far more important than ye are. Ye will do your share of the work. I dinnae allow the men to set aside duty or work for pleasure. I certainly willnae allow the women to do so. Ye all have tasks to do and ye will do them or ye will leave Deilcladach.” He fixed a hard gaze upon Meg who looked furious. “And ye will do as Lady Gillyanne commands. She is my wife, the lady of Deilcladach, and thus can demand your respect and obedience.” He was not surprised when Meg simply walked away, obviously too furious to argue or even speak. “Ye had best watch her,” advised Knobby as he stepped out of his bath, tugged the cloth Jenny was trying to dry him with out of her hands, and began to dry himself off. “Do ye really think that is necessary?” Connor tugged on his clothes, realizing that, if he lingered here too much longer, he could lose all chance of having a bath. Knobby moved closer, Diarmot quickly moving to join them. “Laird, Meg will cause ye trouble. She already has in small ways. She has bedded down with your uncle, ye, and your brothers. O’er the last few years she has grown arrogant. ’Tis clear she has been treating your wife, the lady of this keep, with utter disrespect.” “That does prove that she thinks herself far more important than she is, but how does that make her a possible danger?” “I dinnae ken.” Knobby grimaced and rubbed one long, slender hand over his chin. “All I do ken is that she has taken to acting as if she is the lady of this keep, ruling it o’er the other women who dinnae complain because she was either sharing your bed or that of one of your kinsmen. When ye wed and decided to try and hold to your vows, ye took away some of Meg’s power. Today ye took away near all of it. Once the women hear what ye said today, they willnae bow to Meg’s commands or demands, nor silently do her work. They will treat her as what she truly is — nay more than a baseborn lass who cannae keep her legs closed. Meg will be enraged about that.” “Ye have ne’er bedded down with her, have ye?” Diarmot said, looking at Knobby in some surprise. “Nay. My mother and my sister often spoke of the wench. I kenned how ill she treated the other women.” Knobby shrugged. “Just felt it would be like a slap in the face to my kinswomen. Aye, I weaken now and again, and have a wee rut with Jenny, but I wish I wouldnae. She and Peg follow Meg. And, weel, to tell the truth, I can ne’er fully forget that I am sticking my precious pintle into a well-used vessel.” Diarmot grimaced. “I believe I shall try hard to forget that. Curse ye for putting that image into my head.” “I will watch her,” Connor said. “If she causes trouble, I will send her away. She can do her whoring in
the village or e’en in a wee hut in the wood. Now, since I have given up my bath here, I best hie myself to my bedchamber or I shall lose the chance to have one there.” Diarmot crossed his arms on his chest and watched his brother walk away. “What do ye think, Knobby?” Knobby frowned. “About Meg?” “Nay, though ye are right in your warning. Meg does indeed bear watching and I intend to do so. Nay too sure of what real trouble she could cause, but Meg is a mean spirited whore who thinks too much of herself. Nay, I speak of my brother’s wee wife.” “I think she is a good lass. Wee Fiona likes her.” “Och, aye, and she will be good for my sister. I am thinking she might be verra good for Connor, too.” “Could be, if he will let her. He is a fine laird and a good friend, but . . . ” Knobby hesitated. “But he has carried the weight of rebuilding and keeping us all safe for so long it has fair to crushed all the life out of him.” Diarmot smiled faintly when Knobby nodded. “When the lass is around, I can see a flicker of life in him, e’en a gleam of laughter now and then. She is spirited, opinionated, and far too clever. She challenges him at every turn. My uncle doesnae like her.” “Nay, he wouldnae. Connor listens to her. Sir Neil is nay longer the only one he heeds.” “And that too is a good thing. I have ne’er felt the confidence and trust in that mon that Connor has. It always seemed to me that he could have helped us far more than he did. He did little more than come round now and then to fill our heads with his opinions. I dinnae think he has e’er done any actual work here. No matter. It would be good if Gillyanne could make Connor see our uncle more clearly, but ’tis more important for him to learn how to truly live again. I think that lass is the one who could do it.” “As I said — if he lets her. There is e’er the chance that, if she starts to reach those parts of him he has buried because he felt he had to survive, he could just turn away from her.” “Then, my friend, ye and I shall have to watch out for that so that we can move quickly and block his retreat.”
Ten Gillyanne draped her arms over the side of the tub and stared at her knees which barely broke the surface of the water in the deep round tub. She had to accept the truth. If she was not already in love with Connor, she was only a heartbeat or two away from it. A woman did not feel as she had upon seeing Meg touching Connor so intimately unless her heart was involved. There had been anger, at both Connor and Meg, but there had also been hurt. The possibility that Connor was still bedding Meg had twisted her heart. That had only eased when she had realized that, despite Meg’s bold efforts, Connor was holding to his vows, but the image was still seared upon her mind and knotting her insides. A part of her was pleased that she was finally experiencing such things as passion and love, but another part was dismayed. She was tumbling into love with a man who gave her very little of himself. Even worse was the fact that she could think of no way to pull more than passion from the man. Connor was not like other men, even men who had been hardened by life’s disappointments. His feelings were so deeply buried, Gillyanne feared they were beyond saving. He was not dead to all feeling, but he revealed only hints of emotion. A gleam of amusement, a hint of a smile, a flicker of anger. It was as if his need to be strong, to protect his family and clan, had crushed all other emotion, had soundly beaten those other feelings into submission and still held them there. Gillyanne knew she could not survive with just glimpses, hints, and flickers of emotion. She did not expect Connor to become some sweet-tongued, soft-hearted fool for her, but she needed more than passion. Her heart was involved now and she needed to hold some small part of his. She suddenly snorted in disgust with herself. She did not want a small part of Connor’s heart, she wanted it all. It seemed only fair since she was giving him everything. She wanted what her cousin Elspeth had with her husband Cormac, and what her cousin Avery had found with Cameron, or, at least, something approaching that. At the moment, however, she would settle for any tiny sign that she was reaching him, was making a crack in that armor which encased his emotions. Just a small crack, one she could wriggle into and keep wriggling into, until, one day, Connor woke up and realized she was there, deep in his heart, and that he wanted her to stay there. That would take time, though, so she had to think hard on what to tell her father when he arrived. The sound of the door to the bedchamber opening abruptly yanked Gillyanne from her thoughts. She cursed softly in surprise, crossed her arms over her breasts, and bent her legs up toward her body to
shield her nakedness. It eased her embarrassment only a little when Connor strode into the room. The look he gave her as he shut the door made her far too aware of her nudity. “Ah, good, I havenae missed the chance for a bath,” he said as he began to undress. “Ye havenae had one yet?” Gillyanne was astonished at how swiftly Connor removed his clothes. “Nay.” He tossed aside the last of his clothes and stepped over to the tub, almost smiling for Gillyanne looked adorable all curled up in an attempt to maintain some modesty. “I decided I needed to come and lecture my wife.” “Lecture me?” “Aye. A wife shouldnae threaten her husband.” He stepped into the tub. Gillyanne wondered how such a large tub could suddenly seem crowded as he sat down. “I didnae threaten ye.” “Nay? It sounded like a threat to me.” “It was naught but a confession of simple fact.” She was so surprised when Connor chuckled that she limply allowed him to tug one arm away from her breasts and press a washing cloth into her hand. “Weel, except for that one wee place,” he pointed to the spot just below his navel, “I remain untouched.” Even though a soft voice in her head told her it was a mistake, Gillyanne looked at the spot he pointed at. It was not that patch of skin her gaze became fixed upon, however, but the long, hard proof that Connor was interested in far more than a bath. She thought it odd that an appendage she had always found mildly amusing should now cause her blood to heat and her pulse to race. And make her feel so compelled to touch him, she mused, even as she reached out. Connor murmured his pleasure as her long fingers curled around him. Her touch set his blood afire and her increasing boldness pleased him. For a moment he closed his eyes and savored her still hesitant touch. It was not long before he realized that, unless he put a stop to such play, there would be little bathing done, and he reluctantly pulled her hand away. He was unable to suppress a grin as he gently tugged on her hand which still held the washing rag and she turned a faintly glazed look upon him. “Bath first, then play. The playing was making me forget the need for a bath.” Connor decided the unusually high spirits he was feeling were understandable, for what man would not be cheered by such a warm look in his wife’s eyes.
Gillyanne shook free of at least some of desire’s haze and began to bathe her husband. It was not just the sight of his fine body that disordered her thoughts, but the way he was acting. He had chuckled and grinned. She quickly told herself not to let her hopes rise too high, not to see this unusual good humor as some sign that she was already reaching him. It could be no more than a natural, manly response to being bathed by a naked woman in the comfort of his bedchamber and knowing that, once the bath was done, he could heartily indulge himself with that woman. And, she mused a little crossly, his vanity was probably stoked by her inability to hide how much pleasure she took in his form. “Husband,” she gasped in shock when he cradled her breasts in his hands, teasing the already hardened tips with his thumbs. “Ye said ye needed to bathe.” “I am washing you.” He was still occasionally amazed that he could be so stirred by what many men would consider a sad lack of bosom. “I have already bathed.” “Aye? Then why are ye still in the tub?” “I was having myself a wee sulk.” He gave her a look that indicated he thought her a strange little creature and she sighed. “ ’Tis something my mother does. Every now and then she goes to her room to have what she calls a good sulk.” “Your mother does that often?” “Nay, and she says she doesnae do it near as often as she used to before my father found her and loved her.” Deciding it would be easier to wash his back and hair from outside the tub, she slipped free of his grasp, stepped out, and quickly wrapped a large drying cloth around herself. “Ye missed a few places,” he said and reached for her. She eluded his grasp, stepped behind him, and immediately began to wash his hair. “Now, to finish my tale. Mither says that, e’en when one has a good life, sometimes there can be a sadness or a day when naught goes as it should. Days when ye have to swallow words ye really want to say, when ye have an argument, and other such small troubles. When she can make the time, she steals away to her bedchamber and broods o’er all these wrongs, sometimes cries, sometimes curses, but, most of all, has a good sulk. Eventually, Fither wanders up and coaxes her out of it.” Gillyanne laughed softly. “Sometimes that can take a while for she says his coaxing ways are the verra best part of her sulking.” “It still sounds an odd thing to do. Do ye do this often?” “Nay often. I may look like Mither, but I have Fither’s temper. Unfortunately, I dinnae have his control. If something goes wrong for me, I just want to curse it or hit it. Howbeit, ladies cannae always do that.
Sometimes they must bite their tongues, act sweet or be calm when all others are angry and upset. ’Tis then that the art of proper sulking can be useful. It does help some to ken that ye can slip away and wallow in it all; it gives ye the strength to get through the time of trouble.” Realizing she was done washing his hair and was now just playing with it, a far too revealing action, Gillyanne rinsed his hair and began to wash his back. “Mither says it can work as weel when ’tis more a grieving than a sulk,” Gillyanne continued, hoping that, if she talked of herself and her family, Connor may soon do a little of the same. “It helped when my sister Sorcha was raped, repeatedly, and beaten nearly to death. Mither had to be strong and calm to help poor Sorcha and she said kenning that she could slip away to her chambers for a wee while now and again to scream, weep, or tear at her hair, was a great help.” “What happened to the ones who hurt your sister?” Connor wondered if the answer to that question would tell him something important about Gillyanne’s father, a man he would soon meet. “ ’Twas an old enemy of Fither’s and two of his comrades. They had captured Sorcha and my cousin Elspeth, Sir Balfour Murray’s daughter. Fither and my uncles, Balfour and Nigel, hunted them down, reaching them ere they could do to Elspeth what they had done to Sorcha. They sent the girls home first with most of the men and, when Fither came home much later, he told Mither the men were dead and she said, ‘Thank ye, Husband.’ I ne’er asked how they were killed, yet there was such a chilling look upon Fither’s face, I did fret o’er the matter now and again. Especially since, whene’er the incident was mentioned, that look would briefly return.” Connor waited a moment for her to continue. Since she had finished scrubbing his back, he got out of the tub, and started to dry himself off. He suddenly needed to know exactly what punishment her father meted out to those men. He no longer wondered if the truth would be important; he was certain. “And ye found out what was done, didnae ye?” he finally asked. Gillyanne nodded and replied in a slightly hushed voice. “My cousin Payton finally told me years ago. They castrated the men, then gave them each a belly wound. Then they took them to a place where the wolves still roamed and left them there, staying only long enough to see a pack of the beasts arrive, drawn by the scent of blood, and begin the execution.” “And ye thought it too harsh?” Connor thought it a beautifully creative justice. “I did for a wee bit. ’Twas hard to believe three men who didnae e’en like to give their bairns a light swat upon their bums could be so brutal. Payton brought me to my senses with three hard facts. These men had hurt Fither’s bairn, and had intended to hurt his niece. Both girls look just like their mothers and Fither and my uncles had to be deeply moved by that image, too. If left to live, that mon would have remained a threat to us all. Payton said the look I occasionally saw on Fither’s face was when he recalled the viciousness of his act and it faded when Fither next recalled why he had been driven to behave so.”
“Your cousin is right. I think I may have been e’en more vicious had such a crime been done to my sister. Another hard truth is that your father was probably drowning in rage at himself and guilt for he had failed to protect his bairn.” A man who would soon be kicking at his gates, Connor mused. He had not raped or beaten Gillyanne, had e’en married her. It was easy to see why the man might be enraged, however. This might not be a simple matter of a few hot words, some negotiations, and, mayhap, a bride price. Then he saw the way Gillyanne stared at his body as he idly rubbed the drying cloth over himself. Not only did the heated appreciation in her eyes stir his blood, but it told him she would help soothe her father’s rage. And, he reminded himself, Gillyanne had already proven that she wanted no blood spilled over this. “Shouldnae a wife dry her husband after she has gotten him all wet from bathing him?” Connor asked, offering her the drying cloth. Gillyanne almost grunted as she took the cloth and began to dry him off, then feared she might have spent too much time around the MacEnroys already. She quickly lost all interest in anything other than slowly rubbing that cloth over Connor’s big, strong body. The man did not appear to have any modesty, but, at times like this, Gillyanne was rather glad of that flaw. In the short time they had been lovers, she had slowly grown bolder, refusing to allow the fear that she might do something he did not like to hold her back. Thus, she had already discovered a few places where Connor loved to be touched. Other than the obvious, she thought, forcing herself to ignore the bold appendage that seemed to demand her attention. As she caressingly dried him off, she glanced up at his face. His eyes were closed and there was the hint of a smile upon his handsome face. When it came to lovemaking and passion, Connor was unusually open and free. It was as Gillyanne rubbed dry his long legs that she recalled something her cousin Elspeth had once told her. When asked, her cousin Avery had blushingly agreed with Elspeth’s startling revelation. At the time she had thought it a rather odd thing to do, but, now, with Connor’s manhood within kissing reach, it did not seem so strange at all. Deciding faint heart ne’er won bold laird, she dropped the drying cloth, placed her hands on his lean hips, and kissed the stout proof of his desire for her. Connor’s whole body jerked and then he trembled. Gillyanne decided to read that as a sign of interest and licked him. Connor was stunned when he felt Gillyanne’s soft lips touch his staff. He stared down at her as she ran her hot, wet tongue slowly up the full length of him. Shuddering from the ferocity of the pleasure which ripped through his body, he threaded the fingers of one visibly shaking hand through her thick, damp hair and tipped her head back. A touch of wariness began to dim the soft look of desire on her face and he was briefly sorry for that. “What are ye doing?” The moment he spoke, Connor decided it was a stupid thing to say.
“I would have thought it was rather obvious,” Gillyanne drawled, intrigued by the way the flush of passion upon his high cheekbones somewhat contradicted the stern line of his mouth and the glint of uncertainty in his eyes. “This is what wives do for husbands? ’Tis nay just some whore’s trick?” The few times he had heard of such a delight, a well-paid whore had been the one giving it. “My cousin Elspeth told me her husband liked it and, curious creature that I am, I asked my cousin Avery if ’twas the same with her mon. She said aye. Neither of them are whores and their husbands would be eager to end the life of anyone who called them one. But, if ye wish me to cease . . . ” she began. “Ah, weel, nay. If ’tis a thing a wife can do for a husband, ye may proceed.” She gave him a faintly amused look as he loosened his grip on her hair. Connor shuddered when she licked him again. This could prove to be more delight than he could endure, he mused, as the touch of her soft lips and the heated caress of her tongue soon had him clenching his fists at his side. When she took him into the warmth of her mouth, he fought to maintain the steely control he had so perfected over the years, but it was no use. Thread by taut thread it snapped until he groaned, fell to his knees, and pushed Gillyanne onto her back. With visibly shaking hands, he yanked away the drying cloth she had wrapped around herself and fell upon her. Gillyanne gasped then laughed softly when she was suddenly tossed onto her back. It had been deeply arousing to love Connor that way, to feel that big, strong body tremble beneath her hands. He set upon her with such feverish intensity, she suspected she ought to be afraid, but she met and equaled his ferocity. When he roughly thrust into her ready body, she knew he had lost all control. Gillyanne also knew that she would probably find a bruise or two on her far too delicate skin later, but she did not care. Wrapping herself tightly around him, Gillyanne’s last clear thought was that any man who could get so wildly passionate had to have other strong emotions tucked inside him, and she intended to ferret out each and every one. * * * Connor remained sprawled on top of Gillyanne, half on his sheepskin rug, half on her. His face was pressed against the side of her neck as he fought to regain his senses. He had lost all control. That in and of itself was alarming, even more so was the fact that he had inflicted that wildness upon his tiny, delicate wife. Beneath the hand he placed over her breast he could feel her heartbeat, feel the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. He had not killed her. Chancing a peek at her cheek, he saw no sign of tears, so he had probably not hurt her. She was not trying to flee his grasp so he had to assume he had not terrified her when he had fallen on her like some maddened, ravenous beast. Gillyanne, however, was splayed out beneath him like some broken doll and was not moving.
“Gillyanne?” he called softly. “Mmmm?” Gillyanne roused herself just enough to lazily run her fingers up and down Connor’s spine. He had not knocked her unconcious, either, he thought with an inner sigh of relief. Now the trick would be in getting away from Gillyanne without his utter loss of control being mentioned. Forcing his heavily sated body to move, he gave her a light slap upon the hip and leaped to his feet. He nearly smiled at the cross look she gave him before she scrambled to grab the drying cloth he had tossed aside and wrap herself in it. “Best we hurry on down to the great hall or those fools will have eaten all the food,” he said as he started to pull on some clean clothes. By the time Gillyanne got to her feet, Connor was dressed. He yanked her into his arms for a brief kiss, then left as he ordered her again to hurry. Gillyanne sighed and, after a quick wash, began to dress. She was going to have to teach that man that a little tenderness, a kiss and an embrace, after such passionate lovemaking could be most enjoyable. She was surprised to find Connor, Diarmot, and Knobby all standing at the bottom of the stairs when she finally started on her way to the great hall. “Is something wrong?” she asked, even as she noticed the three brothers she had yet to sort out lurking behind Diarmot. “Your cousin is here,” replied Connor. “Oh, good,” cried Gillyanne as she ran down the last few steps and headed toward the massive doors leading to the bailey. “He will have brought me my things and have some news from home.” Connor grabbed her by the hand and pulled her to his side. “He has two other men, weel armed men, with him.” “Of course he does. Only a complete fool would travel these lands without some protection.” Sound reasoning in a woman could be irritating, Connor decided. “He can leave your things at the gates and ride away.” Gillyanne wondered how one moment she could be so desperate for this man’s touch and, in the next, want to clout him on the ear. “He accepted this marriage and has come as a friend. He probably wishes to stay a few days to assure himself that I am being treated weel.” “Ye are being treated weel. He can accept my word on that.”
“Why? He doesnae ken who ye are, had ne’er e’en heard of ye until ye came kicking at the gates of my keep.” Connor almost idly wondered if his little wife would ever accept something he said simply because he, her husband and laird, had said it. “Nanty, ye and Angus, and Drew go bring our uninvited guests in, and, if they wish to clean up ere they eat, show them where.” He looked at Gillyanne. “The two men with Sir James can fill their bellies and stay the night, but they leave come the dawn. Your cousin can abide here for a wee while if he feels he must.” He started pulling her toward the great hall. “We will await your cousin in here.” “But, James will have my clothes and I should like to change this gown,” she protested as she hurried to keep pace with him. “Ye can abide it for one more night.” It was not long before a smiling James strode into the great hall. Seeing the basket he carried in his hands, Gillyanne cried out with joy. He was only a step away from her when her cats leaped out of the basket onto her lap. “Cats?” Connor nodded a greeting to James as the man sat down next to Diarmot, across from Gillyanne. “Aye,” Gillyanne said, giggling at the way her pets licked her chin. “Ragged and Dirty.” She pointed to each as she named it. “If ye have any vermin here, these two will soon hunt them down.” Connor grunted softly, staring at the cats as he began to eat. “The dogs will eat them.” Gillyanne gasped then frowned. “Ye dinnae have any dogs.” “I can get some.” Although she felt sure he was jesting, she hugged her cats. The brief glint of amusement she saw in his eyes and the way Diarmot grinned eased the last of her anxiety. Her husband had an odd sense of humor, Gillyanne mused, as she turned to introduce her cats to Fiona who sat down beside her. It was going to be a challenge to figure it out. Shaking his head over the way Fiona joined Gillyanne in fawning over the cats, Connor looked at James. He could not think of one thing he distrusted or disliked about the man, yet he was reluctant to have him at Deilcladach. Sir James Drummond was a handsome devil and very close to Gillyanne. That did trouble Connor and he frowned. That had the taste of jealousy and that, too, troubled Connor. Such emotion could be a weakness, could even be used against him. “So kind of ye to invite me to stay,” James drawled.
“Ye can see that she is hale and unbruised,” Connor said, “so ye need not make it a verra long visit.” James laughed. “Oh, aye, I think I will bide here for a while. Until all is settled the lass should have some kin at hand.” “ ’Tis all settled now. She is my wife. The marriage has been consummated — thoroughly.” “But ye dinnae have her father’s blessing.” “Gillyanne is nearly one and twenty. She doesnae need his approval.” He frowned when James just shrugged. “He will come here.” “Och, aye, as quickly as he can.” “With an army?” “Not at first. I have been to Dubhlinn and assured Mither that Gillyanne is safe. Fither will wish to talk first.” Connor nodded, hiding his relief. “As his daughter did, the mon willnae wish blood spilled o’er this.” “Dinnae think ’tis ye or your people he will fret o’er. He kens that, in any battle, nay matter how quickly won, some of his people will be hurt or killed so he picks his battles verra carefully. Fither is a good mon, gentle e’en, usually even of temper, favoring wit o’er strength, and he has a verra keen wit. His temper is rarely seen, but, when it is stirred, ’tis glorious and hot. And naught can rouse it faster and hotter than harm done to his family.” “I willnae hurt Gillyanne.” “Nay, not physically,” James murmured, studying Connor closely as he sipped his wine. “Ye are a hard mon, Sir Connor MacEnroy, hard to the bone, I am thinking.” “I have had to be,” Connor said and wondered why he felt any need to defend what he was, what he had made himself be for his clan’s sake. “Gillyanne is a soft woman, free of spirit, open of heart, full of life. A passionate, loving, giving soul. A hard mon like ye could hurt her in many ways without lifting a hand and, sadly, ne’er ken ye have done so. So, aye, I will bide awhile to see that all goes weel. Ye see, Sir Connor, ye may have buried all the softness within yourself, but I willnae let ye smother it all in my wee cousin.”
Connor understood James’ words. He was just not sure he understood what the man meant. Now was not the time to sort it out, however, so he forced his thoughts away from Gillyanne, away from the strangely unsettling thought that he could hurt her. “Ye are her cousin, so why do ye call her parents mother and father?” Connor asked, seeking some understanding of the obviously close bond between James and Gillyanne. “Ah, weel, her mother is my aunt. I am the child of Lady Bethia’s twin sister. When my parents were murdered, Lady Bethia saved me from a like fate. ’Tis during that time she met Sir Eric. I was a barely weaned bairn. Sir Eric gained guardianship of me from the king and he and my aunt took me in, raising me as one of their own. As soon as I was of an age to understand, they told me the whole truth, but they were and are my parents and their children my siblings. The truth of who I was didnae change that. We use the word cousin if only to explain why I am a Drummond and the others are Murrays, but they are my true and only family, my parents, my brothers and sisters. If I wasnae a laird with a clan awaiting me to take my place, I would be a Murray. In truth, neither Gillyanne nor I, nor any of our siblings are Murrays by blood for Sir Eric was a foster son who, for a while, thought himself a Murray bastard. After he discovered exactly who he was, he chose to remain a Murray.” For a brief moment, Connor felt the sting of envy. It was clear these Murrays were willing to help ones in danger or in need. There had been no one like that at hand when he and his siblings had found themselves alone, homeless, and facing starvation. In truth, he suddenly thought as he glanced down the table at his scowling uncle who was refilling his tankard, even the only adult kinsman left alive had done little more than wander by now and then to pontificate. It was a traitorous thought, but, now that it had slipped into his mind, Connor could not shake it away. Following the direction of Connor’s gaze, James murmured, “Ye should watch that mon. He doesnae like my cousin.” “That mon is my uncle,” Connor said, but with no hint of anger and then he sighed. “Ye are right. He doesnae.” He looked at Gillyanne, watching her briefly look at Neil, her expression one of wary annoyance. “Gillyanne isnae too fond of him, either.” “One thing ye should ken about your wee wife — if she reveals an unease about someone, heed it.” “ ’Tis just annoyance with some of the things my uncle says.” “Then she would give him the sharp side of her tongue, nay more. Believe this or nay, but Gillyanne feels things about people we cannae. ’Tis as if she can read their hearts.” James grimaced and raked his hand through his hair. “ ’Tis hard to explain, but, ’tis as if Gillyanne can see and feel what others feel. And now ye think us both mad.” “Nay. I have heard of such a skill.” Connor suddenly felt almost naked. “She can do this with everyone?”
“Nay. She can rarely guess what I feel and she said trying to read you is like hurling herself against a wall. All I say is, heed Gillyanne if she has difficulty with someone. She apparently has a problem with your uncle. Find out what and why ere ye shrug it aside.” Connor nodded, but wondered if he really would heed James in this particular matter. Suddenly he was having traitorous thoughts about Neil. He did not really want his new wife’s opinions to add to that change in his feelings about the man. Later, he told himself. He would sort out his own troubled thoughts first, and then see to hers.
Eleven It was one of the hardest things Gillyanne felt she had ever done, but she walked away from Sir Neil MacEnroy. She did not strike him as she ached to. She did not respond to his verbal poison, to his taunts and insults, though the words burned on her tongue. In truth, she needed to put some distance between herself and Connor’s uncle, and not just because she feared upsetting Connor by getting into a screaming brawl with one of the few of his elder kinsmen who had survived the long, bloody feud. Nay, she mused as she grabbed a basket and made her way out of the keep. It was a pure relief to get away from Sir Neil despite how heavily the unsaid words sat in her belly. The man stank of bitterness and anger. And fear, fear that the dark, writhing secrets he held within him would slither out. Every time she had to be near him, the turmoil of his spirit reached out to try and pull her into its quagmire. It made her feel ill and agitated. It also made her increasingly tempted to demand that he give up those secrets. That, she knew, would be a mistake. Gillyanne was almost certain that Neil did not want to be saved by a confession. Neil MacEnroy’s secrets were the sort which could tear the heart and soul out of a person. They would devastate his family, who had already suffered enough in their young lives. Gillyanne could only pray that she was wrong in feeling he was not innocent of that slaughter, that somehow he had had a hand in the feuding, at least in those last few blood-soaked years of it. Connor and his brothers may have been heeding and admiring a man who had helped destroy all they had known and was, quite possibly, not all that pleased that so many had survived. It was all too chilling, too desperately sad, to think about. “Sorry I am late,” said Fiona as she ran up beside Gillyanne. Gillyanne smiled at the girl. “Are ye sure ye were nay just dragging your wee feet?” “Nay, not this time.” Fiona grinned when Gillyanne laughed. “This is one lesson about being a lady of the keep that I think I might like. Kenning about herbs and healing sounds interesting and verra useful. Weel met, Knobby,” she said as that man strode up behind them. “Are ye late, too?” “I dinnae think so,” Knobby replied. “I think m’lady is a wee bit early.”
“Aye, I fear I am.” Gillyanne grimaced. “I fear I was fleeing the urge to bash Sir Neil o’er the head with a cudgel.” She nodded a greeting to Joan’s husband Malcolm who was guarding the gates they walked through. “Uncle doesnae seem to like you, Gilly, and I dinnae understand why,” Fiona muttered, looking both embarrassed and annoyed. “ ’Tis as if he doesnae want Connor to be wed at all, which makes no sense. I ken he doesnae like the lasses. He barely e’en speaks to me and it has gotten worse since I began to leave my cap off.” She shyly tugged at the thick golden braid which hung down her back. “Yet, ’tis the laird’s duty to wed, if naught else, and ye brought some fine lands with ye when ye came.” That she had been married for those lands was not something Gillyanne really wanted to be reminded of, but she did not say so to Fiona. Neither could she tell the girl that her uncle had secrets and that Gillyanne began to think Neil was afraid she would uncover them. She was heartily glad to hear that Neil barely acknowledged Fiona. At least there was one MacEnroy whose head had not been filled with Neil’s particular poison, his tainted words of wisdom. “Mayhap the mon had grown fond of it being just him and the lads whene’er he stayed here,” Gillyanne finally replied. “And, as ye say, he doesnae like the lasses so he probably sees marriage as a curse.” “Aye, there is that. And how is your plan working? Has displaying your wifely skills softened Connor at all?” Gillyanne cast a nervous glance over her shoulder at a widely grinning Knobby. “It has only been a week, Fiona.” “Dinnae fret, m’lady,” Knobby said. “Unless ye talk of murdering the laird in his sleep, I willnae be telling him anything.” He rubbed a hand over his chin as he moved up to walk beside Gillyanne as they entered the wood. “The laird is a hard mon.” “Like rock.” “He has had to be, m’lady, and it has served us weel. There wernae many males e’en as old as he was. Too many of the older lads died with the men.” “ ’Tis too sad to think on. How did ye survive?” “I was fighting at my father’s side, my two older brothers already dead, when the old laird saw that we couldnae win. The old laird ordered every lad beneath the age of eighteen years to flee. Och, we protested, but he ordered us again, telling us it was now our duty to help and protect the women and children, to make sure the MacEnroys didnae fade to dust on that black day. My father just looked at me and told me to go, to save my mother and sister. By then there were nay that many of us left, but almost all did as they were ordered to.”
She could sense the same guilt in Knobby that she had guessed Connor felt. “Ye only need to look around to ken that it was the right decision, the best thing to do. The MacEnroys would have been naught but a memory if ye hadnae. And, the women and bairns did need ye.” “Most times I ken that truth. Now and then I wish I could have stayed at my father’s side and avenged the deaths of my brothers.” “Ye wouldnae have avenged them. Ye would have just died. And think on your father. He had seen two of his bairns die and kenned that, if ye stayed, he might have to watch ye die, too.” “I was sixteen, m’lady. More mon than bairn.” “Ah, Knobby, I suspect, at that moment, ye were more bairn than mon to your father. My father treats my brothers as the men they are, or nearly are. Yet, if they were caught in a battle that couldnae be won, he would probably make them run. As your father probably did, he would look at them and suddenly think that it was but yesterday he watched them take their first steps, but yesterday when their voices first grew deeper. He would think of all they hadnae done yet. Your poor father had already seen two of his children die and the thought that ye would soon join them was probably a torment. Ye gave him peace when ye left. Ye gave him hope that the MacEnroys would not become little more than a verse in some troubadour’s song. Ye gave him hope that his wife and daughter would have someone to help them survive. And, mayhap, he thought of your mother, too, of how it would tear at her mother’s heart to have to bury all of her sons, so he gave ye back to her. Nay, your duty that day was to survive, to help your mother and sister, to help rebuild them a home and a clan to belong to.” He was looking at her so intently that she decided she was pontificating too much, blushed a little, and looked away. “Sometimes ’tis harder to survive.” After a long moment of silence, Knobby said, “ Ye are right. I ne’er thought on it so hard or so deep. Now that I do, I ken that ye are right. ’Twas our duty and ’tis naught to be ashamed of. ’Tis hard to recall it sometimes since so many of those first years were spent hiding and just trying to stay alive. And, I did give my father peace when I left. I could see it there upon his face although I chose to recall only the grief.” “Too much grief,” she whispered, able to imagine it, and wishing she was not. “No grown men survived?” “No MacEnroys who fought at the keep. Some villagers and crofters who had fled and stayed hidden. Lads, bairns, women, and a few of the aged or lame who couldnae fight. Ye must have noticed how few of the older women have a mon.” “Aye, a lot of widows.”
“Some returned to their families. Those born and bred here had nowhere else to go.” “And they all looked to Connor,” she said, stopping to look around and seeing several plants she could use. “And he but fifteen. That is why he is so, weel, hard. But, the past shouldnae rule him now. We have rebuilt. The boys are truly men now and the feud is o’er. Despite those troubles, he did used to be a proper laddie, high spirited and ready to laugh. That lad can ne’er be reborn, but there are those of us who think the laird would be the better for it if he loosened a few of the chains he has wrapped his soul in.” “Aye, he would be. One just has to hope those chains havenae choked that free-spirited lad to death.” She shook her head. “Enough of this dark talk. Fiona, time to learn about herbs and healing.” “We could use someone with a healing skill,” Knobby said as he leaned against a tree. “Ye have some, m’lady?” “Some,” Gillyanne replied. “My aunt Maldie and her daughter Elspeth are weel kenned for their healing skills. All the Murray women train under them. Some of us are better than others.” “Mayhap ye ought to brew up a love potion for Connor,” said Fiona. “There is no such thing.” “Wheesht, of course there is. ’Tis one of the things the lasses go to the wise women to get.” “And throw away coin better spent elsewhere. The few receipts for love potions that I have e’er seen are more apt to kill the poor mon. And, if there was such a beast, how often would ye have to give it to the poor mon? Once a day, once a week, once a month? I think e’en the dullest wit would soon question why his lady was making him drink so many potions. Ye would also have to be careful when and where ye fed it to him.” “Ah, because he might espy another lass and fall in love with her. ’Twould have to be a private place then. Like here.” “It might serve, but it could still all go terribly wrong. He could drink the potion, but, when finished, not look right at ye first. Nay, he might glance to the left or the right, and, the next thing ye ken, he is proposing marriage to a newt.” The moment they all stopped laughing, Gillyanne began to teach Fiona about herbs, plants, and healing. It had been interesting to have such a serious talk with Knobby. Each day she gained more knowledge about the MacEnroys, about the tragedy that had formed them, and about Connor. Sadly, very little of
that knowledge came from Connor. All her display of wifely skills seemed to be getting her was more lovemaking. She was not surprised that the baths led to lovemaking for, after all, he or both of them were naked. It had surprised her a little when she had taken him some food and drink two days ago while he was out in the fields and he had tumbled her behind a hedgerow. Connor seemed to think that her various attempts to accustom him to the comforts of a wife were an invitation to lovemaking. Not that that was such a bad thing, she mused, savoring a tingle of heated memory. Passion could help her push her way into his heart. They still shared little more than that, however, even after a fortnight of marriage. She could swear he had scared himself with that brief moment of good humor and their wild lovemaking after the first bath, for he had become as remote as she had ever seen him for two full days. Fortunately, that had eased but, if he was to take three steps back for each one taken forward, she would never reach him. It was heartbreaking and Gillyanne wished she could talk to some of the women in her family. That was impossible at the moment, however, which left her completely on her own and she had no confidence in her ability to woo and win a man, especially one like Connor. Fiona drew her attention and Gillyanne was glad of it. She had far too much time to fret over her marriage as it was. Once she was certain Fiona recognized the type of moss she wanted, Gillyanne allowed the girl to skip off to look for more. Fiona was honest in her wish to learn the ways of a lady, but Gillyanne knew she had to lead the girl along one slow step at a time. The girl had enjoyed the freedom of behaving like a young boy for far too long to suddenly have her days filled with learning the often tedious ways of being the lady of the keep. Espying a particularly rare plant that had many uses, Gillyanne moved to collect it only to find her skirts held firm by the brambles she had tried to cross through. As she softly cursed, a chuckling Knobby moved to help her. Just as he released the last piece of her skirts, Gillyanne saw something move behind him. She lifted her head to see what it was and opened her mouth to cry out a warning, but was too late. A heavily bearded man brought the hilt of his sword down hard on Knobby’s head, and he sprawled unconscious at her feet with barely a grunt. “You!” she gasped as several other men appeared and one, tall handsome man was immediately recognizable. Sir Robert bowed slightly. “Aye. Me. Shall we go, m’lady?” For one brief moment, Gillyanne thought of screaming for help, then discarded that plan. It would only bring Fiona into this trap. She next considered fighting, trying to escape, and looked at the half dozen big men with Sir Robert. It might be possible to elude capture for a while, but too much resistance would probably gain her nothing but bruises and the noise would also bring Fiona running. Inwardly cursing the dowry that had brought her all this annoying attention, she held out her hand and let Sir Robert lead her away. * * *
Fiona remained concealed in the leaves and shrubs for many minutes after Sir Robert took Gillyanne away. Returning with an armful of moss, Fiona had heard the harness jingle of several horses and known Gillyanne and Knobby were no longer alone. Instinct had sent her hurrying to hide, and hard-learned skills had helped her creep up unseen to watch Knobby fall to a blow, and Gilly be kidnapped. The question now was what to do next. She quelled the urge to run after Gillyanne. One small womanchild could not help her. Her next thought was to race to Deilcladach and tell Connor what had happened. Then she looked at Knobby. She could not leave the man alone and hurt. He might rouse quickly with no more than a badly aching head, but such wounds could be unpredictable. Unconscious, poor Knobby had no way to protect himself from any danger, man or beast. Sighing, Fiona cautiously left her hiding place and went to help Knobby. After struggling to pull him free of the brambles and turn him on his back, she studied him for a moment. It was not going to be easy to get him back to Deilcladach, but she could not just sit and wait until he woke up. Fiona undid his cloak, then used her own to tie him to his. It made a poor litter, but it would have to do, she decided as she grabbed one end and started to drag him along. She had only gone a few feet when she started praying she would meet with someone soon. Knobby was the thinnest person she had ever known, but Fiona began to think that his bones must be made of solid lead. She had just decided that she could not pull Knobby along one more inch when Colin the swineherd and his son appeared pulling a cart full of kindling. They emptied the cart and put Knobby into it. It was not a good fit, but it was better than her poor litter. Leaving them to bring Knobby along, Fiona raced for Deilcladach. As she ran, she prayed Connor was close at hand, prayed Gillyanne would be alright, and prayed, very hard, that this would not start the feuding again. * * * Connor poured the bucket of cold water over his head to rinse away the sweat raised by sword practice. He shook off the excess water, ignoring the protests of James and Diarmot as they were splashed with it. He was just about to hurl a few friendly insults about their fighting skills at them when he saw Fiona race into the bailey. She stopped and frantically looked around. Connor, with James and Diarmot at his heels, was already running toward her when she saw him. “Gillyanne,” she gasped as he reached her side, but she had to pause to catch her breath. “Easy, lass,” Connor said, putting a supporting arm around her thin shoulders and feeling her tremble. “Slow, deep breaths.” He nodded his approval when Andrew arrived with a wet rag and gently bathed Fiona’s face and hands. “Calm yourself and then we can talk.” As he gently rubbed Fiona’s arm and waited for her to calm, Connor fought to calm himself as well. Fiona had gone with Gillyanne to learn about the collecting of healing plants. Knobby had chosen to go
with them. It was obvious something had happened to both Gillyanne and Knobby. Danger had drawn near to his clan, touched it, and harmed two of his people. That could not be allowed. Although he was worried about Knobby, he realized his feelings were a great deal fiercer concerning Gillyanne. Knobby had been with him through the dark years of rebirth and struggle. They had grieved together, gone cold and hungry together, pulled each other from the depths of hopelessness, and conquered it all — together. He was not surprised at the depth of his concern for the man’s safety. With Gillyanne it was far more than concern, far more than worry, it was a bone-chilling fear. That made no sense to him. He had only known the woman for a few weeks. In her slim arms, he had found the sweetest, hottest passion he had ever tasted, but that did not explain this chilling dread that he had lost her. She was his wife, someone he needed to beget legitimate heirs, and, in Gillyanne’s case, to gain a fine piece of land. It was his duty to take care of her, protect her, and breed her. It was acceptable for him to feel concern for her safety, and, perhaps, suffer some guilt over his failure to protect her. It was not acceptable to be so utterly terrified that he might never see her again. He would have to sort out that puzzle later, he decided when he saw that Fiona had calmed down enough to speak clearly. “Where is Knobby?” he asked, forcibly resisiting the urge to demand what had happened to Gillyanne. “Colin the swineherd and his son are bringing him in their wee cart,” Fiona replied. “He was knocked o’er the head. I tried to drag him home, but he is heavier than he looks.” “Did ye see what happened?” “Nay all of it. I had gone to collect moss and was returning when I heard horses. I hid and crept up to them as close as I could. It looked as if Knobby had been helping Gillyanne get free of some brambles and ’tis how they crept up on him and knocked him out. Mayhap that is for the best as he would have fought them and might have been hurt verra badly or e’en killed.” “Who was it, Fiona?” “The Dalglish clan. Sir Robert himself was there.” That surprised Connor for, although he had expected some trouble from Sir David, he had not really considered Sir Robert a threat. “And she went with them?” Fiona nodded. “She didnae want to. She stood there in the brambles glaring at the fool, looking verra fierce as she can do. I got the feeling she was thinking hard and she kept glancing in the direction I had gone. Then she cursed and let him take her. I think she feared anything she did would bring me running and she didnae want that.”
“Why would he take her?” asked Diarmot, frowning in confusion. “She is wed to ye, Connor. Her lands are now yours. ’Twas all understood and agreed to ere we e’en rode to Ald-dabhach. Win the lass, win the lands, and no trouble o’er it. The marriage has been consummated. It cannae be set aside, so what can the fool gain?” “Actually, the marriage can be set aside,” James said quietly, drawing all eyes to him. “She wasnae willing. She was coerced.” “She said ‘aye’,” Connor said, but a knot of unease began to tighten in his chest. “Only after three attacks and the threat of a fourth.” Connor was suddenly all too aware of the fact that many women found Robert attractive, enjoyed his courtier’s skills. “So, he means to seduce my wife into leaving me and marrying him.” “Mayhap he will seek to ransom her,” said Diarmot. “Get at least a part of the land he lost when she chose you.” “Mayhap he will just bed the wench thinking ye wouldnae want her back,” said Neil as he pushed himself into the circle around Fiona. “Then he will woo her and take all those lands. Ye cannae accept this insult, lad. This will start the feuding again and ’tis all that fool lass’s fault.” “One more word old mon, and I will be closing that nasty mouth of yours with my fist,” James snapped, before turning a hard glare upon Connor. “He willnae be able to seduce her. Is he a mon who would rape a lass?” “I have ne’er heard that said of him,” replied Connor. “A skilled seducer who is a wee bit too fond of other men’s wives and virgins. I cannae promise he willnae force her to his bed, but he will certainly try to lure her there.” “Then there is time. No mon can seduce a Murray lass unless she chooses to be seduced.” “He has a fine skill and the lasses think him handsome.” “And Gillyanne considers herself a wedded woman.” “As if that e’er troubled a lass,” muttered Neil, then he looked at Connor. “Are ye so hungry for that land ye will take back a shamed wife?” Connor stopped James’ advance on Neil by placing one hand on the younger man’s chest and then he frowned at his uncle. “Ye have no reason to speak ill of Gillyanne yet ye have chosen to do so since the
day she arrived. Guard your words, Uncle, for this is the last time I will stop this lad from seeking retribution.” He inwardly sighed when Neil stared at him in shock and anger. “And unless there is more to this than Robert trying to steal a prize he lost fair and square, there will be no feuding.” “And if he has hurt her?” asked James. “Then I will make it a feud of but two — him and me. Revenge and retribution exacted in a fair fight. If he has seduced her . . . ” “He cannae.” James almost smiled at the fleeting look of doubt and uncertainty on Connor’s face. “Ye dinnae ken our family or ye would understand and believe me. Gillyanne considers herself your wife, bound by vows given before God. She willnae break those. And, there isnae a sweet word or seductive gesture he can try that she willnae scoff at, willnae recognize for the false flattery it is. There are a lot of bonny lads in our family, ones weel versed in the wooing of women. Gillyanne kens every trick and lie a mon like that will try. There is also the simple fact that, if she had felt any interest in the mon, she would have chosen him, wouldnae she?” Connor found that reminder deeply comforting, which worried him a little. It indicated that he could well feel more for Gillyanne than possessiveness or an understandable husbandly concern. It also hinted that he was losing the battle to keep her at some distance, to think of her only as the wife, the woman who would give him children and keep his home. Such a growing weakness explained why, despite his talk of negotiation and preventing any resumption of the feud, he ached to lay waste to Robert’s lands and cut the man into many very small pieces. “Let us cease talking and go get her,” said Fiona. “Ye will stay here,” ordered Connor. “But . . . ” “Nay. Ye and Drew will stay here.” Connor ignored Drew’s swift protest. “Ye ken weel that I ne’er take all of ye away at the same time.” All complaints stopped at this reminder of one of his firmest rules and Connor turned his attention to Knobby’s arrival. He thanked Colin and his son for their help and looked at his friend. Knobby was awake, but very pale. Connor carefully helped him to sit up in the cart. “I didnae see anything,” Knobby began, his voice hoarse with pain. “Fiona did. Sir Robert took Gillyanne,” Connor told him. “Do we go after her now?”
“Some of us. Ye will stay here. ’Twould be good to have ye at my side, but I think ’twill be a while ere ye can sit a horse.” “Aye. What can that fool be thinking of?” “We cannae decide. It seems there is a way to end this marriage. Coercion can be claimed,” he explained in response to Knobby’s look of surprise. “If Robert can sway her, she may turn to him and get her father to end her marriage to me.” “She willnae.” Knobby fixed Connor with a stern look. “She willnae end the marriage for the sake of that mon.” There was meaning beneath Knobby’s words, the hint of a warning, but Connor had no time to ask his friend to be clearer. Joan and Mairi arrived to fret over Knobby. James, Diarmot, Nanty, and Angus all moved closer, tensely awaiting the command to ride. Connor moved to mount the horses that had been brought to them, silently bidding the others to do the same. Connor noticed that his uncle made no move to join them, simply stood beside Meg, each of them wearing the same look of fury. “What is your plan then, laird?” asked Knobby, pausing by Connor’s mount as Joan and Mairi helped him to the keep. “Why, I go to pay a call upon Sir Robert Dalglish,” Connor replied. Knobby rolled his eyes. “Do ye mean to go knock upon his gates and say, Please, sir, may I have my wife back?” Connor slowly grinned. “Aye, something like that,” he replied even as he kicked his mount into a gallop.
Twelve Robert was beginning to lose his charm, Gillyanne mused as she chewed on a honey cake and glanced around his great hall. It was a lot grander than Connor’s with its fine tapestries, chairs, and candles. The man either had more wealth than Connor or he spent more of what he did gain on his own comforts than Connor did. The increasing note of irritation in Robert’s voice told Gillyanne that it might be time to stop ignoring him. Despite all his efforts to flatter and woo her, she had not spoken one word to the man since her capture. She could almost smell the anger in him. Men truly did hate it when a woman ignored them, she mused, and gave Robert a cold look as he refilled her goblet with wine. “Ye are a fool,” she said and sipped her wine as he looked at her in surprise which rapidly changed to a hastily hidden fury. “Och, aye? Would a fool ken that ye can end your marriage to Connor?” he asked. Gillyanne was not pleased that he had obviously figured out that she did have some opportunity to get out of this tangle. An escape plan was no good if it was known and it was highly possible that he would tell Connor. On the other hand, she could not understand why it should matter to him or prompt him to kidnap her. “Mayhap,” she murmured. “Of what interest could that be to you?” “Ye can change your mind, alter the choice ye have made.” “Oh? Ye think I would slip free of Connor and then bind myself to ye? Is that what all this insipid flattery and eyelash fluttering is for? To try to seduce me away from Connor?” “Ye cannae tell me ye wish to stay wed to the mon,” Robert snapped. “If I seek to end a marriage forced upon me because three idiots seek my lands, why, in God’s sweet name, would I then turn about and enter into yet another marriage with yet another one of those fools?”
“Connor may be a fine laird and warrior, but I doubt he makes a verra fine husband. The mon feels naught. He is hard and cold. His only interest is his clan, making it strong, and keeping it strong.” The man was jealous of Connor, Gillyanne realized, although not because of her and her dowry. She doubted it was a strong enough feeling to cause Robert to renew the old, bloody, and destructive feud, however. As she studied him she sensed another, uglier, emotion in the man. He was trying to woo her, but he did not want her. Nay, if she guessed right, Robert was nearly revolted by the thought of taking Connor’s leavings. The feeling was so strong, it was as if he had spoken it aloud. “Connor may be all ye say, but far better a cold, hard mon than one whose stomach fair turns at the thought of wedding and bedding a lass Connor has lain with,” she said quietly, and the way he paled told her she had read him well. “Twill be as if ye are a widow,” he muttered and took a deep drink of wine. “I would quickly become one if I married you.” “Nay, Connor works the hardest of us all to keep the old feud from returning.” “He is also a verra possessive mon. As ye have said, he lives for his clan. As his wife, I am now one of his clan and ye have caused me distress.” “I havenae hurt ye.” “Nay. Ye did hurt Knobby, though. That may annoy Connor a wee bit. And this will certainly annoy my clan and all their allies. Let me see, for this one act of blind greed, ye could find yourself facing Connor, the Murrays, the MacMillans, the Armstrongs of Aigballa, Sir Cameron MacAlpin and his clan, the Drummonds and the Kircaldys. Mayhap a few others if needed for I have a verra large family and many a good marriage was made.” “Curse it, woman, I offer marriage and nay dishonor or harm. ’Tis nay a cause for war.” Gillyanne shrugged. “If I wish to return to being laird of my own lands, unburdened by husbands I dinnae want, it could cause a wee bit of trouble. My family doesnae take it weel when one of their lasses is made to do something she doesnae wish to do. ’Tis tradition to allow us to choose our own mates, ye ken.” “No one lets a lass choose.” “My clan does.”
“M’lady,” Robert said, reaching out to take her hand in his, “ye dinnae love Connor nor would ye have chosen him under any other circumstances. The mon ignores ye most of the time and cavorts with the whores at his keep. His own uncle insults ye at every turning yet Connor does naught to defend ye. Ye work hard to make that rough keep more civilized and he ne’er notices or thanks ye. Is that truly what ye wish? Ye deserve far more. I can give ye more.” It stung to hear her marriage described so, especially since so much of what Robert said was true. Pushing aside the hurt and sorrow those words roused, Gillyanne concentrated on the fact that Robert knew far too much about what went on behind the walls of Deilcladach. He obviously had a spy right inside Connor’s home. “Just how do ye ken so much?” she demanded. Robert opened his mouth to speak, but was abruptly distracted when a loud rythmic thudding began to echo in the great hall. “What in God’s holy name is that?” Gillyanne smiled faintly. “Mayhap ’tis my husband come tirling at the pin. And a good strong knock upon the door it is, too.” “Nay, he couldnae get here so quickly. Your guard was unconscious. And, he didnae see any of us so couldnae tell anyone who took you.” “But Fiona wasnae knocked down and probably saw everything. Forgot about her, didnae ye?” “My laird,” cried a man as he stumbled into the great hall, “ ’tis the MacEnroys!” Robert cursed as he ran his fingers through his hair. “And ye are letting them beat down my gates?” “But, we dinnae fight with the MacEnroys. Ye want us to start now?” For one heart-chilling moment, Robert said nothing. Gillyanne feared he would choose battle. She and her lands would cause a renewal of a deadly feud. It was an appalling thought yet she did not know what to say or do to stop it. In the short time she had been at his keep, it had been easy to see that the Dalglish clan had probably not suffered as severely as the MacEnroys, so Robert might not be as driven to keep the peace as Connor was. All she could do was pray that Robert would choose peace despite his greed for her land. “Nay, we willnae fight,” Robert snapped, his frustration and anger clear to hear in his voice. “Let the fool in before he destroys my gates.” He glared at Gillyanne when his man hurried away. “I dinnae suppose ye will change your mind.” “What about? Giving up one unwanted husband for another?” She frowned as if she actually considered
the matter then shook her head. “Nay, I think not.” “I begin to think Connor deserves you.” “Thank ye.” “It wasnae a compliment.” “Nay? Pardon. My mistake. Ah, I believe I hear the gentle pitter-patter of my husband’s boots.” Robert was staring at her as if she was the oddest creature he had ever met and one he would dearly like to strangle. Gillyanne idly wondered what it was about her that kept putting that look in a man’s eyes. She had not even really displayed her particular skill, her one insight easily explained away as a lucky guess. Connor’s abrupt and rather impressive entrance into the great hall distracted her from that puzzle. “Greetings, husband,” she said, giving him a faint smile then nodding at Diarmot, James, Angus, and Nanty who stood firm behind him. “Wife,” Connor said, studying her intently for a moment before turning his attention to Robert. Connor was relieved to see that Gillyanne looked well except for a slight disarray obviously caused by the swift flight to Robert’s keep. He did wonder, however, why he still felt strongly inclined to spit Sir Robert on the end of his sword. Possessiveness, he told himself. A simple, uncomplicated, manly sense of possession. Gillyanne was his and no man took what was his. He would probably feel much the same way if Robert had stolen his horse. Or nearly so. His mood somewhat improved, he found he could see Robert more clearly, the haze of fury thinning a little. “Ye will nay fight to keep what ye have stolen?” he asked Robert. “Will ye fight hard to get her back?” Robert asked instead of replying directly to Connor’s cold words. “She is my wife.” Gillyanne almost winced, then told herself she was a fool to be stung by his unemotional statement of possession. This was hardly the time Connor would choose to boldly avow his undying love for her. For a brief moment, she savored the image of him doing just that, then forced herself to banish the dream. Connor was not the sort of man to do such a thing even if he felt such a depth of emotion and it was also far too early in the game for him to do so. “I could ransom her,” Robert murmured.
“And I could challenge you, fight you, and leave ye bleeding in the dirt.” “Mayhap. That would start the feuding again.” “Nay, for ’twould be an honorable battle between two knights. A challenge made, a challenge accepted. What made ye do this? We were all agreed ere we set out for Ald-dabhach that we would accept her choice.” “Her mind can be changed and I believed she might be ready to do so.” “Why?” Robert shrugged and hid his expression by taking a sip of wine. “Rumor.” “More than rumor,” Gillyanne said. “The mon kens too much, Connor. He has eyes and ears inside Deilcladach.” “Come here, wife.” Connor nodded when, after a brief, frowning hesitation, Gillyanne moved to his side. “Who is your spy, Robert?” “I have placed no spy within Deilcladach,” Robert replied. “Then who has decided to become one?” “Does it truly matter? She undoubtedly knew I would not use the information to harm ye or your people.” “Meg,” Gillyanne muttered and heard Diarmot, James, Angus, and Nanty echo her. Connor agreed with his companions, but said nothing, just continued to stare at Robert. “Ye dinnae think stealing my wife and trying to claim her lands would hurt me and my clan?” “Pardon,” Gillyanne snapped, glaring at her husband. “He only stole me. I dinnae see Ald-dabhach strapped to my back, do ye? He took me. Just me.” “I believe I am aware of that,” Connor drawled, and tried to hide a sudden tickle of amusment as he looked at her belligerent little face. “Mayhap ye should go and wait by the horses. My companions can take ye. Then Robert and I can talk mon to mon without worrying that we might say something that will bruise your tender feelings.” Gillyanne had just taken a deep breath in preparation of searing her husband’s ears with a few harsh
words, when James and Diarmot each grabbed her by an arm. They hurried her out of the great hall, Nanty and Angus right behind them. She resented being shooed away like some troublesome child, but decided it might be best if she did not hear any more about her cursed lands. It would only annoy her more. “Ye handled that weel,” said Robert as soon as he and Connor were alone, sarcasm weighting his every word. “How I deal with my wife is none of your concern,” Connor said coldly. “Nothing that occurs within my keep is. Ye have allowed the rantings of a jealous bitch to lead ye close to disaster.” “So, ye would have fought for her, wouldnae ye?” “She is my wife, a MacEnroy now,” was all Connor would say. “And ye need those lands.” “Aye. That is no secret. The bounty there will give my clan a bulwark against starvation. She will give me heirs, might e’en now be carrying my son.” He noticed Robert grimace even though the expression was a fleeting one. “I dinnae think ye wish my cuckoo in your nest.” “I would have waited to marry her until I was sure she wasnae breeding.” Connor moved closer to Robert and, almost idly, pointed his sword at the man’s throat. Robert’s eyes widened and Connor knew the man was heartily cursing himself for not keeping even one of his men by his side. It would be disastrous to even wound the man yet Connor silently admitted he still felt a slight urge to do so. “Did ye touch her?” Connor demanded. “Nay,” Robert replied, pressing himself back into his chair. “In truth, she had only just begun to speak with me. And then it was only to heap insult upon my wooing and threaten me with ye and all of her kin.” It was surprisingly hard to subdue a grin as Connor sheathed his sword. He felt both relieved and amused. It was easy to see Gillyanne responding to Robert’s charm with the sharp edge of her tongue. “Will I be having trouble from Sir David next?” Connor asked as he helped himself to some wine. “Nay. I havenae told him what I have learned and see no reason to confide in him now. It may all be the truth, but it has proven useless. In truth, David doesnae really want her. She badly bruised his pride.”
“Ye dinnae really want her, either, do ye?” Robert grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. “I would prefer a more biddable wife.” “Weel, when ye decide ’tis time for ye to woo one, I suggest ye avoid any lass named Murray. If but half of what the lass tells me is true, ye willnae find one of those amongst that clan. And, I suggest ye be more particular about whose words ye heed. A lover cast aside will play his or her own game with little thought to the consequences for you.” “So, ye tossed aside your leman to please your new bride. I should have considered that. Yet, what she said had the ring of truth, considering the mon ye are and all.” That piqued Connor’s curiosity, but he resisted the urge to demand Robert explain himself. “If that fulsome adder hisses in your ear again, I would pay her no heed at all. She will nay longer be privy to anything that occurs within my walls.” “Ah, so the cast aside lover is soon to be cast out.” “Ye would do the same.” “Aye, I would. In truth, I would be far harsher in my punishment of such a betrayal.” “She has her uses. She will just have to employ them from a wee bothy on the moors from now on.” “Since ye have been so kind as to offer me advice,” Robert drawled, “allow me to return the favor. There is more than one adder in your nest, my laird.” Connor tensed and carefully set down his empty goblet. “Who?” “Nay, I willnae be giving ye a name. I have no real proof and I will make no accusations without it. ’Tis nay your brothers nor your wife nor that fool Knobby. How is he, anyway?” “Cursing ye with each throb in his head.” In an attempt to calm himself and subdue the urge to shake a name out of Robert, Connor told the man how Fiona had brought Knobby back, thus stealing the time Robert had hoped to use to woo Gillyanne. “The lass is a MacEnroy to the bone,” Robert murmured and shook his head. “ ’Tisnae her, either.” “ ’Tis good to ken who it isnae. ’Twould be better to ken who it is.” “Aye, but ye must lance that boil without my help. I willnae brand a mon a traitor without proof. I warn
