Highland Groom (3 page)

Diarmot fought the urge to take a step away from the outrage and fury directed at him by the woman and her companions. This was impossible. Someone was trying to deceive him. He could not believe he would forget having a wife no matter how severe his injuries had been. A wife with copper-colored hair and ivy-green eyes was surely something a man would recall. He looked to Connor for help only to find his brother and the priest carefully examining the papers.

When both men glanced at him, Diarmot felt panic stir in his blood. The look they gave him told him he would find little help from them.

"Is this your signature upon these papers?" the priest asked Diarmot.

"Aye, but--"

"Nay, no arguments, please. These papers say ye are bound to this woman," the priest glanced down at the papers, "this Ilsa Cameron." He cast a pointed look at the twins before returning his gaze to Diarmot. "Ye have proved verra compatible indeed, thus she is the woman I will be marrying ye to."

Before Diarmot could say another word, a unified roar of fury rose up from the Campbells. He looked for Margaret, although he was not sure of what he could say or do, only to see her standing next to the altar. She still looked sweet and calm, but there was a hint of gleeful anticipation in her eyes. Before he could wonder at that, he caught sight of a large fist headed his way, and ducked. A heartbeat later, he found himself caught up in a melee of fists and bellowed threats of retaliation.

Ilsa quickly backed up toward the far side of the church. She felt a trembling Gay keeping pace with her. When they were pressed up against the wall, Gay tucked herself up close to Ilsa's side. As she turned to speak with Gay, Ilsa saw a pretty, obviously pregnant woman with faintly mismatched eyes standing on the other side of Gay.

"I am Gillyanne MacEnroy," the woman said. "Wife to Connor, the big mon who stood at Diarmot's side."

"I am Ilsa and this is Gay." Ilsa watched as the woman inspected the twins.

"They are Diarmot's sons."

"Aye, I ken it. They have his eyes, as weel." Gillyanne lightly stroked Gay's arm. "Be at ease, child. These men will ne'er hurt ye. Big and loud though they are now, the MacEnroys and the Camerons would ne'er harm a lass."

"Most of me kens it, m'lady," said Gay, then she frowned. "Ye didnae include the Campbells, the bride's kinsmen."

"Nay, I am unsure of them." She ruffled the thick red curls on Cearnach's head. "Lovely."

"I had hoped they would have Diarmot's hair," Ilsa murmured, noticing that Gillyanne's words, perhaps her very presence, had calmed Gay.

"There is naught wrong with red and I suspect twill darken some." Gillyanne glanced toward the men and winced. "Nanty just went down. Ah, there, he is back on his feet."

Ilsa looked toward the men and noticed there were two more men who looked akin to her husband standing shoulder to shoulder with Diarmot, Connor, and a few of her brothers. "Nanty?"

"Antony, Diarmot's brother. We call him Nanty. He is to Diarmot's left.

Angus, another brother, is to Connor's right. His brother Andrew and his sister Fiona remained at Deilcladach. Was that one of your brothers who just disappeared under all those Campbells?"

"Aye. Twas Elyas, but Gilbert and Tait will soon have him out. Tait is my twin."

"I am hoping this doesnae cause a bitter feud."

"Ah, that would be a curse, for certain. I will be sorry if I am the cause of such trouble. Mayhap--"

"Nay, no mayhap, no hesitation. Ye are Diarmot's wife."

A little surprised by the woman's words, Ilsa asked, "Ye believe me?"

"Och, aye." Gillyanne shrugged. "I feel things, ye ken. I can feel the truth in ye." She nodded toward Margaret. "She makes me verra uneasy, has from the start. I feel nothing in her. There are some people, like my husband, who seem to have a shield o'er their feelings I cannae get through e'en if I try, but Lady Margaret doesnae feel like that to me. She just feels, weel, empty, if that makes any sense at all."

"Some," murmured Ilsa, faintly unsettled by Lady Gillyanne's words, yet unable to question the woman's claims. "I did think it odd that she had so little reaction to my claims. She remained calm, almost serene."

"Aye, she is always calm and serene."

"That just isnae natural," muttered Gay.

Gillyanne laughed softly. "Nay, it isnae." She looked at Margaret again. "I did sense some anger now and again, but it came and went so quickly, I dare nay swear it was really there. I am verra pleased that she willnae be a part of our family."

Ilsa studied the woman Diarmot had planned to marry. Margaret stood by the priest who had given up his attempts to stop the fighting and was wise enough not to venture too close to the melee. If she had been about to marry a man only to have the marriage stopped because a wife he neglected to mention suddenly appeared, bairns in arms, she would be enraged. She would be as hurt and angry as she felt now as the instigator of this trouble. Yet, Margaret remained calm, her hands clasped lightly in front of her skirts. It did not seem to even matter to her that her kinsmen were being soundly beaten, that this incident could easily blossom into a bloody feud lasting for years. Ilsa felt uneasy just watching the woman and looked back at Gillyanne.

"At best, she appears faintly amused by all of this," murmured Ilsa. "I dinnae have your gift, but I do have some skill at sensing how a person thinks or feels. Or, I thought I did."

"Oh, ye do, Ilsa," Gay said.

"Do I?" Ilsa sighed. "If so, it utterly failed me with Diarmot. I thought him honest, trustworthy, yet he tries to claim he has no knowledge of me or our handfasting. I was obviously verra wrong in my judgment of him."

"Nay, ye were right," Guillyanne said. "He is honest and trustworthy."

"But, he said--"

"A lot of nonsense. Unfortunately, he probably believes what he says. That could be because, in many ways, it may be the truth. Shortly after he left ye, Ilsa, Diarmot was set upon and beaten nigh unto death. He made it to a crofter's small home ere he could go no farther. He retained enough wits to tell the mon there who to seek out and that mon sent word to Connor at Deilcladach. We went to fetch him and I did what I could. E'en so, we werenae sure he would survive.

Once back at Deilcladach, we sent for my Aunt Maldie Murray, a reknowned healer.

Despite her great skill, it was a long time before we could all feel confident he would live. Diarmot insisted upon returning here and, once we were certain he would survive the journey, we brought him back to Clachthrom. His recovery took a verra long time and, in truth, I am astonished that he healed as weel as he did. Howbeit, although he healed in body, his mind remains, weel, injured."

"What do ye mean?"

"He cannae recall anything from that time. He doesnae ken why he was where he was, when or how he was beaten, or by whom. He has little memory of the worst of his pain and illness, his time of healing. Diarmot truly doesnae remember you."

Gillyanne smiled faintly when Ilsa frowned at her. "Tis hard to believe. I understand."

"I dinnae think ye lie."

"Nay, but ye think Diarmot does."

Ilsa shrugged then sighed. "I dinnae ken what I think. To forget a wife? And, his time with me came before the beating, so why would his memory of that fail him?"

"Who can say? Just try nay to let anger and injured feelings close heart and mind." Gillyanne glanced at the men. "Ye shall have to try to start anew. I ken it willnae be easy."

"Nay, it willnae." Ilsa winced as a Campbell seemed to fly over the church benches and landed near the door.

"Oh, dear," said Gay. "Sigimor has gotten verra angry. He is tossing men about."

"Aye." Ilsa briefly smiled at a giggling Gillyanne. "This foolishness will soon end. Once the Campbells see how many of them are ending in a groaning heap near the walls, they will back down."

"Your brother often ends a fight this way, does he?" asked Gillyanne.

"He says that, if they havenae got the sense to stay down when he knocks them down, they deserve to be thrown away." She shook her head as yet another Campbell went flying toward the wall, but she noticed the urge to keep fighting was slowly leaving the others still facing her brothers and the MacEnroys. "Tait says Sigimor just wearies of hitting them and wants them to go away. I think, too, that he did it once, saw how it made other men hesitate or back away, and decided it was a verra fine battle tactic."

"Aye, it is. I can see that my husband heartily approves." Gillyanne looked at Ilsa.

When the woman continued to study her, but say nothing, Ilsa began to feel uncomfortable. "What is it?"

"Just love the fool as ye do, Ilsa Cameron. Twill take time ere all is weel, but twill be time weel spent. Ah, the priest now ventures forth to try to soothe tempers."

Ilsa wanted to ask the woman what she meant by those words, but suspected she would get no answer. If Lady Gillyanne had wanted to say more, she would have.

Of that, Ilsa had no doubt. She inwardly shook her head. The woman had accepted her quickly, almost without question. Yet, Ilsa could not rouse much suspicion over that, which in itself was very odd, indeed. She turned her attention to the men who were arguing with the priest and each other.

"He shamed my daughter," snapped Sir Lesley Campbell, glaring at Diarmot and the priest. "That insults me and my family."

"It wasnae an intentional slight," said Father Goudie.

"I didnae ken I had a wife, handfast or otherwise," muttered Diarmot.

"How can ye forget a wife?" demanded Sir Lesley. "Do ye truly expect me to believe that?"

"I believe I told ye of my injuries and my loss of memory when this marriage was arranged." Diarmot did not need to look at the Camerons to know they doubted his claim, too. He could almost feel their anger and suspicion.

"Ye will pay for this, MacEnroy. Ye were to take my daughter to wife, to make her the lady of this keep."

"Weel, it seems he cannae do that, can he?" said Sigimor. "He handfasted with my sister nearly a year past and those bairns give her the right to claim him as husband."

"If the bairns are really his," snapped Sir Campbell, only to take a step back when Sigimor started to move toward him.

"There will be nay more fighting in my church," shouted Father Goudie, stopping Sigimor's advance, then he gave Sir Campbell a stern look. "The papers Lady Cameron has are proof enough for me. I also ken that Sir Diarmot was grievously ill. I believe him when he says he didnae recall he had a wife already. This was nay more than an innocent error, no insult intended, and that should be the end of it."

"Ah, weel, ye would say that, wouldnae ye?" said Sir Campbell, growing bold in his anger once Sigimor had stepped back. "Ye are a Goudie, one of a clan allied to the MacEnroys."

Father Goudie stood very straight, his expression and his voice cold. "Ye grow offensive. I am a priest. My first allegiance is to God, the church, and the truth. Ye would do weel to cease your curses and allegations and thank God the truth was uncovered ere your daughter found herself the illegitimate wife in a bigamous union."

Sir Campbell glared at the priest, but said no more, simply looked toward his daughter. "Come, Margaret."

As his erstwhile wife passed by his side, Diarmot looked at her, unable to think of anything to say to make amends. She smiled faintly and he inwardly frowned. There was little expression upon her sweet face or in her blue eyes.

Margaret was as calm as always which made no sense at all. Diarmot knew theirs was not to have been a love match, yet, surely, the woman should be at least annoyed. He began to wonder if what he had seen as a sweet, passive nature was actually bone-deep stupidity.

"It will all come right in the end," she murmured, then let her father drag her away.

Diarmot noticed that everyone was staring after Margaret with the same look of confusion he suspected he wore. "What did she mean by that?"

"Mayhap she is a forgiving lass," suggested Father Goudie. "She understands this was all an innocent mistake and wishes ye weel in renewing your vows with Lady Ilsa. Shall we begin the ceremony?"

It was on the tip of Diarmot's tongue to say no Goudie could possibly be that naive, but he bit back the words. Instead, he fixed his mind on the suggestion that he now marry the copper-haired woman who claimed they had been handfasted.

He did not care what papers she waved about, he was certain some wretched trick was being played on him.

"I dinnae believe," began Diarmot only to have Connor drag him several feet away from the growling Camerons. "This has got to be some devious game, Connor."

"Nay, I dinnae think so," said Connor. "The papers look too real." He glanced toward the small crowd at the back of the church, many of whom had slipped inside after the Campbells had left. "I expect some of that group are witnesses." He then looked toward his wife who still stood close by Lady Ilsa's side. "Gillyanne has accepted it all."

Diarmot followed his brother's gaze, saw Gillyanne standing with Lady Ilsa, and felt chilled. "Weel, she ne'er liked Margaret."

"Why are ye being so stubborn about this? Ye were seeking a wife. Weel, it appears ye have found one."

"She isnae what I sought."

"Nay? She is a bonny lass and has given ye two fine sons, legitimate ones."

"If her claims are true." Diarmot grimaced and dragged his hands through his hair. "She isnae what I sought," he repeated a little helplessly. "She isnae calm and sweet. There is the hint of strong emotions in her and I dinnae want that."

Connor softly cursed. "She came to find the husband she thought she had, one she hasnae heard from in a year, only to find him ready to marry another. That would rouse strong emotion in any lass with some wit or heart."

That was a pointed reference to Margaret's utter calm, but Diarmot could not bring himself to defend the woman. Margaret's complete lack of emotion under such circumstances was odd. "She is too thin and too red." He cursed when Connor slapped him on the back of the head.

"Ye clearly found her enticing a year past. Aye, she may nay be sweet and calm and her curves are but gentle ones, but those bairns prove they will serve ye weel. If I judge it right, there willnae be much of a dower, either. Tis evident that that lack didnae trouble ye a year past." Connor cocked one brow.