "The food will be set out soon," he added even as he shut the door behind him.

Staring at the closed door, Ilsa quickly suppressed the urge to throw something at it. She would fix her mind on that brief, affectionate kiss. It could mean that she was slowly winning her battle to conquer his heart and mind.

As she rose to get dressed, she told herself not to let her hopes rise too high.

It was early days yet and a man as scarred in spirit as Diarmot was would not cast aside his bitterness and wariness easily. They were his defenses against pain. Ilsa just wished she did not have to suffer as she struggled to prove to him that she would never hurt him.

*CHAPTER EIGHT*

Gillyanne handed Finlay to Ilsa after kissing and cuddling the boy, then did the same to Cearnach before returning him to Gay's arms. Ilsa was a little surprised at how painful she was finding this farewell. She had only known Gillyanne for a fortnight, yet felt a strong bond with the woman. It was not simply because they were married to brothers or the mothers of twins, either.

Ilsa looked around the bailey. Everything was readied for Gillyanne, Connor, and Angus to leave. It pleased her in a strange way to see that Diarmot was as irritated by Nanty's insistence upon staying at Clachthrom as he had been by Sigimor's and Tait's. Her husband plainly resented the implication that either he needed protection or she did.

"Twill be a tough battle ahead for ye," said Gillyanne as she stood next to Ilsa. "I wish I could stay longer."

"I wish ye could, too," said Ilsa, "but nay for that. I am the only one who can fight the battle for Diarmot's trust, the only one who can make him believe in me."

"Ye dinnae fight for his heart, for his love?"

"The trust must come first, especially with Diarmot. Until he feels he can trust me, he will protect his heart as if it was the Holy Grail." She smiled faintly when Gillyanne laughed. "Lady Anabelle left behind a lot of scars."

"Aye, she did. She was vicious, e'en hateful. In truth, despite her whorish ways, I oftimes felt she hated men."

"That makes some sense. After all, e'en the biggest, meanest, strongest men can be made weak by passion, lust, or e'en love. She did make fools of a great many men. She had power of a sort and that can be a heady and corrupting thing."

"Weel, ye have chosen a wise strategy. Just cling to it."

"I intend to, although it isnae easy to just hold fast and nay try to argue my innocence. Dinnae mistake me, I dinnae meekly bow before any slur or accusation he tosses my way. There are times, howbeit, that I fair ache to tie him in a chair and give him a severe talking to, mayhap slapping him upside the head now and again to make my point."

Ilsa smiled when Gillyanne laughed. She suspected the woman knew she was only partly jesting. Dealing with Diarmot's constant wariness was far more tiring and hurtful than she had thought it would be. Now that she was with him again, was his wife by all the laws of church and court, she wanted the man she had fallen in love with back. She wanted that joy she had too briefly enjoyed a year ago to return now. For all her plans and determination, Ilsa found she lacked patience.

She had to continually give herself stern lectures on how good things came to those who waited. They did not help much.

"Twill come," said Gillyanne. "A mon wouldnae work so hard to protect his heart unless he kenned it was in danger." Gillyanne laughed when Diarmot's children gathered around her to say farewell.

Although she tried hard to fight it, hope was stirred by Gillyanne's words.

Ilsa could not deny the truth of them. If Diarmot felt nothing for her beside a man's natural desire for a woman, he would have no need for all his defenses. He would bed her as he pleased and continue on as he had before her arrival at Clachthrom. Instead, he avoided her as much as possible and was obviously on guard whenever she was around.

The children left, rushing off to encircle Fraser. Gillyanne took Cearnach from Gay so that young woman could go and assist Fraser. Ilsa tensed when Diarmot walked up to them for he rarely approached her when the twins were with her. She found his apparent lack of interest in his sons the hardest thing to endure. Even as she decided to take Cearnach from Gillyanne and leave Diarmot and Gilly alone to say farewell, little Gregor fell down and started to cry. The boy was not accepting the comfort of Gay, Fraser, or his siblings, but crying for his mama. At least Diarmot's children accepted her, Ilsa thought as she shoved Finlay into a startled Diarmot's arms and hurried over to Gregor.

Diarmot stared at the small child in his arms. The boy stared right back. The child had a surprisingly thick crop of bright red curls. He also had deep blue eyes. The same color as his own, Diarmot thought, then told himself blue eyes were not so rare. When the child gave him a toothless grin, Diarmot could not stop himself from smiling back and gently tousling the boy's wild curls.

"That is Finlay," said Gillyanne. "He possesses a more cheerful nature than Cearnach here and has a wee scar on his arm to mark him as the first born.

Sigimor has a similar one and says tis a tradition to mark the bairns in such a way. In a family beset by twins twas quickly seen as necessary."

"Ye believe they are mine," Diarmot said even as he found the scar she spoke of on Finlay's small forearm.

"Aye. Ye would ken it too, if ye but looked at them once in a while."

"Tis a busy time of the year. I cannae lurk about the nursery."

He ignored Gillyanne's look of mild disgust, then winced as Finlay grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked it forward to shove it in his mouth. Diarmot was a little surprised at the strength of the child's grip and the look of stubbornness that settled upon Finlay's sweet face even as he worked to free his hair. Grimacing at the wetness of his hair when he finally freed it and tossed it back over his shoulder, Diarmot's eyes widened at the speed with which Finlay grabbed one of the laces of his doublet and shoved that into his mouth.

"Do ye think he is hungry?" Diarmot asked a grinning Gillyanne.

"Nay," she replied, kissing Cearnach's forehead when the child rested his head against her shoulder. "He just likes to chew on things. He has to be watched verra carefully. Your other bairns are verra good about that."

"My other bairns? I admit, I now believe Ilsa was once my lover, but that doesnae mean the twins are mine."

"They have your eyes."

Diarmot thought so, too, but was feeling too obstinate, too cornered, to admit it. "Blue isnae such an uncommon color." He shrugged. "I cannae be any more sure my seed bred these bairns than I am with the others."

"Ilsa is right. Ye need a slap upside your thick head," snapped Gillyanne.

"If ye keep treating Ilsa as if, at any moment, she is going to stick a dagger in ye and twist it, ye will ruin all chance of a good marriage."

"Oh? And what makes ye think I can have one?"

"Tis just like a mon to trust a lass who didnae deserve to be trusted, and nay trust the lass who does. Ilsa had been here a fortnight and hasnae done one thing to deserve the unkindnesses ye heap upon her. I ken she warms your bed verra weel indeed. She tends your home and tis looking better each day. She defended your sorry hide when her brothers thought to flay it from your bones because of those foolish rumors ye do naught about. She cares for the people of this keep and on your lands, winning the affection and trust of them all. Ilsa also cares for your bairns as if they were her own, something few other women would do. Fine, cling to your doubts and suspicions, e'en though ye risk waking up one day to discover that is all ye have to cling to, but ye could at least treat her with more courtesy."

He was still stinging from Gillyanne's words and struggling to find some reply, when Ilsa rejoined him. "Here, take your brat," he snapped, setting Finlay in her arms and tugging his doublet lace free of the boy's mouth. "I am too busy to play nursemaid."

Ilsa calmly turned to Gillyanne. "Would ye mind holding Finlay for a moment?"

"Of course not," replied Gillyanne, accepting the little boy into her hold, easily balancing him and his brother on her hips.

Diarmot watched in stunned fascination as Ilsa balled up one hand into a tight fist and swung at him. The force of the blow on his jaw was such a surprise, he staggered back a few steps. He cursed as he stumbled over a patch of uneven ground and sat down hard.

"Thank ye, Gillyanne," Ilsa said, retrieving the twins and setting them on her hips as Gilly had done. "Have a safe journey, and, please, let me ken when the bairn comes." She kissed Gillyanne on the cheek and strode back into the keep.

As he rubbed his jaw, Diarmot became aware that a small crowd was gathering around him. He looked up to find his brothers, Ilsa's brothers, his children, Gay, Fraser, and Gillyanne all staring down at him. He did not bother looking beyond them, certain he would find everyone else in the bailey craning their necks to have a look as well. . The women all looked disgusted with him, his children looked curious, and his and Ilsa's brothers all looked far too amused for his comfort. Diarmot stood up and brushed himself off.