Highland Groom (36 page)

Even as Ilsa opened her mouth to respond to that outrageous remark, Sigimor leapt to his feet. "Thank ye for the ale, lass. We will be leaving ye and your husband alone to talk." He grabbed Odo up in his arms and hurried toward the door, the other men close at his heels.

"But I was supposed to stay to make sure he didnae say anything stupid,"

protested Odo.

"I think that a great many stupid things are about to be said, lad," said Liam. "Best let them go at it. Ye can return later to mend things if tis needed."

Ilsa stared at the door as it shut behind her cowardly relatives, then looked at Diarmot. He smiled. It made her wish she had not allowed Gay to take the twins to visit their uncles at the keep. The way he idly sipped at his ale told her he was far calmer than she felt, despite the signs of anger she had seen.

That did not bode well. She poured herself a tankard of ale and sat down opposite him.

"Are ye done thinking?" he asked, and almost smiled again when she scowled at him.

The faintly amused look upon his handsome face annoyed her. She had realized it had been cowardly, even childish, of her to run home because she was upset and confused, but to have him apparently think the same was irritating. Ilsa also realized that she was afraid. She was afraid that he would simply take her back to Clachthrom with nothing settled between them. She was even more afraid that he wanted all she had given him a year ago, but would still not be returning it in kind.

In the time she had been back in her little cottage, Ilsa had done a lot of thinking. She had given Diarmot everything she had had to give when they had first become lovers. In recalling all that had passed between then, she had come to the sad realization that he had never spoken of love, that she had foolishly seen love in sweet words and heated embraces. When he had left her, she had clung to her dreams and her faith in him, certain that he would return for her.

With each month that had passed with no word from him, those dreams and that faith had slowly turned to ashes, and it had been a constant grief to her.

Her love had never died. Ilsa was not sure it could. She had buried it, however, buried it very deeply. Despite all of her plans to prove herself and win his heart after reaching Clachthrom, she now knew that she had never really intended to completely free that love again. She had not dared, had always feared a return of the pain she had felt when she had thought herself deserted, then found herself forgotten. In many ways she had liked their marriage as it was, that she had only wanted there to be trust between them. It had been passionate, but safe.

Then he had started to woo her. The sweet words, the tenderness, the hints of affection had beckoned to that love she was trying so hard to keep safely tucked away. That part of her so eager to give him everything--heart, soul, and mind--

had begun to stir to life again and it had terrified her. It still terrified her.

"Ilsa," Diarmot said, a little annoyed by the way she seemed to be ignoring him, "why did ye leave?"

"To think," she replied, struggling to subdue the panic she could feel coming to life inside of her. "Aye, to think, just as everyone has obviously told ye.

There are many things I need to think about. Since I arrived at Clachthrom it has been one shock after another. Margaret, becoming mother to eight children instead of just two, someone trying to kill ye, then kill me, too, and your loss of memory. Weel, there was nary a moment with some peace to just think, was there?"

"Ilsa, ye are babbling," he murmured and took her hand in his. "I ken it hasnae been easy for ye. Ye have been sorely pressed." He kissed her hand. "And I was most unkind much of the time. Aye, my memory was gone, but I cannae use that to excuse all my faults. Ah, but now, my Ilsa, I can remember it all. How sweet ye were, those passionate trysts in the copse, the plans and promises made. I want that back, Ilsa."

He was startled when she yanked her hand free and jumped to her feet. For a moment he was hurt, feeling the sharp sting of rejection, but then he looked closely at her. Ilsa looked more than just upset or confused, she looked terrified. This trouble between them was a lot more complicated than he had realized.

"Why must ye try to change everything?" she asked, a strong hint of desperation in her voice.

"I was hoping nay to change things so much as return to what we once had together."

"I cannae. Dinnae ye understand?"

"Nay, I dinnae. Ye stay whilst I am being unkind and flee when I try to fix things, things I had made wrong."

"It went wrong o'er a year ago! It went wrong when ye ne'er came back for me, ne'er sent word."

She stamped her foot and placed a hand over her eyes when she realized she was crying. "I tried so hard to believe in ye, in what we had shared. For near three months I kept trying and then I had to face the truth, that ye werenae coming back for me. I accepted that." She placed her other hand over her heart as she felt a stirring of that old pain. "And then, and then I had to hunt ye down. We had two sons. I couldnae just hide here, denying them what was theirs by right. And, oh, I found ye, dinnae I? Kneeling afore the priest exchanging vows with Margaret."

Shock over the sight of Ilsa crying had kept Diarmot stuck to his seat, but now he stood and cautiously approached her. It sounded as if she was saving that her love for him had died from the force of too many blows. Yet, if she had lost all love for him, why was she so upset, so afraid to hear his fumbling words of affection?

"Ye ken why I was marrying Margaret," he said. "I had forgotten--"

"I ken it! I ken all of that, I truly do. In my head, I ken it. The forgetting of me, nay kenning that the twins were your sons, the suspicions, all of it." Try as she did to stop crying and calm down, all Ilsa seemed capable of doing was crying harder. "So I accepted. I decided we would simply begin anew. I would prove myself to ye. Twas necessary. I accepted that, too."

"But now ye think ye cannae accept me? Is that it?" He stood close by her side and lightly stroked her hair.

"Dinnae be such an idiot."

Her small fist connected somewhat forcefully with his side and Diarmot grunted. Then he smiled faintly. He did not know what was troubling Ilsa, but it was not that she did not care for him. How he could be so sure of that simply because she called him an idiot and hit him, he did not know, but he did. Now he just needed to puzzle out what she was talking about. He hated to see her cry, to see her so upset, but he hesitated to try and soothe her. The truth was tumbling out. It might require some untangling, but he knew it needed to come out. He was going to have to tell a few truths himself if there was to be any hope for them.

"I thought once ye trusted me again, all would be weel," she continued. "I thought I kenned what I wanted, but then ye got your memory back, and ye started to give me sweet words and gifts and I realized I didnae ken what I wanted at all. Ye were stirring it all up again and it made me afraid. I cannae bear it. I am nay that strong."

Diarmot could not hold back any longer. Her tears were painful for him, especially since he was the cause. He pulled her into his arms, kissed the top of her head, and gently rubbed her slim back.

"Hush, Ilsa, twill be alright," he said.

"Nay, it willnae." She held herself stiff for a moment, then wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his chest. "I am a coward, a puling weakling." Although her crying had eased a little, she felt drained.

"Ye are one of the strongest women I have e'er met."

"Och, nay. I ran away. I ran away because ye were stirring it all up again and it terrified me."

"What was I stirring all up?"

"All that love and faith I had, all that I had given ye so long ago. I thought it was what I wanted, but I didnae. I cannae bear it," she said, fighting the urge to start wailing all over again. "It hurt so much when ye didnae come back for me."

"Ah, Ilsa, I wish I could change that, but I cannae."

"I ken it. But, dinnae ye see? I put it all away, buried it, locked it up.

When I came to Clachthrom I realized I had let it slip free a wee bit and there was all that pain again for ye didnae want me, didnae remember me. And, now, ye are plucking at it again and I cannae seem to keep it all locked away."

"Ilsa, my sweet, what makes ye think I dinnae love ye?" He felt her grow tense in his arms.

Ilsa wondered if all her crying had rattled her wits. "I beg your pardon?"

Diarmot gently cupped her small face in his hands and turned it up to his. "I love ye." For one minute the look upon her face was one of a gratifying wonder and delight, but then she scowled at him.

"Ye couldnae mention that ere now? Ye couldnae have said it ere ye left me o'er a year ago or when ye suddenly remembered it? Mayhap say it as ye gave me flowers or that wee ring or e'en whilst we made love?"

"Ah, weel, I wasnae sure until I saw Margaret trying to run a sword through ye."

Ilsa nearly gaped at him. She stepped back and furiously rubbed the tears from her face with her hands. It was not the fact that he had been so slow to know he loved her that upset her. She knew men could be very slow to grasp such an important fact. It was that he had known for two or three days, but had said nothing.

"If ye had said that but once, I wouldnae have been going near mad with wondering, fretting about what I could or couldnae do, or what I wanted or didnae want."

Diarmot quickly pulled her back into his arms and kissed her. "I wanted to woo ye, to soothe some of the wounds I ken I had inflicted." He kissed the hollow by her ear. "I remembered ye telling me ye loved me and was trying to woo ye into saying it again." He traced the delicate curve of her ear with his tongue, felt her shiver, and relaxed. "Ye can say it now."

"Say what?"

"Ilsa," he growled softly against the side of her neck.

"I think I might just wait as long as ye did ere I tell ye."

"Two or three days?"

"Nay, about fifteen months." She smiled sweetly when he looked at her. "Ye cannae force such words, ye ken."

"Nay?" He picked her up in his arms and headed for her bedchamber. "We shall see. I suspect I can make ye say it."

Obviously, he could, Ilsa thought as she lay sprawled on top of him, struggling to recover from their lovemaking. She had known what he would do once she had thrown him such a challenge, and was glad he had not surprised her this time. There had been a touch of resentment in her heart as she had thought of all she had suffered for the want of three little words. Passion had burned it away. Passion had also made it easy for her to cast off those last shields around her heart.

She murmured a protest when he nudged her onto her side and got out of bed. A minute later, she blushed as he cleaned away the remnants of their lovemaking.

When he climbed back into bed and pulled her back into his arms, she went willingly, Ilsa rested her cheek against his chest and began to idly trace his ribs with her fingers.

"When did ye suspect ye might love me?" she asked.

Diarmot absently stroked her back. "When I stood in that copse where we had first made love. I confess I didnae think of love, except that I could almost hear ye say it and I wanted to hear ye say it again as ye just did. Three times." He smiled fleetingly when she lightly pinched him. "What I remembered was the passion, the sweet ferocity, and the peace I felt."

"The peace?" Ilsa had thought she had brought him some peace back then, but had recently begun to have doubts.

"Aye, the peace. It had been a long time since I had felt at peace. I had ceased to reach for it in a woman's arms almost a year before I met ye. Your cousins were wrong about the maid at the alehouse," he hastened to say when she started to speak. "Aye, she was giving me inviting smiles and I did wonder on accepting, but had decided it would be a waste of precious coin. In truth, one reason I had decided to marry Margaret was because I had been celibate for a year. Couldnae understand why. I think a part of me did remember ye. That was the trouble. I was verra reluctant. I also kept feeling it was wrong to marry Margaret and the nearer the wedding day drew, the stronger those feelings grew.

Then there were those dreams."

"What dreams?" Ilsa began to kiss his chest.

"I kept having dreams about an angry redheaded elf surrounded by a horde of fiery demons." He smiled when she collapsed against his chest, giggling.

"So, a part of ye did remember me and my family." She started to kiss her way down his chest.

"Aye. Ye proved a sore trial to me."

"Good." She lightly nipped his taut stomach.

Diarmot laughed. "I had to keep reminding myself that I must nay trust ye, that ye were the only true suspect I had, the only one who would gain from my death."

She could hear the regret in his voice. "I didnae like how ye mistrusted me and, aye, it hurt, but I did understand."

"Ye accepted it."

"Aye, I accepted it."

"As ye accepted my six children, some of who might nay e'en be mine?"

Ilsa looked at him even as she caressed his strong thighs. "They are your bairns. Just because your seed made them doesnae mean they must look just like ye. Many of them do. Odo has your eyes, as does Ewart. Ivy has the look of a MacEnroy, and Alice and Gregor have hair verra much like yours. But, e'en if your seed didnae make them all, they are all your bairns. Ye are Papa. I wasnae just giving them soothing words when I told them a family doesnae have to be one of blood. It can be one of heart, soul, and mind."

"They do feel like my bairns." The last word came out as something perilously close to a squeak as Ilsa curled her fingers around his staff.

"And how does this feel?" she asked as she stroked his staff and kissed his thighs.

"Like more."

A heartbeat later she gave him more. He closed his eyes and savored the feel of her lips and tongue as the heat of them replaced the soft caress of her fingers. When she took him into her mouth, he thought he could have the strength to enjoy that pleasure for longer than he had yet been able to since they had so recently made love. He soon realized he was wrong, that his emotions were still too high, feeding and strengthening his need for her.