Highland Groom

by Hannah Howell

  As they neared the hill where the accident had occurred, Diarmot could see the clear signs of a serious rock slide. He felt uneasy, unable to fully excuse it as natural. He himself had been climbing over that hill but a sennight ago and had noticed no weakness, seen no hint of unsteady ground. Nor had there been any heavy rain which might have weakened the area, loosening the earth beneath some of the stones. Yet, he could not think of how or why anyone would cause such an accident. There were too many easier and more certain ways to be rid of someone.

  And now was not the time to puzzle over the how or the why, he told himself as he dismounted and helped Odo down. His wife, children, and poor Tom needed help. It was all well and good to be wary, but if he began to see plots and threats behind simple acts of unforgiving nature he would have edged far beyond wary. The last thing he wished to become was one of those sad creatures who saw an assassin behind every tree leaf.

  “Lead on, Odo, my lad,” he said. “I suspicion Ilsa and the others will be eager to get home.”

  “Mama! Mama! Tis Odo! I have brought help.”

  Ilsa sent up a brief prayer of thanks and moved to the mouth of the cave when she heard Odo’s voice. Enough time had passed for Aulay and Ivy to begin to waver slightly in their confidence in Odo. Since her own had never been very firm, she was heartily glad she had not been pressed to raise their hopes. When she peered out the opening in the rocks barring her escape, it was not Odo’s eyes she looked into, but her brother Sigimor’s.

  “Might I ask what ye were about?” asked Sigimor.

  “I was collecting rocks,” Ilsa replied. “I wanted some rocks to make pathways in the gardens.”

  “Of course.” He glanced over the pile of rocks separating them. “I think these might be a little difficult to walk on.”

  When she heard Aulay and Ivy giggle, she knew they would recover from their fright. Although that pleased her, she managed to scowl at her brother. “Such a clever wit, ye are.” She quickly grew serious. “Tom?”

  “Was waking e’en as we reached him,” Sigimor answered. “Since he is also cursing and moving about as the rocks are lifted off him, I assume he is only battered and bruised.”

  “Thank God. And Odo? He looked weel enough, but I couldnae see him all that clearly.”

  “Dirty, nay more. Ah, your charming husband approaches.”

  Before Ilsa could prepare herself, she was staring into Diarmot’s eyes. She did not need to see him very clearly to know he was angry. His gaze was hot enough to melt the rock. She inwardly sighed. Even if he could not find a way to blame her for this, she suspected what little freedom she had enjoyed was about to be seriously curtailed.

  “What the devil are ye doing in there?” Diarmot demanded, not sure what annoyed him more, the danger she had been in or the fact that he had been afraid for her.

  “Waiting for some burly lads to come and let us out,” she replied.

  “She was collecting rocks,” said Sigimor, and, even though Ilsa could not see her brother, she was sure he was smirking.

  When Diarmot looked at the pile of rocks he would have to move to free her, Ilsa snapped, “Nay those. Wee ones. I have been collecting rocks to make pretty pathways in the gardens.”

  Diarmot looked at her as if she was completely witless and Ilsa growled softly. She was getting very tired of that look. Her plan for the gardens was obviously one of those things that was beyond a man’s understanding and, so, as with too many men, her husband assumed it was idiocy. Unfortunately, after this, it would be a long time before she gathered all the stones she needed, finished her pathways, and could show him the value of her plan.

  “Best ye stand back whilst we move these stones,” Diarmot said. “They could tumble inside and I wouldnae want ye to suffer yet another blow to the head.”

  Even as she obeyed, pulling the children back with her, Ilsa realized he was implying she had already had her wits rattled and she silently cursed. The only ones in danger of suffering a blow to the head at the moment were her husband and her chuckling brother. Perhaps she could draw Diarmot a picture to make her idea clearer to him. And, if that did not work, she could shove the picture down his throat. It was an enjoyable plan to contemplate as she waited to be freed.

  The moment an opening was made that was big enough to climb through, Ilsa handed the children out. Ignoring the muttering of the men, she put out the fire, picked up the sacks of rocks they had collected and handed them out. As she started to climb out, Diarmot caught hold of her and nearly yanked her through the opening. Ilsa suspected what little patience Diarmot had had been sorely tested. Since Sigimor draped an arm around her, she leaned into him, suddenly in need of the support.

  “Ye are looking sorely battered, lass,” Sigimor said, gently grasping her by the chin and frowning as he studied her face.

  “Some of the smaller stones were flung into the cave,” she said, becoming achingly aware of each and every place she had been struck. “Where is Tom?”

  “He is already on a litter and being taken back to Clachthrom,” replied Diarmot, wondering why he felt so annoyed by the fact that Sigimor was the one offering comfort and support to Ilsa. “I think he is just badly bruised. It was clear naught was broken on the outside. Twill be a day or two ere we can be sure naught was injured inside the lad. Ye will need some tending as weel.” He frowned at the sacks she had handed out of the cave. “Do ye expect us to tote these back to Clachthrom?” His frown deepened when Odo set two more down with the others.

  Since she considered that a foolish question, Ilsa ignored it, and smiled at Odo. “Ye did weel, my wee brave knight.”

  “Thank ye, Mama.” Odo frowned at her. “Ye got hurt.” He looked at Diarmot. “We have to take her home so that Fraser can care for her. She has blood on her.”

  “A fine idea, lad,” said Sigimor and started down the path keeping a firm grip on Ilsa.

  After staring at his wife’s unsteady progress for a minute, Diarmot looked down at the sacks of stones. “I suppose I am expected to bring these along with us.”

  “We worked hard to collect them, Papa,” said Ivy. “We want to help make the garden pretty.”

  Diarmot tossed a sack each to a grinning Tait and Peter, then started down the path carrying the other three. Peter and Tait followed, keeping a close eye on the children. When they reached the horses and Diarmot saw Ilsa already seated before Sigimor on the man’s horse, he tossed Nanty the sacks and ignored his brother’s look of surprise. Tait took Ivy up with him and Peter took Aulay. So, instead of riding back to Clachthrom holding a grateful Ilsa, Diarmot found himself sharing a saddle with Odo again. Diarmot supposed that was only fair. Odo was the true hero of the day.

  Once back at the keep, Ilsa and the children were quickly taken away by Gay and Fraser. Diarmot made certain Tom was comfortable and cared for, then joined Ilsa’s brothers and Nanty in the great hall. He helped himself to some of the ale, bread, and cheese that had been set out, but he had barely begun to slake his thirst and hunger when he realized his companions were unusually quiet. He looked at them and found them staring at him as if they expected him to say something.

  “Ye have something ye need to say?” he asked. “Everyone was saved, the injuries are nay severe, and that is the end of it, aye?”

  “One would think so,” said Tait, “yet I cannae shake away the feeling that it wasnae as simple as it appeared. I looked around, but couldnae see any reason why those rocks came tumbling down. Couldnae see any signs that twas done by a mon, either. But that is what troubles me, that lack of any sign of why it happened.”

  “Rocks fall. It could be as simple as that.”

  Diarmot was pleased, however, to discover that someone else shared his unease. He just wished it was not a Cameron. This incident stole a lot of strength from his suspicion that they were his enemies. He knew, without even a flicker of doubt, that they would never put their sister in danger nor would they put children at risk. They might be guilty of other things, but
not this. And, after a month of their company during which not one suspicious thing had occurred, he was finding it increasingly difficult to believe they were responsible for his beating. Even the possibility that they played some game to get their sister a laird for a husband was losing its importance.

  “And how could someone have accomplished it?” asked Nanty, drawing Diarmot’s attention. “It would require planning.”

  “It wasnae any great secret that Ilsa was going there today,” said Tait. “Some planning was needed ere she set out. It wouldnae have been difficult for someone to prepare this accident, ready it for her arrival at the cave. Ilsa has been there before and spoken of the place. Only a few stones needed loosening and then a push. Once rolling they would bring anything loose on that hillside right along with them.”

  “Why would someone try to hurt my wife and children?” asked Diarmot. “If I am right in believing I have an enemy, that the things which have happened to me were more than accident and ill luck, then I am the target, nay Ilsa.”

  Tait shrugged. “Tis nay so strange for an enemy to strike at those who are close to a mon. Until we uncover the truth, who your enemy is if ye have one, and why he is your enemy, I cannae see this accident as simple fate.”

  “Reasonable. The children and Ilsa must be closely guarded then, until we have those answers.” He looked at each man and carefully asked, “I assume ye dinnae have any yet.”

  “Nay,” Nanty replied. “We have eliminated a growing number of people as ones who might be guilty. It doesnae appear as it is anyone from Clachthrom. Wallace talks a lot, but doesnae act.” Nanty smiled faintly. “We had a wee chat with the fool about the slander he is spreading about. Sigimor was especially convincing in making the fool understand that he is lucky he can still breathe after the way he betrayed his laird. Howbeit, I begin to wonder if we look in the wrong direction.” He shrugged. “We will continue, however, until we see something to lead us elsewhere. That may happen when we finally discover who holds the lands upon which ye were nearly murdered.”

  “I, too, begin to wonder if we chase a chimera.” Diarmot considered the possibility for a moment, then shook his head. “Nay, I am certain someone wanted me dead, that the beating at Muirladen wasnae simply a robbery.”

  “Have ye remembered something?”

  “Only a little, a glimpse. I can now hear a rough voice saying someone best make sure I was dead, that they wouldnae get their reward if I was still breathing. That rather implies that someone hired the men.”

  “Aye,” agreed Sigimor, “and it tells me the answers lie at Muirladen. I will give my family another fortnight to find the answers we seek, or show that they make progress. If there is none of either, then Tait and I will go there to have a look for ourselves. Until we find some answers, however, ye are right to say Ilsa and the bairns must be guarded. If what happened today wasnae an accident, then ye do have an enemy and he now strikes at your family. I just wish ye could remember why ye had been traveling upon our lands.”

  “Nay more than I,” Diarmot said, “for I also grow more certain every day that the answer to so much lies there.”

  Chapter TEN

  It was sad, that was what it was, thought Ilsa as she propped herself up against the pillow to watch Diarmot wash and dress. She held the sheet over her breasts and fought the urge to sigh. It was a pleasure to watch him like this, to see how gracefully he moved, to study the ripple of muscle below his fine skin. She was glad that he never bothered to make use of the privacy screen except to relieve himself. What was so sad was this hard proof that she was utterly enthralled despite all of her efforts to protect her heart. Diarmot, however, seemed to have protected his heart with the finest Spanish steel.

  There was one very thin ray of hope. She hated to cling to it, but could not seem to stop herself. Yet, since the accident at the cave a fortnight ago, Diarmot had ceased to treat her as a threat. Outside of the bedchamber, he was not warm, but he was also not as cold and distant as he had been. The occasional muttered remark told her that he still doubted her tale that they had been handfasted, but, more and more, he behaved as if he accepted her as his wife. Even more important, he behaved as if he accepted the twins as his sons.

  She tried not to act surprised when he paused by the bed. He did not simply give her a brief kiss and leave, but stood frowning at her, his hands on his hips. It was obvious he was actually going to speak to her. Ilsa prayed he was not about to break their truce. She was not at her sharpest in the morning, certainly not sharp enough to effectively defend herself if he began to utter some of those suspicions he still clutched so close to his armored heart.

  “I plan to take Odo and Aulay with me today,” he said.

  “Where?” she asked, tensing slightly as she fought the urge to demand he explain himself. Odo and Aulay were his children, his sons, and he had every right to do as he pleased with them.

  “To ride with me o’er my lands.” He shrugged. “To tally the livestock, inspect the fields, speak to the people. Odo and Aulay cannae be my heirs, but they are my sons and part of this clan.”

  “Oh, aye, but is it safe for them to go?”

  Diarmot realized he had expected her to be concerned. That was why he had consulted her about his intentions, something he had not needed to do. No matter what else he thought about her, it was clear that he had fully accepted her place as the mother of his children. He supposed he ought to take some time to consider how her complete acceptance of his children, her unquestionable affection for them, contradicted all of his suspicions about her.

  “It willnae be just the three of us,” he replied. “There will be half a dozen men with us. I havenae gone many places on my own for a long while.” He gave her a brief kiss and started to leave. “They will be weel guarded.”

  Ilsa slumped against the pillows and frowned at the door as he shut it behind him. She was not quite sure what to make of it. Diarmot had consulted her about the children, something he had never done before. Did that mean he had accepted her as their mother or would he have done the same with Fraser if he had no wife? It was one of those puzzles she would probably drive herself mad trying to solve.

  She got out of bed and moved to wash up, then dress. There were still a few discolorations on her skin from the battering she had received at the cave, but that was all. Tom had recovered quickly as well. For a fortnight all had been peaceful so she told herself not to worry about Diarmot, Odo, and Aulay. In fact, everything had been so very quiet she was tempted to leave the confines of Clachthrom herself, but fought the temptation.

  “Good morning,” called Gay from the doorway. “I have brought ye something to break your fast.”

  “Ah, good. Come in, come in,” Ilsa muttered as she finished lacing up her gown and stepped out from behind the privacy screen.

  “Oh, that gown looks lovely, Ilsa.” Gay shut the door, then set the tray she carried on the chest near the fireplace. “That dark green is a good color for ye.”

  “One of Lady Anabelle’s.” Ilsa ran her hand down the side of the skirt, astonished at the softness of the wool. “Fraser fitted this one for me. I am nay sure I wish to think too much on how much of Diarmot’s money was tossed away on such finery. The woman must have had a gown for every day of the month.”

  “Mayhap two months. All in rich colors. All of the finest cloth. Ye would think she had been handmaiden to the queen.” Gay set a stool by the chest where she had placed the food. “Come, sit on this and I shall tidy your hair.”

  “Her wardrobe reveals her vanity, I think,” said Ilsa as she sat down and helped herself to a honey-sweetened oatcake. “And a part of me can easily understand the craving for so many pretty things. However, Nanty said she nearly beggared Diarmot, making it difficult for him to care for his lands and his people. That is unforgivable.”

  Gay gently combed out Ilsa’s long hair. “Weel, now his lordship can repair his lands and his purse. That woman left so many gowns and so many bolts of cloth, ye will
nae have to buy anything for years.”

  “Oh, dear. That makes me feel guilty for buying that lovely blue linen.”

  “Nonsense. Ye deserve a wee pleasure. A bolt of cloth now and again willnae beggar the mon. Ye deserve it for being so careful with your mon’s coin, as weel.”

  “How can buying a bolt of cloth keep Diarmot from poverty?”

  “Ye have made good use, or will, of the gowns Lady Anabelle had. Many another wife would have refused to do so. Wouldnae want to touch the belongings of the first wife.”

  “Superstitious, I suppose.”

  “Could be. Could also be that the second wife would be afraid she wouldnae look as good in the clothes as the first wife did. And, ye can cease looking like that.”

  Quelling the sudden urge to remove the gown, Ilsa said, “Ye cannae see my face. How do ye ken what I look like?”

  “I ken ye weel, Ilsa. Ye have oft called yourself too red, too small, too thin. Weel, ye are none of that. Ye look verra fine in that gown and ye best nay be thinking of taking it off.”

  “Impertinent wench.” Ilsa sighed. “From all I have heard, Anabelle was a verra beautiful woman. Considering where, and how much, we had to adjust this gown so that it would fit me, Anabelle had the sort of form that makes men’s tongues hang out and their eyes roll back in their heads.”

  “There is a lovely picture,” murmured Gay, then she laughed softly. “Sounds like a fit.”

  “A fit of lust. Anabelle apparently drove men mad with it. She could make men betray their laird, risk death to have her. I cannae do that, ne’er have, ne’er will.”

  “And would ne’er wish to. Your husband comes to your bed every night, aye? I suspicion he doesnae just pat ye on your wee head and go to sleep. He is the only mon who matters, the only one ye want to make his tongue hang out and his eyes roll back in his head, although it sounds most unpleasant.”