Highland Groom Page 3

  “I dinnae think ye lie.”

  “Nay, but ye think Diarmot does.”

  Ilsa shrugged then sighed. “I dinnae ken what I think. To forget a wife? And, his time with me came before the beating, so why would his memory of that fail him?”

  “Who can say? Just try nay to let anger and injured feelings close heart and mind.” Gillyanne glanced at the men. “Ye shall have to try to start anew. I ken it willnae be easy.”

  “Nay, it willnae.” Ilsa winced as a Campbell seemed to fly over the church benches and landed near the door.

  “Oh, dear,” said Gay. “Sigimor has gotten verra angry. He is tossing men about.”

  “Aye.” Ilsa briefly smiled at a giggling Gillyanne. “This foolishness will soon end. Once the Campbells see how many of them are ending in a groaning heap near the walls, they will back down.”

  “Your brother often ends a fight this way, does he?” asked Gillyanne.

  “He says that, if they havenae got the sense to stay down when he knocks them down, they deserve to be thrown away.” She shook her head as yet another Campbell went flying toward the wall, but she noticed the urge to keep fighting was slowly leaving the others still facing her brothers and the MacEnroys. “Tait says Sigimor just wearies of hitting them and wants them to go away. I think, too, that he did it once, saw how it made other men hesitate or back away, and decided it was a verra fine battle tactic.”

  “Aye, it is. I can see that my husband heartily approves.” Gillyanne looked at Ilsa.

  When the woman continued to study her, but say nothing, Ilsa began to feel uncomfortable. “What is it?”

  “Just love the fool as ye do, Ilsa Cameron. Twill take time ere all is weel, but twill be time weel spent. Ah, the priest now ventures forth to try to soothe tempers.”

  Ilsa wanted to ask the woman what she meant by those words, but suspected she would get no answer. If Lady Gillyanne had wanted to say more, she would have. Of that, Ilsa had no doubt. She inwardly shook her head. The woman had accepted her quickly, almost without question. Yet, Ilsa could not rouse much suspicion over that, which in itself was very odd, indeed. She turned her attention to the men who were arguing with the priest and each other.

  “He shamed my daughter,” snapped Sir Lesley Campbell, glaring at Diarmot and the priest. “That insults me and my family.”

  “It wasnae an intentional slight,” said Father Goudie.

  “I didnae ken I had a wife, handfast or otherwise,” muttered Diarmot.

  “How can ye forget a wife?” demanded Sir Lesley. “Do ye truly expect me to believe that?”

  “I believe I told ye of my injuries and my loss of memory when this marriage was arranged.” Diarmot did not need to look at the Camerons to know they doubted his claim, too. He could almost feel their anger and suspicion.

  “Ye will pay for this, MacEnroy. Ye were to take my daughter to wife, to make her the lady of this keep.”

  “Weel, it seems he cannae do that, can he?” said Sigimor. “He handfasted with my sister nearly a year past and those bairns give her the right to claim him as husband.”

  “If the bairns are really his,” snapped Sir Campbell, only to take a step back when Sigimor started to move toward him.

  “There will be nay more fighting in my church,” shouted Father Goudie, stopping Sigimor’s advance, then he gave Sir Campbell a stern look. “The papers Lady Cameron has are proof enough for me. I also ken that Sir Diarmot was grievously ill. I believe him when he says he didnae recall he had a wife already. This was nay more than an innocent error, no insult intended, and that should be the end of it.”

  “Ah, weel, ye would say that, wouldnae ye?” said Sir Campbell, growing bold in his anger once Sigimor had stepped back. “Ye are a Goudie, one of a clan allied to the MacEnroys.”

  Father Goudie stood very straight, his expression and his voice cold. “Ye grow offensive. I am a priest. My first allegiance is to God, the church, and the truth. Ye would do weel to cease your curses and allegations and thank God the truth was uncovered ere your daughter found herself the illegitimate wife in a bigamous union.”

  Sir Campbell glared at the priest, but said no more, simply looked toward his daughter. “Come, Margaret.”

  As his erstwhile wife passed by his side, Diarmot looked at her, unable to think of anything to say to make amends. She smiled faintly and he inwardly frowned. There was little expression upon her sweet face or in her blue eyes. Margaret was as calm as always which made no sense at all. Diarmot knew theirs was not to have been a love match, yet, surely, the woman should be at least annoyed. He began to wonder if what he had seen as a sweet, passive nature was actually bone-deep stupidity.

  “It will all come right in the end,” she murmured, then let her father drag her away.

  Diarmot noticed that everyone was staring after Margaret with the same look of confusion he suspected he wore. “What did she mean by that?”

  “Mayhap she is a forgiving lass,” suggested Father Goudie. “She understands this was all an innocent mistake and wishes ye weel in renewing your vows with Lady Ilsa. Shall we begin the ceremony?”

  It was on the tip of Diarmot’s tongue to say no Goudie could possibly be that naive, but he bit back the words. Instead, he fixed his mind on the suggestion that he now marry the copper-haired woman who claimed they had been handfasted. He did not care what papers she waved about, he was certain some wretched trick was being played on him.

  “I dinnae believe,” began Diarmot only to have Connor drag him several feet away from the growling Camerons. “This has got to be some devious game, Connor.”

  “Nay, I dinnae think so,” said Connor. “The papers look too real.” He glanced toward the small crowd at the back of the church, many of whom had slipped inside after the Campbells had left. “I expect some of that group are witnesses.” He then looked toward his wife who still stood close by Lady Ilsa’s side. “Gillyanne has accepted it all.”

  Diarmot followed his brother’s gaze, saw Gillyanne standing with Lady Ilsa, and felt chilled. “Weel, she ne’er liked Margaret.”

  “Why are ye being so stubborn about this? Ye were seeking a wife. Weel, it appears ye have found one.”

  “She isnae what I sought.”

  “Nay? She is a bonny lass and has given ye two fine sons, legitimate ones.”

  “If her claims are true.” Diarmot grimaced and dragged his hands through his hair. “She isnae what I sought,” he repeated a little helplessly. “She isnae calm and sweet. There is the hint of strong emotions in her and I dinnae want that.”

  Connor softly cursed. “She came to find the husband she thought she had, one she hasnae heard from in a year, only to find him ready to marry another. That would rouse strong emotion in any lass with some wit or heart.”

  That was a pointed reference to Margaret’s utter calm, but Diarmot could not bring himself to defend the woman. Margaret’s complete lack of emotion under such circumstances was odd. “She is too thin and too red.” He cursed when Connor slapped him on the back of the head.

  “Ye clearly found her enticing a year past. Aye, she may nay be sweet and calm and her curves are but gentle ones, but those bairns prove they will serve ye weel. If I judge it right, there willnae be much of a dower, either. Tis evident that that lack didnae trouble ye a year past.” Connor cocked one brow. “Any other arguments ere ye do as ye ought?”

  Diarmot just glared at Connor and slowly shook his head. He might be able to present more arguments, but Connor would just continue to knock them down with ease. Whatever he said now could be readily countered by the fact that it had evidently not caused him to hesitate to plight his troth to the woman a year ago, or so the Camerons would have them all believe.

  “How do ye ken I signed those papers of my own free will?” he finally asked.

  “And how do ye ken that ye didnae? Ye certainly cannae recall. I believe the papers real, that no game is played here. It appears that Gilly thinks the same. If there isnae any trick
here, ye owe that lass vows said afore a priest. If there is some trick, then, would it nay be wise to have her close to hand? Ye say ye cannae recall her as lover or wife. Ye cannae recall who your enemy is, either. Wed her. If tis but a trick, a lie, that will be enough to end the marriage. Play the game for now.”

  There was a great deal of sense in what Connor said. Diarmot wondered why he hesitated, but he did. As he looked at Ilsa he felt a variety of emotions stir to life inside of him and suspected that was why. He wanted no emotions. He wanted peace. Although he could not readily identify what he felt, it was not peaceful. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he marched toward Lady Ilsa Cameron.

  Ilsa was given no chance to complain or discuss the matter before she found herself kneeling beside Diarmot. A little dazed, she said her vows before Father Goudie. Diarmot did not hesitate to say his, but there was a cold anger in his voice as he did so and it made the words she had so longed to hear just another way to wound her. His kiss to seal their vows was also cold and abrupt.

  She could think of nothing to say as she accepted Finlay back into her arms, smiling faintly at Gillyanne who had been kind enough to hold him. No one else seemed inclined to speak, either. Diarmot’s hand on her arm felt a little too much like a manacle. This marriage was so far removed from all of her girlish imaginings, she knew she was in shock. It was not until they entered the keep that she regained her senses enough to realize that her sons needed to be attended to before she was subjected to any more shocks or slights.

  “Do ye have a nursery?” she asked Diarmot, finally resisting his pull on her arm and forcing him to stop and look at her. “Gay and I need to feed and change the bairns.” She felt very uneasy when he slowly smiled.

  “The nursery,” he murmured and started to pull her toward the narrow stone stairs that led to the upper floors. “Allow me to escort ye there.”

  A murmur of protest came from Diarmot’s family, but he ignored them. Ilsa was not sure why the MacEnroys did not want her taken to the nursery or why Diarmot seemed far too pleased to take her. She could not think of any reason why she should suddenly feel so eager not to go, either, but she did.

  Diarmot stopped before a door, opened it, and insolently waved her and Gay into the room. Ilsa took a few steps inside and stopped, staring at the six little children who called out greetings to their papa. A part of her, the part so well trained in good manners, made her curtsy slightly to each child as Diarmot introduced them.

  “Just toss yours in with the rest,” Diarmot said and walked away.

  As Ilsa heard the door shut behind him, she had the mad thought that it sounded like the coffin lid being nailed shut on every hope and dream she had ever had.

  Chapter THREE

  “M’lady, let me take the bairn. I think ye may be holding him a wee bit too tightly.”

  Ilsa blinked and looked at the plump, older woman standing before her. The woman was probably in her thirties with the hint of silver in her dark hair, and had a round, pleasant face. There was sympathy in her dark eyes and Ilsa felt that cut through some of the shock which held her so tightly in its grip. A soft whimper from Finlay convinced her to hand her son to the woman. Until she could gain some control of her rampaging emotions, Ilsa knew she could not give her babies the attention they needed. She also knew her upset could make the twins fretful.

  “And ye are?” she asked, astonished at how calm and even her voice sounded. “I fear I didnae heed the introductions verra weel.”

  “I am nay surprised to hear it. Dinnae ken what the lad was thinking, what foolish game he played. Toss them in with the others, he says. He needs his ears twisted, he does. I am Mistress Fraser, but most call me Fraser or Nurse.” The woman curtsied. “My given name is Mary, ye see, and there are a lot of Marys about. Didnae like the way they tried to put a word afore Mary to separate me from the others, so tis just Fraser or Nurse.”

  “Pleased to meet ye, Fraser.” Ilsa touched Gay’s shoulder. “This is my companion Gay. She helps me feed and care for the twins.” Ilsa noticed only curiosity in the woman’s eyes, but Fraser did not press for any explanations, just drew the children closer and began to introduce them one by one.

  There was Alice, a pretty little girl of three with thick blond curls and big brown eyes. In a not very quiet aside, Fraser identified the girl as Diarmot’s only legitimate child born of his first marriage to a woman named Anabelle. It would have been nice if Diarmot had told her that he had been married before, Ilsa mused as Fraser introduced Ivy, a girl of five with blond hair and blue eyes. Then came Odo, a sturdy little boy of five with brown hair and blue eyes. A shy little boy of four named Aulay seemed to be all shades of brown, from his thick hair to his big dark brown eyes to his slightly swarthy skin. Ewart, two, was a startingly beautiful little boy with thick black curls and brilliant blue eyes. Finally, a thin boy named Gregor was introduced. This boy was also two, had dark blond hair, and light gray eyes.

  Five bastards, she thought. Some from before his marriage, some bred during his marriage. Diarmot obviously did not honor his vows. Two children aged five and two aged two revealed that Diarmot could not even be faithful to a mistress, let alone his own wife. Her future kept looking darker and darker, she thought with a sigh.

  As Fraser introduced Cearnach and Finlay to their new siblings, Ilsa felt numbing shock slowly replaced by a searing hot rage. Telling herself that there were no children of an age to show Diarmot had been unfaithful to her did nothing to cool her anger. He had obviously scattered his seed far and wide and held no faith at all with his first wife. He had never told her that he had been married once. He had never told her that he had a small horde of illegitimate children. Diarmot could not claim he had forgotten those rather important facts, for their time together had been before his injury. In a way he had lied to her, deceived her. She could not help but wonder how deep that deception went, if everything that had passed between them had also been a lie.

  And the way he had tossed her into this room, she thought and tightly clenched her fists, had been cruel and insulting. Ilsa was sure the man had meant it to be an insult. Diarmot had also insulted their sons with his parting words. That could not be allowed. If he truly had forgotten her, forgotten their marriage, he had a right to some doubts. There was no doubt, however, that the twins were his sons. She could not allow him to strike out at them no matter how angry or suspicious he felt.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a heavy jug. Ilsa picked it up, pleased by its weight and the fact that it was empty. She turned and started out of the room. What she intended to do would solve nothing and she knew it, but she still needed to do it.

  “I will return in a few moments,” she told Gay.

  “Oh, dear,” murmured Gay as the door shut behind Ilsa.

  “If she needed water, she should have asked me,” said Fraser. “There are plenty of ready hands to fetch things.”

  “She hasnae gone to fetch water.”

  “Then why did she take the ewer?”

  “She is going to throw it at her husband.” Gay’s eyes widened slightly with surprise when Fraser chuckled. “She is verra angry.”

  “So she should be. To present her with this brood without a word of explanation was badly done. Twas unkind and, I think, meant to insult her. A slap in the face, it was. The fool deserves whatever she does to him.”

  “She truly is his handfast wife,” Gay said.

  Fraser nodded. “I ken it. Dinnae need to be seeing any papers, either. There is no deception in that lass.” Fraser shook her head. “Unfortunately, our laird sees deception at every turn at the moment. He has some right to be wary, but, I believe his loss of memory makes him even more so. When the lass has calmed herself, I will tell her a few things that fool lad should have told her before he had his wits rattled.”

  “Will that help?” Gay was not comforted when Fraser’s only answer was a shrug of her shoulders.

  Diarmot scowled at the Camerons. With the as
sistance of his family, he had told them of his injuries and loss of memory. He suspected it was only Gillyanne’s presence and her word that held back their outrage and fury. The Camerons were not openly calling him a liar, but their expressions said it loudly enough. They obviously suspected him of lying to his family.

  That was fine, he thought crossly, for he did not believe them, either. For one thing, he did not believe he would ever be fool enough to marry a woman with eight large brothers, ones who possessed every shade of red hair imaginable and the temper rumored to go with it. Despite Gillyanne’s belief that the Camerons told the truth, for the first time since he had known her, Diarmot did not accept her word on it. He did not want to.

  In what he recognized as a somewhat childish reaction, Diarmot wanted them all to go away. He wanted his meek, calm, easy-to-ignore bride back. It had only taken one glimpse of Ilsa to know that copper-haired beauty would never be meek or calm, nor would she tolerate being ignored. Nor would the Camerons shake his hand, praise the new alliance, then stay away, he thought as he studied Ilsa’s brothers and half a dozen of her cousins. It appeared that, if his wife chose to, she could call up an army big enough to grind Clachthrom into the dust, and with only asking her close relations. Even more dangerous, he felt certain there was a strong bond amongst these Camerons, a true affection for each other. That explained the anger that still lingered even though he had married Ilsa as they had demanded.

  “Diarmot.”

  Slowly, Diarmot looked toward the doors of his great hall, wondering how one sharp calling of his name could so effectively silence a whole room. He caught his breath at the sharp bite of lust he felt when he looked at Ilsa. It was obvious she was angry. In truth, he did not think he had ever seen a woman so furious. Diarmot wondered why that should arouse him, and, even more curious, why it should make him want to smile. The way Ilsa had said his name had held enough quiet but deep rage that a smart man would start running.