Highland Groom

by Hannah Howell

  Chapter EIGHT

  Gillyanne handed Finlay to Ilsa after kissing and cuddling the boy, then did the same to Cearnach before returning him to Gay’s arms. Ilsa was a little surprised at how painful she was finding this farewell. She had only known Gillyanne for a fortnight, yet felt a strong bond with the woman. It was not simply because they were married to brothers or the mothers of twins, either.

  Ilsa looked around the bailey. Everything was readied for Gillyanne, Connor, and Angus to leave. It pleased her in a strange way to see that Diarmot was as irritated by Nanty’s insistance upon staying at Clachthrom as he had been by Sigimor’s and Tait’s. Her husband plainly resented the implication that either he needed protection or she did.

  “Twill be a tough battle ahead for ye,” said Gillyanne as she stood next to Ilsa. “I wish I could stay longer.”

  “I wish ye could, too,” said Ilsa, “but nay for that. I am the only one who can fight the battle for Diarmot’s trust, the only one who can make him believe in me.”

  “Ye dinnae fight for his heart, for his love?”

  “The trust must come first, especially with Diarmot. Until he feels he can trust me, he will protect his heart as if it was the Holy Grail.” She smiled faintly when Gillyanne laughed. “Lady Anabelle left behind a lot of scars.”

  “Aye, she did. She was vicious, e’en hateful. In truth, despite her whorish ways, I oftimes felt she hated men.”

  “That makes some sense. After all, e’en the biggest, meanest, strongest men can be made weak by passion, lust, or e’en love. She did make fools of a great many men. She had power of a sort and that can be a heady and corrupting thing.”

  “Weel, ye have chosen a wise strategy. Just cling to it.”

  “I intend to, although it isnae easy to just hold fast and nay try to argue my innocence. Dinnae mistake me, I dinnae meekly bow before any slur or accusation he tosses my way. There are times, howbeit, that I fair ache to tie him in a chair and give him a severe talking to, mayhap slapping him upside the head now and again to make my point.”

  Ilsa smiled when Gillyanne laughed. She suspected the woman knew she was only partly jesting. Dealing with Diarmot’s constant wariness was far more tiring and hurtful than she had thought it would be. Now that she was with him again, was his wife by all the laws of church and court, she wanted the man she had fallen in love with back. She wanted that joy she had too briefly enjoyed a year ago to return now. For all her plans and determination, Ilsa found she lacked patience. She had to continually give herself stern lectures on how good things came to those who waited. They did not help much.

  “Twill come,” said Gillyanne. “A mon wouldnae work so hard to protect his heart unless he kenned it was in danger.” Gillyanne laughed when Diarmot’s children gathered around her to say farewell.

  Although she tried hard to fight it, hope was stirred by Gillyanne’s words. Ilsa could not deny the truth of them. If Diarmot felt nothing for her beside a man’s natural desire for a woman, he would have no need for all his defenses. He would bed her as he pleased and continue on as he had before her arrival at Clachthrom. Instead, he avoided her as much as possible and was obviously on guard whenever she was around.

  The children left, rushing off to encircle Fraser. Gillyanne took Cearnach from Gay so that young woman could go and assist Fraser. Ilsa tensed when Diarmot walked up to them for he rarely approached her when the twins were with her. She found his apparent lack of interest in his sons the hardest thing to endure. Even as she decided to take Cearnach from Gillyanne and leave Diarmot and Gilly alone to say farewell, little Gregor fell down and started to cry. The boy was not accepting the comfort of Gay, Fraser, or his siblings, but crying for his mama. At least Diarmot’s children accepted her, Ilsa thought as she shoved Finlay into a startled Diarmot’s arms and hurried over to Gregor.

  Diarmot stared at the small child in his arms. The boy stared right back. The child had a surprisingly thick crop of bright red curls. He also had deep blue eyes. The same color as his own, Diarmot thought, then told himself blue eyes were not so rare. When the child gave him a toothless grin, Diarmot could not stop himself from smiling back and gently tousling the boy’s wild curls.

  “That is Finlay,” said Gillyanne. “He possesses a more cheerful nature than Cearnach here and has a wee scar on his arm to mark him as the first born. Sigimor has a similar one and says tis a tradition to mark the bairns in such a way. In a family beset by twins twas quickly seen as necessary.”

  “Ye believe they are mine,” Diarmot said even as he found the scar she spoke of on Finlay’s small forearm.

  “Aye. Ye would ken it, too, if ye but looked at them once in a while.”

  “Tis a busy time of the year. I cannae lurk about the nursery.”

  He ignored Gillyanne’s look of mild disgust, then winced as Finlay grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked it forward to shove it in his mouth. Diarmot was a little surprised at the strength of the child’s grip and the look of stubborness that settled upon Finlay’s sweet face even as he worked to free his hair. Grimacing at the wetness of his hair when he finally freed it and tossed it back over his shoulder, Diarmot’s eyes widened at the speed with which Finlay grabbed one of the laces of his doublet and shoved that into his mouth.

  “Do ye think he is hungry?” Diarmot asked a grinning Gillyanne.

  “Nay,” she replied, kissing Cearnach’s forehead when the child rested his head against her shoulder. “He just likes to chew on things. He has to be watched verra carefully. Your other bairns are verra good about that.”

  “My other bairns? I admit, I now believe Ilsa was once my lover, but that doesnae mean the twins are mine.”

  “They have your eyes.”

  Diarmot thought so, too, but was feeling too obstinate, too cornered, to admit it. “Blue isnae such an uncommon color.” He shrugged. “I cannae be any more sure my seed bred these bairns than I am with the others.”

  “Ilsa is right. Ye need a slap upside your thick head,” snapped Gillyanne. “If ye keep treating Ilsa as if, at any moment, she is going to stick a dagger in ye and twist it, ye will ruin all chance of a good marriage.”

  “Oh? And what makes ye think I can have one?”

  “Tis just like a mon to trust a lass who didnae deserve to be trusted, and nay trust the lass who does. Ilsa had been here a fortnight and hasnae done one thing to deserve the unkindnesses ye heap upon her. I ken she warms your bed verra weel indeed. She tends your home and tis looking better each day. She defended your sorry hide when her brothers thought to flay it from your bones because of those foolish rumors ye do naught about. She cares for the people of this keep and on your lands, winning the affection and trust of them all. Ilsa also cares for your bairns as if they were her own, something few other women would do. Fine, cling to your doubts and suspicions, e’en though ye risk waking up one day to discover that is all ye have to cling to, but ye could at least treat her with more courtesy.”

  He was still stinging from Gillyanne’s words and struggling to find some reply, when Ilsa rejoined him. “Here, take your brat,” he snapped, setting Finlay in her arms and tugging his doublet lace free of the boy’s mouth. “I am too busy to play nursemaid.”

  Ilsa calmly turned to Gillyanne. “Would ye mind holding Finlay for a moment?”

  “Of course not,” replied Gillyanne, accepting the little boy into her hold, easily balancing him and his brother on her hips.

  Diarmot watched in stunned fascination as Ilsa balled up one hand into a tight fist and swung at him. The force of the blow on his jaw was such a surprise, he staggered back a few steps. He cursed as he stumbled over a patch of uneven ground and sat down hard.

  “Thank ye, Gillyanne,” Ilsa said, retrieving the twins and setting them on her hips as Gilly had done. “Have a safe journey, and, please, let me ken when the bairn comes.” She kissed Gillyanne on the cheek and strode back into the keep.

  As he rubbed his jaw, Diarmot became aware that a small crowd was
gathering around him. He looked up to find his brothers, Ilsa’s brothers, his children, Gay, Fraser, and Gillyanne all staring down at him. He did not bother looking beyond them, certain he would find everyone else in the bailey craning their necks to have a look as well. The women all looked disgusted with him, his children looked curious, and his and Ilsa’s brothers all looked far too amused for his comfort. Diarmot stood up and brushed himself off.

  “Said something insulting or just plain ignorant, did ye?” asked Connor.

  “I thought ye were leaving,” grumbled Diarmot.

  Connor grunted, draped his arm around Gillyanne’s shoulders, and started to escort her to the cart readied for her. “I think ye had more than your memory knocked out of ye. Seem to have lost what few manners ye had, as weel.”

  Diarmot ignored that since the rebuke was earned. He busied himself with the final farewells. The moment his family left, Gay and Fraser took the children back inside. Sigimor and Tait headed toward the stables after assuring Nanty they would bring his mount out to him. Diarmot frowned at his brother when Nanty stood in front of him with his arms crossed over his broad chest. All amusement had faded from Nanty’s face and he looked nearly as disgusted as the women had.

  “Where are the three of ye going?” Diarmot asked, hoping to divert the lecture he knew Nanty wanted to give him.

  “Hunting,” Nanty replied.

  “We have enough meat.”

  “Nay that sort of hunting. We are seeking the who and the why behind your beating as I told ye we would. Ye think someone wants ye dead, and we are trying to find out if ye are right. Of course, if ye continue to act like such a fool, the number of your enemies could swiftly grow.” He grinned suddenly. “Ye could be courting a wee pointy elbow in the groin.”

  Since Nanty appeared to be completely on the side of the Camerons, Diarmot did not bother to point out, yet again, that they should also be considered suspects. “The woman has a bad temper.”

  “I suspect most of it comes from your skill at stirring it to life with a barrage of insults.” Nanty shook his head. “Your idiocy could soon cost ye a verra fine wife. I just pray the Camerons and I can find the true enemy ere ye succeed in making Ilsa one, too.”

  Diarmot watched Nanty stride off to join the Camerons and ride out of Clachthrom. It stung to see how well his brother got on with Ilsa’s brothers. He felt both jealous and a little betrayed. Even if Nanty did not agree with his doubts about the Camerons, he could at least attempt to keep a cautious eye on the brothers. Reluctantly, Diarmot admitted to himself that he sorely missed the comraderie Nanty was now enjoying. Except for a rare time or two with his brothers, Diarmot realized he had become very much alone since his ill-fated marriage.

  Anabelle had started to isolate him, although he suspected that had not been her intention. Her attempts to seduce his brothers had caused them such discomfort their visits had grown less frequent and shorter. He had taken fewer journeys for Anabelle would shame him wherever he went, and, if he tried to leave her behind, she had followed only to behave even more outrageously. Diarmot knew he had also become an angry, bitter man, and poor company. And considering how many men Anabelle had bedded, there were many who found it uncomfortable to be near him, unable to look in the eye a man they had cuckolded.

  Somehow he was going to have to shake free of all that, he decided as he turned to go back into the keep only to come face-to-face with his son Odo. The little boy stood with his hands on his hips, scowling up at him. One thing had certainly changed since Ilsa’s arrival, he mused as he clasped his hands behind his back and calmly met the child’s belligerent look. His children were no longer unseen and unheard.

  “I dinnae think ye should be out here all on your own, lad,” he said.

  “Aunt Fraser said I could come talk to ye,” replied Odo. “Mama and Aunt Gay are busy in Mama’s solar and Aunt Fraser is watching us rest. The others are resting, but I needed to talk to ye.”

  “Ah, and what would ye like to say?”

  “What did ye do to make Mama hit ye? Were ye mean to her?”

  Noting how the boy now held his two small fists up before him, Diarmot realized that he was in danger of changing from the father who had little to do with his children, to the enemy. For a moment he blamed Ilsa for that, but his own strong sense of justice would not allow him to cling to that unfair judgment. If his children found it easy to see him as the enemy, it was his own fault. He was too much the stranger to them, had left them to the care of others. Ilsa, on the other hand, had become their mother, and even he could not deny the honesty of her care for them.

  “Have ye come to defend her?” he asked.

  “Aye, she is my mama. We have ne’er had one before and, if ye are too mean to her, she might go away.”

  “Weel, I deserved the punch, but adults oftimes make each other angry. It doesnae mean Ilsa will leave. Ye want her to stay, do ye?” Odo’s belligerent stance eased slightly and Diarmot decided the boy had accepted that explanation.

  “Aye,” replied Odo. “She is a true mama. She talks to us, and plays with us, and tells us stories, and,” he grimaced, “she kisses us a lot. I dinnae want her to go away. I want her to stay,” he stood up very straight and his expression bore the hint of martyrdom, “e’en if she keeps kissing me.”

  It took a moment for Diarmot to control his urge to laugh, then he said, “She is my wife. She will stay.” He put a hand on Odo’s shoulder and turned the boy toward the keep. “Now, I shall take ye back to Fraser.” He frowned slightly as, taking the child by the hand, he started back toward the keep. “Did ye ne’er consider Mistress Fraser as a mother?”

  “Nay. She said she was only the nursemaid. Now she is our aunt.”

  Diarmot nodded, understanding that the woman had felt it best to keep her position clear, for she could not be sure if he would take a new wife. Allowing the children to see her as their mother could easily have caused strife within the household when and if there was a new lady of the keep. He knew Margaret would not have cared what position Fraser took with the children, probably would not have even cared if Fraser had taken his brood far away and never returned. The fact that he knew, without any doubt, that Margaret would have been as uncaring a mother as Anabelle had been, proved it. Since one of the reasons he had stated for marrying again was to get a mother for his children, he had to wonder what he had been thinking of to choose Margaret.

  Ilsa had been thrust upon him, claiming a past and promises he could not remember, yet she was proving to be a very good mother to his children. He doubted he could have chosen a better one. Ilsa did not berate him to his children, as far as he could tell, and she did not take her anger at him out on his children, either. She might scorn him for his licentious behavior which had led to their birth, but she treated the children themselves exactly as she treated her own sons. Despite all of the other problems besetting him and Ilsa, it appeared he had inadvertently gotten one thing he had been seeking—a mother for his children.

  He quietly entered the nursery, looking around as he released Odo’s hand. This room, too, had been changed a little. Fraser had made it clean and comfortable, more so than many another room in the keep, but it had still been a little stark. Ilsa was making her mark here as well. He could not name each change precisely, save for noting cushions on benches and a few wall hangings, but the room was definitely softer, more cheerful and welcoming.

  Even though he told himself to leave, that he had a lot of work to do, Diarmot moved toward the twins. The babies were sprawled on their backs on a soft pallet near Fraser’s chair, awake but looking sleepy. One just stared at him and the other smiled. Finlay was the smiling one, he decided. He recalled Gillyanne’s description of the differences in the boys’ nature and was a little surprised at how clearly he could see it now. It was almost as if Cearnach waited and watched before giving his approval whereas Finlay simply accepted most everyone. Although it seemed foolish to credit such small children with those attributes, Diarm
ot could not easily scoff aside his impression.

  Nor could he ignore how greatly those big eyes resembled his. Diarmot knelt by the twins, reached out to touch Finlay’s curls and sighed with resignation when the baby grabbed one of his fingers and shoved it in his mouth. He glanced up at Fraser who was grinning as widely as Odo who now sat on her lap.

  “Go lie down now, Odo,” Fraser said. She gave the child a kiss, set him on his feet, and gently nudged him toward his bed at the far end of the room. “I hope Odo didnae trouble ye too much, m’laird.”

  “Nay,” replied Diarmot. “One cannae fault the wee lad for the reasons he came to speak to me.” He watched how the twins followed the conversation with their eyes. “They appear to be bright lads despite Finlay’s compulsion to see near everything at hand as food.”

  Fraser chuckled softly. “Aye, they are. Bright and strong. Do ye still wonder if they are yours?”

  “I sometimes wonder if any of them are truly mine,” he murmured, then grimaced, wondering if he sounded as petulant as he thought he did. “Ah, weel, they are certainly all mine now, aye?”

  “Aye, m’laird. Tis my feeling that they are all yours. Most women, e’en those of easy virtue, ken who fathered their bairns. Most arenae as Anabelle was, left with too many choices to be certain. These two laddies are most certainly yours, though I ken twill take more than my word on it to convince ye.”

  Since Finlay had fallen asleep, Diarmot gently extracted his finger and stood up. “Aye, it will. And, as for the rest of them, I fear their mothers might have had the same reason to doubt as Anabelle did.”

  “Mayhap. Most of that sort dinnae bother kenning names or faces and dinnae trouble themselves with the fates of their wee ones, however.” Fraser returned her attention to the small shirt she was mending. “Lady Ilsa isnae like that and I think ye ken it. She wouldnae have to puzzle o’er who fathered these dear bairns for a moment. Lady Ilsa isnae like those other women and ne’er could be.”