Highland Groom

by Hannah Howell

  “How can ye be so certain of that?”

  “Because I lived with one of that ilk, m’laird.”

  “So did I.”

  “Aye, ye did, but I wonder if ye truly learned the right lessons from that misery.”

  Diarmot snorted. “I learned ne’er to trust any lass, especially nay one who stirs my blood.”

  Fraser sighed but did not look at him. “Tis as I feared. Ye brand all for the sins of one.”

  There really was no response to make to that so Diarmot left the nursery. It was a cowardly retreat, but he did not falter in making it. Fraser was not so many years older than he, but she displayed a true skill at making him feel like a foolish child. She could also quickly and precisely ferret out the truth of a person’s heart, which was another good reason for him to get away from her. His heart was filled with far too many tangled, conflicting emotions at the moment to allow anyone to stare into it.

  Once inside his ledger room, he poured himself a tankard of wine, and sat in a high-backed chair before the fireplace. It was a moment of glaring into the low fire and sipping his wine before he noiticed the heavily carved oak chair he sat on was a lot more comfortable than it had ever been before. He looked to see what he sat on, then studied its match on the other side of the chest he used as a table. There were cushions on the seats and a thick, soft sheepskin draped over the back of each chair. Ilsa was obviously not satisfied altering the rest of the keep to her tastes; she had entered his sanctuary. Diarmot wondered if she had spent her youth plucking bald every goose in Scotland and was now turning to skinning the sheep.

  Diarmot slouched in his chair and drank his wine. He was sulking and he knew it. He also knew he was being unreasonable. The chair was comfortable and the needlework upon the cushions was exquisite. The design was of a large griffin encircled by thistles, not some far too feminine display of flowers. It was foolish to feel as if she had unforgivably intruded. Complaining about it would only make him look petulant. It was his wife’s job, after all, to make her husband’s home more comfortable, more elegant and welcoming. Considering how often he retreated into this room, he did wonder when she had managed to change it without him discovering it until now.

  He had a brief vision of Ilsa lurking outside the room, waiting until he left, then dashing in to toss cushions about and he smiled. And hang tapestries, he thought, as he finally noticed the one over the fireplace. Diarmot frowned slightly as he looked around seeing two others, one behind his ledger table and one on a wall near the door. Where was the woman finding all of these things? He did not recall her bringing that many chests of goods with her.

  A rap at his door drew his attention and he called out, “Enter.”

  His man Geordie walked in, smiling faintly as he looked around. “Tis looking verra fine in here, m’laird,” he said as he shut the door behind him. “S’truth, the entire keep begins to look verra fine.”

  “Aye, my wife has been verra busy indeed,” he murmured. “I was just wondering where the devil it was all coming from.”

  “Ah, weel, from a storage room down in the dungeons. Tis a perilous warren of passages and rooms down below. Her ladyship insisted upon wandering through it all and found a veritable treasure trove.”

  “No one has e’er made mention of it.”

  “We all thought ye kenned it, but wouldnae touch it because it had been gathered by your uncle. The mon gathered up many fine things, yet ne’er used them, or used verra few. Tis as if he liked bonny things but didnae ken what to do with them. He must have been a wealthy mon.”

  Or would have been if he had not tossed it all away on things he couldnae use, thought Diarmot. He felt the return of an old anger as he recalled how little his uncle had helped Connor in caring for his family and his clan, in rebuilding Deilcladach after the devastation wrought by years of war. That his uncle had hoarded wealth while he and his family had fought starvation was simply more proof of how badly his uncle had wanted them to fail to survive. It also explained why the man had never brought any of them to Clachthrom, even in an attempt to hide his guilt and hate behind simple familial charity. One of them could have discovered his wealth, rousing their suspicions about him.

  Diarmot pushed aside those dark thoughts and asked, “Do ye think he was a thief?”

  “Nay,” replied Geordie. “Those who were here in his time all mutter about his waste of coin on things he ne’er used. Her ladyship was told of the things when she began to ask if there was anything set aside that she might use to add some warmth and color. She had already raided Lady Anabelle’s rooms. Your late wife also hoarded many lovely items.”

  After finishing his wine, Diarmot had Geordie take him to his uncle’s treasure. Shock held him silent as the man showed him two large rooms in the bowels of the keep that were filled with more riches than Diarmot could easily comprehend. His uncle had indeed been a wealthy man and now he was. Once he put his fury at his murderous uncle back into the past where it belonged, Diarmot suspected he would be pleased.

  “With all of this, Clachthrom could become as fine as a king’s palace,” he murmured, idly looking over a collection of fine tapestries.

  “Aye, m’laird,” replied Geordie. “I believe Lady Ilsa thinks the same.”

  Diarmot suspected Geordie was right and wondered why that did not bother him as much as it should. Ilsa was inching beneath his shields, plucking away at his barriers with passion, as well as the care of his children and his home. If he was not careful he would wake one morning to find himself dangerously besotted. What truly terrified him was how easily she was doing it.

  Chapter NINE

  Ilsa glanced behind her and had to bite back a grin. Odo, Ivy, and Aulay were following her in a tidy line, marching along like proper little soldiers. She still felt a little pang of guilt over leaving Alice behind, even though the little girl had accepted the reasoning that such treks through the woods and hills were not for the wee ones. Ilsa had told her that she had to be five, or as near to it as Aulay was. She suspected that the very day Alice turned five, the child would be demanding her turn.

  And she will get it, if I am still here, Ilsa thought and sighed. In the fortnight since Gillyanne and the other MacEnroys had left, little had changed. Her brothers and Nanty doggedly continued the search for Diarmot’s enemy while Diarmot doggedly searched for more ways to keep a distance betwen them. He was a passionate lover every night and a cold stranger every day. Ilsa was not sure how much more she could endure. Her attempts to win her husband’s respect and affection were beginning to feel less like determination and more like self-flagellation. At what point did she cross that fine line between patience and humiliation?

  Deciding it was too nice a day to fret over such things, Ilsa stopped to study the rocky hill she ached to climb. It was not high and there was a path of sorts. Her final destination was only part of the way up and she suspected the children could make the journey to the little cave without any real difficulty.

  She turned to face the children. Their guard Tom, not much more than a boy himself at seventeen and somewhat thin, had brought the pony up close behind them. Since she had never seen his skill with a sword, Ilsa was not exactly sure how good a protector he would be, but he was good with the children. There had been no sign of danger or trouble of any sort in the month she had been at Clachthrom so Tom was probably guard enough, Ilsa told herself. She shook off her sudden unease and smiled at everyone.

  “We are going to climb the hill now,” she began.

  “Why?” asked Ivy, frowning as she studied the obstacle before them.

  “Weel, there is a wee cave up there,” she replied and saw the two little boys immediately become intrigued. “All about it and inside are just the sort of stones I am looking for.”

  “Dinnae ken why we have to tote stones about,” muttered Tom. “There is a lot of them at Clachthrom.”

  “And I am using them,” Ilsa said, “but there are nay too many of the sort I want for the paths in the
garden. Tis difficult to explain, Tom. Ye would have had to see the gardens I saw. Our priest had the most beautiful gardens. E’en those which held the vegetables and herbs were made to look beautiful.”

  “Is that the priest who died in—”

  “Aye,” she hastily interrupted, not wishing him to speak of the priest’s undignified and very unpriestly demise in front of the children. “One of the things about his gardens was how orderly they were. Each section clearly set apart from another and beautiful stone pathways winding through the whole place.”

  “Weel, if ye wish it, then I suspicion tis fine enough.” Tom took the small sacks from the back of the pony after tethering the animal to a bush. “Here ye are,” he said as he handed each child a sack before giving Ilsa hers. “Dinnae fill them too full or they will be too heavy for ye to carry.”

  “Up the hill then, my brave ones.” Ilsa began to climb the path. “Watch how ye step.”

  “What if we fall?” asked Ivy.

  “Tom is right behind us to catch anyone who stumbles.”

  “Will there be dragons in the cave?”

  “Wheesht, there isnae any such things as dragons,” muttered Aulay.

  “Are, too,” said Ivy. “Odo told me. He says that a dragon makes those noises in the night and that the stink is from its foul breath. And, Odo should know because the dragon always gets verra close to his bed.”

  Having grown up surrounded by boys of all ages and sizes, Ilsa knew all too well what the noise and the stink was. After quelling the urge to laugh, she glanced back at Odo. There was the hint of a blush upon his cheeks, but he was grinning like the little imp he was. Aulay and Tom were doing a poor job of smothering their laughter. Odo, Ilsa decided, was one of those most dangerous of creatures—a clever little boy. It was a good thing there was not a drop of meanness in him.

  “Weel, we shall have to discover why that dragon slips into the nursery so verra often,” said Ilsa as she turned her attention back to the path. “Then we can be rid of it.”

  Once they reached the little cave, Ilsa carefully instructed her troop on what type of stones she sought. The ground on the ledge in front of the cave was littered with them. She went into the cave, the children and Tom following. Tom made quick work of examining the small cave, and, after making a small fire to give Ilsa more light, went back outside. Odo soon followed, leaving Ilsa with Aulay and Ivy to help her collect the stones littering the bottom of the cave.

  As Ilsa and Ivy studied a particularly interesting rock which, although too large for a path stone, was also too pretty to leave behind, Ilsa heard an odd sound. It was as if something had just shifted over their heads, but she saw nothing when she studied the roof of the cave. Ilsa suddenly feared the cave was unsafe, that it was littered with stones because it was slowly collapsing. She opened her mouth to tell the children they would be leaving when a louder, more ominous sound echoed through the cave.

  Tom’s warning shout sounded even as the first rocks began to fall. Ilsa gathered Aulay and Ivy into her arms, tugged them away from the mouth of the cave, and huddled over them, desperately trying to shield them with her body. She prayed Odo and Tom had gotten safely out of the way as rocks, large and small, cascaded down the hillside.

  It was quiet for a full minute before Ilsa dared move. She felt a dampness on her face, reached up and wiped it away. Even in the dim light of the fire, she recognized the blood upon her fingers. She soon realized she had other small wounds on her back and arms. In her blind need to protect the children, she had been oblivious to the pelting of stones she had suffered. When she looked to find the mouth of the cave completely blocked by stones, she decided her many little wounds were the least of her problems.

  “Those are verra big rocks,” said Ivy in an unsteady voice.

  “Aye, lass, that they are.” Too big for her to move all by herself, thought Ilsa.

  “Mama! Mama!”

  “Odo, is that ye? Are ye all right?”

  “Aye, Mama, but Tom, Tom is all covered in rocks. I think he is dead.”

  “Stay here,” Ilsa told the two frightened children with her before moving toward the blocked mouth of the cave.

  There had been a high, tremulous note in Odo’s voice. The child was obviously terrified. Although she knew it was risky, Ilsa carefully picked away what stones she could until she had opened up a small crack at the top. Odo peered in at her and she breathed a hearty sigh of relief. He was filthy, but he looked unharmed. She wondered what he was standing on, however, and prayed it was stable.

  “Were ye hurt, Odo?” she asked, unable to see much more than his face.

  “Nay, Tom was on top of me,” he replied. “When the rocks stopped falling I wriggled out from under him, but he isnae moving, Mama.”

  “That doesnae mean he is dead, my sweet.”

  “Should I take the rocks off him?”

  “Nay, love. Ye wouldnae be able to help e’en if ye did. Now, I ken ye are a verra clever and brave lad.”

  “Aye, I am.” He rubbed a hand over his face, smearing his tears into the dust and dirt upon his face.

  “That is what we all need now. Ye have to go get help, Odo, help for your brother and sister and help for Tom.”

  “And ye, Mama. I have to get help for ye, too. But, Tom—”

  “Odo, ye have to be a hard wee mon and ignore poor Tom. Ye need to get some strong men from Clachthrom and bring them here. That is the only way to help us all. Do ye ken how to get back to Clachthrom?”

  “Aye, I do. Plodding kens the way, too.”

  “Good. Now, ye must go down the path verra carefully, then get on Plodding, and ride to Clachthrom. Tell them what has happened and that Tom has been hurt. Can ye do that, my wee brave knight?”

  “Aye, I can.”

  “Go carefully, Odo. We need ye to get to Clachthrom safely.”

  “I will, Mama.”

  Ilsa listened intently when Odo left, but heard nothing to indicate any trouble as he went down the hill. When, despite all her efforts, she could hear no more, she moved back to sit with Aulay and Ivy. She held them close, her gaze fixed upon the small opening she had made. Their rescue depended upon a frightened little boy of five. She prayed she had not put the child in danger by asking too much of him, yet she had had little choice.

  “Odo will save us, Mama,” said Ivy. “Odo is verra clever and verra brave.”

  When Aulay nodded in agreement, Ilsa realized why the children had become so calm. Their faith in their brother was absolute. She tried to ignore the fact that they, too, were only five, and find reassurance in their confidence in Odo.

  Diarmot frowned when Fraser suddenly paled, her gaze fixed upon something over his shoulder. He had stopped the woman as she had returned from the stables where she had been showing Gregor, Ewart, and Alice the kittens. In the last fortnight he had been trying to come to know his children better. It was hard work, but he had been enjoying a rather lively discussion about the kittens when Fraser had suddenly begun to act as if she had seen a ghost.

  “Are ye ill, Fraser?” he asked.

  “Odo,” she whispered and started to move toward the gates of the keep.

  Keeping pace at her side, Diarmot saw the little boy ride in on his pony. “He shouldnae be out riding all alone.”

  “He wasnae. He left with Tom, Ilsa, Aulay, and Ivy.”

  A chill siezed Diarmot as he strode to the pony’s side and took a trembling Odo into his arms. He told himself it was born of a fear for the children, but it was Ilsa he had first thought of. There were many reasons for that, but few of them were good as far as he was concerned. It hinted at a weakness and, as soon as this problem was solved, he would have to recognize it and fight it. The Camerons had not been cleared of all suspicion yet.

  “What has happened, Odo?” he asked the boy, touched by the way the child clung to him without hesitation.

  “The rocks fell down,” Odo replied. “Mama, Aulay, and Ivy are stuck in a cave and Tom has a lot of rocks
on top of him.”

  “Do ye ken if Ilsa or the children have been hurt?”

  “Nay, they are just stuck in the cave. The rocks are too big for them to move.”

  “How did ye get away, Odo?” asked Fraser as Diarmot set the boy down and snapped out orders to his men.

  “I was outside with Tom when the rocks fell,” replied the boy. “Tom covered me and the rocks fell on him instead. Then I crawled out and called for Mama. She made a little hole so she could see me when I stood on a rock and told me she, Ivy, and Aulay werenae hurt. She told me to come here and get help.”

  “Ye did weel, lad,” Diarmot said, lightly ruffling the boy’s thick curls. “Ye did verra weel.” He frowned when Nanty, Sigimor, and Tait rode in, returning from one of their many attempts to track down his enemy.

  “What has happened?” asked Sigimor, looking from Odo and Fraser to Diarmot.

  “It appears there has been a rock slide which has trapped your sister and two of my children within a cave,” replied Diarmot even as he mounted the horse his man Peter had brought to him. “My men and I are going to get them.”

  “Tis a good thing we returned when we did then, aye?”

  “Take me,” said Odo, holding his arms up to Diarmot. “I have to show ye where it is.”

  Diarmot opened his mouth to tell the boy he knew where it was, that the child should stay with Fraser, but quickly swallowed the words. Odo had earned the right to join in the rescue. Reaching down, he picked the boy up and set him before him in the saddle. He was irritated by how much Fraser’s smile of approval pleased him.

  Leading the others out of Clachthrom, Diarmot allowed Odo to point the way. Considering his tender years, Odo revealed a remarkable sense of direction and a keen eye for the sort of markers one noted to find one’s way. Diarmot felt a distinct glow of pride and realized that, despite his occasional doubts about the children being bred from his seed, he had accepted them as his. Recalling the woman who had borne this child, named him as Odo’s father, and handed him the boy, Diarmot was suddenly glad the child had been given into his care. Despite carrying the mark of bastardy, Odo apparently had all that was needed to better himself. There would have been no chance for that at all if Odo had stayed with his mother and that would have been a sad waste.