“I know ye can’t marry me,” she said.
Connor sat up straight, suddenly remembering the guards outside his door. How long had he and Ilysa been in here?
“We must get ye out of here before anyone suspects,” he said as he leaped from the bed.
It was too late to save her virginity, but he could protect her from having everyone in the castle talking behind their hands about her sleeping with the chieftain. Duncan was right. Though she had been alone with him in his chamber many times before, men looked at her differently now. Connor should not even have closed the door.
After throwing on his clothes, he put his arm around Ilysa’s shoulders to help her from the bed. Another wave of guilt swamped him when he saw the swath of blood marring the perfect whiteness of her thigh.
“Wait here,” he said and brought her a wet cloth.
After she wiped off the blood, he lifted her to the floor and helped her straighten her gown. Again, Connor wondered how much time had passed and if the guards had heard anything that would make them suspect what had happened.
What had happened here? He wished he knew. She had not answered his question about how she could still be a virgin or why she had deliberately not told him, but now was not the time to press her.
When he put his arm around her and started toward the door, Ilysa’s legs wobbled. Connor swallowed, remembering how hard he had thrust into her.
“I’m so sorry, Ilysa,” he said.
She stared straight ahead, her expression fixed, and he knew she was trying not to weep.
Her first time should have been gentle and loving. God help him, in his rush to have her, he hadn’t even taken off her clothes. Of all that he had done wrong, taking her like that was his biggest regret.
* * *
As soon as Ilysa barred her door, she leaned against it and sank to the floor. If only Connor had not ruined it all by regretting it as soon as it was over. She covered her face. For a short time, Connor had wanted her with a fevered passion that was far beyond anything she had imagined or hoped for.
And she had imagined it countless times and hoped for it every single day since he returned from France.
Yet she had never guessed how amazing it would be. When he pulled her into his arms, she felt overwhelmed at first—by the sheer size of him, the press of his hard-muscled chest, and the force of his desire. But when he lost himself, kissing her as if he would die if he could not have her, it was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her. Everywhere he touched her, he set off magical sparks. Her skin still tingled, and she ached inside with her need for him.
She had known he might be disappointed, or even angry, afterward, but she hadn’t cared. It hurt when he took her virginity, but she hadn’t care about that, either.
Their joining engendered such an intense feeling of oneness that she could have wept for joy. When he tried to break away at once, she simply could not bear it. She locked her legs around him and dug her fingers into his arms, refusing to let him go. She had been right to fear that once she released him, she might never hold him again.
When Connor began moving inside her again, she felt sore. At the same time, unexpected sensations spread through her like rings from a rock thrown in a pond. In those precious moments while they were joined, Connor was utterly and completely hers. His burdens were forgotten, the needs of the clan set aside, and there was nothing but the two of them. Her heart soared as he cried out and they were one in a glorious passion.
And then Connor rolled off her. Dear God, what have I done?
How could he say that after the extraordinary thing that had just occurred between them? Perhaps it was only extraordinary to her. Or was making love always like that for him? The question flitted across her mind, but she could not let herself think of Connor with anyone else.
Ilysa did not know how she could bear to face him tomorrow and see the regret in his eyes. Who knew where he got his sense of honor? Not from his parents. Regardless, it ran deep, and he had gone against it.
As for Ilysa, she loved Connor—with every breath and every heartbeat. Nothing could ever persuade her that what she had done was wrong.
* * *
Lachlan had left the castle immediately after the practice with Connor and was at his sister’s before nightfall. Flora’s busy household was overflowing with children, and he was surrounded as soon as he crossed the threshold. After pulling pigtails and tossing his nephews and nieces into the air, Lachlan waded through the chaos to his sister.
“Sorry I haven’t been to visit in so long,” he said as he kissed her cheek.
“So long as you’ve been fighting MacLeods, I’ll forgive ye,” she said with a smile and went back to stirring the pot that hung over the hearth. “Truly, I’m proud of ye.”
That was both the reason he had avoided seeing her for weeks and the reason he had needed to come tonight.
“How’s my favorite lass?” he said as picked up wee Brigid, the youngest of the large brood.
“Alive, thanks to our chieftain,” his sister said. “Ach, that man’s a saint.”
“The chieftain?” Lachlan asked. “Why do ye say that?”
Flora waved him into a chair at the table, and he sat with Brigid on his lap.
“He came to a meeting here at the house,” Flora said. “The MacLeods somehow found out he was here, and we all had to flee for our lives.”
Lachlan’s chest felt tight at the thought of his sister and her children in such danger. Flora proceeded to tell him how Connor had rescued Brigid, carried her to safety, and then diverted MacLeod warriors from where the family hid on the hillside. So this was where the attack had been the night before he first met Connor. In his mind’s eye, he saw the chieftain limping across the field to the castle.
Lachlan leaned his elbow on the table and covered his eyes. Christ above. The man he had tried to kill had saved them.
“The chieftain should have run with the others rather than risk being caught for our sakes,” Flora said. “He killed five MacLeod warriors who surely would have found us.”
“Have ye told Father this?” Lachlan asked, though he doubted even saving Flora and the children would absolve the chieftain’s family in his father’s accounting. At least their father had not burdened Flora with their blood debt of honor, if only because she was born female.
“No, I haven’t seen Father,” Flora said and tossed some herbs into the pot she was stirring. “Malcom doesn’t like me to go far from the house these days with the MacLeods and pirates about.”
“Malcom is right,” Lachlan said. “It would be better still if you and the children moved into the castle.”
“I won’t leave my home to the thieving MacLeods,” Flora said, putting her free hand on her ample hip. Ever the vigilant mother, she shifted her gaze from Lachlan and called out, “Leave your brother alone, or I’ll smack ye.”
Lachlan sighed, knowing there was no use in trying to persuade her to leave. It was this very MacDonald stubbornness that would drive the MacLeods off their lands in the end.
“I hope Father isn’t the reason you’ve put off marrying,” his sister said, demonstrating once again that she could yell at her children and cook without losing her train of thought.
Lachlan loved her to death, but he was grateful that his older sister had so many children to order about. When they were growing up, she’d only had him.
“Just look at ye with my wee Brigid,” Flora said, her eyes going all soft. “Ye need to find a lass who will be good to you and give ye bairns of your own.”
“With the MacLeods breathing down our necks, this is no time to think of taking a wife and starting a family,” Lachlan said, and wondered if the day would ever come when he could.
“Our new chieftain gives me great hope for our clan,” Flora said. “May God watch over him.”
How could Lachlan satisfy his father’s right to vengeance and also protect his clan? When he started this, he believed that one chieftain
would serve as well as another. But since then, he had taken both Hugh’s and Connor’s measure. He had suggested his sister go to Trotternish Castle, knowing Connor would fight to the death to defend the castle and everyone in it. If Hugh Dubh held the castle, Lachlan would not want his sister anywhere near it.
He looked down at his curly-headed niece who had fallen asleep in his lap with her thumb in her mouth. Hugh would never risk his life for wee Brigid.
In the end, that made all the difference to Lachlan. He would give up his father’s battle over the past. From this moment forward, he would fight only for his clan’s future, and he would do it at Connor’s side.
CHAPTER 25
Connor waited for Ilysa to come to supper, letting the food grow cold before he took up his eating knife to signal the start of the meal. Though his appetite had left him, he forced himself to eat. Nor did he permit himself to glance at her empty chair again, though he was aware of it every moment.
He maintained a pretense of calm and spoke with his men throughout the meal and afterward as well. When he could leave the hall without his departure seeming abrupt, he went up to his chamber.
“Unless we have guests, I will no longer require guards outside my door,” he told the two warriors waiting there. “Tell the others.”
Having guards outside his chamber was a symbol of chieftainship that now seemed far less important than his privacy. His sword and the bar on his door was all the protection he needed.
He sat in his chair, drumming his fingers and staring at the glowing logs of peat on the brazier. As he waited for the night to come, he tried to plan his strategy for the battle with the MacLeods, but his mind kept returning to Ilysa.
Again and again, he went over what happened in this chamber a few hours earlier. The signs of her innocence had been there, but he had wanted her so badly that he had seen what he wanted to see. She had been willing, but willing to do what? She had done little more than kiss him back, and he had reacted by tossing her skirts up and ravishing her.
Lust had made him deaf, dumb, and blind. For the first time, he understood how his father could disregard the consequences and let himself be ruled by lust. But his father believed he had a right to indulge in his desire, no matter how selfish, and he never felt guilty for it.
Connor was awash in guilt.
Time and again, he saw the swath of blood against the whiteness of Ilysa’s slender thigh. Then he recalled how her legs wobbled as he rushed her out the door. Though he had been trying to protect her, that was no way to leave her. He could not make things right. Still, he needed to talk to her and see how she fared.
Finally, the household was asleep, and he could go to her chamber without the entire castle knowing it. A short time later, he rapped his knuckles lightly on her door.
“Who is it?” Ilysa’s voice came through the door.
“Connor.” He wondered if his name would gain him entry. After a pause, he heard the bar slide back.
He stepped inside quickly—and his breath caught when he saw her behind the door. Her skin and hair glowed in the golden light of the flickering candle in her hand. Though there was nothing revealing about her long white nightshift, it had the power of the forbidden to turn his thoughts in untoward directions. His breathing grew shallow as his gaze traveled down its length to her beguiling bare toes poking out from the bottom.
Connor finally remembered to shut the door. “We must talk.”
She gestured toward the lone bench and, after setting her candlestick on the small table next to it, sat down on one end. Ilysa looked so small and fragile that he felt huge sitting next to her. While he usually admired her capacity for silence, he wished she would say something now.
“I was concerned when ye did not come to the hall all day,” he said. “Are ye all right?”
She nodded without meeting his gaze. Clearly, she was not all right.
“I am sorry I…” There were so many things to be sorry for that Connor did not know where to start, and so he said the last thing he should have said aloud. “I’m sorry I couldn’t hold ye after.”
It turned out, however, to be the right thing.
Ilysa raised her gaze and gave him a faint smile. “That would have been nice.”
When he gingerly put his arm around her, she leaned her head against his shoulder and gave a shuddering sigh. He held her gently, and neither of them spoke for a long time.
“I’ve never bedded a virgin before,” he said at last. “Did I hurt ye badly?”
“No.”
He didn’t believe her. “I would have been gentler if I’d known,” he said, though he would not have done it at all. “You were married. I don’t understand how ye could be untouched.”
“Mìchael was killed at the Battle of Flodden a short time after we wed.”
“Precisely how long were ye wed?” Connor asked, leaning back so he could see her face.
Ilysa paused and licked her lips. “Three months.”
“Three months?” Connor lifted her chin. “How could a man be wed to ye for even a day and not bed ye?”
Ilysa’s bottom lip trembled.
“What happened?” Connor brushed a loose red-gold strand back from her pixie face and resisted kissing her forehead.
“My husband didn’t want me in that way,” Ilysa said, blinking hard.
“Ye can’t be serious.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” she said. “I’m not pretty like Moira and Sìleas.”
“Ach, you’re as lovely as a woodland sprite.”
“Ye don’t have to tell me lies,” Ilysa said, attempting a smile, “though I confess I like it.”
“I don’t know how your husband could resist ye once he had ye na—” Connor clamped his mouth shut, but it was too late to stop him from imagining her naked. Desire hit him hard. Damn, why had he not paused to take her clothes off today?
He reminded himself that he was here to comfort her—and to get some answers—but it was difficult to concentrate when he could feel the warmth of her skin through the nightshift. He was far too aware that she wore nothing beneath it.
“Mìchael did try sometimes,” Ilysa said in a small voice. “But he couldn’t, and that was worse.”
“Did he like men?” Connor asked, as that seemed the only possible explanation. When her eyes went wide, he asked, “Ye do know that some men are like that?”
She shook her head.
Connor was not surprised. He had met men among the nobility in France who did not hide their interest in other men, but a Highland warrior with any sense of self-preservation would keep it secret. After Connor explained his suspicions about her husband, Ilysa was thoughtful for a long moment.
“Mìchael did have a friend, another warrior, that he was especially close to,” she said. “But then, you’re close to my brother and your cousins.”
“Not like that!” Connor took a deep breath. Ilysa should have had a husband who could share her passion—a passion Connor must stop dwelling on. “I suspect he wanted a wife so no one would guess his secret. You were the perfect choice because you’d never gossip with the other women about what happened—or didn’t—in bed.”
“That much is true,” she said, her face going pink. “As a healer, I’m often told women’s complaints about their husbands, but I never told a soul.”
“I can see why he wed you, but why did you wed him?” he asked.
“My mother was dying, and she wished it,” Ilysa said. “She told me Mìchael would be a good husband because he would not be demanding.”
Ach, Anna must have known.
“Duncan was gone, and I had no one else.” She shrugged her slender shoulder. “I suppose I was feeling a bit lost, and Mìchael was a fine man.”
Anna had been a kindhearted but excessively fearful woman. The “undemanding” husband, oversize clothes, and severe headdresses must have been her way, misguided though it was, of protecting her daughter. She had succeeded in hiding her daughter in plain sight.
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“I don’t know how I missed seeing how pretty ye are, even covered up as ye were,” he said.
Without thinking, he brushed the back of his fingers against Ilysa’s cheek. He was unprepared for the jagged bolt of lust that tore through him, making him want her so badly that his hand shook. In his mind, he was already carrying her to the bed and stripping off her nightgown. This time, he would savor every inch of her and make it last. He would rein in this tumultuous need until she was gasping his name and…
“It will never happen again,” he said and got abruptly to his feet. Cool air hit his chest where she had been leaning against him. His arms felt empty. “I just needed to know that ye were all right.”
When Ilysa looked up at him, he saw a dangerous longing in her eyes and knew she would let him stay. Temptation dug its talons into him. One word, one touch, and she could be his.
“Ye mean a great deal to me,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt ye.”
He made himself go to the door. As he closed it behind him, Connor was certain he was doing the right thing for her. And yet, it did not feel right—and he had never regretted anything more.
* * *
It had been two nights since Connor had come to her chamber. Though Ilysa knew he would not come again, she lay awake listening for his knock. She finally gave up on sleep, wrapped a plaid around her shoulders, and went to her window to stare out into the night.
Her attention was caught by a movement in the courtyard. It was probably just one of the men assigned night guard duty, but the way the man skirted the edge of the courtyard as if he did not want to be seen, looked suspicious. When the moonlight caught his fair hair, she knew who it was.
Where was Lachlan going this time of night? He was always disappearing. This time, she intended to find out why.
She ran down the stairs and crossed the hall on quiet feet amid the snoring men. After slipping through the outer door, she stood at the top of the steps of the keep searching the dark for him. He was skulking next to the wall, halfway to the gate. Holding her nightshift up with one hand and her plaid around her shoulders with the other, she raced across the courtyard.
The Chieftain Page 17
