“Bastard,” she hissed. “Lying, lecherous bastard. Ye are fouler than the slime at the bottom of a midden heap.”
“Duck,” said one of the Camerons.
Diarmot heard the shifting of everyone at his table, indicating that they had heeded that warning. He watched somewhat dazed as Ilsa raised the heavy jug she held. It occured to him that she intended to throw it even as she did so. Suddenly, Connor grabbed him by the arm and yanked him to the side. Diarmot heard the jug lightly scrape the top of his chair, then winced as it shattered on the floor behind him. When he sat up straight and looked toward the doors, Ilsa was gone. He thought it highly unfair when the Camerons all glared at him. After all, he was not the one cursing and hurling ewers.
“She must have become irritated upon meeting my children,” Diarmot said and took a drink of his ale to hide his unease.
“What children?” demanded Sigimor.
“My daughter Alice, the only child my late wife gave me, and five others.”
“Five others? Five bastards?”
“I am nay fond of that word.”
“Isnae that a pity. I suggest ye gain a tolerance for it, because I suspicion ye are about to hear it a lot and nay directed at your bairns. Ye ne’er told my sister ye were wed before nor about your habit of breeding women like some cocksure stallion set loose in a field of mares in season.”
Diarmot was annoyed at the way his brothers snickered, but ignored them to reply to Sigimor’s insult. “Why do ye assume I ne’er told your sister? Mayhap she ne’er told ye.”
“She would have told Tait.”
“And what makes him so blessed?”
“He is her twin.”
It just kept getting worse, Diarmot mused, and inwardly cursed. “That doesnae mean she will tell him every little secret.”
“Weel, she does. He kenned about ye ere we did. And, Ilsa would have spoken up about your lechery. Aye, loud and long. Such lechery would have appalled her and ye wouldnae have gotten into her bed so cursed fast. We would have been asking ye some hard questions ere ye handfasted as weel. What did ye do, push her into the room full of your bairns with nary a word of warning?”
To his dismay, Diarmot could feel the sting of guilt’s color upon his cheeks and he glared at Sigimor. “She wanted the nursery. I showed it to her.”
Sigimor shook his head. “Ye werenae such an ill-tempered, unkind sod when we kenned ye. I think that beating knocked more than your senses awry.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “I am now wishing I had let the others come along so that we could all take a turn beating some sense and charity into your thick head.”
“What others? There are more of ye? Just how many cursed brothers does she have?”
“Fourteen. Three sets of twins. Ilsa is the only lass. Has two score and seven cousins, too, and only three of them are lasses, but then ye kenned all of that.”
Diarmot scowled at Gillyanne who was laughing so hard she had to cling to Connor for support. All three of his brothers were doing a poor job of hiding their own amusement. He saw absolutely nothing funny about this. A doting father or brother was well known to be a problem for a husband. He was beset by a doting army of huge redheads.
“Why dinnae ye just assume I dinnae recall any of it,” Diarmot said. “Play the game. Tell me exactly who Ilsa Cameron is and how I came to be handfasted to her.” He gave Sigimor a cold smile. “Mayhap it will bestir my memory.”
“I have heard that a sound knock upon the head can help,” said Tait, slowly rising from his seat, his hands clenched into hard fists.
“Sit, Tait,” Sigimor ordered, nodding when, after a moment of hesitation, Tait obeyed. He then looked at Diarmot. “Fine, we shall play your game. Ilsa met ye when she stopped our cousins Ivar and Marcus from knocking ye senseless. They considered the lass at the inn theirs, ye ken, and felt ye were trespassing. Ilsa is probably regretting the fact that she didnae see that wee incident as proof of a lecherous nature.”
It was not easy, but Diarmot decided to ignore that slur. “How did I go from meeting her to wedding her?”
“By the same route many a lecherous rogue takes—seduction. Ilsa was easy prey as the fool lass thinks she isnae one to catch a mon’s eye. She thinks her lack of gentlemen seeking to court her is because she hasnae got a big dowry or lush curves or a bonny face.”
“When tis mostly that she has a veritable sea of strong kinsmen encircling her,” murmured Gillyanne.
Sigimor nodded. “That was for the best at times. We all felt she should have her heart’s choice in a mon, but didnae want her picking some rogue who would leave her poor and unhappy. Sad to say, our manner of sorting the wheat from the chaff spawned rumors that made the lads wary, the cowards. We werenae at hand when she met this rogue,” Sigimor said with a nod toward Diarmot. “By the time we were, the rogue had won her heart and seduced her. Wheesht, me and five of my brothers found them trysting in the wood. Truth is, near to rode right over them. Twas clear he had taken her maidenhead and, since Ilsa wouldnae let us kill him, we demanded marriage.” Sigimor frowned when Gillyanne buried her face in her hands and her shoulders trembled slightly. “It wasnae so bad, m’lady. Sir Diarmot’s pride may have been a wee bit bruised, but naught else. Though, I be thinking he may have deserved more. Aye, and still might.”
Gillyanne raised her head and smiled at Sigimor, revealing that she had been laughing, not crying. “I wasnae upset, Sigimor. I but suddenly realized how ye kenned Ilsa was intending to throw that jug and why it is she has such a fine aim.”
“Aye, we do irritate the lass at times,” he said and grinned.
“Why handfast? Why nay a priest?”
“Didnae have one. Ours died a month before Sir Diarmot arrived.”
“Died in his mistress’s bed,” said Tamhas Cameron. “Actually, he died in his mistress and it wasnae easy to prepare him for his burial, I can tell ye. Had to get some lard and…” he grunted a curse when his older brother Ranulph shoved him off his seat.
“My pardon, m’lady,” Sigimor said, ignoring the brief tussle which took place between his brothers before Tamhas was seated again. “The lad is but nineteen and hasnae learned his manners yet.”
“Quite all right,” Gillyanne said in a voice choked with laughter. “So, ye decided upon a handfasting.”
“Aye. Got the lovers to tidy themselves up and took them off to the alehouse to find our cousin Liam. Set the groom in a barrel and had my brother Gilbert there,” he nodded toward a very sturdily built young man with flame red hair and blue eyes, “to sit on it whilst we discussed the matter with Liam.”
Diarmot slouched in his chair and drank his ale, wondering if it was possible for this tale to be any more humiliating. He forced himself to listen carefully to every word, however. It might help him to catch one of the Camerons in a lie. He stoutly ignored the small inner voice that suggested this had to be the truth, that no one would concoct such a convoluted or farcical tale if they feared being caught in a lie.
“This Liam was able to help?” asked Gillyanne.
“Aye,” replied Sigimor. “He spent some time in a monastery. Being a sharp-witted lad, he learned a lot. Had to leave in the end, though, as the rules about celibacy proved a wee bit too difficult for him to follow. Liam wrote up those papers and we got Sir Diarmot to sign them. Then Liam led the handfasting ceremony. After that the bride and groom went to a wee cottage for a fortnight.”
“After which Diarmot left only to be attacked. Why was your sister nay with him?”
Sigimor grimaced. “He insisted he had to go alone, that some trouble was dogging his heels and he wanted it tended to before he took Ilsa to his home. We were verra uneasy about it, but, if he was telling the truth, we didnae want Ilsa put in danger. Ilsa believed him. Poor lass tried verra hard to keep believing e’en though she neither saw nor heard from him again. When the year and the day were near done, we insisted she come to him.”
“If I have figured the times correctly, he
was beaten verra soon after leaving Ilsa, and right in your village.”
“Nay, I cannae believe that. The whole village kenned he had married our Ilsa. Nary a one of them would do him ill.”
“But, we are fair certain he was beaten in Muirladen.”
“Och, that isnae on our lands. We are the Camerons of Dubheidland.”
And there was irony, thought Diarmot. A vast clan of redheads living in a place called the dark headland. He wondered if he was actually caught up in one of his nightmares, was actually still asleep in his bed, then decided he had never been that lucky.
“Then who holds Muirladen?” asked Connor.
“Weel, the mon there now is a Sir Randolph Ogilvey, but I believe he holds it for someone else,” replied Sigimor. “It changes hands a lot. E’en the people living on the land are nay too sure and they are a weel mixed lot, so one cannae judge by their names. Tis a dower land, always has been, and each new laird holds a different name and brings his own people who add their names to the village rolls. Twould take some searching to find the true holders of it and we have ne’er been interested as we have ne’er had any trouble from them.”
“Can ye find out?”
“Och, aye, if ye think it important.”
“It may help us discover who had my brother beaten near to death.”
“I will send word back to Dubheidland with my brothers and set them to the task.”
Diarmot tensed and frowned at Sigimor. “And why nay see to the task yourself?”
“Because Tait and I will be staying here to keep an eye on things,” replied Sigimor.
“Do ye think your sister needs your protection?” Diarmot was unable to hide his outrage over the suggestion that he might hurt a woman.
“Weel, there is obviously still some trouble dogging your heels, isnae there? And, since ye have become such an ill-tempered, callous rogue, mayhap we stay to protect ye from Ilsa.”
“Did ye kill him?” Gay asked when Ilsa marched back into the nursery.
“Nay. Gilbert told everyone to duck,” replied Ilsa as she took a fretting Finlay into her arms, sat in a chair near the fireplace, and began to nurse him. “For a moment, Diarmot sat there, an excellent target, but Sir Connor yanked him out of the way.”
Gay sat down opposite her and began to nurse Cearnach. “Tis for the best. I dinnae think the mon needs his head cracked open again.”
“Nay, he doesnae,” agreed Fraser as she sat on a padded stool near Ilsa’s chair. “He truly was near death, m’lady. I have ne’er seen a mon so badly beaten and I didnae see him until some time after the attack. It took him months to heal.”
“Weel, I had naught to do with it,” said Ilsa.
“I ken it, but I fear my Anabelle taught the laird wariness, mistrust, and bitterness long before that. The beating only made it worse.”
“Your Anabelle?”
“Aye. I was her companion. I kenned from the beginning that Sir Diarmot was smitten with her, but I couldnae do anything. No mon will heed ye when ye try to make him see the evil in the woman he woos. He certainly wouldnae listen to some poor kinswoman forced to bow to Anabelle’s every wish. She put on a fine show, acting so verra sweet and demure.”
“But she wasnae either of those things, was she?”
Fraser shook her head. “Nay. She was a spoiled, manipulative, e’en cruel, woman. She was also a whore,” Fraser added with a sigh.
“She was unfaithful?” Ilsa tried to think of what sort of man could prompt a woman to be unfaithful to a man like Diarmot, but found it impossible.
“Weel, I wouldnae call all unfaithful wives whores. Some husbands deserve to be cuckolded. Or, there is no love within the marriage, but tis found elsewhere and thus the sin is committed. But, Anabelle was truly a whore. She rutted with any mon, delighted in seducing foolish men to betray liege, lover, kin, or wife. How she hid that part of her for e’en the few months she did, I dinnae ken. The truth was finally revealed but a month after the wedding when the laird caught her with two men from the village.”
“Two?”
“Aye.” Fraser smiled faintly. “I have often wondered about that myself, though I try verra hard nay to.”
Ilsa felt herself blush when she realized the woman had guessed the path of her thoughts, then smiled. “Aye, tis one of those sinful things ye ken ye ought to ignore, but cannae stop being curious about.”
She set Finlay against her shoulder to rub his back and smiled at Alice as the child sidled up to her chair. She was a pretty child. In truth, all the children were pretty. The nursery was clean, well supplied, and Fraser was a loving attendant. Diarmot could be faulted for his profligacy, but not for accepting the responsibility for the results. The ages of the children told a tale, as well. Three from before his marriage, and, she suspected, two from after he had discovered the truth about Anabelle. None, she was pleased to note again, from the time he was pledged to her. Of course, she mused, he could simply have learned a way to prevent breeding a child.
Finlay belched and the children all giggled. Ilsa smiled at them and knew she would have no trouble caring for them. She had never believed a child should pay for the sins of its parents. It seemed most of the people at Clachthrom believed the same for, at first glance, she could see no sign of unhappiness or fear in the children. She turned to look at Alice when the little girl fleetingly touched her arm.
“Are ye to be our mother?” Alice asked.
“Aye,” she replied with no hesitation, touched by the smiles the older children gave her. At only two years of age, she suspected the smiles Ewart and Gregor gave her were more imitation than heartfelt. “I will be your mother now.”
“And what is she?” Alice asked, looking at Gay.
“Your aunt.”
“She is your sister?”
“Nay by blood, but families can be formed from more than blood ties, lass. They can be bred in the heart.” Ilsa was not really surprised when the older children all looked at Fraser. “Aye, she too could be considered kin of the heart.” She smiled when the children immediately dubbed Fraser an aunt for the woman’s delight was plain to see.
Young Odo moved to stand in front of her, his blue eyes very similar to Diarmot’s. “So, our father has four brothers and a sister and a sister by marriage. That gives us four uncles and five aunts now. Do ye have any sisters and brothers?”
“My only sister is Gay, the sister of my heart.” She waited patiently for Odo to press for more, never doubting that he would.
“Oh. No brothers?”
“A few.”
“How many?”
“Fourteen.” She laughed when he gaped at her, then tried to count that number upon his fingers. “And two more brothers for ye,” she added, pointing to Finlay and Cearnach.
“We need more lasses,” said Alice, frowning at Odo and her brothers who were cheering the fact that lads far outnumbered lasses in the family.
“I fear we are just going to have to accept being outnumbered, Alice,” replied Ilsa. “Dinnae worry, lass. I will teach ye and wee Ivy how to make it more a blessing than a curse.”
“How can ye do that?” asked Ivy as she moved closer.
“Weel, think on this. If someone is mean to ye, ye have six brothers and eighteen uncles, plus a father ye can call to your side.”
Both little girls frowned in thought for a moment, then grinned. Diarmot obviously bred sharp-witted children, Ilsa thought, and Fraser undoubtedly nurtured it. Even more important, the children all appeared willing to accept her as their new mother. She wished their father would be as willing to accept her as his wife.
As the children gathered around her and Gay, asking questions and inspecting their new siblings, Ilsa silently made a vow. For their sake, she would work as hard as she could to make a good marriage with Diarmot. She would not allow whatever troubles there were between her and her angry, mistrustful husband to touch their young lives. These children needed her and she would try to find comfort and strength in th
at as she struggled to reclaim the man she had fallen in love with.
Chapter FOUR
“What are ye doing here?”
Diarmot closed the bedchamber door behind him, leaned against it, and crossed his arms over his chest. The woman who claimed to be his wife stood near the fire dressed in only a thin shift, her bright hair hanging in thick waves past her slender hips. It was an intensely arousing sight, despite the scowl she wore.
She looked nothing like his late wife, or any other woman he had ever lusted after. She was almost too slender, her curves subtle ones. Her breasts were plump and round, but he suspected some of that fullness would disappear once the twins were fully weaned. The shadow of her form was visible through the fine linen of her shift, revealing a small waist, slim hips and slender legs. Her body showed little sign of having borne twins only a few months ago, yet even his cynical mind could not doubt that she was their mother.
Her eyes were beautiful, the rich green visible even in the soft light from a scattering of candles and the low fire in the fireplace. They were somewhat wide eyes, set beneath delicately arced brown brows, and rimmed with impressively long, thick lashes. Her nose was small and straight, her bones delicate, and her mouth slightly wide with temptingly full lips. There was the hint of the strong jaw-line her brothers had, but it suited her faintly round face. For a redhead, she had few freckles marring her soft, pale skin. Her long, slender neck was perfection.
Even though she was completely different from any other woman he had ever felt drawn to, Diarmot could see why he might have bedded her. Once he studied her children more closely, he might be willing to accept that he and Ilsa had once been lovers. Accepting her as his wife would take a great deal more. He had decided, however, that if she was going to play this game, he would gain what benefit he could from it.
“I have come to join my wife in the marital bed,” he replied.
Ilsa needed but one hard look at him to know he had not had a sudden revelation and now believed in her. “Ye dinnae think I am your wife.”
Highland Groom Page 4
