The Chieftain

by Margaret Mallory

  But this time, there would be no conversation after the shouting. She was releasing him.

  After three days of hearing him make violent threats against her person, Ilysa was a trifle uneasy. She did not believe Connor would actually murder her with his bare hands, as he had said so many times. Yet she did anticipate she would receive some sort of punishment.

  Was Connor angry enough to have her whipped in the courtyard in front of everyone? No, she felt certain it would be a private punishment.

  Anxiety balled in her stomach as she climbed down the ladder. Connor was silent as she approached the door, which made her more nervous.

  “I told everyone that ye left the castle after dark that first night for a secret meeting,” she said as she drew the iron key from the pouch tied to her belt. “’Tis the middle of the night now. No one will ever know ye were here the whole time.”

  Her hand shook too badly for her to fit the key into the keyhole.

  “Aaah!” she yelped when a hand reached through the grate and grabbed hold of hers. Connor did not say a word, and his hand was rock-steady as he twisted hers to turn the key in the lock. Ilysa jumped back as he shoved the door open with such force that it banged against the wall.

  “I am sorely tempted to toss ye in that cell in my place and throw away the key,” Connor said with such venom that a shiver went up her back.

  Instead, he lifted her off her feet, carried her to the ladder, and flung her onto it. It did not matter that her legs were too wobbly to go up by themselves, because Connor was pushing her up from behind with a hand on her bottom. He was, understandably, anxious to be out of his prison.

  A moment later, they were facing each other in the storage room, which seemed far too tiny to contain Connor and his fury. In the light of the lamp she had left burning, she could see him clearly. His fists were clenched, and his chest heaving. With three days of beard and that black rage in his eyes, he looked so dark and dangerous that she could barely breathe. Yet he had never looked more handsome.

  “I want ye to leave,” Connor said. “Now.”

  “Leave?” Ilysa had not expected this. “Can’t ye just order me whipped instead?”

  “I don’t have women whipped, for God’s sake!” Connor said, his eyes narrow angry slits. “Besides, such a punishment would require an explanation, and no one is ever going to learn about this.”

  Ilysa could see that her worst offense had been hurting his pride.

  “But ye need me here to take care of your household,” she said, desperation taking hold. “I promise no one will know that I locked ye up.”

  “I will know,” Connor said between his teeth. “You’re leaving, and I don’t want to see you in this castle ever again.”

  He turned on his heel and left, his anger like shimmering heat in his wake.

  * * *

  Connor sat in his chieftain’s chair at the high table waiting for his breakfast. He ignored the questioning glances from his men. He owed them no explanation for where he had been for the last three days, and he was giving none.

  Three days in his own dungeon, held prisoner by a wee lass. Even Shaggy Maclean had only succeeded in holding him prisoner a single day. Connor’s fury was boundless.

  Ilysa had the effrontery to tell him she was protecting him. Protecting him. And worse, she believed it! That was as offensive as deciding she had the right to dispute his judgment and ignore his commands. After pacing the floor the remainder of the night—he was too furious to sleep—he had decided to relent and not ship her home to Dunscaith. He was too kindhearted. Still, she did need to be punished.

  Where in the hell was his breakfast? He was starving, which worsened his already black mood. The servants were scurrying about like confused chickens, but no one was bringing him food.

  Was this Ilysa’s way of punishing him for shouting at her last night? Three days ago, he would have dismissed the notion, believing her incapable of spite. But after living in the same household for much of their lives, he’d discovered that he did not know her at all.

  Anger pulsed through him, making his pounding headache worse.

  He slammed his cup on the table. “Where is my breakfast?”

  Everyone in the hall was giving him nervous, sideways looks. He never abused his authority by shouting over small matters like a spoiled prince. This too, he blamed on Ilysa. By God, she deserved a dire punishment. If only he could think of one. He could not give her additional work, for no one worked harder.

  Finally, the serving women scurried in with what looked like last night’s supper. Cold.

  “Where’s my porridge?” he asked one of them.

  “I’m sorry, Chieftain,” the lass said, her eyes wide as if she expected him to take a bite out of her. “We forgot to make it.”

  Forgot? He had porridge with his breakfast every single morning. Even in his goddamned dungeon, Ilysa had brought it to him.

  “Just see that it doesn’t happen again,” he said, softening his voice with an effort because he did not want to send the lass into a dead faint.

  Ilysa had let everything fall apart in the kitchen. Clearly, it did not pay to upset her.

  After his miserable, cold breakfast, Connor went outside for some blessed fresh air. Nothing like spending time in a dank dungeon to make a man appreciate daylight. He walked along the side of the keep, drawing in deep breaths. As he was about to round the corner, he heard someone speak his name and paused.

  “Where do ye suppose the chieftain was?” a woman asked.

  He should have known the entire castle would be speculating about his absence.

  “Ilysa’s face went all pink when she told us he’d gone to ‘a secret meeting,’ and he didn’t take his guard with him,” a male voice responded. “I’d say that means he was visiting a lass.”

  “About time!” another man said, and this was followed by a round of bawdy laughter. “We’ll have to stop calling him Saint Connor.”

  “Who’s the lucky lass?” the woman asked.

  The names of several women were raised and dismissed in turn.

  “He wouldn’t have to ask me twice,” the woman said, which caused loud guffaws.

  Connor rubbed his temples as he recognized the woman’s voice as belonging to Flòraidh, a grandmother as round as a turnip.

  “He’s keeping it quiet,” the second man said, “so I’d wager our Saint Connor is fooking another man’s wife!”

  It was time to put a stop to this. When Connor stepped around the corner, the three stared at him openmouthed.

  “Since ye have time on your hands, you two will take night guard duty for a week,” he said, pointing at the two warriors. Then he turned his glare on Flòraidh. “I’d better have hot porridge on my table tomorrow.”

  Connor spent the rest of the morning supervising the men’s practice. Knocking his opponents to the ground for a few hours improved his mood considerably. He felt almost himself again by the time they went in for the midday meal.

  The disaster of breakfast was repeated. Cold, tasteless food from the day before was served, and that was soon gone. He had enough troubles without facing them hungry.

  Connor was tempted to give Ilysa the punishment she deserved after all: three days and nights in the hole of a dungeon. And no hot food, either. He took a long swallow of his drink and slammed his cup on the table. Even the ale had gone sour.

  “Send Ilysa to my chamber,” he ordered Lachlan, who happened to be standing by the door as he left the hall.

  Connor paced his chamber, waiting. What in the hell was taking so long? Finally, there was a rap at his door. He turned, prepared to give Ilysa the berating of her life, but it was Lachlan.

  “I couldn’t find her,” Lachlan said.

  “Then look harder.”

  “Ilysa is not here.”

  “I suppose someone in one of the nearby cottages needed a healer.” Connor hoped she had the sense not to go alone. “The moment she returns, I want to see her.”

&nb
sp; “Ilysa has gone from Trotternish,” Lachlan said. “She sailed before dawn for Dunscaith Castle.”

  “No, that can’t be.” Connor stopped his pacing. “Ilysa couldn’t sail a boat to Dunscaith by herself.”

  “Niall took her in that small galley,” Lachlan said.

  Two could sail the galley they had stolen from Shaggy Maclean. “How do ye know this?” Connor demanded.

  “Cook was the only one Ilysa told, and it wasn’t easy getting it from him,” Lachlan said, looking uncomfortable.

  “What do ye mean, it wasn’t easy?” Connor said, narrowing his eyes at Lachlan. He did not approve of his warriors being rough with the servants.

  “Ach, the man is a blubbering mess, weeping like a babe,” Lachlan said, making a face. “I told him that’s no way for a MacDonald to behave, but it did no good. I expect supper will be no better than breakfast and dinner were.”

  Connor went to the window to look out at the sea. Niall was a fine sailor, but they would be passing lands held by the MacLeods, which was dangerous with just the two of them.

  Why did they go? Connor did not realize he had spoken the question aloud until Lachlan answered it.

  “Ilysa told Cook that ye ordered her to leave.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Ilysa rested her head on her chin and stared at a crack in the wall. Since returning to Dunscaith, she had barely left her mother’s cottage, which was really just two rooms built against the castle wall.

  She was aware that she needed to make a plan, but she felt too weighed down to even lift her head. Ever since she was a young girl, she had been accustomed to being busy from morning until night. Yet, for a week now, she had done nothing at all. Not that it mattered. She had no responsibilities.

  When she heard a knock on the door, she ignored it. The knocking turned into a loud banging, and then two faces appeared in her window. Moira and Sìleas, the wives of her brother and Ian, were both persistent women who would continue banging until she let them in, so she made herself get up and unbar the door.

  Moira and Sìleas dragged her from her cottage and into the keep. The next thing Ilysa knew, she was standing in the middle of Duncan and Moira’s bedchamber while the two women looked her up and down with narrowed eyes.

  “Ach, that gown must go,” Moira said, shaking her head.

  “I suppose we can cut it up for rags,” Sìleas said.

  “What’s wrong with my gown?” Ilysa asked. “’Tis a bit worn, but I’ve kept it mended.”

  Neither woman bothered answering, but their expressions were grim.

  “The kerchief as well,” Sìleas said, lifting her gorgeous emerald eyes to the top of Ilysa’s head.

  “For certain,” Moira agreed.

  The two women converged on Ilysa. Before she could say a word to stop them, Sìleas was pulling out the pins that held her kerchief, and Moira was unfastening the hooks at the back of her gown.

  “Wait!”

  When Ilysa ducked to the side to get out of their reach, her kerchief came off in Sìleas’s hands. All three of them gasped as her hair came tumbling down and cascaded over her shoulders. Ilysa felt naked without her head covering. At least Sìleas and Moira had stopped grabbing at her clothes, but now they stood stock-still staring at her, which was even more disconcerting.

  “What is it?” Ilysa asked, stepping back. Her face was scalding hot.

  “Your hair is…lovely,” Sìleas said in a soft voice that sounded like a sigh.

  “You’re being kind,” Ilysa said, fixing her gaze on the floor. Her strawberry-blond hair was a poor, washed-out version of Sìleas’s vibrant color.

  Sìleas was a rare beauty, with red hair and emerald eyes, while Moira had black hair like Connor’s, striking violet eyes, and the kind of voluptuous curves that left men with their tongues hanging out—unless Duncan was nearby.

  “Why did ye cover this?” Moira said, running a long strand of Ilysa’s hair through her fingers. “’Tis gorgeous!”

  “I was married,” Ilysa murmured, feeling uncomfortable with the attention.

  “Ach, ye were barely married long enough to count,” Moira said, dismissing long-standing custom with a wave of her hand. “And as I recall, ye always wore your hair covered, even as a wee bairn.”

  “My mother insisted.”

  Her mother had been perpetually frightened for her only daughter. Ye mustn’t draw attention to yourself. Cover your hair. Speak softly. Keep your gaze down.

  Until she was eleven, Ilysa sometimes rebelled against her mother’s restrictions. She stopped the day Duncan was caught with Moira. After Duncan was sent away, their mother, who had never been a strong woman, was so fragile that Ilysa complied with her mother’s wishes without argument.

  While her manner was meek, Ilysa never felt meek. Someone had to make the decisions, and her mother was not capable. She began surreptitiously assuming her mother’s duties at the castle. Over time, working in the background became so deeply ingrained that Ilysa no longer knew if it was her true nature.

  “Now that we know what happened to your mother when she was young,” Sìleas said, referring to her mother’s rape, “’tis easier to understand why she was so careful with ye.”

  “But she’s gone now, and you’re a grown woman,” Moira said, taking her hand and squeezing it. “Ye don’t have to hide your beauty any longer.”

  “Hide my beauty?” Ilysa gave a dry laugh.

  “Let us show ye,” Moira said with a wink at Sìleas.

  Sìleas retrieved a comb from the side table while Moira played maid and finished unfastening Ilysa’s gown. When her gown fell to the floor, leaving Ilysa in her shift, she crossed her arms over her chest—not that there was much to cover.

  “Just as I suspected,” Moira said, standing back and crossing her arms under her own voluptuous breasts. “You’ve a shape under there after all.”

  “I’m built like a scrawny lad,” Ilysa said.

  “No, you’re not.” Sìleas gave her a warm smile. “You’re as slender and dainty as a pixie.”

  “What color gown, Sìl?” Moira asked, narrowing her eyes at Ilysa as if she were deciding how best to skin a rabbit. “Blue or green?”

  “She’ll need more than one,” Sìleas said. “Her coloring is close to mine, and we haven’t much time, so I brought a few of my gowns that we can alter.”

  “Haven’t much time for what?” Ilysa asked. “Why are ye doing this?”

  The two women drew her over to the bench beneath the window and sat her down between them.

  “I know ye have feelings for my brother,” Moira said, taking her hand again. “But ye simply cannot devote yourself to Connor any longer. Surely ye know that now.”

  Ilysa knew it in her head, but her heart had not accepted it yet.

  “What a lass needs to forget one man,” Moira said, “is another.”

  “Most of the chieftains will be at the gathering at Mingary Castle,” Sìleas said. “And they’ll each have a contingent of warriors with them.”

  “That means Mingary Castle will be filled to bursting with fine Highland warriors!” Moira said, her eyes sparkling. “Duncan is to meet Connor there with a galley of our men, and you and I are going with them. With all those handsome men in one place, you’ll have a grand time.”

  “Men don’t notice me,” Ilysa said. “I’ll only embarrass myself.”

  “Is this the same lass who braved a pack of pirates to spy for us when Hugh held Dunscaith?” Sìleas said, raising her eyebrows.

  “That wasn’t so brave,” Ilysa said. She’d had it all under control.

  “I’ll make certain ye don’t hide in a corner where the men can’t see ye,” Moira said. “You’ll have your pick of them for a husband.”

  “But I don’t want a husband,” Ilysa said.

  “Ye could stay here with Duncan, me, and the children forever, if that would make ye happy,” Moira said, touching her cheek. “But I don’t believe it will.”

  Different as
they were, Ilysa had grown very fond of Moira. If she stayed, Moira would do her best to make Ilysa feel useful, but she was not needed here. Dunscaith had a mistress.

  “Don’t tell me ye plan to live with old Teàrlag and waste your life away in her wee cottage,” Moira said, “or I’ll have to slap sense into ye.”

  “Moira doesn’t mean that,” Sìleas said, patting Ilysa’s arm. “Much as we all love Teàrlag, she is an old woman who’s not long for this world. Ye need someone you can make a life with.”

  “I know Connor is the one ye want, but ye can’t have him,” Moira said.

  “I’ve always known that,” Ilysa said in a quiet voice.

  “Ye need a husband who can give ye children,” Sìleas said, her eyes lighting with a soft smile. “I’ve seen how good ye are with mine, and I know ye want your own.”

  A tear slipped down Ilysa’s cheek. Sìleas had found a vulnerable spot. She did long for children.

  “Ye need a man in your bed,” Moira said.

  Hmmph. That had not done Ilysa any good before.

  “And there’s no one who enjoys making a home more than you,” Moira added. “Is uaigneach an níochán nach mbíonn léine ann.” It’s a lonely washing that has no man’s shirt in it.

  “Think of it,” Sìleas said as she smoothed Ilysa’s hair behind her ear. “You can have a family, a home of your own, and a man who will make ye happy.”

  * * *

  “I was sick as a damned dog last night,” the MacNeil chieftain said as he joined Connor and Alex, who were sitting with their legs stretched out before the hearth in the hall. “If I didn’t know ye better, Connor, I’d say ye tried to poison me.”

  Connor rubbed his forehead. He did not doubt that the food had made Alex’s father-in-law ill. Cook had taken to his bed, and the entire household was in disarray.

  “This would never happen if Ilysa were here,” Alex said. “Cha bhi fios aire math an tobair gus an tràigh e.” The value of the well is not known until it goes dry.

  “Thank you for pointing that out,” Connor said.

  Until everything went amok, Connor had not realized that Ilysa was the reason his household ran smoothly. In truth, he was never even aware that it ran smoothly.