Highland Groom

by Hannah Howell

  “Aye, she was naught to me, less than naught. She meant something to Margaret, though.” Ilsa fixed her gaze upon Margaret. “Didnae she, Precious Love?”

  “Ye think ye are so verra clever, dinnae ye?” Margaret shook her head. “Ye have nay proof.”

  “Diarmot soon will. He and my brothers will soon find out all they need to ken. The truth is there, at Muirladen, isnae it? Tis why he went there a year ago. Tis why ye set those men on him.”

  “He willnae find out any more now than he did then.”

  “Oh, I think he will. Ye havenae been able to kill all who kenned the truth. Diarmot willnae be marrying ye when he returns to find himself widowed. Ye will be verra lucky if he doesnae hunt ye down like the rabid animal ye are.” She tensed when Margaret hissed and started toward her, but then Finlay started to cry, and Margaret quickly retreated again.

  “How are ye making the bairn do that?” Margaret snapped.

  Although Ilsa was rather astonished by Finlay’s behavior, she calmly brushed a thick curl from his forehead. “I am doing naught. He just doesnae like ye.”

  “Weel, he will be a verra quiet laddie soon,” she murmured, then took another sip of wine. “I will only have to speak to Diarmot to make him believe he has heard naught but lies about me, evil lies. The mon was eager to wed with me ere ye ruined everything. He saw in me all he wanted in a wife, all he loved in a woman.”

  “Aye, placid stupidity.”

  There was such a flare of rage upon Margaet’s face, Ilsa decided it was probably fortunate for her that Geordie distracted the woman by snorting with laughter. Ilsa was a little surprised that Geordie did not wilt beneath the look of furious loathing Margaret fixed upon him. It was possible Geordie thought himself the more important partner, thought himself safe because of what he knew or could do to help Margaret. Ilsa doubted Margaret saw it that way.

  “Ye think ye suit him so much better, do ye?” Magaret snapped as she returned her attention to Ilsa. “Ye with your disgusting red hair and a form that is more bone than flesh? Aye, and with all those cursed red-haired brothers whose wits are as thick as cold mud?”

  “Aye, and ye best nay forget about my brothers in all of your planning, Precious Love. They and my two score and more cousins will ne’er rest until they find the ones who killed me and my sons. Ye willnae ken one moment of rest until they set ye in your grave. They will be unrelenting in their hunt.”

  “Margaret?”

  For a moment Ilsa thought Geordie was going to discuss the problem of all those enraged Camerons, but then she saw his face. He was dripping sweat, his face as white as bleached linen. His eyes slowly widened as he began to realize that he had been betrayed.

  “I would suggest ye hurry and start emptying your belly,” said Ilsa. “Repeatedly.”

  “Ye filthy bitch, Margaret,” he said, his voice hoarse with pain, as he tried to stand up.

  “I am nay the one who is filthy,” sneered Margaret. “Ye must pay for befouling me.”

  “Befouling ye?” Geordie finally stood up only to stagger to the right, bump into the wall, and slide down it to sit upon the floor. “We were lovers. Ye were the one who pulled me into your bed. I let ye seduce me, fool that I am.”

  “Jesu, dinnae remind me. Ye were hesitant to help me.” Margaret shrugged. “Letting ye rut on me served to rid ye of that hesitancy. It was nay more than that. I had to take such drastic measures in order to make that bastard Diarmot MacEnroy pay for my Anabelle’s death. Think of this as a kindness I now do ye.”

  “A kindness?”

  “Aye, ye will suffer less from this than from the hanging ye would face once they kenned ye had killed lady Ilsa and the bairns.”

  “Ye are utterly mad,” he said, panting out each word.

  “Did ye only just notice that?” Ilsa asked the mon. “Didnae ye e’er wonder o’er her need to kill Diarmot because she blamed him for his first wife’s death? She was nay blood kin to the woman.”

  “She said she loved Anabelle like a sister,” Geordie said.

  “I think not. They were lovers, Geordie. Margaret was Anabelle’s Precious Love, was her lover for many years. She blames Diarmot for Anabelle’s death, but twas dear Precious Love who gave Lady Anabelle the potion that killed her. Ye have sent your soul to hell for naught.”

  “Och, weel, it was bound for there ere I met this bitch. ’Ware,” he whispered, “she reaches for my sword.”

  Ilsa tensed as she watched Geordie try to grab Margaret when she drew his sword from its scabbard only to fail. Margaret quickly danced out of his reach when he tried to grab her by the ankle, and, with a groan, Geordie fell onto his side. He curled up, much like a small child, and Ilsa knew he would soon be dead. The way Margaret held the sword and eyed her told Ilsa she might soon join him if she did not come up with a plan.

  Nanty was just leaving the stable with Tom, wondering how he was going to explain what he had discovered to Ilsa, when there was a brief disturbance at the gates. The men had been shutting them since the sun was setting, but were now scrambling to open them again. Even as he hurried over to see what the trouble was, Diarmot rode in, followed by Tait, Sigimor, a man who looked far too much like Sigimor, and a fourth redheaded young man.

  “Ye have returned sooner than was planned,” said Nanty as Diarmot dismounted. “Ye discovered something?”

  “Aye,” Diarmot replied and introduced Somerled and Liam to Nanty and Tom, then frowned at the small group of women who inched their way in through the gates. “Do ye recall Gillyanne’s cousin Payton, Nanty?”

  “Och, aye.” Nanty studied Liam for a moment, then looked at the women who were all staring at the man. “Oh.”

  “I think this one might be even worse. May we help ye?” he asked the women.

  The six women all muttered varying excuses about needing to visit Glerida or some kinswoman and fled into the keep. Nanty laughed. “And there they will stay for a while, I am thinking. Oh, I found the maid.” He paused when a young maid approached with a tray of tankards brimming with ale. She served all the men, but kept her gaze fixed upon Liam. “There might be some advantage to having a Liam about,” Nanty said, taking a drink and watching Sigimor scowl the young maid into retreating.

  After enjoying a deep drink of the ale, Diarmot looked at Nanty. “Ye said ye had found the maid? Dead?”

  “Aye, her throat was cut,” Nanty replied. “I have just returned from where the body was found. Weel, actually, from the church where we took her to be buried. She was either murdered because she knew too much or taken away and murdered to turn our eyes in the wrong direction.”

  “It could easily be either one. Margaret Campbell is Precious Love.”

  “Jesu, and the maid came with her. So did another. I believe her name is Lucy. Margaret is truly the enemy?”

  “Difficult to believe, aye?” Diarmot told Nanty everything he had discovered about the woman he had almost married.

  “She fooled us all. E’en Gillyanne in some ways.”

  “Weel, Gillyanne tried to warn me, but couldnae be verra clear about why Margaret troubled her. I wouldnae have survived that marriage for long.”

  “Papa! Papa!”

  Diarmot turned to see Odo running toward him from the far side of the keep, the side where the gardens were. Even as the little boy flung himself at Diarmot’s legs, Gay, Fraser, Glenda, and Jenny hurried out of the keep toward him. He noticed that Gay and the two older women greeted Liam cordially, but no more. Jenny seemed stunned. Then a chill entered Diarmot’s blood as he realized this was no welcome home. Something was wrong.

  “Ilsa?” he asked.

  “She isnae here,” Gay said and quickly told Diarmot all that had happened in the garden

  “She went after them alone?”

  “Tis what they said she must do,” said Glenda. “Time was running out and we couldnae think of another plan, nay one that wouldnae add to the danger the bairns were in. Lady Ilsa did just as she was told, but she did say we c
ould send someone along later, that she would keep Geordie and his woman’s attention fixed upon her.”

  It was a blow to realize that he had been so wrong about Geordie, but Diarmot shook that small grief aside. “Good, where did she go?” He did not like the identical looks of chagrin the women wore.

  “She didnae leave the wee map with us,” said Gay. “We think she did that on purpose so that we couldnae follow her.”

  “So, Ilsa is alone with Geordie and Margaret.”

  “Margaret!” Fraser cried out in surprise.

  “Aye, Margaret,” said Diarmot. “I will explain it all to ye later. Right now I need to find a way to get to my foolish wife.”

  “I ken where she is, Papa,” said Odo, gazing up at Diarmot. “I followed.” He cast a wary glance at Fraser.

  “We will discuss why ye are a naughty wee lad later,” said Fraser.

  “Where did your mama go, lad?” Diarmot asked Odo.

  “To that wee house where ye got stuck under the bed,” Odo replied.

  “Did ye follow her all the way there and then come home verra fast?”

  “Aye, Papa. I came home verra, verra fast.”

  Diarmot crouched down in front of the boy, hugged him, then held him by his small shoulders. “Think hard, lad. Were there any men outside, guards like we have here at Clachthrom?”

  “Nay, Papa. There was no one about. Mama walked right up to the cottage. There wasnae e’en a mon at the door. Then the lady opened the door and Mama went inside. It was that lady ye were going to marry before Mama came home, Papa. Why does she want to hurt Mama, Alice, and the bairns? Is it because ye chose Mama instead of her?”

  “That is some of it, my brave lad. If ye still have questions, ye: may ask me later. After I have brought your mama and the others home.” He kissed Odo on the cheek, then gently pushed him toward Fraser. “Ye were wrong to run off on your own, lad, and we will have to talk about that, too,” he said as he stood up. “But, ye did weel, my wee knight.” He looked at Gay. “Are ye verra sure it was Geordie?”

  “Aye, m’laird,” replied Gay. “He wore a mask, but, aye, twas Geordie. What I felt was certain was confirmed by what Ilsa had just seen. She followed Geordie when he slipped away from Clachthrom. He went to that cottage and met with that woman. Tis certain now they were confirming their plans to take the bairns, but Ilsa was on foot. Thinking it had just been some lover’s tryst, she didnae hurry home and was cursing herself for that.”

  “Jesu, doesnae anyone in this family stay where they are put?” cried Nanty. “I leave for but a few hours and ye are all running about the lands alone and unguarded.”

  “It makes one wonder if that maid’s body was meant to be found now, meant to draw ye away from Clachthrom,” said Diarmot.

  Nanty shivered. “She had obviously been dead since the day she went missing or soon after. I cannae conceive of anyone wanting to carry that around.”

  “It worked.” Diarmot looked at Sigimor. “We will need fresh horses, I think.”

  “I will fetch them,” Nanty said and, with Tom’s help, led away the weary horses Diarmot and the Camerons had ridden in on.

  Sigimor watched the women take Odo back into the keep. “If ye e’er want to foster that lad out for a wee while, I would be proud to take him in. Dinnae believe in sending the bairns off to someone else for near all their life, but some of them are served weel for a wee bit of training elsewhere.”

  Diarmot stared at Sigimor for a moment. “Arenae ye e’en a wee bit worried about Ilsa?”

  “More than a wee bit. Tis why I talk about other things.” He shrugged. “It helps keep the bloodlust from getting too strong. Mon cannae think clear when that happens.”

  Somerled nodded. “And when one thinks clear, one recalls that our Ilsa isnae some sweet, shy lady who thinks a knife is only to eat with. She is a Cameron. She willnae let them hurt her or the bairns without shedding some blood herself.”

  “Margaret may be easily defeated,” said Diarmot, “but Geordie is a big mon.”

  “So are ye, but she knocked ye on your arse,” said Tait.

  “Ilsa is also clever and has dealt with men bigger and stronger than her for her whole life,” said Somerled. “Ye dinnae think she survived all of us by being sweet and smiling prettily, did ye? Aye, the lass is in danger, nay doubt about it, and it isnae certain she can win this fight. But, I promise ye, she went there armed, she plotted every step of the way, and she will be watching close for a weakness. I am fair certain these enemies of yours already have one verra serious weakness.”

  “And what would that be?” asked Diarmot.

  “All they see when they look at our Ilsa is a wee lass who could probably be blown away in a strong wind.”

  Somerled and his brothers were right, Diarmot thought, and felt his fears ease back just a little, enough for him to pull forth the strength and clear head he would need. Ilsa was slender, delicate, yet strong. He had felt the strength in that lithe body often enough. She was clever and would understand the need of a clear head and a steady hand. Her love for the children and her need to keep them safe would also make her a force to be reckoned with. All Ilsa would need was for Geordie and Margaret to make a few simple mistakes and there was a very good chance she would survive this.

  Chapter TWENTY

  “Weel, ye have already made one serious error, Precious Love,” Ilsa said, gently nudging the children back until they were behind her, pressed against the wall.

  “Have I?” Margaret glanced at the sword in her hand, then smiled at Ilsa. “What would that be?”

  “Ye killed the only real threat to me.”

  “Ye dinnae see this weapon as a threat?”

  “Nay in your hands.”

  “I have used one before.” She looked at Alice. “I will be grieved to hurt Alice. She looks so verra much like Anabelle. Tis as if Anabelle lives on in her child.”

  “Wheesht, I hope not. Anabelle was vicious. She used people. She used ye, too, Precious Love.”

  “Ye didnae ken Anabelle,” snapped Margaret. “Ye could ne’er understand her. Those men, those swine, thought they had beaten her, but she rose victorious o’er them. She made them crawl, exposed their filthy weakness to all the world. Aye, she used them, but she loved me.” Margaret sighed. “If twas possible, I would spare her child, raise her as my own. It cannae be, however. If I am to have my revenge upon Diarmot, ye all have to die.”

  “Since ye have killed Geordie and Lucy, just how do ye plan to explain our deaths?”

  “Oh, I shall make sure it looks as if Geordie killed ye, then poisoned himself. Guilt drove him to it, of course. Mayhap I shall leave a wee note wherein he confesses all. Lucy’s death, too. I must nay forget that.”

  “Och, nay. I dinnae suppose ye have considered the possibility that I may offer a few objections to your plans. Or, did ye expect me to simply hold my hair out of the way and direct ye to the best place to strike?”

  Ilsa could see how angry Margaret was growing and decided her plan was working. It surprised her a little for she had not completely expected it to. She had hoped to make Margaret so angry, so agitated, she would act without thought, would be blindly eager to spill her blood. Then Ilsa could make a run for the door, drawing the woman outside as Margaret chased her. More important, it would draw Margaret and the sword she held away from the children, out to a place where Ilsa would feel it safe to draw and use her own weapons, to fight. It was a plan with only a small chance of success, she had thought, but apparently she had been wrong.

  “Do ye nay understand that your wee life is in my hands?” Margaret hissed.

  “What I understand is that ye obviously lost your wits years ago. I dinnae fear ye. Ye are naught but a murderous whore, just like your lover Anabelle was.”

  Margaret’s rage came so hot and swift, Ilsa nearly missed her chance, a mistake that could have been deadly. She raced for the door even as Margaret lunged toward her, sword raised. Margaret quickly followed, screaming cu
rses. Ilsa was prepared to run a long way, but then she heard Margaret stumble. She turned, hoping to take advanatge of it, but Margaret was already getting back on her feet, the sword still firmly grasped in her hand. Ilsa slid her hand into the hidden slit in her skirts and clasped the dagger that was sheathed there. Now she had the freedom to draw her weapons and fight. Although she did not want to kill Margaret, she was ready to do so if needed. The woman’s obvious madness had eaten away at Ilsa’s bloodlust.

  “Margaret is going to kill her,” said Diarmot.

  He started to move into the clearing surrounding the cottage only to be yanked back by Sigimor, who said, “If ye go charging in there now, ye will distract Ilsa and that could certainly get her killed.”

  Diarmot did not move, his gaze fixed upon Ilsa, but he wondered aloud, “Where is Geordie? Or Lucy?”

  “Gone from here or dead, I should think. They would be watching this if they were able. Dinnae think Ilsa would have gotten Margaret outside waving that sword about if Geordie was still close at hand. Or able.”

  “Nay, I think ye may be right. So, my children could be all alone in the cottage.”

  “Ah, aye, and that makes sense. That is why Ilsa has drawn this madwoman out here. Now Ilsa can draw her own weapons and fight without fearing that the children will be hurt.” Sigimor looked to the rear of the cottage and smiled faintly. “Ye do breed some fine children, Diarmot.”

  Diarmot followed the direction of Sigimor’s gaze and nearly gaped. Alice was coming out of the back of the cottage dragging a blanket upon which rested his sons. The little girl was having a difficult time, stumbling as she fought to pull the blanket along. It was a lot of weight for the child to haul, but she appeared very determined.

  “Come on,” said Sigimor. “I think tis safe enough for us to go round and come up behind the cottage.”

  After one last look at his wife, Diarmot followed the others. He wanted to rush down and end the threat Ilsa faced, but forced himself to accept the judgment of her kinsmen. They knew her strengths and skills far better than he did. He could, however, help his daughter and sons.