ye only because I ken enough to feel it justified. Watch your back. Every snake eventually exposes itself to the sunlight.” Connor nodded, repeated his warning to Robert, and left to take his wife home. He felt a bit of a fool and it was an uncomfortable feeling. Despite his wise advice to Robert about cast aside lovers, he had been surprised by Meg’s betrayal. He had ignored the woman’s sullen attitude and the way Meg had tried to make things difficult for Gillyanne, but, even if he had not, he doubted he would have guessed how far the woman would go to try to rid herself of a rival. Where he decided he had erred was in scorning Meg’s high opinion of herself and her lofty sense of her own importance. When he had set her aside and ordered her to do her share of work, he had taken away the power she had stolen for herself, reduced her from someone the women of Deilcladach had had to bow to just a whore. It should have occurred to him that she would make someone pay for that, that she would thus see Gillyanne as an enemy and try to be rid of her. Connor promised himself that he would begin to pay more heed to what the women of Deilcladach did and said. But first, he thought with a sigh as he saw how his little wife glared at him, he was obviously going to have to hear a few things his wife had to say. Thwarting her attempt to ride with James, he tossed Gillyanne into his saddle and mounted behind her. As they rode away from Sir Robert’s fine keep, Gillyanne kept herself so straight and taut in the saddle, Connor knew she would have an uncomfortable ride home. It was clear that she did not like the way he had spoken of her lands yet she had been fully aware of the reasons for their marriage. Vanity, he supposed. It probably stung to be constantly reminded of that fact. She could not know that, if a ransom had been demanded, he would have used some, if not all, of her lands to free her. Since that confession would carry the taint of some of the feelings he was battling with, Connor decided he would keep it to himself. He did not wish to reveal that weakness to anyone. “Weel, your fine new lands are now safe,” Gillyanne muttered, then cursed herself for voicing her hurt and insult. “Aye,” he replied calmly, briefly smiling over her sulky tone. “And all in time for ye to give me my bath.” Gillyanne briefly savored the vision of pushing Connor out of the saddle and then riding over his prone body a few dozen times. “I think I am too weary from my ordeal to indulge ye tonight.” Connor suspected she was referring to far more than the bath he so enjoyed. “Ah, too bad. I have worked up a wee sweat riding to your rescue.” “Are ye saying that, if I dinnae pamper ye with your bath, ye will come to bed stinking of a long, hard ride?”
“Aye.” He saw her small hands clench into tight little fists and idly wondered if she would use them on him. “Fine then. I will give ye your cursed bath. I suspect it will be prepared shortly after we arrive at Deilcladach, anyway.” He made a show of sniffing her. “Ye could do with a wash, too.” She punched his thigh, but knew the soft grunt he made was one of surprise, not pain. Gillyanne doubted she could hurt that well-muscled tree trunk he called his leg. A sensible part of her knew he was teasing her, goading her on purpose, but the bruised part of her that had been forced to accept her lack of allure for men was stung by his mild insults. She had to remind herself that he had forced her to sit close to him, that he was idly nuzzling her hair and stroking her stomach, before she could banish that hurt. It was foolish not to be able to accept simple teasing. She firmly told herself to be pleased that he had softened enough to indulge in such play. “I will bathe whilst ye are booting Meg out of Deilcladach,” she said and tried not to tense as she waited for his response. Connor bit back a chuckle. He was sure Gillyanne did not think she was sharing his favors with Meg, but could understand how she would not like to have to see the woman every day. It would be interesting, however, to hear why she felt he should banish the woman. After all, Meg had not participated in Gillyanne’s capture. The woman had simply given private information to an ally. “I am going to toss the woman out, am I?” “She betrayed you, told Sir Robert about what went on inside your keep, and, I suspect, where and when I would be outside the walls.” Although Robert had not said so, Connor had deduced that for himself. There was no denying that Meg wanted Gillyanne gone from Deilcladach. He knew he should count himself lucky that Meg had gone to an ally and not an enemy. “I considered just warning her not to try such games again. Meg probably didnae think I would find out her part in it all.” “Probably not. In truth, I suspect if ye scold her, she will act all contrite, beg forgiveness whilst weeping buckets of tears, and vow on her dead mother’s grave ne’er to do it again. ’Twill be a lie. As soon as she feels ye are lulled by her penitent attitude, she will try something else. ’Twas bad enough that ye pushed her out of your bed, but ye made that rule about not bedding husbands which was something she used to keep some women under her boot heel. And then ye demanded she do the work she was supposed to, immediately stealing all the power she had once wielded. Ye turned her back into what she really was
and is, a mere maid and a whore. Ye must pay for that insult and, since it happened after I married you, Meg sees me as the cause of it all. She is furious with ye, but she loathes me.” “And ’tis nay jealousy which causes ye to speak so? Nay just a wish to see my former lover gone from your sight?” “Of course I would like to see her gone, her and her two fellow whores. If I had had lovers ere we wed, I doubt ye would wish to have to deal with them each and every day.” Gillyanne interpreted his harsh grunt as agreement. “Meg is more than a thorn in my side, however, and ye ken it. If she is allowed to get away with this betrayal, she will think herself free to try again. And she will. She wants revenge. I am nay sure ye are in any real danger, but I think I might be, and I curse myself for a fool for nay realizing it.” “She will be gone,” he said. “I was but curious as to why ye would believe she needed to be banished.” Gillyanne grunted then inwardly cursed. She hoped she had not revealed any of the bone deep jealousy she felt for Meg and, to a lesser degree, the other two women Connor had bedded. The man was far too arrogant already. He certainly did not need to think he held his wife’s heart in the palm of his big hand, which, to Gillyanne’s dismay, she suspected he did. Until she had some hint from him that she stirred more than his lust and sense of possession, she intended to guard her own feelings. If this marriage failed, she would be hurt, but she refused to be humbled. If he did not know all she felt for him, he would not know just how deeply his lack of love cut her. It would be a small salve to her pride, but it might be all she had left. The moment they rode through the gates of Deilcladach, Gillyanne felt Connor tense. He was preparing himself to be the stern laird, she realized. What little softness she might pull from him at other times, such as when they were alone, swiftly vanished when he had to face his clan as their laird. Although she could understand it, it tasted too much like defeat for all her hopes. After all, she could not separate him from his clan, could not stop him from being their laird. All she could hope for was that she could teach him that he could be both a loving husband and a strong, respected laird. It would not be an easy lesson to teach. He dismounted, then helped her down. “See to the readying of our bath, wife.” Although a part of her wished to see Meg’s shame and banishment, Gillyanne would not allow herself to indulge it. She hurried into the keep, pausing only to check on Knobby and Fiona before going to prepare Connor’s bath. There was a small chance she could gain something by being there to offer comfort and ease after such a trying chore. She was sure it was one of those things that made a man appreciate a wife. Although she ached for affection, she decided she could find satisfaction in Connor’s appreciation. It was a small step, but at least it would be one in the right direction.
Thirteen Connor grinned when he stepped into his bedchamber and saw Gillyanne standing naked by the tub. She squealed and quickly got into the tub. As he started to shed his clothes, he realized just how much he enjoyed these baths, did in fact look forward to them at the end of the day. After facing the possibility of losing her to Robert and facing a betrayal within his own clan, he was especially eager for it. There was a danger lurking in that eagerness, but, for the moment, he decided to ignore it. Meg’s screeches of fury were still ringing in his ears and he wanted to replace them with Gillyanne’s cries of passion. Or, rather, her bellow of delight, he thought, and grinned again as he climbed into the tub. “What are ye grinning about?” Gillyanne asked, a little disappointed that he was not in a dour mood which she could now improve with her wifely skills. The man was not cooperating at all with her plans. “I was just contemplating deafening myself with your cries of passion,” he drawled as she started to wash his feet. “Are ye saying that I am loud?” She was not sure if she was insulted or just appalled at the thought of being loud enough to be overheard. “Ye fair bring the stone walls down around us.” “There are some things a mon shouldnae tease his wife about.” Gillyanne scrubbed his arms, a little annoyed when her vigorous scrubbing did not invoke so much as a faint wince. “He might wish to consider the possibility that he could embarrass his poor, modest wife so deeply she willnae dare to even breathe, to utter e’en the faintest of whimpers, despite all his best efforts.” “A telling point, wife,” he muttered as she washed his hair. “I rather thought so.” She carefully rinsed his hair then briskly washed his back. Connor took the washing cloth from Gillyanne’s hand. “Of course, some men might see that as a challenge.”
“Oh, dear.” * * * Gillyanne stared up at the ceiling, enjoying the weight of her husband’s body, and decided that the man had a true skill with a washing rag. She just hoped the bed dried out before it was time to retire for the night. Sadly, she also had to confess that she had proven little challenge for Connor. Gillyanne was not sure exactly what noise she had made, but strongly suspected it had been loud, which probably gratified the big oaf. All she could do was pray no one would be rude enough to mention if they had heard her. “What happened with Meg?” she asked Connor, seeking to avert her thoughts from how she may have embarrassed herself. “Ah, aye, Meg.” He nuzzled Gillyanne’s neck. “She tried to deny it all, then tried to beg forgiveness. I told her that allowing her to live was all the forgiveness she was going to get.” “And she didnae understand that at all, did she?” “Nay, the ungrateful wretch. She cursed me and cursed you.” Connor sat up and stretched. He realized he could think on the sordid confrontation with Meg without anger now. Sensual satisfaction thrummed through his veins, keeping that anger away. He kissed Gillyanne, got out of bed, and began to get dressed. The way his people had stood firm behind him as he had banished Meg also helped his mood. “ ’Twas just to banish her,” Gillyanne said as she quickly tugged on her shift. “ ’Twas also verra merciful. Many another laird would have done far more than just tell her to leave.” “Robert said he wouldnae be so kind. She seemed to have far more possessions than she ought when she left, so, I suspect, she added thievery to her crimes. I had planned to set her in some crude hovel, but she is in a cottage in the village. It allowed me to gently suggest that Jenny and Peg may wish to join her there. Without Meg’s arrogance to protect them from the other women, I believe they will go to her.” “Do ye think they helped her, were part of the betrayal?” “I think they kenned what game she played and didnae warn me. ’Tis nearly as bad. And, I decided ’twas an unkindness to the lasses who work so hard and are virtuous to allow whores to wander so freely and openly about the keep.” “Joan will be pleased.”
“Aye, though Malcolm seems much chastened. Nay, ’tis best to clean house. Those women can do their business in the village. Knobby told me Mairi says ’tis the way of it in most places.” “Mairi has traveled?” “She and her mother came to us from another clan. Mairi’s father had died and her mother was being plagued to wed a mon she couldnae abide, so she left. Sadly, they arrived but days before the killing, seeking Joan’s mother, a kinswoman. Joan’s mother was killed and Mairi’s mother sorely wounded, leaving her so frail she died a few years later.” “So many young ones left alone,” Gillyanne murmured as she finished dressing. “I think our youth turned in our favor in the end.” “Aye, possibly.” Connor shook off the sadness such memories always brought, grabbed Gillyanne by the hand, and headed for the great hall. Since everyone at Deilcladach knew the tale, most of them intimately acquainted with the grief and the hardship that followed, he had spoken of it very little. Now, each time he told Gillyanne another tale of those troubled times, he realized the worst of his grief had passed. The only strong feeling that lingered was an angry regret that there had been no one he could wreak vengance on. The ones responsible had killed each other off. As he and Gillyanne entered the great hall, Connor was a little surprised to find everyone ready and waiting. It was something that was becoming increasingly common. He sat down and helped himself to some food as the others quickly took their places at the tables. It was not until he was halfway through his meal that he realized there had been no way everyone could have known he was about to come down to the great hall. The meal was not served at precisely the same time every evening, although lately he had begun to suspect that his wife was trying to arrange it so. Neither had any bell been rung to call everyone to the table. “How is it ye were all waiting and the food was set out?” he asked Diarmot, his curiosity finally getting the better of him. “I heard no bell rung, or the like.” “Dinnae need a bell,” Diarmot replied. “We just wait for the bellow.” “The bellow?” “Aye, the bellow. Once we hear that, we ken ye will be down to eat within the half hour. Most often, ’tis about fifteen minutes.” Gillyanne felt as if her cheeks were on fire, her blush was so deep and hot. A brief attempt to convince
herself that Diarmot could not possibly be referring to what she thought he was killed by the looks of amusement on the faces of the men. She groaned and rested her forehead on the table, resisting the urge to bang her head on the hard wood a few times. She was just starting to pray that the floor would open up and swallow her, taking her away from this humiliation, when a strange noise to her right caught her attention. Then the feeling of joyful amazement came to her from many of the ones sitting around the table. Slowly, she lifted her head and looked at Connor. It took her a full minute to realize he was laughing. It was a rich yet boyish sound. Her delight over that quickly began to fade as, one by one, the others at the table began to join in. The pleasure she felt at seeing Connor laugh was quickly smothered by renewed embarrassment. “A clarion call to sup,” Connor said in a choked voice, and started to laugh again. “We havenae rung the bell since ye started taking your bath in your chambers,” Diarmot said and collapsed into laughter that closely resembled giggles. Anger started to creep up through her embarrassment and Gillyanne snapped, “ ’Tis nay that loud.” “Nay?” James cried. “Lass, ye could bring down the walls of Jericho.” He started laughing so hard he had to clutch at Knobby to stay in his seat. “Ye are all behaving like children.” Gillyanne stood up and collected her plate and goblet. “I shall eat in the kitchens.” As she strode away, she noticed Fiona stopped giggling long enough to grab her food and follow her. “Unruly boys, the whole lot of them.” Upon entering the kitchens, Gillyanne cursed softly then sighed. Joan, Mairi, and the two kitchen maids were giggling so hard there were tears in their eyes. Feeling extremely ill-used, Gillyanne sat at the table only to realize that her appetite had fled. She was wondering if she should force herself to eat when Joan sent the kitchen maids to wait on the men and she and Mairi sat down across from her and Fiona. Both women looked sympathetic, but still far too amused for Gillyanne’s liking. “M’lady,” Joan said, her voice husky from laughter, “they dinnae do this to shame or hurt you.” “ ’Tis such a private matter,” Gillyanne muttered. “Men dinnae always think so.” Joan clasped her hands to her chest and looked torn between laughing some more and weeping. “Oh, lass, the laird was laughing. Laughing! I havenae heard the like since before the killings.” “I dinnae think I have e’er heard my brother laugh,” said Fiona.
“Weel, aye, that certainly delighted me,” admitted Gillyanne. “Unfortunately, the oafs were quick to remind me just what they were all laughing about. ’Tis so humiliating. And, I suppose I just hate to be reminded of how loud I can be. ’Tis a curse.” “Oh, nay, m’lady,” protested Joan. “Old Nigel told us how he heard ye singing e’en though he would have thought himself too far away. He also told us ’twas the voice of an angel, that it pulled at him so strongly, he had to be held back. Ye were blessed with that voice. I but hope to hear it some day.” “It does seem as if my singing is appreciated. Yet, curse it three times, whilst singing loud and true may be fine, I am also loud when I am angry, sometimes loud when I am happy, and now it appears I can call men to a meal when my rogue of a husband gives me pleasure.” “Aye, and I promise ye that beneath that laughter rides envy.” Joan nodded when Gillyanne frowned with uncertainty. “What mon wouldnae want to pleasure his woman so weel she rattles the stones with her cries? I wouldnae be surprised if monly pride that he can do so, and now all ken it, is part of the reason Connor laughed so freely. ’Tis the way of men to feel pride in their rutting skills, e’en those fools who dinnae have any.” “Connor yells, too,” Fiona said. “Truly. It may not be as clear as yours, but one doesnae have to listen too hard to hear him.” That was somewhat comforting to know, but Gillyanne still sighed and shook her head. “ ’Twill be hard to look them all in the eyes now that I ken they all ken my private business.” “M’lady, the moment ye began to give the laird his bath in that bedchamber, we all kenned what would happen,” Joan said. “Only a fool would think two lusty young people could bathe together innocently.” “Oh, of course. And I am foolish to think men ought to understand my sensibilities. They have none. I think I shall make an effort to mute myself.” “That would just present Connor with a challenge.” Recalling the lovemaking that had caused that much talked about bellow, Gillyanne smiled slowly and winked at Joan. “Aye, that it might.” She joined the others in an enjoyable bout of the giggles. * * * “Hope we havenae hurt the lass’s feelings,” Diarmot said when everyone finally finished laughing. “I think she was just cross,” Connor murmured, frowning toward the kitchens. “Why would she be angry?”
“Women dinnae like their private business talked about,” said James. “Gilly was probably embarrassed to learn everyone kenned what the two of ye were doing. If Mither kenned what I have just done, she would kick me to Stirling and back.” “We are married. E’en if we werenae, when a mon and a woman go into a bedchamber and shut the door, every fool kens what they are doing. She must ken that.” “Of course she does. She also kens that it can be a noisy romp and thus isnae as secretive as ye may wish it to be. Wheesht, when Fither has been away for a wee while, he and Mither near race up the stairs and have, on occasion, been heard to be knocking o’er the furniture. Then there is the occasional bit of clothing found in the solar or some other room that must be discreetly returned.” James rolled his eyes. “And, when our cousins Avery and Elspeth visit with their husbands, the sounds one hears when walking by the bedchambers,” he shook his head, “ye would think ye were in some brothel for lusty sailors. E’en food disappears. And, ’tis sore difficult to keep one’s tongue in one’s mouth when ye hear the maids complaining about how difficult it is to get honey off the linen. But, ye ne’er speak of it. Weel, we arenae supposed to, though teasing does occur. Infuriates the lasses every time, too.” Connor stared at James in stunned silence. He simply could not conceive of the sort of life the man described. It was true that his siblings and he had occasionally indulged in rough play, but there was little time for such frivolity. Even before the killings, the only real foolishness or laughter had come when, due to their youth, he and other children had briefly forgotten that they were in a constant state of war. The Murrays sounded happy, secure, and Connor realized he felt a twinge of envy. “Honey? Why would there be honey on the linens?” he asked, seeking a diversion from his dark thoughts. James laughed, glanced around to be certain there were no women close at hand, and proceeded to tell the men of the delights one could reap from playing with one’s food. Connor realized there was a great deal about bedsports that he had never learned. He would have all his fingernails ripped out before he would admit it, however. It was some comfort to see, by the expressions on the faces of the other men, that he was not the only one suffering from ignorance. They were all a rather unworldly lot, he realized. James was easily prodded into telling more by the younger men, the older ones listening closely while acting as if this was all very old news. It was late, time to seek their beds, when Connor realized his wife had not returned. He looked for Gillyanne in the kitchens, but only one of the little kitchen maids was there finishing her work. As he started toward his bedchamber, Connor wondered if Gillyanne had been deeply hurt by the laughter. He found it a great source of pride that he could make his little wife bellow like a warrior leading a charge, but ladies could be sensitive and protective of their modesty. If she was honestly hurt, perhaps feeling shamed, he would have to try and soothe her, and Connor doubted he had such skill. Yet, if hurt and outrage threatened the fullness of the passion he and Gillyanne shared, he suspected he could find some. It had not been easy, but he had finally accepted that he found joy and contentment in Gillyanne’s arms.
Since it would be seen as lustiness by others, he felt he could heartily indulge himself yet not appear weak. He had no intention of losing that now. He suddenly thought of the laughter he had indulged in. It had felt good, refreshing. Connor knew he had briefly shocked his people with such levity, had seen that on their faces, but it had been quickly accepted. Even welcomed, he realized with surprise. Neither had he seen any lessening of respect, any weakening in his position as their laird. He had no intention of becoming some jovial fool, but Connor decided it might not hurt to enjoy the occasional laugh or reveal his amusement. In truth, having retasted the pleasure of sharing a laugh, he doubted he would be able to resist another taste now and again. Connor breathed a sigh of relief when he entered his bedchamber and found Gillyanne in his bed. At least she was not hiding from him. Although, he mused with a smile as he stripped off his clothes, there was not much of her to see above the bedclothes. After a quick wash, he slid into bed and pulled her into his arms. Her eyes remained closed, but, if she was trying to pretend she was asleep, she was doing a very poor job of it. “Are ye sulking, lass?” he asked, stroking her back and frowning when he realized a linen shift was keeping him from enjoying the feel of her soft skin. “Why should I sulk?” she muttered, trying to ignore the beauty of the strong chest she was pressed against. “Such deep embarrassment and humiliation is worth nay more than a wince or two, aye? Why, I only thought of sinking into a deep hole and pulling the earth o’er my head for a moment or two.” Connor pressed his lips against the side of her neck, hiding his expression. He knew now was not the time to follow his decision to more openly reveal his amusement. The lass did have a way of speaking that made him want to laugh, though, and that had been true from the beginning. Connor realized he was looking forward to sharing a laugh with her on occasion. “No one meant to shame ye, lass.” “I didnae say shame. I feel no shame. ’Twas just embarrassing, deeply so.” She sighed, feeling a renewed sting of embarrassment and knowing it would take a while to get over that. “ ’Tis a private matter between us.” “Gilly, we are wed. The moment we seek privacy, everyone kens what we are doing. ’Tis exactly what they would be doing or what they wish they could be doing.” “Aye, I ken it, but they shouldnae talk about it, for sweet Mary’s sake. Men might like to slap each other on the back and boast about it and, aye, women talk amongst themselves, but ’tis nay something to speak so publicly about.” Connor was not sure what to say. He did not really consider the teasing amongst those at their table
tonight as anything more than a jest shared amongst family. Since he had laughed and was actually feeling rather smug, rather pleased that everyone knew he could make his wife yell with pleasure, his sympathy for her bruised feelings was faint. “So, I have come to a decision,” she said. Not sure he liked the sound of that, Connor pulled back to eye her warily. “And what would that be?” “That I am going to become more genteel. Aye, they all may ken what we are doing up here, but I will no longer amuse them with noises. Nay, I willnae be calling the fools into sup any more.” Gillyanne was not surprised when his eyes narrowed. His manly pride had scented a challenge, just as she had suspected it would. She would undoubtedly suffer some discomfort before she could accept, then ignore, the fact that others heard her and Connor make love, but she did not intend to allow it to last for long. The sharing of passion was still the only time she felt she was reaching Connor, penetrating his hard shell, if only for a little while. She would not let a few crude jests force her to pull away from that. In truth, she was not sure she could. She craved the pleasure Connor gave her far too much to let anything interfere with it. Connor pushed her onto her back. At first he thought she had donned the very modest sleep shift because she had gone to bed alone and was cold. Now he realized it was all part of her plan to become more genteel. She might even think to try and become what his uncle had said most wellborn lasses were in the bedchamber. That he would not allow. He had spent long, torturous days before accepting the fact that he lost himself in the passion they shared and that he looked forward to these times of intimacy in their bedchamber. No attack of maidenly modesty would be allowed to rob him of that. “What is this?” he asked, plucking at the laces on her shift until they started to come undone. “ ’Tis what a genteel wife would wear to bed,” Gillyanne replied. “Aye? I am to just fumble my way around it, am I?” She gasped when he suddenly grabbed the shoulders of the shift and yanked them down until her breasts were bared. Her arms were also pinned to her sides, not painfully so, but it would take a lot of wriggling to get them free. Gillyanne felt no fear, knew deep in her heart that Connor would never hurt her. What she did feel was intrigued and just a little aroused. She had turned into quite a wanton, she thought with an inner, slightly rueful, smile. He kissed her and Gillyanne let the sensual magic of that kiss flow through her. The feel of his broad chest pressed against her breasts was enough to make them ache. Gillyanne tried to move her arms to touch him only to realize he had relaced her shift enough to tighten the bonds on her arms. When he moved his kisses to her throat, she moaned with a mixture of frustration over her inability to touch him
and a rapidly soaring passion. “Connor, I cannae move,” she protested, surprised she could even speak for his kisses had reached her breasts. “Genteel ladies dinnae move.” Using his fingers and tongue, he stroked her nipples into a tempting hardness. “Genteel ladies are supposed to just lie there like silent martyrs and let their wedded husbands have their will of their bodies.” “I dinnae think that is quite right.” She wanted to argue some more, but Connor drew the tip of her breast deep into his mouth. With each suckle he pulled all thought from her head and stole all ability for coherent speech. Gillyanne was still astonished at how swiftly and fiercely Connor could stir her desire. He was a fire in her blood, an aching need she feared she would suffer all her life. And, she did fear it, for there was still a good chance that their marriage would prove to be an utter failure. Even that concern was banished from her mind when Connor began to kiss the insides of her thighs. When he took those kisses a little higher, his lips then his tongue touching the heated softness between her legs, Gillyanne cried out a shocked protest. Connor grasped her by the hips, holding her steady when she tried to pull away, and, soon, she did not want to. Blinding pleasure flooded her body with each stroke of his tongue. The only thought left in Gillyanne’s head was that she had to move, she had to touch him. A part of her mind was aware that the strain upon her arms was a little painful, but, then, she heard cloth rip, and she was free. She could not believe it when she heard and felt Connor laugh as she buried her fingers in his thick hair. A moment later Gillyanne knew she was reaching her peak and she struggled to speak. “Now, Connor,” she commanded. “Please, now!” “Nay, wife. This way. Let go and give it to me.” Gillyanne could not hold back. Her release tore through her. She was still shuddering from the force of it when Connor began to send her soaring all over again. This time when she called to him he did not hesitate, fiercely joining their bodies. She clung to his strong body as he drove them both to the heights. It was difficult to know how much time had passed before Gillyanne felt able to even move, let alone speak. She idly stroked Connor’s hip, enjoying the feel of his weight upon her and his warm breath against her neck. A part of her was a little appalled at how wantonly she had responded to such a deep intimacy, but she easily smothered the feeling. Connor was her husband, and if what they shared was enjoyable to both of them, she would not fret over it.
“I bellowed again, didnae I?” Knowing full well that she had, it was more of a statement than a question. “Aye, twice,” Connor replied, male satisfaction weighing his words. “My ears are still ringing.” “Arrogant beast.” “Mayhap I should go down and see if any of those fools have staggered out of their beds expecting a meal to be set out.” Gillyanne found she was able to giggle at the image. “Weel, go on then.” “Nay, I cannae move.” He yawned and sleepily kissed her neck. “Ye wrung all the strength right out of me.” “I am feeling a wee bit weak myself.” “Good, then I have done my duty as your husband and may now seek my rest.” Although Gillyanne smiled at his teasing, she suffered a faint pang of disappointment as well. After such blinding passion, after a joining of such beautiful unity, she would prefer loving words to teasing ones. She swallowed the urge to try and pull a few out of him. Such things had to be given freely. What worried her was that she would never hear them, that despite the perfection of the desire they shared, Connor would keep all else locked tightly within himself. Gillyanne pressed her lips to his hair and wondered just how long she should wait for those soft words before she began to look the fool.
Fourteen “What are ye doing?” Gillyanne sighed with resignation as she sat up in response to that stirringly familiar deep voice behind her. She wondered how Connor always seemed to catch her at her worst. It was true that the herb garden she was laboring over looked neat, attractive, and rich in new growth. Unfortunately, it was also true that she looked as if she had wallowed in the mud. When he moved to stand in front of her, she was pleased to see him almost grinning for it revealed a loosening of the tight reins he kept on himself. Obviously that bout of laughter two nights ago had freed his sense of humor. Gillyanne just wished the change was not so often gained at her expense. “I am resurrecting your herb garden,” she replied. “We had an herb garden?” Connor frowned as he looked around, thinking it a lot of work for his delicate wife. “Aye, although there was little more left than a plot of weeds with a few herbs tangled up in them. ’Twas the herbs and the remnants of a stone path between the plots that told me one used to be here. I found some seed still stored in a small chest in the kitchens as weel.” She pointed to a tangle of weeds and vines near the wall. “I think there used to be a kitchen garden o’er there. Fiona and I plan to begin uncovering its secrets on the morrow if the weather holds fine.” “I dinnae recall such things, but I was only a lad when the destruction came, and young lads care little about gardens.” She nodded. “And most of the older women died, that knowledge dying with them.” Gillyanne frowned for he suddenly looked at her with a tense gravity that was a little worrying. “Is something wrong?” “Your father is here.” “Here? In the keep?” She scrambled to her feet, her excitement quickly dimmed by dismay as she recalled how dirty she was.
“Nay. He is outside our gates with a dozen armed men.” “Oh, dear.” “He demands to speak with you.” “Not you?” “Nay, at least not yet. I made him swear that he wouldnae hold ye or try to take ye away.” Gillyanne grimaced, suspecting her father had found that a galling, bitter oath to take. “So, I am to go and speak with him?” “Aye, when ye swear that ye willnae try to flee with him.” “I swear it.” She met his hard stare calmly. Connor did not need to know all the reasons behind her ready agreement. Now was simply not the time to run home with her father. She was still Connor’s wife. She was also still willing to make this marriage a good one. It was too early to give up the fight. There was also the simple matter that leaving on her own or being taken away by her kinsmen could cause more trouble than it was worth. She was Connor’s wife by the laws of the church and Scotland and one did not interfere with those laws without stirring up controversy. When Connor nodded and reached for her, she hastily backed up a step. “Tell my fither I will be out to speak to him in fifteen minutes. I must clean away some of this dirt. Twould be best to greet him looking as good as I am able.” Connor watched her dash into the keep and started to return to the walls to speak with her angry father. Even though he had not discussed the matter with Gillyanne, he had not forgotten what James had told him, that there was a way Gillyanne could end their marriage. If James knew it, then Sir Eric Murray did as well, which was why the man had not been immediately welcomed into Deilcladach. Unfortunately, the man had not left, had remained adamant in his wish to see his daughter. Even James’ assurances that Gillyanne was fine had not swayed Sir Eric. Making both father and daughter swear that she would remain at Deilcladach was the only compromise Connor could think of, but he was not happy with it. “I think that mon would be mightily pleased to gut ye,” murmured Knobby after Connor had loudly relayed Gillyanne’s message to her father from the top of his walls. Watching the way Sir Eric paced in front of his men, Connor nodded. “I can see where the lass gets her temper.”
“Odd, but I expected him to be bigger.” “The way she uses his name to threaten people would surely make one think him a giant. Mayhap he is bigger when seen up close.” “Ye are nay going out there, are ye?” Knobby protested, only to have to hurry to catch up with Connor as his laird climbed down from the walls. “I willnae lurk close at hand. ’Tis best if father and daughter can talk privately. I just want to be a presence.” * * * Gillyanne ran through the gates of Deilcladach and all the way to her father’s open arms. She did not really need any comforting, but it felt good to be held by her father again. When he finally set her slightly away from him, she stood patiently while he looked her over. The conversation they were about to have would undoubtedly be uncomfortable at times and she was in no hurry to begin it. “Ye havenae been harmed,” Sir Eric said, only the faint hint of a question in his voice. “Nay, Fither,” she replied. “Sir Connor would ne’er hurt me.” “Tell me what happened.” “Ye didnae stop at Dubhlinn and get this tale from Mither? I sent James to tell her.” “She told me. Now, I want ye to tell me.” She grimaced, but began to tell the story. Gillyanne took particular care in relating how she had repelled the first three attempts to capture her and was pleased to see her father smile. His rage at Connor could not have that tight a hold on him if he could find some amusement in her tale. She hurried over the part of the story that included the wedding, bedding, and flight to Deilcladach. The sharp look in her father’s eyes told her she had not fooled him at all. “Was it consummated?” “Aye, Fither,” she replied, staring at her boots to hide her blush. “Is that him o’er there betwixt us and the gates?”
Gillyanne glanced behind her, surprised that Connor had come outside the walls. “Aye. The tall one to the front of the others.” “And just who are those others lumped up behind the fool?” “His brothers Diarmot, Drew, Nanty, and Angus, his sister Fiona, and his right-hand mon Knobby, whose real name is Iain.” “There is a lass in that lump?” “Aye, the smallest one. She is barely thirteen.” Eric rubbed his chin. “There is a reason that she looks like one of the lads?” “Her brothers raised her.” “Ah.” Eric looked from Connor to Gillyanne and back again a few times, before bluntly asking, “Ye swear he doesnae hurt ye? He is a big lad.” “Oh, aye.” She blushed furiously, not needing her father’s quirked brow to tell her she had revealed some of her lust in those two words. “I swear to ye, Fither, Connor would ne’er hurt me.” “I have spoken to the king.” He smiled faintly when she sent him a faintly worried look. “I was at my most charming. He was e’en a little apologetic. ’Tis all in my hands. He willnae take back what was seen by all as his permission, but if I choose to end this, he will accept that and support my decision. Do ye wish this ended?” “Nay,” Gillyanne said, a little surprised at how quickly that word had sprung to her lips for she had been undecided for so long. “Not yet. The marriage was by priest and it has been consummated. Shouldnae I at least try to make it a good marriage?” “Aye, ye should. Do ye love the brute?” Gillyanne grimaced. “There is a good chance that I might. Some days I do, other days I am nay so sure.” “And why is it such a difficult thing to decide? Do ye sense something false about the mon?” “Nay. In truth, I can sense verra little about what Connor feels or thinks. When I try to reach out to him, I feel as if I have run into a wall. Yet, I dinnae believe there is a false bone in the oaf’s overgrown body. That comes from observation o’er the last few weeks.” She sighed, briefly sent a longing glance toward Connor, then met her father’s curious gaze. “He is a hard mon, a tightly controlled mon.”
“What have ye learned about him?” Gillyanne related the tale of Connor’s life. She could feel her father soften toward her husband as she spoke, and a gleam of respect entered his eyes. There was no doubt in her mind that, if she could make her marriage to Connor work, her father would readily accept him as part of the family, and not simply because she was married to him. Fortunately, her father would also understand that, even if a man was all that seemed good to other men, it did not necessarily mean he would make a good husband. “I believe I understand,” murmured Eric, studying the tall laird whose scowl deepened the longer he and Gillyanne talked. “A life like that and the need to lead whilst still little more than a beardless lad could strangle all the softness right out of a mon.” “Exactly.” Gillyanne crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “He has honor, courage, strength, and a deep sense of responsibility.” She could feel a blush sting her cheeks but forced herself to be honest. “We share a passion. His uncle set some strange ideas about gently bred ladies into his head, but Connor had the wit to heed another opinion. For one thing, he was prepared to see that he neither needed a mistress, nor was it particularly wise to have one.” “Oh, I suspect he was.” Eric shook his head and briefly laughed. “Ye havenae told me anything bad yet, lass.” “As ye said, all the softness has apparently been crushed out of him. I dinnae ask that he become some courtier spouting poetry and flatteries. All I ask for is some . . . weel, emotion, some hint that he feels something for me besides passion.” “Ye want him to love you.” “Aye, I do. At the moment, I would settle for some hint that I have reached his heart, that I have stirred more than his desire. Ah, Fither, he laughed two nights ago, and it shocked everyone. One of the women was near to crying, she was so moved to hear it. Fortunately, his people had the sense to quickly adapt to this wonder thus nay making Connor uncomfortable.” “One small step at a time.” Gillyanne nodded. “I willnae stay in a marriage where my husband willnae or cannae give anything of himself. I am willing, however, to remain his wife until I either get what I need to make me stay, or ken that he just doesnae have it to give, at least to me, and finally walk away.” Eric put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “Ye want to try and make a good marriage, but ye also need to ken that ye willnae be trapped in a cold one.”
“Aye, Fither. I ken it will fair tear my heart to pieces if I have to leave, but, if I cannae make a place for myself in his heart, ’twill hurt me far more and for far longer if I stay.” “Ye are wise to see that, my Gilly. Your mother gave me softness enough when we first wed, yet it really wasnae enough. I was in some torment for months ere we confessed what truly dwelt in our hearts. The mere thought of years of nay kenning or of gaining only wee pieces of her affection fair chills my blood. I would ne’er leave ye to that fate. There is a way out.” “I ken it. Coercion?” Her father nodded. “I wasnae really willing. Aye, I chose him out of the three and I said the vows, but only after three attacks and the promise, or rather threat, of a fourth and united one. That will serve?” “It will.” Eric looked toward Connor and nearly smiled. “He grows impatient.” It certainly looked as if Connor was closer than he had been a few moments ago. “I swore I would return.” “James, m’lad,” Eric said, causing James who had lurked a few feet behind Gillyanne to step closer, “Do ye stay here?” “Aye, unless ye have need of me.” James watched Gillyanne move away to confront her scowling husband. “He is uneasy.” “We both vowed she would stay. Mayhap he isnae as untouched as she thinks.” “ ’Tis difficult to say, but, aye, I would be willing to wager that she has touched his heart. The question is whether or not he will ever let Gillyanne ken it or e’er let himself accept that truth. God’s tears, there is also the chance that, if he does ken he is softening to her, he will do his utter best to kill the feeling. I believe he sees such emotions as weaknesses and he willnae allow himself to have one, other than his clan, that is.” “So, ye think it a good plan for her to try and win him?” “ ’Tis certainly amusing at times.” James exchanged a brief grin with Sir Eric. “Aye, she should try. Gilly loves him. I am sure of it. If this is to end, she needs to ken she did all she was able to win the mon’s heart. It all rests upon just how deeply he has buried his emotions and his willingness to let them be pulled free again.” “She will have time. E’en with good reason to end a marriage, ’tis nay something that can be done quickly.” Eric crossed his arms on his chest and almost smiled. “I believe I am about to meet my newest son by marriage.”
* * * “Connor,” Gillyanne said as she confronted her husband, “why are ye lurking about out here?” “I just wanted to see your father up close,” he replied. “He isnae a verra big mon, is he?” “Big enough, and one doesnae have to be some hulking, great giant to wield a sword weel.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Just wanted to see him, hmm? Foolish me to e’en wonder, for a wee moment, that ye might think Fither or I couldnae keep our word.” “Aye, foolish you.” Connor watched her closely. “Ye were talking for a long time.” “Had a lot to say. After all, when the mon rode away to serve his king, I was bedded down safely in my wee chaste bed, then, suddenly, I claim my place as laird of Ald-dabhach, repel three attacks upon my keep, am dragged before a priest . . . ” “Ye werenae dragged,” Connor drawled. Gillyanne ignored his interruption, “ . . . am tossed, all unprepared, into the rough waters of marriage, and shut up behind the thick walls of Deilcladach. Fither was naturally a little curious.” “Are ye through?” “I believe that was all.” “Good, now ye can introduce me to your father.” “I am nay sure I ought to bring the two of ye too close together,” she murmured even as Connor started toward her father, pulling her along with him. “He isnae too happy with you.” “Mayhap not, but I dinnae think he will be waving his sword about, here and now.” When they stopped in front of Sir Eric, Connor was surprised at how slender and short the man was. Sir Eric’s person did not hold much threat for Connor. In the man’s eyes, however, Connor could see the danger. There lay the truth that, despite his slender elegance and handsome looks, this man would make a deadly enemy. Here was the skill and wit which handily compensated for any lack of height or bulk. This was a man he could learn from, skills he had already seen James display. “Fither, this is Sir Connor MacEnroy, laird of Deilcladach, and my husband,” Gillyanne said, the way the two men stared at each other starting to make her uneasy. “Connor, this is my fither, Sir Eric Murray, laird of Dubhlinn.” Although the bow each man gave the other was brief, there was no hint of insult to
be seen in either, and she breathed an inner sigh of relief. Eric glanced over Connor’s shoulder. “I fear that my men may grow nervous and wary if that odd clump of people who shadows you shuffles any closer.” “Back up,” Connor snapped, not even looking to see if he was obeyed. It was not easy, but Eric resisted the urge to grin at the way the group stumbled back. “Ye should have come to me first.” “As a lass of twenty with her own lands, I didnae think she needed her father’s permission to wed.” “Nay, but ye did.” “Fither,” Gillyanne murmured, worried about the tension between the two men, but both men ignored her. “And, ye willnae give it to me now, will ye?” said Connor, reaching out to take Gillyanne’s hand back in his. “Nay, not yet, laddie.” Eric looked at their joined hands then at his daughter. “I will come again as soon as I am able.” “Do ye return to Dubhlinn first?” Gillyanne asked, stepping toward her father only to be firmly held back by Connor. “Aye. Your mother is anxious to hear what I have learned. She may come with me when next I visit.” “If ye come as kinsmen, ye will be welcomed at Deilcladach.” Connor ignored the kick on the leg Gillyanne gave him. “Fair enough.” When her father stepped close enough to kiss her cheek, Gillyanne had to fight Connor’s pull on her to receive that kiss. The moment her father straightened up, Connor yanked her back against his side. One would think she was trysting with a lover rather than saying farewell to her father, Gillyanne thought crossly. Connor bowed a farewell before pulling her back toward Deilcladach. Gillyanne turned as much as she could to wave farewell to her father and frowned when she saw that James was still standing with him. “James? Do ye leave with Fither?” she asked, needing to speak loudly as Connor continued to drag her to his keep.
“Nay, I will be along in a moment,” James yelled back, laughing softly at the way Gillyanne was so obviously scolding her husband as he dragged her along. “She will be fine, Fither,” James then reassured Eric. “Aye, I ken it,” Eric said and smiled faintly. “I think the lass is far closer to her goal than she kens. Yet, as ye say, the fool may fight the feelings that now cause him to rush her back behind his walls for fear that I might pull her away from him. Gillyanne will, of course, see such actions as nay more than the fool keeping hold of the lands he covets.” Eric shook his head before abruptly asking, “Does he ken her skill?” “Since she cannae use it against him, nay, I dinnae think so. I have mentioned it and it didnae cause any unease.” “Has he kinship with a mon called Sir Neil MacEnroy?” James’ eyes widened. “Aye, Sir Neil is his uncle. Gillyanne doesnae like him, but, then he isnae too friendly and nay fond of women.” “Watch him. I have but met the mon a few times and, although I havenae Gillyanne’s skills, the mon gave me a verra bad feeling.” Eric briefly clasped the younger man on the shoulder. “Ye dinnae mind lingering here ’til I can return?” “Nay, there are things I can show these men. They are good, dinnae mistake me, but they are mostly lads who have trained themselves.” Eric nodded. “And, so, they may have a trick or two ye could learn as weel.” “They do. If the wishes of others count, Gillyanne will remain. Save for that uncle and the keep’s whores, every mon, woman, and bairn wants our Gilly for their lady. The whores recently moved to the village and I will watch the uncle. Since I also intend to try to push that big fool in the right direction, I have plenty to keep me busy. Godspeed, Fither.” James laughed when, as Eric and his men rode away, they all drew their swords to salute Gillyanne who waved at them from the walls. * * * “They salute her as if she is a warrior,” grumbled Neil, and stomped away before anyone could respond. Connor frowned slightly as he watched his uncle climb down from the walls. Neil had not softened toward Gillyanne at all, had, in fact, gotten angrier and more derisive with each passing day. Not sure what he could do about it, Connor turned his attention to his wife who was leaning over the wall waving her father out of sight.
“That fool lass is going to tumble right o’er the wall,” Connor muttered as he started toward her. “Why was your uncle so annoyed by that salute?” asked Knobby as he followed Connor. “Wheesht, the lass held off three attacks without spilling a drop of blood and only surrendered to protect her people. Deserves a wee salute from her kinsmen.” “My uncle isnae happy about this marriage. I dinnae ken why he dislikes Gillyanne. It could be that he dislikes women, sees them as good for but one purpose. He has ne’er spoken weel of gentle-bred ladies, either. Mayhap he holds that against her, too. Soon I will have to speak to him. Gillyanne doesnae deserve his poison.” “Nay, she doesnae. What ails the mon?” “I dinnae ken. I have ne’er heard him be so foul of temper and mouth before.” “Before it was just ye, the lads, and the whores. A wife changes things.” “True.” Connor took the last few steps toward Gillyanne a little faster. “Unless that wee wife falls out of the keep.” He grasped her around the waist and pulled her back from the walls. “One strong breeze from behind, lass, and ye will be naught but a spot unpon the ground. The mon cannae see ye any longer.” “I ken it,” Gillyanne said and, when Connor released her, brushed down her skirts. “What was your uncle so cross about?” Briefly, Connor considered lying, but the way Gillyanne watched him told him she would guess his game. “He didnae like ye getting the sort of salute given to a great warrior.” Gillyanne rolled her eyes as she headed to the narrow steps running down the inside of the wall and leading into the bailey. “That mon doesnae think a lass ought to get anything save a rutting or a knock offside the head,” she muttered, and briefly grinned back at Knobby when that man laughed. “I dinnae think I have e’er met such an ill-tempered soul.” Neil was a great deal more than ill-tempered, but Gillyanne had still seen no real need to tell Connor any more than that. Since Connor was so close to his uncle, her feelings were simply not enough to accuse or condemn the man. The fact that Neil seemed to have made it his crusade to make her life miserable, and all knew it, telling Connor what she felt could all too easily be viewed as a shallow attempt to banish someone who irritated her. She needed hard proof that Neil was not the friend and helpful elder Connor thought he was. It would come soon, Gillyanne thought with a mixture of sorrow for Connor’s impending pain, and satisfaction that yet another of her feelings would be proven accurate. Either the ale and wine he drank
could no longer restrain the turmoil within Neil or she had somehow stirred it all up, but the secrets Neil kept were churning inside him with the strength of a flooded river. Gillyanne wondered if Neil knew she could sense the truth about him, that she could read those dark secrets and lies he kept inside, and that was why he was so vicious toward her. That could make him dangerous. A man who held such secrets, and for so long, might be willing to do just about anything to stop them from being exposed to the light. The fear and unease she had originally sensed in the man was being pushed aside by fury and loathing, both aimed directly at her. Even if she could not tell Connor, Gillyanne decided it might be wise to talk to someone and soon. She was willing to do a lot to spare Connor’s feelings, but presenting an easy, unguarded target to a man who might well wish to bury her alongside the secrets he held close, was not one of them. That thought lingered in her mind and so she was very pleased to see James when he joined her in the herb garden she had returned to work in. “Fither wished ye to stay with me?” she asked him as he stood there surveying her handiwork. “Nay, not directly,” James replied, “but he was most pleased that I chose to stay.” “Connor willnae hurt me. I thought I had made Fither see that.” “He saw it. He also trusts in your instincts about such matters. Nay, he was just pleased ye wouldnae be left alone, without e’en one kinsmon, only two bone lazy cats.” He met her admonishing glance with a grin, but quickly grew serious again. “He told me to watch Sir Neil closely.” “Fither kens who Sir Neil is? He has met the mon before?” Gillyanne suspected a meeting would have been all it was for her father would never have the patience or need to deal with a man like Sir Neil. “Briefly, at court. He bemoaned the fact that he lacks your skill, but he said the mon bore watching. Ye think so, too, dinnae ye.” Gillyanne nodded. “I do. The mon fair crawls with guilt and anger. That anger, and now a goodly dose of loathing, is aimed at me. I think he kens I can see the truth of his black heart and twisted soul.” “And ye think he may attempt to blind ye to it?” “Aye. Blind me and then bury me — verra deeply.”
Fifteen “Are ye sure Fiona needs to ken how to dance?” asked Joan as she sat down at the laird’s table in the empty great hall. “ ’Tis one of those things all gentle-born lasses are expected to learn,” Gillyanne replied. In the two months since Gillyanne had arrived at Deilcladach, Fiona had begun to look more and more like a young woman. She had yet to show herself outside the bedchamber in a gown, still feeling too awkward. Yet, with her thick fair hair barely restrained by a wide leather tie and her shirts softened by embroidery, Fiona no longer looked nor completely acted like a boy. Gillyanne had noticed many a look of surprise, even interest, in the gazes of the young men of Deilcladach. It was understandable for Fiona was a very lovely girl and would undoubtedly be a stirringly beautiful woman. “I think I might like dancing,” Fiona said. “ ’Tis sadly true that many of the things a lady must learn are nay so verra interesting or fun, such as needlework. Yet,” she smiled faintly and touched the embroidered flowers on her shirt, “ ’tis pretty. The healing arts, the herbs and potions, are verra interesting.” “And ye show a true skill, a sharp instinct that is invaluable,” said Gillyanne. “If ye truly have an abiding interest in such things, mayhap ye could visit with my Aunt Maldie or my cousin Elspeth. They are truly skilled healing women.” Even if she and Connor parted, Gillyanne suspected she could arrange something like that for Fiona. “I think I would like that.” “A good healer is certainly something Deilcladach needs,” agreed Joan and Mairi nodded as she sat down beside her cousin. “Weel, I truly believe Fiona will be a verra good one indeed.” Gillyanne gave the blushing girl a smile. “Ye are verra good,” said Fiona.
“Good enough. I told ye, all the Murray lasses train under Aunt Maldie whom e’en the mighty Douglases have turned to on occasion. What makes a really skilled healer, however, is a keen eye for what ails a person, a sense of which herb or potion is best, and e’en how to try something new. I think ’tis strong in ye, Fiona. I can oftimes sense where the pain is, or, sadly, near smell death’s cold touch, but, I swear, Aunt Maldie can but walk into a room, sniff the air, look at ye for a wee moment, and then ken just what ye need. My senses are nay that keen, but, I think, with training, Fiona’s could be.” “Can ye really sense a person’s pain or when they are dying?” Fiona asked as she helped Gillyanne move a chair. Gillyanne inwardly grimaced as she surveyed the space she had cleared to be sure it was enough. She had said too much, but she could not take the words back now. Glancing at the three women, she saw only curiosity, no fear, so decided to be honest. Instinct told her these three would not turn away from her, and it might help to have someone beside James who knew of her odd gift and, she prayed, believed in it. The time might come when she needed a MacEnroy to heed her. “Aye, I can.” Gillyanne sighed and shook her head. “E’en though I am nay a Murray by blood, I seem to have one of those gifts that run rampant in the clan. Aunt Maldie does have great skill and knowledge, but she also has the gift of healing. And, she can feel what her husband feels, especially his passion. My cousin Elspeth is like that, too. She took one look at Cormac Armstrong and kenned he was her mate though she was but nine. Animals are drawn to her, e’en the wild ones allowing her to tend a wound. My uncle Nigel has a strong sense of when danger approaches, says he can almost smell it in the air. His daughter Avery is the same. There are others, too. Me, I can feel what others feel. Not all. Others, weel, ’tis nigh on a torment to be near them for I can feel so much. ’Tis as if some people are but a book I can read.” “Can ye do that with us?” asked Joan. “A wee bit. When I first met ye, I kenned ye were troubled, a trouble of the heart that pained ye. I quickly kenned that Mairi was pining for someone.” She grinned when Mairi blushed then grimaced. “In Fiona, I sensed a curiosity. What proves helpful to me, and did then, was that I sensed none of the bad emotions. No anger, jealousy, or mistrust. So, I didnae seek more.” “Can ye guess Connor’s feelings?” asked Fiona. “Nay, hardly at all. As I told my fither, to try to sense anything Connor feels or thinks is like hurling myself against a verra thick wall. In truth, the feelings I can sense best are the ones ye would consider the bad ones — fear, pain, hate, such as that.” “They are the strongest, I suspect.” “Aye, and I think when people feel such emotion, it fills them more, controls them more, than, say,
simple contentment.” The way Fiona stared at Gillyanne so hard for a moment made her wonder if she had erred in being so truthful. “What do ye feel when ye are near my uncle?” Fiona suddenly asked. “I try not to get too close to your uncle,” Gillyanne murmured. “Werenae we going to teach ye how to dance?” “Gillyanne, I really wish to ken what ye feel about my uncle. Ye need nay fear I willnae take it weel. I have no affection for the mon. He has none for me. Often, I feel he forgets I am e’en here. I am but a useless lass, ye ken. I dinnae like the way Connor heeds near everything the mon says, or used to. Oftimes I fear ’tis just jealousy that makes me dislike Uncle Neil. ’Twould be nice to ken that it isnae just that. Ye need nay fear we will repeat anything ye say.” Fiona looked at Joan and Mairi, who both nodded their agreement. “Ah, me. Weel, he hates women.” She smiled at the way all three women rolled their eyes. “No skill needed to ken that, eh? I dinnae like him near me because I sense he is seething with anger and fear. He has secrets, dark ones, ones he tries to drown with all that drink he pours down his gullet. There are lies hidden there.” “Ye can sense lies?” “ ’Tis said no one can lie to my cousin Elspeth. ’Tis nay the lie or what the lie is, but a feeling one gets from someone who tells a lie, or, in your uncle’s case, tries to hide ones told. ’Tis often easy to tell a person is lying and ye need no great skill to see it. Most people have a way to hide it. A faint blush, an unwillingness to meet your eyes as they speak the lie, or, a certain nervous gesture such as tugging on one’s hair. If ye ken a person weel enough, have watched them closely, ye can usually guess when they lie. My cousin Payton doesnae lie much at all, but, when he does, he tugs on his ear. He still cannae understand how I and my cousins always catch him out and, of course, we will ne’er tell him.” Fiona laughed softly, then sighed as she grew serious again. “Sadly, I must agree with all ye have said about my uncle.” Joan and Mairi murmured their agreement as well. “There is something, weel, verra wrong with my uncle. I dinnae think Diarmot is verra fond of the mon, either. I have ne’er heard anyone say that the mon has e’er done anything save come round now and again and fill Connor’s head with his advice. He has his own lands yet he doesnae appear to have given us any food or coin to help us and he ne’er took any of us to live with him after the killings.” That news stunned Gillyanne. If nothing else, Neil should have sheltered the youngest of the children until there was adequate shelter and food for them all at Deilcladach. “Are ye certain?” “As certain as I can be without asking everyone directly.” Fiona glanced at Joan and Mairi who shook their heads. “No dispute from there, I see. So, he comes, eats, drinks copiously, deafens us with his
wisdom, and leaves. Ye would think our uncle, our father’s own brother, would occasionally at least work up a wee sweat helping six orphaned children, wouldnae ye?” “Aye, ye would.” Gillyanne knew what Fiona was telling her was important, but it was also far beyond her understanding. “That is news that requires a long, hard think, and I dinnae believe I want to do that right now. Later. I shall set my mind to it, later, and tell ye what conclusions I reach. Now we dance.” “We have no music.” “I shall sing. Softly.” “Ye can sing loudly, if ye wish. We dinnae mind.” “Er, nay. I dinnae wish to draw attention to myself.” Gillyanne sang a tune suited to teach Fiona a slow, stately dance. For a while, she struggled to instruct the younger girl, ignoring the way Fiona paid less and less attention. Joan and Mairi, who had claimed an interest in learning how to dance something more than a rough jig or reel, made no pretense at all of following her direction. The way they stood and stared at her began to embarrass Gillyanne. When Fiona stopped almost completely, the dancing lesson reduced to Gillyanne forcibly placing Fiona where she should be, Gillyanne stopped singing and shook her head. “Ye were nay paying attention,” she gently scolded. “I was. Weel, to your singing,” Fiona said. “That is verra kind, but . . . ” “Ye sing like an angel.” “Aye, just like Old Nigel said,” murmured Joan and sighed, Mairi echoing the sound. “This isnae going to work,” Gillaynne said. “Mayhap we can try it without my singing.” “Ye cannae dance without music,” Fiona protested. “I was the only one dancing.” “Fair enough. I swear, I will pay close heed this time. ’Twas just the shock of hearing such a sound coming out of ye. Now that I ken what ye sound like, I can appreciate your beautiful singing and follow your instruction, too. I swear it.”
Gillyanne studied her serious face for a moment, then looked at Joan and Mairi, who quickly nodded their agreement with Fiona’s vow. “If ye are sure, we can try again. I dinnae want to be dragging ye about again.” “Ye willnae. Come, please, Gillyanne. I truly want to learn.” Nodding, Gillyanne proceeded to sing. The lesson began hesitantly enough for her to doubt the strength of the promises made. Then, as if they also recalled their promises, the three women began to pay more attention. By the time they had finished one stumbling round of the dance, Gillyanne was feeling hopeful. Then she heard a noise, turned, and found the doors to the great hall now wide open and crowded with people. She blushed and closed her eyes. “What are all ye fools doing here?” bellowed a voice Gillyanne had no trouble recognizing. “We were listening to the singing,” mumbled a bulky red-haired man who quickly disappeared from the doorway. Connor elbowed his way through the crowd in the doorway, most of the men quickly fleeing. He hoped they were returning to the practice field they had all just slipped away from. One moment his men had been training hard, the next he and Knobby had paused in their swordplay to find themselves alone. The moment the sound of sword striking sword was stilled, Connor heard the singing. With every step he had taken toward the keep, he had forced himself not to be seduced by the sound of her voice. It worked, for the most part, but he had to gently clout Knobby offside the head several times to knock some sense back into the man. It was not hard to understand what infected his men. Gillyanne had been blessed with a voice that was clear and sweet. And that beautiful sound could carry far, the strength of her voice astounding when one saw how tiny the woman was who made it. It was enthralling, intoxicating. With willpower, however, one could listen to the beauty yet not lose all one’s wits. Since he felt it would be a sin to silence her singing, he was going to have to teach his people the sensible way to listen to her. He frowned at the four females in his great hall. “What are ye doing?” “I was teaching Fiona, Mairi, and Joan how to dance,” Gillyanne replied. “Why does Fiona need to learn to dance?” “ ’Tis one of those things a lady must learn, Connor,” replied Fiona. “It seems a great waste of time.”
“Weel, aye, ofttimes it is,” Gillyanne agreed. “In truth, Fiona may ne’er need the skill. On the other hand, if she goes to some great house, or e’en to court, she will have use of it, could e’en look poorly against other lasses if she doesnae have any skills in the dances.” Connor opened his mouth to say there was little chance any MacEnroy would be invited to any grand keep or the king’s court, then shut it. Now that he was married to Gillyanne, he was no longer one of three small, unheralded lairds living in lands remote enough to escape the attention of most people. He did not know all of her connections, but each new tale she told made him increasingly certain that her kinsmen were neither unheralded nor remote from the world. Fiona could well find herself thrust into a world he had never been a part of and knew little about. “Ye must do it here?” he asked, fearing he faced hours of constantly forcing his men back to work. “I thought we would be private. Mayhap to that field outside the walls? ’Twould be private in most ways, but we could still be seen.” His first thought was to deny her. Then he realized there was no need to do so except for his own fears. Robert would not try to grab her again and the man had assured him that David had no interest in even trying. There had been no reports of strangers or thieves in the area. Since someone might question why he had said nay when all looked safe, he decided to let her go despite the unease he felt. She would not go outside the walls alone, however. “Ye can go, but Knobby and Diarmot will go with ye. Your cousin as weel, if he wishes.” “That isnae verra private,” she protested, but only gently, for she knew such a guard was common for the ladies of the keep. “Private enough.” Within moments, Gillyanne, Fiona, Joan, and Mairi were walking toward a softly grassed field with Knobby, Diarmot, and James walking behind them. A part of Gillyanne was disgruntled over her quick surrender to Connor’s commands, but good sense helped keep that ill feeling from growing. No Murray man would allow his lady out unguarded. It was hardly fair to be annoyed with Connor for doing something her family would heartily approve of. “Here is a good spot,” Gillyanne announced, stopping in the middle of the small field and looking around. “It should be easy enough to keep an eye on ye here,” said James. “Diarmot and I will walk the edges.” “Actually, James, I was hoping ye would sing.”
