Highland Groom (16 page)

"Good morning," called Gay from the doorway. "I have brought ye something to break your fast."

"Ah, good. Come in, come in," Ilsa muttered as she finished lacing up her gown and stepped out from behind the privacy screen.

"Oh, that gown looks lovely, Ilsa." Gay shut the door, then set the tray she carried on the chest near the fireplace. "That dark green is a good color for ye."

"One of Lady Anabelle's." Ilsa ran her hand down the side of the skirt, astonished at the softness of the wool. "Fraser fitted this one for me. I am nay sure I wish to think too much on how much of Diarmot's money was tossed away on such finery. The woman must have had a gown for every day of the month."

"Mayhap two months. All in rich colors. All of the finest cloth. Ye would think she had been handmaiden to the queen." Gay set a stool by the chest where she had placed the food. "Come, sit on this and I shall tidy your hair."

"Her wardrobe reveals her vanity, I think," said Ilsa as she sat down and helped herself to a honey-sweetened oatcake. "And a part of me can easily understand the craving for so many pretty things. However, Nanty said she nearly beggared Diarmot, making it difficult for him to care for his lands and his people. That is unforgivable."

Gay gently combed out Ilsa's long hair. "Weel, now his lordship can repair his lands and his purse. That woman left so many gowns and so many bolts of cloth, ye willnae have to buy anything for years."

"Oh, dear. That makes me feel guilty for buying that lovely blue linen."

"Nonsense. Ye deserve a wee pleasure. A bolt of cloth now and again willnae beggar the mon. Ye deserve it for being so careful with your mon's coin, as weel."

"How can buying a bolt of cloth keep Diarmot from poverty?"

"Ye have made good use, or will, of the gowns Lady Anabelle had. Many another wife would have refused to do so. Wouldnae want to touch the belongings of the first wife."

"Superstitious, I suppose."

"Could be. Could also be that the second wife would be afraid she wouldnae look as good in the clothes as the first wife did. And, ye can cease looking like that."

Quelling the sudden urge to remove the gown, Ilsa said, "Ye cannae see my face. How do ye ken what I look like?"

"I ken ye weel, Ilsa. Ye have oft called yourself too red, too small, too thin. Weel, ye are none of that. Ye look verra fine in that gown and ye best nay be thinking of taking it off."

"Impertinent wench." Ilsa sighed. "From all I have heard, Anabelle was a verra beautiful woman. Considering where, and how much, we had to adjust this gown so that it would fit me, Anabelle had the sort of form that makes men's tongues hang out and their eyes roll back in their heads."

"There is a lovely picture," murmured Gay, then she laughed softly. "Sounds like a fit."

"A fit of lust. Anabelle apparently drove men mad with it. She could make men betray their laird, risk death to have her. I cannae do that, ne'er have, ne'er will."

"And would ne'er wish to. Your husband comes to your bed every night, aye? I suspicion he doesnae just pat ye on your wee head and go to sleep. He is the only mon who matters, the only one ye want to make his tongue hang out and his eyes roll back in his head, although it sounds most unpleasant."

Ilsa laughed. "Aye, it does."

"There, ye look tidy now." Gay sat down in the chair on the other side of the chest and helped herself to an oatcake. "I suspicion every lass would like to be so beautiful men would risk life and fortune to have them. I am nay sure Lady Anabelle was, precisely. Oh, she was bonny, but I think there was a wild lustiness about her that drew men. Mayhap she drew men by her beauty, too, but I think they also hoped they would be the one who tamed her." Gay shook her head.

"Or, mayhap, she was just a vain whore and men are fools who think with their rods."

"That is a strong possibility," Ilsa drawled and laughed again. "Weel, there is nay kenning what drew men to Lady Anabelle and twas probably something different with near every one of them. I may fret on occasion that I am nay the beauty she was, but naught else. The only ghost she left behind is a vile one, her legacy one of anger, pain, and mistrust. I am certain Diarmot doesnae love the woman any longer. I just fear that she has left him unable to love again."

"Nay, I dinnae believe that. Wheesht, if all feeling had been killed, the fool wouldnae have to work so hard to guard his heart, would he?"

"That is what Gillyanne says."

"And tis true, I am certain of it. Aye, his late wife left him filled with bitterness and mistrust, but I think he clings to it now like a shield. He softened to ye once; he will again."

"I hope so, Gay." She smiled faintly. "Ye seem to be giving all of this a great deal of thought."

"Weel, I want ye to be happy, dinnae I? I also feel a need now to look closely at the many ways men and women act with each other, the many ways they treat each other. It helps me to start to believe that what happened to me had naught to do with all that, that it was naught but a particularly vicious way to beat me." She blushed. "I suspicion those bastards felt some odd sort of tainted lust, but nay for me. They would have done the same to any poor lass they got ahold of. They just wanted to stick their rods in some woman, thought it would make them look all big, strong, powerful, and monly. I just happened to be the first poor lass to come within their reach. Slowly, as I watch others, it helps me understand that."

"I am so glad, Gay. And ye will continue to heal, I am certain of it. Ye are too strong a lass to let those men rob ye of all spirit and future." She held up her hand to stop Gay's response. "Ye will have a future. Whilst ye are noticing so much else, I suggest ye notice that no one shuns ye, and they have all guessed what happened to ye. A good mon, the sort ye could make a future with, will ne'er condemn ye for what happened."

Gay nodded. "Each day I begin to believe that more and more. Twill settle firm in my heart soon, I think, for I can see the truth of it in your brothers, your cousins, and the men here at Clachthrom." She smiled faintly. "And, it helps to be learning how to use the knife Elyas gave me."

"As soon as I have finished eating and visit with the bairns, ye shall have another lesson. Best to take advantage of the fact that Odo and Aulay arenae here to pester us to teach them." She frowned. "I hope they are all right."

"Of course they are. They are with their father. I think it verra good that Sir Diarmot is starting to take an interest in them."

It was, and by the time they returned, Ilsa told herself she would be over the pinch of jealousy she felt.

"Who lives in this cottage, Papa?" asked Odo as he peeked into the empty pot hung over the fire.

"No one now," replied Diarmot. "The old couple who used to live here died a few years ago."

Yet the little house looked remarkably clean, thought Diarmot as he looked around. It had been the sense of occupancy that had caused him to stop and look inside. It was not unusual for someone to take possession of an empty house, but he saw no sign that someone was actually living here. There were no clothes, no food, and no scent of a recent meal or a fire in the hearth. A clean straw mattress was upon the bed, however, a blanket folded neatly at the foot of the bed.

A trysting place, he thought, and smiled faintly. That made sense, explaining the cleanliness yet no sign of actual residency. Some lovers had stumbled upon the abandoned house and decided it was the perfect place to meet. Diarmot began to look for some clue as to who might be using his cottage. Just as he began to think it a waste of time, he caught sight of something wedged between the rough wooden leg of the bed and the wall. Diarmot got down on his stomach, smiling when Odo and Aulay did the same, flanking him.

Diarmot was just tugging what appeared to be a message free when a gruff voice said, "Weel, will ye look at the laird with his bonny face in the dirt."

A bone-chilling cold flooded Diarmot. He was back in Muirladen, sprawled in the mud, too broken and bloody to move. He flinched, his body remembering the booted foot that had struck him in the side, cracking a rib. For a moment, Diarmot felt caught tightly in his nightmare, could feel the bitter taste of fear in the back of his throat. Sweat broke out all over his body as he waited for another blow.

"Papa! Are ye stuck?"

Odo's childish voice and the feel of four small hands tugging at his clothes pulled Diarmot free of those dark memories. He scrambled out from beneath the bed, covertly shoved the note in a pocket within his doublet, and struggled to smile at his sons. They looked concerned, which touched him, and he wondered how long he had been held in the grip of his memories.

"I am fine, lads," he said as he stood up. "Aye, I was a wee bit stuck."

Diarmot looked around the cottage for the owner of that voice which had so deeply affected him, but saw only Geordie. The man stood in the doorway of the cottage, his thickly muscled arms crossed over his broad chest. Had the voice come from inside his head or had a harmless remark by Geordie stirred that memory? Diarmot suspected one of the attackers had said something very similar and that was why Geordie's words had had such an unsettling effect upon him.

"What were ye doing under there?" Geordie asked as he moved to let Diarmot and the twins walk outside.

"I thought I saw something, but twas naught," replied Diarmot, not wanting to reveal his discovery until he was certain no one would suffer for whatever might be written there. "I shall have to find new tenants for this cottage. Tis a waste for it to sit empty, the land about it left fallow, and the fields ungrazed. Ye ken the people hereabout weel, Geordie, so mayhap ye ken someone who would be interested in becoming a crofter here."

"Aye, m'laird, I will look about."

There was an odd note to Geordie's voice that caused Diarmot to frown after his man as Geordie walked away. Was he the one trysting at the cottage? Diarmot resisted the urge to immediately study the message he had found. Instead, he turned his attention upon his sons and getting them mounted. Auiay sat before Tom and Odo sat before Diarmot, both untiring in their questions and observations as Diarmot led his men back to the keep.

A chill still infected his blood and Diarmot struggled to fight it off. He realized he had not suffered from a nightmare since his marriage to Ilsa. Having her lithe, warm body tucked up close to his every night had obviously kept the nightmares away. That seemed odd as she would not be much protection if he was attacked. Diarmot decided that it was simply because he was not alone. He had been starkly aware of being all alone the night he had been attacked and that feeling had clearly lingered.

It was possible his memory was struggling to return. That would explain suffering his nightmare in the daylight and while he was awake. It would probably explain why Geordie's words had affected him so deeply. Diarmot hoped that was true, for he was sure some of the answers he needed were locked up with those memories. Even one small clue would be welcome for it would help them direct the search for his enemy more exactly.

The moment they rode through the gates of Clachthrom, Diarmot looked for Ilsa. He wanted her and doubted he could wait until they retired for the night.

It galled him to admit it, but her passion would be the surest cure for the chill that had settled inside of him.

After leaving the boys with Fraser, Diarmot washed up in a room off the kitchen, and then searched for Ilsa. He was pleased to find her in the first place he looked. Since that was their bedchamber, it was also convenient.

Ilsa smiled at Diarmot as he entered the room, then frowned a little warily when he shut and latched the door behind him. "Is something wrong?"

She set aside the cushion she had been sewing and rose from her seat by the fire as he walked toward her.

"Another cushion?" he asked, smiling faintly.

"There are a lot of hard seats in this keep. Are Odo and Aulay all right?"

"Tired and dirty, nay more." He ran his hand down her arm, pleased to see her shiver a little in response at his touch. "This gown looks verra fine. The color suits ye."

A compliment, Ilsa thought in surprise, then eyed him with suspicion. In the six weeks she had been his wife, Diarmot had rarely complimented her, except when he was feeling passionate. She could not believe he was thinking of doing that when it was only late in the afternoon, but it would explain the locked door. It would also explain why he was not wearing his doublet.

"Thank ye," she murmured, then realized his hair was damp. "Ye have had a bath."

"Aye, I smelled too strongly of sweat and horses." He slowly tugged her into his arms, smiling at the faint scowl she wore. "I didnae wish to offend your wee nose."

Diarmot kissed the tip of her nose, then kissed the hollow by her ear. She gasped faintly and clutched his shirt. He traced the delicate shape of her ear with his tongue and felt her tremble. Here was the warmth he needed. Although it troubled him that he did need it, he found consolation in the fact that she did not recognize his weakness.

"Tis only the middle of the afternoon," she protested, but could not find the will to pull away.

Since her protest was so weak, Diarmot ignored it. He kissed her, fighting to keep enough of his wits about him to undo her gown. The moment it slid to the floor, he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. After setting her in the middle of the bed, he removed her shoes, then hastily undressed. Ilsa looked beautifully flushed and a little dazed, but Diarmot did not want to give her enough time to shake free of desire's grip. Despite six weeks of sharing a bed, Ilsa retained her sense of modesty. He did not want her to become aware of the fact that she was half naked in bed with the sun shining brightly through the window.

Ilsa watched Diarmot shed his clothes with a speed that revealed a flattering eagerness. She did love to see the man naked and he looked especially glorious in the sunlight. She frowned, pulling free of the stupor his kisses always put her into, and started to look toward the window. Just as she was becoming painfully aware of how much light there was in the room, Diarmot settled himself on top of her, diverting her.