What was his excuse for bringing her this far away from the castle? He had wanted to speak with her privately, but it had not been necessary to be quite this alone with her. He reminded himself that this was Ilysa, whom he had known as a babe and a wee girl. He should not have these urges toward her.
But urges he had. With darkness falling around them, he was finding it easier by the moment to imagine laying her down on the sand and having his wicked way with her—over and over. Ach, this was wrong.
“Let’s head back,” he said and started walking.
“Who have ye decided upon for a bride?” Ilysa asked.
“I’m considering John MacIain’s granddaughter,” he said. “She is the child of his eldest son, who died in battle while her mother was pregnant with her.”
“Mmm,” Ilysa murmured, and he noticed a slight tightening around her mouth.
“Why do ye disapprove?” Connor found that Ilysa’s opinion of his future wife did matter to him. And she had seen through Deirdre.
“Let’s hope the apple has fallen far from the tree,” she said.
“Ye shouldn’t judge her nature by her grandfather’s,” he said.
“And ye know her nature?”
“I haven’t met her yet,” he said.
“Hmmm.” She was silent a moment, then she asked, “What are ye looking for in a wife, besides a clan alliance?”
“A quiet, respectful lass, who is loyal and doesn’t interfere with my work,” he said. “She should make my guests welcome and be a good mother.” He wouldn’t complain if she were pretty as well.
“Do you not hope for love?” Ilysa asked in a soft voice.
“Hell, no.” Connor frowned. It was not like Ilysa to speak nonsense, which was one of the things he liked about her. She was a sensible, practical lass who could be counted on to do her duties and take pride in doing them well.
“Who are the others you’re considering?” Ilysa asked.
They discussed each of them in turn, and Ilysa found some fault with every possible alliance.
“I can’t help but think…,” Ilysa said and turned her head to look off toward the dark sea.
“What?”
“Ye told me never to question your judgment as chieftain,” she said, still looking away from him.
“I asked for your opinion,” he said. “That’s different.”
She turned and met his gaze. “Should ye risk tying yourself to either a wife or a clan ye can’t be sure ye can trust?”
“I can’t trust any of them,” Connor said and gave a dry laugh. “I’ll never get a wife if I listen to you.”
“You’re asking them to fight for Trotternish, but what will they want in return?” she asked. “Ye don’t know the cost.”
“That’s true, but I have no choice,” he said. “We must fight the MacLeods, and they are too strong for us to do it alone.” What concerned Connor more was the risk that his bride’s clan would find an excuse not to come to his aid when it was time to fight the MacLeods. Alliances were slippery.
“Perhaps ye should look for a clan that needs us as much as we need them,” Ilysa said. After a long pause, she asked, “What about Torquil MacLeod of Lewis?”
If Torquil were not his half brother, Ilysa’s suggestion would have been an astute one. They each needed help in ousting another clan from their lands. In a prior rebellion, the Crown had granted the traditional lands of Torquil’s clan on the isle of Lewis to a rival, and then Torquil’s father had lost possession of the island as well.
“Our mother left his father for mine,” Connor said. “I have as much chance of making an alliance with Torquil as I do with his distant relation Alastair MacLeod.”
“Ye don’t know that,” Ilysa said.
But Connor did know. Shortly before he left for the gathering, Sorely returned with the message that Torquil had refused his offer of friendship. As was so often the case with Connor’s family, their blood tie, which was born of their mother’s passion and disloyalty, separated rather than bound them.
* * *
Lachlan kept his eyes sharp and his hand on his dirk as he and his father approached the house in which Hugh had set up camp.
“I don’t like coming back here, Father,” Lachlan said in a low voice. “We shouldn’t be putting our trust in a viper like Hugh.”
“He’s useful,” his father said and repeated the old adage, “My enemy’s enemy is my friend.”
The filthy, foul-smelling men who sat on rocks and logs in front of the house continued their games of dice and bones as Lachlan and his father walked past. It made Lachlan feel unclean to be known by such men.
“We must avenge the wrong committed against our family,” his father said under his breath, “for the sake of our honor.”
“Honor?” Lachlan hissed. “What honor is there in consorting with the likes of these?”
“Never forget that you have a sacred duty to avenge your mother,” his father said, his face hard. “Nothing but blood will satisfy it.”
Sometimes Lachlan resented that his father had passed this duty to him because he had not succeeded in taking vengeance himself. When the former chieftain took Lachlan’s mother into his bed, he banned Lachlan’s father from the castle as a precaution. His father could never get near him. In those days, the MacDonalds were strong and the chieftain always well protected.
“We’ll wait outside,” Lachlan said when the man guarding the door stepped aside to let them in. “Tell Hugh we’re here.”
It went against Lachlan’s instincts to be in an enclosed space with an unpredictable man he did not trust. Outside, they had a better chance of escape if things took an unexpected turn.
“Haven’t seen ye for a long while,” Hugh said in a surly voice when he appeared a few moments later.
“We’re here now,” Lachlan’s father said.
“I hear Connor has gone to the gathering at Mingary Castle,” Hugh said.
Lachlan grunted in the affirmative since Hugh already knew it. He had not given Hugh any information since he had made his oath to Connor. Although he had been careful to word it as a pledge of loyalty to the clan, and not to Connor personally, the difference between the two seemed a finer line all the time.
“’Twas no thanks to you that I learned my nephew went to Mingary,” Hugh said, glaring at Lachlan. “You’ve brought me nothing.”
Lachlan ignored him. Although Connor’s departure would be common knowledge by now, Hugh always seemed to be aware of Connor’s movements. Hugh must have someone else in the castle who fed him information, and Lachlan wondered who.
“My son is a warrior, not a gossip or a lad who runs errands for ye,” his father said. “I trained him from the time he could swing a wooden sword, and now he’s the best warrior in all of Trotternish. That is the reason ye want him.”
“If your son is so damned good,” Hugh said, “why hasn’t he killed Connor yet?”
Lachlan was tempted to show Hugh just how good he was with a sword.
“It doesn’t have to be Lachlan who kills him—I just want him dead,” his father said. “Whether it’s you or Lachlan, it must be done in such a way that no one discovers my son’s role in it. I don’t want him killed for taking the chieftain’s life.”
If it can be helped, Lachlan added in his head. He was not certain his father valued his life above vengeance. But that was the way in the Highlands.
“So tell us,” his father said, “do ye have a new plan to kill Connor MacDonald or not?”
CHAPTER 20
Why are ye taking Ilysa back to Trotternish?” Moira asked, her eyes blazing.
“Because my household is in chaos without her,” Connor said.
“How can ye be so inconsiderate?” Moira asked.
“Calm down,” Connor said. “I’ve no idea why you’re upset.”
“Men!” Moira said, raising her hands and looking to the heavens. “I finally persuade Ilysa to get out of those ugly gowns and headdresses, and she has men
following her around—half a dozen of them serious about wedding her, I might add—and my brother the chieftain decides to bury her at Trotternish Castle and ruin her chances.”
“Ruin her chances for what?” Connor asked.
“For happiness!” Moira said. “That lass is so devoted to ye that she’ll sacrifice everything for ye—anyone can see that.”
Connor always knew Ilysa was devoted to the clan. But devoted to him?
“Ilysa enjoys keeping my household,” he said. “And it will only be until I conclude negotiations for my marriage and my wife arrives.”
“Don’t ask this of her,” Moira said, leaning forward with her hands on her hips.
Ach, MacDonald women were the most stubborn, willful women in all of the Highlands. And as for his sister, well, they had not called her Princess Moira as children for nothing.
“Does Ilysa want to marry any of these men?” he asked after taking a deep breath.
“Not yet, but she will,” Moira said. “Ilysa loves children. She deserves a husband and family of her own.”
Ilysa, married? It was hard to think of it.
“Ye seem to have forgotten that it’s your duty to help a widow find a new husband,” Moira said.
Moira was right about that. As chieftain, his duty to safeguard his clan was all-encompassing and included protecting them from attack, feeding them in famine, and, unfortunately, finding husbands for widows. Connor would rather fight a hundred MacLeods than matchmake. And finding the right man for Ilysa would not be easy. He would have to be a strong warrior who could protect her, but also a kind man.
“If ye let her be, Ilysa will have no trouble finding a husband on her own,” Moira said, folding her arms.
“As ye just reminded me, it is my duty to make certain she weds a good man,” he said, “if she wishes to marry at all.”
“Ilysa deserves happiness,” Moira said. “Give her a chance to find it.”
* * *
Ilysa watched for Alastair MacLeod. When he did not appear in the hall for the midday meal, she decided to find him. Duncan had assigned Niall to escort her if she left the keep, but he was speaking with Lady Philippa so evading him would be easy. In fact, she worried that Niall was the one who needed guarding.
Ilysa guessed that a chieftain of the MacLeod’s stature would be given a chamber inside the castle and asked a serving maid.
“The MacLeod is in the West Tower,” the maid told her.
Ilysa found two enormous MacLeod warriors guarding a door on the second floor of the tower.
“I’m a healer, and I’ve brought a salve for your chieftain,” she said and held out the jar.
The guards exchanged glances. Instead of taking the jar from her, one of them went inside. A few moments later, he returned and demanded her name.
“Ilysa.”
The guard opened the door and jerked his head to the side to indicate she should enter.
“I don’t need to see your chieftain,” she said. “I only brought the salve.”
“Go in.” The guard gave her a look that said she could walk in or he could carry her.
Ilysa felt uneasy about entering the MacLeod chieftain’s chamber. As soon as she crossed the threshold and saw him, however, her uneasiness vanished. His face was drawn with pain. She sat on the stool next to his chair.
“I brought that salve I promised ye.”
“It won’t help,” he said.
“This is always a good salve.” She held it up for his inspection. “But this particular batch has special healing powers.”
“Lilies?” he asked after sniffing it, just as Connor had. “What makes it special?”
Ilysa hesitated to tell him, but she knew the salve would ease his pain and she wanted to persuade him to use it. “I collected the water lilies from a faery glen on a night of the full moon.”
She had seen the lilies in a pond amid the odd, conical hills as she left the glen that night and had stopped long enough to cut a few and put them into her bag.
“The faery glen on Trotternish?” Alastair MacLeod asked. When she nodded, he said, “You’re a brave lass. Ye weren’t afraid to go there?”
“If I’d seen a faery—or a MacLeod—I might have been,” she said with a smile. “’Tis a wondrous, magical place.”
* * *
Connor’s conversation with Moira put him in a foul mood, and the prospect of the discussion he was about to have with the MacIain chieftain made it worse.
“Your chieftain is expecting me,” Connor told the men guarding the door to his host’s private chamber and waited while one of them went inside to announce him.
“Just the man I want to see!” The MacIain greeted Connor and slapped him on the back. The man made Connor’s skin crawl, but personal feelings had no place in this.
Connor had thought it through very carefully and concluded that an alliance with MacIain would be advantageous to his clan in every regard. In addition to MacIain’s warriors, fleet of galleys, and marriage tie to the Campbells, MacIain’s close relationship with the Crown would be useful. Connor hoped that, once he took possession of Trotternish, MacIain could persuade the Crown to grant him the royal charter as well.
“I thought I was to meet your granddaughter,” Connor said, glancing about the room, which was devoid of females.
“And you shall.” The MacIain signaled for Connor to sit at the table. “I wanted to discuss all the important matters first.”
Connor had hoped to meet the lass before this went much further. Although his personal feelings did not count for much, he would be seeing this woman at his table morning, noon, and night for the rest of his life. It felt like a death sentence.
“My granddaughter doesn’t take after me in looks, if that’s your concern,” MacIain said with a gruff laugh.
God, I hope not. MacIain had pockmarked skin, bulging fish eyes, and bow legs.
“She’s looking forward to meeting you as well,” MacIain said as he poured whiskey into the two cups on the table. “When I asked her which of our guests I should choose for her husband, she pointed at you, and said, ‘I want that handsome, black-haired MacDonald chieftain.’”
Teàrlag’s words rang in Connor’s ears. The lass will choose you. Surely, this was a sign.
“Fond as I am of my granddaughter, I’d never let her decide such an important matter, of course,” MacIain said. “However, her choice coincides with mine. She was born three months after my son’s death and has spent far too many years in the Lowlands with her mother’s clan for my liking. I want to see her wed to a strong Highlander.”
Connor sipped his whiskey. The lass’s Lowlander upbringing made him uneasy. “It’s a hard life for a lass unaccustomed to it.”
“Ach, she has the heart of a MacIain,” he said, which Connor did not find reassuring.
“What do you hope to gain from this alliance,” Connor asked, “other than a man who will be good to your granddaughter?” No matter MacIain’s affection for his granddaughter, or pretense of it, they both knew that was secondary.
“I’ll expect ye to respond to my call to arms, should I need ye at some future time,” MacIain said.
Connor’s pledge would require him to honor the call, no matter what the cause might be. As he had told Ilysa, this was the unavoidable cost of recovering his clan’s lands and protecting his people. He hoped to hell that when MacIain called on him it was for a fight that did not turn his stomach.
He and the MacIain went back and forth on the bride’s tochar, or dowry, and other terms until they reached agreement.
“Can I have the pleasure of meeting your granddaughter now?” Connor asked. He had made it clear earlier that he would not sign a marriage contract until he met the bride. Now that the terms were settled, however, it would be awkward to extricate himself.
“Sadly, she fell ill last night,” the MacIain said. “She’s a hardy lass, but I fear she’ll be unable to leave her bed for a few days.”
The timing of
her illness was suspicious, to say the least. Connor could not remain here much longer, and MacIain damned well knew it. Was there something wrong with the lass that MacIain did not want Connor to see? Or did MacIain have some other reason for delay?
“The battle for Trotternish will come soon,” Connor said, reiterating his key demand. “I must know that you will support me with your warriors and galleys.”
“That is the tricky part, isn’t it?” the MacIain said, folding his hands.
“What are ye saying?” Connor kept his voice even, but he was so furious he felt as if his head would explode.
“Now that the MacLeod has left the rebellion, ye won’t find another chieftain here who is willing to take on the MacLeods with ye.”
“Several expressed an interest in a marriage alliance.” Even as he said it, Connor recalled how the other chieftains’ enthusiasm seemed to wane each time he brought up the coming battle for Trotternish. Several had even suggested he should be content with the lands he had.
“Everyone can see that if ye survive your present troubles, you’ll be a powerful force in the isles, the kind of chieftain anyone would want for an ally,” MacIain said, spreading out his hands. “But right now, they’re no willing to help ye fight the MacLeods.”
And Connor was supposed to feel flattered by this?
“I am, however, in a stronger position than most to take the risk,” the MacIain continued. “I’ll need some time to grease the pig, so to speak, and discuss it with the Campbell chieftain, who may be upset by my attacking one of the Crown’s new supporters.”
Time was running out. While MacIain professed to be greasing the pig, Connor could not enter into serious negotiations for a marriage with another clan. He certainly could not do it while in MacIain’s home. And yet, without a signed marriage contract—or a bride—there was nothing certain about his arrangement with the MacIain.
“Three weeks is all I can wait.” Connor stood. “Bring your warriors and your granddaughter to Trotternish Castle before Beltane or there will be no marriage alliance between us.”
CHAPTER 21
The Chieftain Page 14