Highland Groom (8 page)

There was another truth he could not argue with, one he dearly wished Nanty had not set in his mind. Men like Sigimor and the other Camerons were ones people noticed. It would have required only one person catching sight of them for the tale to have spread throughout the village. Since Muirladen was close to Campbell lands, the villagers would undoubtedly have recognized them, but no one had mentioned the Camerons. It was certainly something to consider as he weighed judgment on his wife and her kinsmen.

"Since the Camerons must ken how recognizable they are, they might have hired others to do the deed," Diarmot offered in argument and scowled when Nanty rolled his eyes.

"Why are ye so intent upon marking them guilty?"

"Because I dinnae have anyone else to blame." Diarmot sighed and shook his head. "Aye, I may be too hard on them, but better that than to be too trusting right now. Someone wants me dead. That beating was but one incident. There have been a few others, all of which could also have been nay more than ill luck. If the incidents before the beating were only accidents, that means the Camerons could be the ones trying to kill me. If those incidents were actually attempts to kill me, then it cannae be the Camerons. Clouded though my memory is, I am fair certain I didnae ken a single member of that family until a year ago."

"If ye ken ye didnae meet them until a year ago, then ye must be getting your memory back."

"Nay. I dinnae recall the meeting or anything else about that time. I do have a mostly clear memory of the time several months before that and they werenae kenned by me at that time."

"So, do ye feel certain Lady Ilsa isnae your wife."

"I feel certain she and I were once lovers. I was certain of that the moment I kissed her. I kenned the taste of her, the feel of her," he added softly.

"Then ye must ken that she speaks the truth when she claims ye were handfasted."

"Nay, I just ken that we were once lovers. I dinnae recall any of the times we spent together, if any promises were made, or e'en if she was a virgin."

Diarmot watched Sigimor, Ilsa, and Gay wander through the garden, the children skipping all around them. From the way they studied the garden, were obviously deep in a discussion, and occasionally stopped to study a plant or two, Diarmot suspected they were intending to resurrect the sadly ignored garden. He was not sure why or when it had fallen into disrepair. When he had inherited Clachthrom, he had brought the garden his uncle had neglected back to life. In the first days of his marriage to Anabelle, he had thought she had enjoyed its beauty, only to discover she used it to cuckold him repeatedly with any man willing to betray his laird. Diarmot suspected that was when he had ceased to care about the garden.

In fact, Diarmot had the uncomfortable feeling that was when he had ceased to care about a lot of things. What little had been done to soften the starkness of Clachthrom's keep had mostly been done before his marriage and some in anticipation of it. He now did what was necessary to keep himself out of debt and his people safe and fed, but little else. It surprised him somewhat to realize he had done next to nothing to prepare his keep for Margaret, the woman he had intended to marry. He did not like to think his wretched marriage had caused him to lose all joy and interest in life.

"She was a virgin," Nanty said after a few minutes of consideration.

It took Diarmot a moment to realize Nanty was referring to Ilsa. "Ye were there to examine the linen, were ye?"

Nanty gave him a look of disgust. "Ilsa has fourteen brothers and two score and seven cousins, mostly male. She was undoubtedly verra weel guarded. I am surprised ye managed to seduce her." He looked out the window to see Sigimor tickle a laughing Ilsa, then chase her around the garden obviously threatening to tickle her some more, much to the delight of the children. "She is the cherished only sister. Tis plain to see."

Even though he had to agree, Diarmot said, "If she is so cherished and protected, why has that girl Gay been allowed near her?"

"To help feed your greedy sons. And, I think ye ken what happened to that poor lass as weel as I do. One doesnae need to hear her tell the tale. Ye can see the truth in the way she shies away from any mon. Aye, and trembles so pitifully when she is in a room crowded with men. She nearly burrows into Ilsa.

I think the lass was blessed when the Camerons took her in and, if she wasnae so terrified of men that she can barely speak to one, she would probably tell ye the same."

"Ye make them sound like cursed saints, as if I blaspheme by e'en considering them liars or, worse, my enemies."

"Ill tempered for a mon who spent last night in the arms of a fair lass, arenae ye?"

"The woman appears at my wedding, claims things I cannae remember and none of ye ken aught about, waves some papers I dinnae recall signing under the priest's nose, and, next I ken, I am married to her. Aye, I feel certain she and I once made love. That isnae any reason to trust in her or her kinsmen. Neither is a kindness to children or a poor abused lass." He walked away from the window, tired of watching Ilsa and her brother act in a way more befitting Nanty's opinion of them than his own.

"Ye cling to your doubts and suspicions then," said Nanty as he turned to face Diarmot. "I may nay agree with them, but I can understand why ye have them.

Ye go ahead and try to prove the Camerons your enemies. I will work to prove ye are wrong."

"Why?"

"Because I believe their tale. I trust in Gillyanne's feelings about them.

When ye made your suspicions about them so clear, I saw only righteous anger in the men and hurt in the lass. And, when ye presented her with your brood, only one of whom is legitimate, I didnae see calm, sweet acceptance. Nay, I saw the anger any woman with wit and a spine would feel. The lass didnae seem to then forget ye had all those bairns, either, but has taken on the care of them. She didnae refuse ye her bed, either, despite how poorly ye behaved and I would wager she warmed it most satisfactorily. What I think," Nanty said as he walked toward the door, "is that one year ago ye finally pulled yourself free of the misery Anabelle had drowned ye in and found yourself a fine little wife. My intention is to see that ye keep her."

"Weel, ye best work fast then as ye will only be here for a few more days."

"Oh, didnae I say?" Nanty paused in the open doorway to smile sweetly at Diarmot. "I have decided to bless ye with my fine company for a wee while."

Diarmot stared at the door that Nanty shut behind him as he left. He told himself it would be childish to throw something at that door. A heartbeat later, he picked up a heavy tankard from his writing table and hurled it at the door.

That was not satisfying enough so he pulled his dagger and threw that at the door as well. He then moved to slouch in the chair facing his worktable and glared at the knife stuck in the thick door.

It was foolish to feel somewhat betrayed by his family who obviously believed Ilsa. That was their right. They also understood why he did not, could not.

Unfortunately, that understanding felt a little too much like pity or sympathy for an injured man. That was difficult to tolerate.

He sighed, closed his eyes, and rested his head against the high back of the chair. It was difficult to admit it, but his family was right. A man with such large holes in his memory was injured. His abysmal marriage had left him wounded in many ways as well. He did not want to trust Ilsa because he was afraid to, an admission that made him wince. Anabelle had shown him that he could not trust in his own judgments about people, especially women he lusted after. This time a bad judgment could do more than tear at his heart; it could kill him.

There were a few faint similarities between Ilsa and Anabelle. Ilsa was emotional, as had been Anabelle, yet he had only seen temper, passion, and humor. He thought he had seen pain as well, but dared not make any assumptions upon the truth of that or the cause. When he tried to think of other similarities between his late wife and his new one, he found none, but stoutly told himself they would appear as time passed.

Despite their short acquaintance, the differences between Anabelle and Ilsa were far more distinct. He only had to look out into the garden to see one clearly and that was Ilsa's open acceptance of his children. Anabelle had not even paid attention to Alice, her own child. Ilsa's temper had been hot, but not the screaming rage Anabelle had often displayed. Even Diarmot had to admit that Ilsa had had a good reason to be angry. Anabelle had never needed a reason. Ilsa was a passionate woman, but that passion lacked the darker emotions that had tainted Anabelle's passion. Even his wary heart and mind could not foresee that happening with Ilsa, either.

Grimacing, he shifted in his chair as the mere thought of Ilsa's passion caused his body to harden with need. Ilsa's passion was hot and sweet, satisfying him in ways he could not recall ever having felt before, not even when he had thought himself in love with Anabelle. Diarmot knew that could prove a weakness, but he felt he had learned his lessons well from his late wife. He might not be able to control his desire for Ilsa, but he knew how to keep it from controlling him or blinding him to the truth.

If he was honest with himself, Diarmot had to admit he was very glad it was Ilsa in his bed instead of Margaret. He could easily understand how he and Ilsa could have become lovers. The fire they could start between them was all any man could wish for. Despite all his doubts, fears, and suspicions, he intended to take full advantage of having Ilsa in his bed, and warm himself by that fire whenever possible. It was the one good thing in the whole tangled mess he now found himself in. He would just be very careful he did not get burned.

Holding her son Cearnach while Gay held Finlay, Ilsa smiled sadly as her brothers kissed their nephews and her farewell. Sigimor and Tait were staying with her, but she knew this was just the first step in the separation of her life from her family's. Due to the unusual circumstances surrounding her handfasting with Diarmot, this painful change in her life had been delayed.

Although trembling faintly, Gay stood firmly at her side enduring the farewells handed out to Finlay, and Ilsa realized Gay saw the Camerons as her family now.

Ilsa took a step toward Sigimor only to pause when Elyas stepped up to Gay and held something out to her.

"Here, lass," said Elyas. "Tis a gift."

Cautiously, Gay took the sheathed knife Elyas held out and then frowned.

"'Tis a dagger, sir."

"Aye. Ilsa will show ye how to wear it and use it."

"Why would ye give me a dagger, sir?"

"So ye will learn how to protect yourself, e'en if only in a wee way. Ye need to feel safer, lass, to feel that ye arenae quite so helpless." He smiled faintly. "Ye can also use it to protect our Ilsa."

Gay blushed. "Thank ye most kindly, sir."

"Oh, that is so sweet," Ilsa murmured as Elyas walked away from Gay, then frowned in feigned agony when Sigimor draped his arm across her shoulders.

"Aye," agreed Sigimor, ignoring her expression. "Elyas has been troubled by how fearful the lass is."

"She is getting better."

"She is." He watched the MacEnroys say their farewells to his brothers.

"Despite your ill-tempered husband's suspicious nature, I think we have made a fine alliance there."

"I am so verra pleased I could benefit ye and the clan." She winced in earnest when he tugged her braid in punishment for her sarcasm, then she waved at her brothers as they rode out of Clachthrom. "'Twill seem so strange nay having them stomping about all the time."

"Weel, ye will still have me and Tait to stomp about ye for a wee while longer."

"How nice," drawled Diarmot as he stepped up to face Sigimor. "Odd, I dinnae recall inviting ye to stomp about Clachthrom for a wee while."

"I ken it, but Tait and I were kindly o'erlooking that lack of good manners,"

replied Sigimor.

"How verra charitable of ye."

"Aye, that it is."

Both men were so tense, Ilsa was surprised she was not hearing any bone or sinew snap. Diarmot was obviously angered by the implication that she needed to be protected from him or felt her two brothers were lingering at Clachthrom to make sure the devious plot he suspected them of having was successful. Sigimor was insulted by the man's suspicions. By the look upon Tait's face as he moved to stand next to Sigimor, he felt the same.

Ilsa breathed an inner sigh of relief when the rest of the MacEnroys joined them. Her relief was short-lived for Diarmot frowned somewhat accusingly at his family and strode back into the keep.

"I suspicion ye would be a wee bit irritated if I snapped his thick neck,"

murmured Sigimor and he glanced at the MacEnroys.

"Aye," replied Connor. "The stubborn, pouting oaf is my brother after all."

"It is going to be hard to get him to see the truth."

"Verra hard indeed. When a mon wakes up from such a deadly beating and with some verra dark spots in his memory, he feels more compelled to be wary than many another might be."

"Fair enough. And, he doesnae ken who his enemies are. Kenning there is a dirk aimed at his heart, but nay kenning the why or the who, can surely gnaw at a mon."

Connor nodded. "If that wasnae enough, he has suffered the sting of too many betrayals in the last few years."

"Weel, I can be patient." Sigimor scowled at his sibling when he snorted in derision and rolled his eyes. "I can. I havenae killed any of ye, have I?"

"Oh? It certainly has been a near thing now and again. What about that time ye tossed our cousin Maddox out the window?" asked Tait. "What was that?"

"That was exactly what he deserved and it only bruised the fool," Sigimor replied. "The lad had gathered some verra bad habits whilst flitting about the king's court with his highborn, wealthy friends. He needed some sense knocked into him."

"Ah, of course. And ye were knocking sense into Gilbert, were ye, when ye tossed him into the river and kept pushing his head under the water?"

"I was cleaning out his earholes because the fool wasnae heeding what I had to say. That wasnae anger, it was discipline."