Highland Groom (26 page)

"I would like naught more than to stay here," Diarmot said, kissed her, and got out of bed, "but I cannae."

Ilsa sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts, and watched Diarmot dress.

"Did Sigimor find any clues in Anabelle's journals?"

"He hasnae said. I asked, but he just shrugged. Said he wants to talk to Liam first. Liam is the clever cousin, aye?"

"Och, aye. I like to think all we Camerons are clever," she exchanged a brief grin with Diarmot, "but Liam is our shining light."

"Every family has one. The twins are too young to ken their strengths, but, right now, Odo is ours, I think."

It was not easy, but Ilsa hid the emotion which swelled up within her over the way he had called Odo "ours." "Nay question about that."

"I must be on my way." He gave her a quick, fierce kiss before starting toward the door.

"Dinnae ye dare to ride away until I get down to the bailey."

"Be quick about it then. I am nay the only one eager to get to Dubheidland."

He laughed softly when she started muttering as he left. It surprised him that she had not objected more to his rushing her into bed, vigorously tumbling her, and then hurrying away again. The moment he had realized what her calling for a bath meant, however, he had been unable to resist going to her. It certainly made for a nicer farewell than a mere wave, he thought, and grinned as he stepped out into the bailey.

"I am nay sure, Tait," drawled Sigimor, "but, as Ilsa's brothers, I think it might be our duty to slap that look off that rogue's face."

Diarmot just smiled sweetly at Ilsa's brothers and moved to check the saddle on his horse.

"I think we ought to slap that look off his face simply because he is wearing it and we arenae," said Tait.

"Aye, that would be justice," said Nanty.

Before that nonsense could continue, Fraser and Gay brought the children out to say farewell. Diarmot looked over the eight children he claimed as his. He could be certain of only the twins, and that was a judgment he had made only recently. It no longer mattered, however. Until Ilsa's arrival, the children had been a rarely seen responsibility, but she had brought them out of the nursery, made him come to know them, and he was glad of it. They were yet another reason for him to make this journey, to reclaim lost memories, good and bad, and to find the truth.

A slightly disheveled Ilsa hurried out of the keep and Diarmot suddenly knew exactly what he wanted, what he needed. Here was the family he had thought to build when he had married Anabelle. His children and his wife were all gathered to wish him God's speed and they would be waiting to welcome him upon his return. He had been laird of Clachthrom for nearly six years and had never had that. Now it was within his reach. All he had to do was clear away the lingering confusion and doubt so that he could grasp that promise without hesitation.

Once away from Clachthrom, after exchanging several waves with his children, Diarmot looked at Sigimor. "Will ye tell me what ye think ye discovered in Anabelle's journals now?" he asked.

"I am nay sure I discovered anything save that your wife was, weel, how can one say it?" he replied.

"A whore?" Diarmot discovered that the only feeling he had concerning Anabelle now was a twinge of embarrassment over the fact that he had been fooled enough to marry the woman.

"Aye." Sigimor grimaced. "I read near all of them, deciding to see if there were any hints about her past further along which might prove helpful. Aye, she was a whore, but, since it wasnae for money or because she had a hunger that couldnae be satisfied, I found myself wondering why."

"Did ye find an answer?"

"Mayhap. I think she wanted the power."

"How would that give her power?" asked Tait. "How could she think she was powerful just because she had some fool thrusting into her? Seems to me a woman is fair vulnerable in that position."

"I would think the mon is fair vulnerable as weel," said Diarmot.

"In many ways, aye," agreed Sigimor. "She was shown her own weakness with the first rape." He glanced at Diarmot. "I think there were other abuses, mayhaps other rapes."

Diarmot nodded. "I got that feeling, too."

"So, Lady Anabelle came to the decision to turn that weapon, as she saw it, against men. Her trysts were written of as if they were battles waged and won.

She had a strong fascination with a mon's private parts."

"I noticed those things finally. Anabelle turned that mon's weapon into a mon's weakness."

"She certainly tried her best. Some men think getting a lass into their bed means they are handsome, or monly, or great lovers. Some women think getting a mon into their beds means they are beautiful, desirable, may e'en think it means they are loved. Lady Anabelle thought it proved her strong and the mon weak, fools whose will and wit rest in their rods. As I read her writings, I got the distinct impression that Anabelle saw every mon who succumbed to her allure as a weakling. She especially enjoyed turning so many of your people into traitors, Diarmot. Pushing them to betray their laird in her arms. She considered it a galling defeat when she couldnae get any of your brothers to succumb. She loathed Lady Gillyanne."

"I suspicion that is because Gillyanne saw what Anabelle was all too clearly."

"Aye, I believe so. At times your late wife sounded as if she was on some vengeful crusade. Since we now ken many of the men simply wanted to bed a woman, tis clear Lady Anabelle was deluded in thinking she had accomplished any more than giving a mon what he wanted. A verra troubled woman."

"And the young lass she made her lover wasnae, or isnae, much saner, I suspect."

"Nay, and reading your wife's writings has only made me e'en more certain that that woman is the one we seek."

"But, ye willnae tell me if ye found some hint as to where or who, will ye?"

Sigimor shook his head. "Nay, for I cannae be sure. I need to talk to Liam.

Talking on what few suspicions I have now will serve nay purpose, may e'en falsely raise your hopes."

Diarmot did not think his hopes could get any higher, but he made no further argument. He had tried very hard not to let his expectations grow and had failed miserably. Every instinct he had told him he would soon find the answers he had sought for so long. He was not sure he could endure another disappointment.

Anger, bitterness, and fear had ruled his life for too long. The anger and bitterness had faded, time working its magic on the wounds Anabelle had inflicted. Ilsa had aided that healing as well, and it was past time he recognized that gift. The fear lingered, fed by his still-incomplete memories and his unknown enemy. It had been bad enough when the enemy had been his alone, but now his foe sought to kill his wife and had shown that he, or she, cared nothing about the lives of his children, either. He wanted that enemy gone, the fear scoured from his life, and the threat removed from his family. It was past time this game ended. He briefly glanced back in the direction of Clachthrom.

When he rode back through those gates, he wanted to do so as a man who remembered the past, but was free of it.

* * *

Ilsa looked at Fraser, Gay, and Glenda who were obviously making the most of enjoying a midday meal but could not completely hide their intense curiosity.

She had called the women together for a council of war, as she liked to think of it. Since Nanty was with the four older children and Jenny was watching the four youngest, it seemed a perfect time.

"Aye, I think he will, or most of it," Ilsa replied. "E'en before that fall brought so many of his memories back, Diarmot's memory was stirring. A few words or some incident would yank free an odd memory now and again. He is now riding to the place where it all began. The truth, however, may nay give him all the answers he seeks."

"Oh, ye mean he may nay find his enemy?"

"There is that chance, but I think tis a small one. I just worry because this enemy has remained nay more than a chimera for so long. Diarmot's lack of memory helped, tis certain. I e'en think that beating happened because Diarmot had drawn too close to the truth. What puzzles me is, why did naught else happen for so verra long?"

"Because, if he couldnae remember anything, what was the need to kill him?"

asked Gay, then frowned. "Nay, that makes no sense, for someone seems to have been trying to kill him before that."

"Aye, e'er since Anabelle died, Diarmot appears to have become an extremely unlucky mon," said Ilsa.

"Ye are certain that is when it all started?"

"Aye. I decided to ask about, to see if there was a clearly marked time when all of Diarmot's troubles began. There was. But, puzzling o'er all that isnae why I wished to have this wee talk."

"Nay? Ye dinnae want to ken the answers to all of this?"

"I do, desperately. I feel those answers will only help me. Howbeit, tis truly only Diarmot who can hunt down all those answers for they are all tangled up in the memory he still cannae grasp."

"So, why did ye want this meeting? And that is what this is, aye?"

"Aye." Ilsa folded her hands upon the table and looked at each woman in turn.

"Since the men seek out the who and the why, I think tis our duty to seek out the traitor. I think that can be done e'en if we dinnae ken the who and the why."

Fraser nodded. "It can. Ye dinnae always need to ken why a mon becomes a traitor to discover his betrayal."

"Couldnae it be dangerous?" asked Gay.

"I was poisoned in my own solar, right within these walls," said Ilsa. "I think the danger is here already."

"Ah, of course. Still, I think Nanty is searching for the traitor."

"It willnae hurt if we do the same. In truth, since Nanty is the laird's brother, he may have some trouble getting many people to talk freely to him. His murderous uncle didnae win many people's hearts. Then, shortly after he became laird here, Diarmot wed Anabelle and she only added to the unease and mistrust that still clings to this place and its laird. I fear Diarmot's unhappiness and then his wariness, his suspicious nature, didnae win many allies, either."

Glenda shook her head. "Nay. He cares for these lands and the people better than his uncle did, but he was e'er distant, an anger clinging to him that kept people wary. The lad ne'er had a chance to bring this wee clan together ere he was mired in his own troubles. And, after that beating, weel, he didnae have to accuse anyone to his face for most to ken he was eyeing them all as if they held a dirk at his throat."

It was all so sad, Ilsa thought as she chewed on a thick slice of bread layered with soft cheese. Diarmot's uncle had spent most of his life drunk, jealous of his own brother, and sunk in plots that kept three clans tearing at each other's throats until they had nearly obliterated each other. The man had done nothing to strengthen his own lands or people. She suspected that when Diarmot had arrived to take his place as laird, there had been a brief flicker of hope only to have it crushed. The new laird had quickly become all caught up in his own troubled, unhappy life. Some things had improved, but no sense of unity or loyalty had been established. To the people of Clachthrom, their laird was a morose stranger. To Diarmot, the people of Clachthrom were all possible threats.

Once all this trouble was behind them, Diarmot would have a lot of work to do. He was going to have to bring this small branch of the MacEnroy clan a sense of unity, that sense of family that made a clan so strong. Clachthrom had promise and he was going to have to win the trust and respect of his people to fulfill it. Ilsa did not think it would be too difficult. In many ways, he had already improved the lot of his people. Diarmot just had to let them come to know him as a man.

"That constant air of suspicion around Diarmot can be wearying," Ilsa said.

"One may understand why tis there and sympathize, but it can still set one's teeth to grinding. Twill be better soon, once Diarmot kens exactly who his enemy is."

"But, can he forget and forgive?" asked Glenda. "I dinnae care to think on how many of the men on these lands cuckolded him."

"He didnae banish the men or hang anyone, did he? No beatings? No cut throats?"

"Nay, nary a one. I think he put most of the blame upon his wife, then simply stopped caring."

"Weel, I dinnae see the men as quite so blameless. After all, Diarmot's brothers resisted the woman. She wasnae raping the men. Mayhap some of the trouble round here is caused by guilt. But it matters not. Diarmot willnae be punishing anyone. He didnae then, and he willnae now. I think he just wants Anabelle set firmly in the past, all wrongs and sins forgotten. That will soon be clear to all those cuckolders. We must concern ourselves with only one mon now."

"The traitor," said Gay. "Do ye think it a mon?"

"Aye, I do," replied Ilsa, "and I cannae tell ye why I do. That doesnae mean we should ignore the women, however. I could be wrong. It could be one of them.

All I ken is that someone is helping our enemy, that a traitor walks the halls of this keep and that brings the danger too close to the bairns for my liking."

All three women heartily agreed and Fraser asked, "Who do ye suspect?"

"Everyone save ourselves, Jenny, Nanty, and Tom."

"Geordie, too?" asked Gay. "Your husband believed what the mon said about the poisoned wine and that maid is still missing."

"It may be the truth," replied Ilsa, "and Nanty intends to hunt down that maid. Yet, I just cannae fully trust the mon. Dinnae ask me to explain why, as I cannae. Tis mostly a feeling. Could be instinct giving me a warning I should heed. Could be I just dinnae like dour men and Geordie is a verra dour mon. I will watch him."

"And I will find out what I can about the women working at the keep," said Glenda. "Gay can help some." She smiled faintly at Fraser, a hint of apology in her look. "I am nay sure ye can be much help there. Ye are tied too closely to the old lady of the keep and now the new one."

"I ken it." Fraser took a sip of wine, then frowned. "Isnae Gay tied rather closely to the new lady also?"