“Now, that is a telling argument,” murmured Diarmot and laughed. “Ye may go. Take Fiona, Knobby, and two other men with ye. My brothers and I will hunt down Meg while ye are gone and get the truth from her.” “If ye cannae, I will do so when I return.” “I think I can be a wee bit more threatening than ye can.” “Aye — to a mon, and, mayhap, a lass who doesnae ken ye as Meg does. She kens what your weakness is.” “What weakness?” Diarmot demanded, a little offended. “Why, the fact that ye will quite probably falter ere ye could actually hurt a lass.” “Ah, I hadnae thought of that.” He frowned. “I am nay sure she would believe ye would hurt anyone, either.” “Trust me, Diarmot, she will. Try your best, for I would as soon nay play that game, but I will if I must. A woman will believe another woman wouldnae hesitate to hurt her, especially if the one doing that threatening has reason to believe her intended victim was after her mon or had had him. To make Meg feel e’en more threatened, I will have Joan help me.” She laughed when, after a brief moment of thought, each man’s eyes widened with understanding. “And, one last thing — find out everything Connor did that day. Where he was, when he was there, and who saw him there.” “Why?” “We may be able to show that he simply didnae have the time or opportunity to kill anyone.” “Lass, ye have an admirably devious mind.” “Thank ye. Now, let us prepare me and my cart so I can turn it loose upon the earl and my brooding husband.” * * * Connor gaped in stunned disbelief at the person Peter let into his room. He had to be having some dream brought on by sitting alone in the near dark for too long. Gillyanne could not be standing there looking a little pale, but otherwise quite healthy. The last time he had seen her, she was unconscious, having just had an arrow yanked out of her shoulder. She should still be in their bed, resting, occasionally suffering a meal of gruel or watery broth. Although he had lost a little track of time, he was certain she had
suffered that arrow wound only three days ago. “Jesu, Connor, didnae they give ye any candles?” Gillyanne demanded, placing her hands on her hips and narrowing her eyes in an attempt to see him more clearly in the gloom. “Aye,” he replied and, somewhat mindlessly, went to light the candles set on a tall, many branched stand in the corner of the room. “Once I light these, I suspect ye will disappear, as ye cannae be more than some vision brought on by too much drinking and thinking.” “Ye mean too much brooding.” That tart, husky voice certainly sounded like Gillyanne, he mused as, once the candles were all lit, he turned to look at her. She did still look a little pale, but she was steady on her feet and the look of irritation on her face was untainted by the pinch of pain. It was, however, inconceivable that such a tiny woman could suffer an arrow wound three days ago at Deilcladach, yet be standing here at Dinnock now, scowling and muttering at him. “Why are ye nay tucked up in our bed eating gruel and groaning?” he asked. “Because I was told ye were brooding and decided ye needed me to talk some sense into you. Ah, wine. Good.” She moved to pour herself a gobletful and took a long drink. Since Gillyanne had seated herself on the stool, Connor returned to his chair. “Mayhap I but dreamed the attack,” he muttered. “Nay. I was wounded. It does still hurt, ye ken, but I have always been verra quick to heal. ’Tis why James felt he could leave so quickly for Dubhlinn to tell them I was weel. As I told Diarmot when he tried to stop me from coming here, the arrow just poked a hole in me. It didnae hurt muscle or bone, I didnae bleed myself weak, and I didnae take a fever. It does still pain me some, but that eases more each day and the wound already begins to close itself.” “But, ’twas barely three days ago!” “I told ye, I heal quickly. I always have. I was rarely e’en sick as a child and I was a verra wee child. Mither believes that, because God made me such a wee lass, He decided to make me a verra robust one, too.” She undid her bodice, let it fall to her waist, and, gently, lifted the clean linen bandage covering her wound. “See? ’Tis ugly, but ’tis healing.” She was right, he thought as he looked at the wound. It was healing, looked more like a wound a week old instead of mere days. On her fair, soft skin, it did indeed look ugly. Briefly, his gaze fell to her breasts and he felt his body tighten at the sight of her nipples, hard and pressing invitingly against her thin shift. He quickly turned his attention back to her wound, back to the stark reminder of how
completely he had failed to protect her. Connor abruptly stood up, moved to lean against the thick oak mantel of the fireplace, and stared into the flames. He still wanted her, badly, but he no longer had any right to touch her. Gillyanne frowned. For one brief moment, Connor had reacted as he usually did at the sight of her thinly covered breasts. She was not sure why the man found them such a delight, but he did, and she had thought to use that to her advantage. Now she was going to have to be even more aggressive. Connor needed to be talked sense to, but he was sunk too deeply in gloom. That needed to be broken through long enough to get him to heed her words. Passion, she had decided, would be the way to do that. Connor, however, was proving to have more control than he usually did. She was going to have to be ready to take swift advantage of any brief slip in that control. With that in mind, she quickly removed her braies and shoved them into a hidden pocket in her skirts. Now she was prepared to jump him at the earliest opportunity, she thought, and had to swallow the urge to giggle at the image that painted in her mind. It would be no hardship, she mused as she looked him over. He wore only his linen breeches. That state of undress and a lingering dampness in his hair told her he had bathed shortly before she had arrived. Gillyanne hastily gave thanks that she had decided to pause just before reaching Dinnock to have a thorough wash. As she slowly looked him over, appreciating every lean, strong inch of him, her gaze briefly rested upon the hard proof that he was not as completely in control as he would have her believe. If she could get him to sit down again, she knew exactly what her plan of attack would be. “Ye shouldnae have come here, Gillyanne,” Connor said, finally looking at her and silently cursing when he found it almost impossible not to look at her breasts. He bit back the command for her to cover herself, fearing that would reveal far too much about what he was feeling. “Nay?” She sipped her wine. “I should have ignored the fact that ye are being accused of a murder ye didnae commit and that ye are brooding yourself into making a foolish decision?” Connor flung himself back into his chair, took a long drink, and scowled at her. “I am nay fit to be a laird. ’Tis a laird’s duty to protect his kin and clan. I failed. I blindly clutched an adder to my chest, let it slither right up and strike at my own wife.” Gillyanne moved off the stool and knelt between his long legs. “He was your uncle, Connor.” She set her goblet aside then slowly moved her hands up and down his strong thighs. “Blood kin. Almost everyone trusts blood kin until they do something quite blatant to break that trust.” “He survived. That should have raised a doubt or two.” Connor was finding it difficult to ignore her caresses and her quite provocative position. “Nay, that should have done exactly what it did — made ye grateful that yet another member of your family survived the killings.” She inched a little closer, moving her caresses to his lean hips, and lightly
kissed his taut stomach. “Ye are a fair and honorable mon, Connor MacEnroy, who has spent most of his life fighting to keep his brothers and wee sister alive. ’Tis no surprise that ye, of all people, would ne’er e’en consider the possibility that a mon would do his best to see his brother and family dead. Aye, if he had been just another mon, mayhap ye could curse yourself for nay seeing the threat, but he was your uncle , your father’s own brother, a mon your father welcomed into your home. Ye cannae be blamed for nay seeing the evil in him. No one else did.” “Ye did.” He reached out to stroke her hair, beginning to care less and less about his uncle’s perfidy as his body began to ache for her. “Nay, I saw a troubled soul.” She slowly unlaced his breeches, deciding there was no need to voice the suspicions she held now. “I saw a tormented mon.” She curled her fingers around his erection and stroked him, savoring the tremor that went through him and the way his legs closed around her, holding her near. “I saw that he was filled with anger and dark secrets, but I ne’er would have guessed at the fullness of his crimes.” Gillyanne replaced her fingers with her tongue, enjoying the deep groan of pleasure she pulled from him. “Diarmot said much the same,” he managed to spit out between gritted teeth. “We are right and, if ye would cease sulking, ye would agree.” “Mayhap.” He was beginning to believe he had let self-pity rule him, but desire was killing all urge to talk. Connor rested his head against the high back of the chair and closed his eyes as he struggled for some control over his rising passion. He wanted the strength to sit there for a long while simply enjoying the heated stroke of her tongue, the warmth of her kisses, and the touch of her long slender fingers. She seemed to know how badly he wanted to linger in that sensual haze, easing back now and again to allow him to gain some of his lost control. Connor almost welcomed the brief loss of her touch when she paused to fully removed his breeches. Then, she was back, slowly taking him into her mouth. Connor clutched at the arms of the chair, fighting to hold his pleasure at a level just beneath the pounding need for release. She loved him slowly, tantalizingly. Like a child trying to make a favorite sweet last as long as possible, he mused, and found that thought so flattering he knew he had to put an end to her play. He gently pushed her away. Cautious of her wound, he tugged her up on her feet. Gillyanne looked slightly dazed. The realization that making love to him so could put her into such a state nearly robbed him of all the control he had just regained. “Take off your gown, lass,” he ordered and watched as she shed her gown, petticoats, and shoes, until she stood before him wearing only her thin shift and ribbongartered stockings. “Where are your braies?”
he asked when he realized he could see the shadowed place between her thighs through her shift. “I took them off whilst ye stared into the fire,” she replied in a thick, husky voice. “I thought I might have to move quickly to distract you.” When he lifted her leg, placing her foot upon his thigh as he started to removed her stocking, she grasped the arm of the chair with one hand and tried to hold her shift down modestly with the other. As he tugged her hand away from her shift, Connor murmured, “Nay, lass, allow your poor mon a wee peek at what he hungers for.” Gillyanne blushed, but did not argue, even though the direction of his gaze told her he was taking more than a wee peek. Soon, the way he stroked her leg from thigh to toe as he removed her stocking, had her so heated, she did not care what he saw. By the time he had removed her other stocking, she was trembling. When he slid his hand between her legs to lightly stroke her, she almost sighed with relief. “So beautifully hot and wet,” he said and pressed a brief kiss on her linen shrouded stomach. “Straddle me, wife.” She did as he asked, but when she tried to press down against him, he clasped her by the hips to hold her away. Gillyanne blushed as he slowly removed her shift. The way he stared at her, his beautiful eyes dark with passion, his strong hands lightly touching her, quickly eased her shyness. Still holding her by the hip so that she would not rub against him, he placed his other hand at the back of her head and brought her mouth to his for a slow, hungry kiss. When he ended the kiss, she murmured a protest only to have the sound change to one of pure pleasure as he lifted her slightly and began to feast upon her breasts. Then he urged her up a little more, kissing and licking the skin beneath her breasts, even her ribs. It was not until he was licking her belly that she realized his plans, but, by then, she was so caught up in her own passion, she did not care. She clung to the back of the chair when he tugged her up that last little bit, groaning faintly with a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure as he stroked and explored her most intimate place with his long, clever fingers. Embarrassment fled, doused by desire, when he replaced his fingers with his mouth. A small modest part of her was shocked at how she shifted her body, and allowed him to do so as well, in order to give him all the freedom to play that he desired, but her body was too greedy for the pleasure he gave her to allow modesty any rule. He toyed with her as she had toyed with him. Connor kept her upon the knife’s edge until she thought she would scream. Even though she enjoyed the game, she could finally take no more of it. She threaded her fingers through his hair as she demanded he cease his torment. Suddenly, his intimate kiss grew almost fierce, as if he, too, was now greedily demanding what he had hitherto denied her. With a loud cry, she shattered and gave it to him. She was still shaking from the strength of her release as he slowly lowered her down his body, easing
their bodies together. He still kept a grip on her, refusing to let her move, as he turned his skillful kisses to her breasts. Gillyanne felt her passion begin to soar again. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and marveled at his control, wondering if she could equal it. A moment later, he slid his hand between their bodies to touch that far too sensitive place above where they were joined and Gillyanne decided control was not so very important. Connor held Gillyanne as still as he could as he restirred her desire. He was teetering on the edge of release, but he wanted her with him. Even the slight squirming she did and the way her body would clench around him were almost too much. Then her release tore through her. For just a moment, he savored the feel of her convulsing around him, of her cry of delight thundering in his ears, before shouting out his own pleasure as he allowed her to carry him to the heights with her. * * * Gillyanne opened her eyes to find Connor peering at her wound. It ached a little but, even in the throes of passion, she had retained enough sense to favor it. She realized they were in bed and vaguely recalled Connor washing them both off before carrying her there. “It just aches a little, but no more than it did when I arrived,” she said. Just as he was prepared to answer, a knock came at the door, and he cursed. Connor was already up and tugging on his breeches when he realized no one had knocked before. He glanced back at Gillyanne who had pulled the covers up to just below her eyes, then went to the door. It opened for him and he found Peter and Knobby in the hall. “Ye shouldnae have let Gillyanne make the journey,” he told Knobby. “Your wife is as stubborn as ye are,” replied Knobby as he tossed a small bag into the room. “I will be ready to leave at dawn.” Peter shoved a tray loaded with food and drink into Connor’s hands then shut and locked the door. Connor took the tray and set it by the bed. He then glanced at the little bag before looking at Gillyanne. “Ye came prepared to stay the night?” he asked. “Weel, brooding can be difficult to banish.” She sat up, arranged her hair to drape over her breasts, and helped herself to a thick slice of bread. “Weel, I believe I am done brooding for now,” he said as he shed his breeches and climbed back into bed. “Still, ’tis good ye will stay the night just in case I fall back into it once or twice ere the sun rises.” He winked at her when she laughed, then asked, “So, ye return to Deilcladach? To do what? I dinnae
think ’tis to take your rest as ye should.” “I intend to find the real murderer and get ye out of here.” He studied her for a moment, stunned by the realization that this tiny woman was going to help him, save him. It had been a long time, if ever, since anyone had done that. Then he slowly smiled. “If anyone can do it, ye can, wife,” he said. “Now, eat. Ye need your strength.” “My wound is healing nicely,” she said. “Nay for that.” “To catch the murderer?” “Nay for that, either. For doing your duty as my wife and banishing any brooding I may feel inclined to do tonight.” “Ah, ’twill be my pleasure, husband.” “I certainly intend it to be, wife.”
Nineteen Gillyanne sat down at the head table in the great hall of Deilcladach and filled her plate with food. She had returned from the earl’s keep several hours ago, but everyone had kindly allowed her to wash and rest. Fiona had probably eased their impatience by repeating everything Gillyanne had told her. Gillyanne hoped that reprieve lasted long enough for her to enjoy her meal. She was very hungry after spending a long, sensuous night with Connor, because of her continued healing, and, she suspected, due to traveling. She suddenly recalled how she had greeted the morning, with Connor deep inside her, and shivered with remembered delight. Connor had certainly cast aside his brooding. He had begun to get irritated, however, frustrated that he had to depend upon others to get him out of trouble. Gillyanne knew it was not that Connor did not trust them or thought they were all too dimwitted to help, but he was a man used to leading, not following, and certainly not sitting around and waiting. She was glad she had made a swift departure, however, leaving before he could say something to spoil her good mood. “They found Meg,” announced Fiona as she strode into the great hall. “They captured her a wee while before we arrived.” “Please, tell me she has confessed all,” Gillyanne said, pushing her empty plate aside and sipping at her goat’s milk. Fiona sat down on the bench nearest Gillyanne and helped herself to some of the goat’s milk. “On her knees whilst praying for mercy?” “That sounds good.” “Too good. According to Angus, she demanded to ken why they had sought her out in her cousin’s home.” “She has kinsmen?” “Nay. This poor fool thought God had smiled upon him by sending him three lovely, eager lasses to
shelter in his wee cottage. He wasnae thinking it so glorious when all those angry and weel-armed MacEnroys came pounding upon his door. Angus said the mon nearly tossed the women out naked and barred the door after them, but Diarmot told him to allow them to collect their things. It wasnae long, Drew said, before Meg was cursing them all, e’en tried to flee. They finally bound her hands and gagged her. That made the other two lasses verra cooperative, Angus said, although they wouldnae talk. So, Meg is here awaiting your verra special touch.” “That could easily spoil what had looked to be a good day,” Gillyanne muttered and smiled faintly when Fiona laughed. “Ah, and here come the rest.” “I suspect Fiona already told ye everything,” said Diarmot as he, his brothers, and Knobby sat down at the table. “I tried to get Meg to talk to me, but she just became enraged. Unfortunately, she didnae reveal any secrets whilst she ranted, just repeatedly insulted and threatened us. Oh, and taunted us with the possibility that Connor will soon hang for the murder of his uncle.” “If ye laddies had just kept your breeches laced, we wouldnae have to deal with this bitch,” grumbled Fiona. “I dinnae believe a lady is supposed to use the word bitch,” Gillyanne murmured, hoping to ease the anger Fiona had stirred up in her brothers if the four identical glares the girl was getting was any indication. “And, I think I should prefer to forget which laddies were unlacing what around Meg.” “Oh, pardon. Although, when ye talk to her — ” “Exactly.” Gillyanne sighed and lightly rubbed her fingers over her temples as she looked at Diarmot. “And, I have to speak to her, dinnae I.” “I fear so, Gillyanne,” replied Diarmot after one last scolding glance at his sister. “Are ye sure ye can get her to talk? I, weel, if ye arenae sure, I dinnae see why ye should suffer whate’er poison she will choose to spit at you.” Gillyanne gave him a brief, half-hearted smile. “I can make her talk even when I would verra much rather she shut her mouth. And, with Joan’s help, I can make her verra, verra afraid, or verra, verra angry. Now, ere I deal with that, did ye sort out all Connor did that day so that, if ’tis needed, we can show that he didnae have the time nor opportunity to kill his uncle?” “Aye, and, mayhap, nay,” replied Diarmot. “Aye, we ken what he did from the moment he rose in the morning, but all the witnesses to it are MacEnroys. Nay the best of witnesses.” “Nay. Yet, if the blood was still wet when the earl’s men arrived, we may be able to argue that the killing had to have been done after the noon hour. Meg must have near killed a horse to get to the earl’s and back so verra quickly.”
“The blood was still wet,” said Fiona and shrugged when everyone looked at her. “While Gilly was coaxing Connor out of his brooding, I dined with the earl and his mon Peter. I told them all about the past and all Connor did, thinking it would help if we couldnae find the real murderer and they still accused Connor. Then I got them to tell me all about the murder. The earl said I was a bloodthirsty lass.” “Ye are, but I suspect he thought it verra charming,” said Gillyanne. “So, the blood was still wet. Odd, for, considering how long it would take Meg to get to the earl, tell her tale, then for his men to ride back here to the cottage, e’en if they all near rode their horses to death, ’twould surely have been a long enough time for the blood to dry.” “But, Meg didnae have to ride all the way to Dinnock. She met the earl’s men in a town but half the way there. They were on an errand for the earl. Peter sent the lasses on to tell the earl their stories whilst he and his men rode to the cottage. By the time Peter returned to Dinnock with Connor, the earl had sent the lasses back to the cottage.” Gillyanne nodded. “Which is why the blood was still wet and why Connor couldnae face his accusers. So, your uncle was murdered after I was attacked. It should be easy to prove Connor couldnae have done it. He was with me, then riding to Sir Robert’s, then to Sir David’s. I wonder if we can get them to attest to that if needed?” “Why dinnae ye ask them yourself?” said Diarmot. She looked at Diarmot, but he was not looking at her. Gillyanne followed his gaze to the door of the great hall and nearly gaped. Knobby had just escorted in Sir Robert and Sir David. She decided God must be smiling on her or Connor today. For one brief moment, Gillyanne wondered if she could forgo speaking to Meg, then scolded herself for her cowardice. Meg would undoubtedly tell her more than she cared to hear about her and Connor when they were lovers, if only to try to hurt her, but Gillyanne knew she could not shy away from that when there was a chance she could pull a confession from the woman. What she now had was good enough to free Connor, but handing the earl the real killer would be far better. The more proof of Connor’s innocence she had, the faster he would be freed. “I thought ye had been wounded,” said Robert as he strode toward the table, Sir David at his heels. “I was,” replied Gillyanne, inviting them to sit down with a wave of her hand. “ ’Tis healing weel.” “And quickly,” he said as he sat down with David. “ ’Twas only a few days ago.” “Four, and ’twas nay a serious wound. Did ye come to see how I fared?” “Weel, aye and nay. We heard what happened to Connor and thought we might be able to help. He did spend much of that day riding to speak to both of us.” Robert frowned. “Dinnae ken why anyone would
think Connor would kill his uncle anyway. The mon was irritating and useless, but Connor seemed quite fond of him.” Gillyanne stood up. “I shall leave the telling of that tale to Diarmot and the others. I have to go and wring a confession out of Meg.” “Ye think she killed the mon?” asked Robert. “Oh, aye,” she answered, “though I dinnae ken why.” She looked at Diarmot. “Where is Meg?” “Tied to a chair in the kitchens,” Diarmot replied. “Her two friends are tied up in the stables.” “The kitchen is good. ’Tis far enough away and, with the door shut, ’twill be impossible to guess if the screaming is born of anger, fear, or pain.” “Ye intend to make her scream?” asked Robert. Gillyanne decided to ignore the sharp look of amusement on Robert’s face. “I suspect she will do a lot of it for she will be both furious and afraid of the truth coming out. Howbeit, anyone sitting here will be easily convinced that the woman is being brutally tortured. So,” she looked at Diarmot again, “bring the other two women in here. I suspect ye can think of ways to make them believe I am skinning Meg alive in there. They will quickly tell all, e’en if Meg willnae.” “Clever lass,” Diarmot drawled. “Verra clever.” “When the devil drives ye and all that.” “If ye get a confession then ye willnae need us,” said David while Drew and Nanty were sent off to get Meg’s two friends. “Oh, aye, I will,” Gillyanne said. “I intend to present the earl with as much proof of Connor’s innocence as I can get my hands on. That way, he will not only be freed, but his name will be completely cleared.” “A good plan, m’lady,” Robert said, “though I am nay sure ye will be able to scare Meg into confessing to a crime that will get her hanged.” “Nay?” Gillyanne smiled faintly. “The woman is tied to a chair in the kitchen which is filled with all sorts of threatening things, including verra big knives. Meg is about to be shut up in there with one woman whose husband Meg bedded down with whilst leaving the other woman to do all the work Meg didnae do, and me, a woman she has also wronged. I do believe Meg is going to be verra, verra scared from the moment the door is shut.” She could hear the men chuckling as she walked to the kitchen.
“Weel met, m’lady,” said Joan as Gillyanne stepped into the kitchen and shut the door behind her. This was going to be a sore trial, Gillyanne decided as she nodded a greeting to Joan and looked at Meg. Meg was not bruised or bleeding, but the rough state of her clothes and tangled hair told Gillyanne that the woman had indeed fought her capture and the men had not been gentle in subduing her. The woman also shook faintly from the force of the hate and fury inside her. Gillyanne caught the scent of fear. It was strong, but not yet strong enough to conquer the rage and loathing. What seemed a little odd was that those two strong emotions did not seem to be aimed just at her and Joan, but at everyone. It was a very similar mix to what had infected Sir Neil MacEnroy. Gillyanne supposed it should be no real surprise that, after putting two such tainted souls close together for a length of time, one of them ended up dead. “It seems a verra foolish thing to do to kill your protector,” Gillyanne said as she crossed her arms over her chest and faced Meg. Meg’s laugh was harsh. “Connor killed the old fool. The bastard will hang for it soon.” “So hard ye are. Connor was good to you.” “He was just another mon who rutted on me when the mood took him. Bonny, aye, and a proper stallion, but just a cursed, sweating rutter like all the rest.” She tossed her head to flip her thick hair away from her face with an arrogance that made Gillyanne ache to slap her. “I was the best he ever had and the fool cast me aside. For what? An udderless runt?” Gillyanne realized that the insult to her lack of bosom no longer stung. She might not understand why, but she had no doubt at all Connor liked her breasts, found them highly arousing. That knowledge made her immune to Meg’s taunts. “If ye were the best, he would have kept you. Many men have a leman as weel as a wife. That is of no concern, however. Lovers are often cast aside. They dinnae then stab a drunken old fool and accuse their old lover of the crime. Why did ye kill the mon?” “I didnae kill him. How could a woman kill a mon? Nay, ’twas Connor. He went mad when he learned the truth about his uncle. Mayhap that truth will keep Connor from hanging since the mon he killed was long o’erdue for death.” “Actually, I would think that the verra last thing ye would wish for is Connor’s freedom. Connor kens who killed his uncle and set the blame on him. Once free, he might come looking for you.” She noticed that Meg’s fear briefly grew stronger. “He willnae trouble himself. And, I willnae be here. Me, Jenny, and Peg are going to seek out the king’s
court. There is money to be made there, and fine gentlemonly lovers, nay like the crude boors that live at Deilcladach.” “I dinnae think she is going to tell us what we wish to learn, Joan,” Gillyanne said. “Then we must persuade the bitch,” replied Joan. Joan certainly sounded eager, Gillyanne mused. The woman probably did want some retribution for the pain Meg had caused her by bedding down with Malcolm, but Gillyanne trusted Joan not to get too caught up in her own grievances. After the brief talk they had had earlier, she also trusted Joan to follow where she led her. What was needed was something to either frighten Meg into confessing, or enrage the woman so much that she babbled out the truth, even spat it out whilst in a state of defiant fury. Gillyanne knew she and Joan could not actually hurt the woman, despite the somewhat violent thoughts about Meg they had both nurtured from time to time. Then Gillyanne watched Meg toss her hair back in that annoying way she had, and knew what tactic to use. Meg was vain about her face, her body, and her hair. They could not do any damage to the woman’s body or face, although Gillyanne prayed Meg would not guess that, but they could certainly do considerable damage to that hair. “I will give ye one last chance to tell us the truth, Meg,” Gillyanne said. Gillyanne’s eyes widened slightly at the curse Meg snarled at her. She walked to where all the knives and other sharp kitchen instruments were on display, studying them as Joan hurried over to join her. The assault was going to have to be carefully planned. If she and Joan made a continuous attack upon Meg’s pride and vanity with word and deed, Gillyanne was sure all that rage and loathing would come spewing out. With it, Gillyanne prayed, would be enough of a confession to take all the weight of suspicion off Connor. “What do we do now?” asked Joan in a whisper as she idly tested the weight and sharpness of a large knife. “We are going to cut her hair,” Gillyanne replied in an equally soft voice. “Cut her hair?” “The woman fair stinks of vanity, Joan. Since neither of us could scar her face or those cursed breasts she flaunts at every mon, we shall destroy that thick mane she is so proud of.” “Ah, I see. If she doesnae confess by the time we cut it all off, mayhap we could shave off her eyebrows, and pluck off those wretched long eyelashes. Aye, that would leave her bald as an egg.”
Gillyanne bit her lip to stifle the urge to giggle. “We shall butcher her hair as slowly as we can, and, as we do it, we shall pluck away at that overweening pride of hers. The woman is fair to choking on her own anger o’er real and imagined wrongs and slights. I am hoping she will tell us what happened whilst she rages at us.” She looked at Joan. “Do ye think ye can butcher her hair slowly?” “Aye, I can do it.” Joan took the knife Gillyanne held out. “And ye will cut her with words.” “I thought so, though ye must feel free to fling whate’er insult comes to mind. We need to bury her neck deep in scorn and ridicule.” “That shouldnae be too difficult,” Joan murmured as, knife in hand, she moved toward Meg, Gillyanne right behind her. Meg’s laugh was so scornful it made Gillyanne grit her teeth as the woman sneered, “Ye willnae use that on me.” Joan grabbed a thick lock of Meg’s hair and hacked off a piece, then scowled at it before tossing it aside. “As I thought — lice-ridden.” Gillyanne nodded. “ ’Tis difficult to keep clean when ye spend most of your time on your back with your legs in the air.” “Ye bitch!” It did not take more than a minute for Gillyanne to decide those two screamed words were the kindest things Meg would say. And the woman did scream, which would work to scare the wits out of the women sitting in the great hall, but Gillyanne suspected it would soon make her head ache. She prayed that somewhere within the screamed curses, blasphemes, and insults would come a bit of the truth before she was deaf. * * * “Saints and martyrs, what goes on here?” Diarmot stared at James who stood in the doorway to the great hall looking appalled and concerned as one of Meg’s screams echoed through the room. He did not think he had ever moved so fast as he leaped from his chair and raced to meet James before the man could say any more. The two women were very close to breaking. Diarmot was certain that, if they knew anything, they would soon tell all. One wrong word from James could ruin all of Gillyanne’s work. Under the guise of heartily greeting his friend, Diarmot told him everything that had happened since he
had left. Later he would allow himself to laugh at the variety of expressions that crossed James’ face. Now he did his best to hide them from the women in the hall. “Jesu,” James muttered as he dragged his fingers through his hair. “Go away for a few days and the world goes mad. Do ye think Gilly’s plan will work?” “Oh, aye. Those lasses are fair to shaking their teeth loose. If they ken anything about the murder, we will be hearing all about it verra soon.” Diarmot draped an arm around James’ shoulder and walked him to the table. “I dinnae think the game will go on much longer.” Even as James sat down with Diarmot a somewhat chilling scream came from the kitchen. James poured himself some wine as he idly wondered where Meg had learned such appallingly crude words. A quick glance at the two other women told him that they were not really hearing the words, only the screams, and Diarmot was right. Whatever loyalty they felt for Meg was rapidly disappearing. “She is killing her, isnae she?” asked a softly weeping Jenny. “Och, nay, lass,” James replied. “Gilly kens what she is about. Why, I dinnae believe she has e’er killed anyone.” “Jesu,” whispered Jenny, her terrified gaze fixed upon the doors to the kitchen. “She is just moaning now. We didnae do anything!” she suddenly burst out. “Hush,” snapped Peg. “If ye say anything, Meg will kill us.” “I dinnae think ’tis Meg we need worry about now, do ye?” Jenny looked at Diarmot. “Meg killed that old fool. They had been plotting against her ladyship from the beginning. First they tried to make her want to leave, then they tried to get Sir Robert to take her, and then they tried to kill her.” Peg nodded. “They thought telling those lies about her would make people so afraid they would kill her as a witch. That didnae seem to be working, so they decided they needed to do it themselves.” “But, why kill Gillyanne?” asked Diarmot. “Ye must ken why Meg wanted her dead. Meg was living like a queen here ere Lady Gillyanne arrived. She blamed her ladyship when all that comfort and ease was lost. I am nay sure why your uncle wanted her dead and gone, though.” “He once said that marrying her made ye all too strong,” said Jenny. “Said he would ne’er see the end of ye now. He ne’er really explained what he meant, just babbled about how he couldnae allow that Murray wench to make ye so strong and, mayhap, e’en wealthy. So, he hung about Deilcladach waiting for some chance to be rid of her and he thought he had found it that day she and the others were dancing in the
field. When the arrow didnae kill her, he just gave up.” “Aye,” agreed Peg, “and that was what started the argument. Meg wanted him to keep trying. He said there was no need, that he was weary of it all, and that he was dying anyway. Meg was yelling at him until he started to go on about ghosts and sins of the past, and how he was going to die because his bowels were bleeding, and he had failed because so many of ye were still alive. Ye ken the tale.” When Diarmot nodded, she continued, “Meg grew sly, tried to make him do what she wanted, e’en to giving her a lot of money, by threatening to tell everyone of his crimes.” Jenny shook her head. “He just laughed, told her to do her worst as he would ne’er live long enough to meet the hangmon. Then he got verra nasty, ridiculing Meg and insulting her. I tried to get him to hush, kenning how such things could make Meg near blind with rage, but he just kept ranting at her. Peg tried, too. Then, suddenly, Meg was stabbing him, again and again. I dinnae ken how many times she cut him ere she buried that dagger in his heart.” “And then ye went with her to the earl and supported her lies,” Diarmot said, his voice cold with anger. “We were afraid,” said Peg when Jenny started to cry again. “A belted knight was dead and Meg wasnae right in the head. We didnae ken what else to do.” “What ye will do next is tell this tale to the earl,” snapped Diarmot, “and clear the accusation against my brother.” “But, Meg — ” “I believe Lady Gillyanne will be taking care of that threat.” * * * “I ne’er would have expected her to cry,” murmured Joan as she leaned against the wall next to Gillyanne and frowned at Meg. “She ne’er seemed to be a woman who would, or e’en could, weep so.” “Dinnae start feeling badly,” Gillyanne said as she scowled at Meg who was slumped in her chair crying and muttering. “She isnae praying or asking for forgiveness. Those are tears of rage and she is cursing all of us.” “Do ye think she is mad?” “Aye. For a wee moment I felt guilty, as if somehow, I brought this on her, but, nay. The seed of this madness was planted long ago. Just as with Sir Neil, the rage and bitterness finally stole her wits away, made her go mad.” There was a soft rap at the door and Gillyanne opened it, almost able to smile at the
cautious way Diarmot peered inside. “We are done. And the others?” “Babbled out all we wished to know and wept and claimed innocence.” He stepped inside the room and gaped at Meg. “Jesu, she is nearly bald.” Turning from greeting James, Gillyanne studied Meg for a moment. Meg did look pathetic. All that was left of her glorious mane of hair were a few scattered tufts sticking up here and there on her head. Joan had, perhaps, been a little overzealous, but it was understandable, and Meg had proven to be remarkably stubborn about confessing despite the mindless rage she had fallen into. “We left a wee bit,” Gillyanne murmured. “Careful when ye get near her. She is quite mad, I think, and ’tis a raging, dangerous sort of madness. All hate and fury, and, from some of the things she said, a lot of that is directed at men. She must be weel secured, too.” Diarmot called in his brothers Drew and Nanty to help him and James. All four young men were needed for, the moment she was released from the chair, Meg fought like a cornered wild animal. As she and Joan tried to stay as far away from the woman screaming vengeance at them as possible, Gillyanne wished one of the men would just knock Meg unconscious. She echoed Joan’s deep sigh of relief when Meg was finally bound and gagged. Drew called in two very large men to take Meg away and secure her in the dungeons. Gillyanne was near enough to the doorway to the great hall to hear the gasps and mutters as Meg was carried through the room. When Gillyanne stepped into the room, the way everyone stared at her began to make her a little uneasy. The wide-eyed stares of Peg and Jenny were the worst and Gillyanne was relieved when Diarmot had them taken away to a small, windowless tower room. She moved to the table and helped herself to a drink of wine. “We shall leave for the earl’s at first light,” said Diarmot. “Do ye think ye can ride, Gilly?” “Mayhap I could ride with someone,” Gillyanne said. “I dinnae think I will add enough weight to slow anyone down.” Diarmot smiled faintly and nodded. “Now, I just have to decide who must stay behind. Drew,” he began and sighed at the protest the young man made. “Ye ken Connor’s rule. One of the five brothers must always stay behind. I should probably make Fiona stay, too, but, after she gained so much useful information from the earl, I feel she has a right to see the end of this. Knobby.” “Nay,” James interrupted Diarmot before he could order a clearly reluctant Knobby to stay behind, “I will stay here. Let Knobby go. S’truth, after riding to and from Dubhlinn, there is a part of me which is verra reluctant to get back on a horse.” “Since it is all settled, I believe I will seek my bed,” Gillyanne said, curtsied a good night to the men,
and smiled at James when he moved to escort her to her bedchamber. “How fares the family?” “Verra weel. Mither sent a salve to ease the scarring,” James told her as they climbed the narrow stairs. “She expects to see how your wound heals with her own eyes verra soon.” Gillyanne tensed as she opened the door to her bedchamber. “How soon?” “Two, three days.” He put a hand on Gillyanne’s shoulder, urging her to look at him. “Still uncertain?” “Aye. There is a change, yet there is still so much distance.” She shook her head. “I believe I am too weary to think on it now.” “Aye. Rest. Just one last thing. Mither says ye should decide just how much ye are willing to risk ere ye give up on Connor. She says to ask yourself if your pride will really afford ye that much comfort, that mayhap t’would be better to cast it aside and let the mon ken exactly what it is he will lose if ye leave him. Sleep weel, Cousin.” He kissed her on the cheek and walked away.
Twenty “Payton?” Gillyanne stared in utter disbelief when her far too handsome cousin rose to greet her as she entered the great hall of Dinnock. “Payton!” she cried again and rushed forward to throw herself in his arms. “Ye are looking hale, loving,” Payton said and kissed her on the forehead. “Aye, I am fine.” She felt him tense. “What is wrong?” “Either your fingernails have grown excessively long and sharp, or there are six swords prodding me in the back. Nay. Seven.” Gillyanne looked around him and scowled at the small crowd right behind him. Diarmot, Angus, Nanty, Knobby, Sir Robert, and Sir David all had their swords pointed at Payton’s back. Fiona was right there with the others, her dagger prodding Payton in the small of his back. If her poor cousin took one step backward, he would be bleeding from seven holes. “What are ye doing?” she demanded as she moved around Payton, and shoved him behind her. “That mon was touching you,” said Diarmot. “No mon should be embracing and kissing my brother’s wife.” After waiting for the grunts of agreement to pass, including, much to her surprise, those of Sir Robert and Sir David, Gillyanne said, “This is my cousin, Sir Payton Murray. He was just saying hello.” “He was being cursed affectionate for a cousin,” grumbled Sir David as he sheathed his sword. “And, he is too cursed bonny,” muttered Sir Robert as he did the same. As soon as everyone had put their weapons away, she took Payton’s hand in hers and introduced him to everyone. Knobby and Fiona greeted him cheerfully, but the others remained wary. Men often had that response to Payton until they got to know him better. Gillyanne did wonder why Sirs Robert and David
were acting as protective of her as Connor’s brothers, however. She began to think the two men might be closer allies than Connor, or either of them, had realized. The bond had been unrecognized for it probably had not really been tested before. “How is it ye are here, Payton?” she asked. “I didnae think we kenned this earl.” “Oh, only noddingly,” Payton replied. “From court. Spend enough time trailing about after the king, and ye will meet every titled and important mon in Scotland. I am here because the earl wrote to the king about the murder of Sir Neil MacEnroy.” “He told the king he suspected Connor?” Gillyanne was appalled for she knew how court gossip could fly from one ear to another. Connor would be fighting the accusation of murder for the rest of his life. It simply would not matter if the earl declared him innocent. “Dinnae fret. No one was actually accused. The earl merely informed the king of the murder of one of his knights and said he would soon have the guilty one. It was naught but a courtesy, asking if the king wished to judge the person or if it could be left to the earl to decide guilt and punishment.” “Thank God.” Gillyanne frowned. “That still doesnae explain why ye are here at Dinnock.” “Ah, weel, the earl’s mon Peter hunted me down, explained matters, and said the earl thought it might serve all well to have one of your kinsmen here.” Payton shrugged. “So, I went to the king, told him I was wandering home for a wee while, and inquired if he had any errands he wished seen to, especially ones that I could carry out for him during my journey to Donncoill. Thus I was chosen to bring his reply to Dinnock, allowing Peter to return more quickly. This is to be left completely in the earl’s hands.” “Oh good.” “Do ye have proof that your mon is innocent? The earl and I dined together last eve and he told me the whole sad tale. Your husband did have good reason to want to see his uncle dead.” “That he did,” agreed Diarmot, “but he wouldnae have done it that way.” “Nay, he wouldnae,” said Gillyanne. “Connor didnae kill the mon, Payton. He didnae discover the truth about his uncle until the earl told him about it all. I have knowledge that shows the murder was done when Connor wasnae anywhere near that wee cottage and two witnesses to his whereabouts to add weight to it all. I also have the true murderer, although I fear her madness is quite strong at the moment. But, there are two witnesses to the murder. They are the same three women who accused Connor.” “Weel done, lass.” “Do ye think the earl will accept it all?”
“Only one way to be certain. Ye must ask him. Here he comes now.” He kissed her cheek, ignoring the threatening murmurs of the crowd of her self-appointed guardians. “Ye will do weel.” “Be ready to drag in those women,” Gillyanne told Diarmot and then started to walk toward the earl. Gillyanne gritted her teeth as she and the earl performed the necessary courtesies. She curtsied; he bowed. They took their seats at the head table and the earl served her some wine. Gillyanne complimented the drink and waited for him to invite her to tell him why she was there seeking an audience with him. She decided that, at times, courtesy could be pure torture. “So, m’lady, have ye come to stop your poor husband from brooding again?” the earl asked. “I heard ye were verra successful last time.” It was hard, but Gillyanne beat down the urge to blush and to curse. She did not really need to see the amusement in the earl’s eyes or hear the inflection in his voice, to know that he had heard her the night she had visited Connor. Perhaps, she mused, she should insist upon a gag each time she and Connor made love. Soon, everyone in Scotland would know that Lady Gillyanne MacEnroy bellowed when bedded. It was mortifying. “Is he brooding again, m’laird?” she asked, knowing by the hastily suppressed twitch of his lips that her look of sweet innocence did not fool the earl for a moment. “Nay. He is rather weary of being my prisoner, however. Who are those people with your cousin? I recognize wee Fiona and the mon named Knobby, but who are the others?” Pointing out each one as she named them, she then said, “They have come to help me.” “Good, good. Why are they scowling at your cousin?” Be patient, she told herself, then relieved some of her frustration with the earl by glaring at the ones who were behaving so badly toward Payton. “Payton greeted me with affection and they dinnae think he should have, cousin or nay.” “Protective of the laird’s wife,” murmured Lord Dunstan. “ ’Tis good. And, men find it difficult to trust a mon as bonny as your cousin.” “I ken it. Poor Payton.” “That I should suffer such misfortune,” the earl muttered.
“Ye are a fine, handsome mon, m’laird,” she said. The earl grinned. “Do ye mean to flatter me into freeing your husband? That is why ye are here, is it not? To free him?” “Aye, m’laird. Connor didnae kill the mon. He certainly didnae kill him because he was sharing Meg’s bed. The woman had bedded near every mon at Deilcladach. And, he didnae kill the mon because of those old crimes we now ken Neil was guilty of. Nay, poor Connor didnae e’en realize what his uncle was guilty of until ye told him.” “I had wondered about that, yet, he showed little reaction to what must have been devastating news.” Gillyanne sighed and shook her head. “I ken it. He probably just stood there like a stone and with about as much expression as one. ’Twas shock, I expect, but e’en if he felt devastated or seared with the pain of betrayal, he wouldnae let ye see it. Connor isnae a mon to show what he feels. He is verra controlled.” Lord Dunstan nodded slowly. “I have met him but a few times, yet I sensed that about him. ’Tis nay enough to free him, however.” “Of course not. I believe I can show that he couldnae have killed Neil for he was nowhere near that cottage when the murder was committed.” She looked at Peter. “Ye arrived at the cottage in the afternoon?” “Aye,” replied Peter. “We were hard pressed to return here ere full darkness fell.” “And the blood was still wet?” “It wasnae freshly spilled, but, aye, ’twas still more wet than dry.” “And since Meg told ye she had seen Connor kill his uncle,” the earl nodded in response to the hint of a question in her voice, “that means he was killed after the noon hour.” “Aye, that would be correct,” replied the earl. “Then Connor couldnae have done this murder for he truly was nowhere near that cottage, that village, or Deilcladach. At the time Sir Neil was stabbed, Connor was either at or riding hard for Sir Robert Dalglish at Dunspier to see if the mon could help him discover who had tried to kill me. From there he rode to Sir David Goudie at Aberwellen to see what that mon might ken. Then he rode back to Deilcladach, sending Diarmot and Knobby on ahead whilst he went to the cottage to speak to Meg and, mayhap, his uncle, two people he now kenned could be guilty. I have brought Sir Robert and Sir David with me for they have kindly offered to attest to all I have just said.”
Gillyanne sat quietly as the earl waved the two men over to his side. Robert and David not only supported all she had said, but made it clear they did not believe Connor would have killed Sir Neil, either. They fully supported her claim that Connor had not known about his uncle, that Robert himself had only just begun to suspect that the man had something to hide about his involvement in the bloody past of all three clans. By the time the earl dismissed them, Gillyanne knew Lord Dunstan believed in Connor’s innocence. She was going to have to make sure that Connor understood that his alliances were a lot stronger than he knew, even with the earl. Gillyanne could feel how relieved he was to be able to declare Connor innocent. “Verra weel thought out, m’lady,” the earl said. “I ne’er would have thought a woman would realize the importance of whether or not the blood was dry.” “Ah, weel, I come from a family blessed with many a skilled healer,” she replied. “ ’Tis one of the somewhat gruesome little details one picks up whilst learning such skills.” “Dinnae be so modest, m’lady. ’Twas a weel planned defense; precise and leaving nay room for doubt in your conclusion.” He smiled faintly. “I suppose ye mean to present me with the real murderer now.” “Aye, I do, but I am thinking ye already ken who it is.” She looked back at her companions. “Will ye bring them in now, please?” The earl sighed and shook his head. “The women, of course. The one named Meg?” “Aye, m’laird,” Gillyanne replied. “The other two did lie for her, but they are verra afraid of her. There was madness lurking in Meg, m’laird, and ’tis now out in full bloom. I can understand why the women feared her and did as she told them, especially when they found themselves in the midst of a murder of a knight. Yet, their lies blackened my husband’s name and could have sent him to the gallows. And, they didnae offer the truth willingly or just to do what was right, but out of fear. I presented them with a greater, more immediate threat. So, I fear I cannae decide what to do with them.” “If they didnae wield the knife or plot the murder, I willnae hang them.” He smiled when she sighed with relief. “Beyond that? It depends upon how much guilt I think they share with the leader. God’s tears,” he cried, staring wide-eyed at the door. Gillyanne winced faintly as she watched Diarmot and Angus drag Meg over to the earl, Robert and David escorting the very subdued Peg and Jenny. Bound and gagged, struggling fiercely against her captors, and her butchered hair visible to all, Meg did look a sad figure indeed. The look in Meg’s eyes, however, and the strong feelings of rage and loathing Gillyanne still sensed in the woman, told her that any sympathy Meg’s appearance might stir in others would be quickly dispelled when the gag was removed. The earl was firm yet not terribly frightening as he spoke to Jenny and Peg. It was clear that he was very
angry over the lies they had told. Gillyanne did not need to reach out to test his feelings to know that. Both women told the truth now, huddling close to Robert and David when Meg fixed a malevolent gaze on them. Their very real fear of the woman softened the earl’s attitude toward them ever so slightly. Gillyanne suspected they would not be punished too severely if only because the earl was a man who could accept the women being such utter cowards as a natural thing, would never hold them to blame for it. After he had the other women taken away by his men, the earl ordered Meg’s gag removed. Gillyanne was almost able to smile at the reluctance Diarmot revealed as he obeyed that command. That touch of humor vanished in a heartbeat with the first words out of Meg’s mouth. Even the earl sat wide-eyed over the filthy, blasphemous, and confused litany of hate and fury that poured out of the woman. Gillyanne hoped he was not so shocked that he missed the varied bits of confession which were scattered amongst all that poison. “Gag her,” Lord Dunstan ordered in a slightly hoarse voice. “How did I fail to see such madness?” he asked as Meg was gagged and the earl’s men dragged her away. “It was weel hidden, m’laird,” Gillyanne replied, pausing briefly as the earl told all of her companions and her cousin to sit down and have some wine. “Why is it no longer hidden?” he asked when everyone was settled. “I think the murder brought it out,” she replied. “E’en the reasons why she killed Sir Neil MacEnroy might have helped to break the control she had upon it. Then her oh-so-clever plan to see Connor hang for her crime fell apart. With each little thing that went wrong, she lost more and more control over this illness writhing inside her. Once her rage grew too great to keep a rein on, it all spilled out.” “What happened to her hair?” “Ah, weel, as one does with a fever, it was cut in an attempt to release the demons she is possessed by.” Gillyanne felt terrible about lying to the earl, but she did not really wish to admit to what she had done. “Demons, eh? Why were little tufts left all over her head?” She could see that the earl did not believe a word she had just said. It did not help that the expressions of her companions, an intriguing array of guilt, amusment, and overplayed innocence, made it all too clear that she was lying. Fortunately, she could sense that the earl neither cared about the lie nor that she had forced Meg’s confession out of her. “Weel, we didnae wish to leave her completely bald.” Gillyanne waited patiently while the earl, Peter, and all her companions laughed, then sweetly asked, “Will ye free my husband now, m’laird?”
“Oh, he will be free in a moment or two.” The earl paused and smiled at her. “As soon as ye sing one song for me. Your cousin told us ye have a most beautiful voice and I should very much like to hear it.” Gillyanne sent Payton a look that screamed traitor, but he just shrugged. It was obvious that none of those who had come to Dinnock with her intended to intercede. With a sigh of resignation, she stood up, clasped her hands at her waist, and began to sing. It was a sad tale of a lordling who lived well, fought well, and married well. His lands and his people prospered. Then, one spring day, he saw a village girl singing sweetly to the lambs while watching over her sheep and he had to have her. He took her to his castle, securing her in a tower, where he could visit her as he willed. She sang for him when he commanded it and he gave her every luxury, but he refused to free her. Days passed; then weeks, months, years. From the window of her luxurious prison she watched her betrothed marry another. She watched her parents buried. She watched life itself pass her by as she sat gazing out the tower window. Then, one day, the lordling arrived to find the room empty, the shutters opened wide. All that remained of the village girl were the flowers she liked to wear in her hair floating upon the water of the river below the window. Glancing around as she finished the song, Gillyanne could see that Payton had actually heeded the words of the song. He gave her an amused look of gentle admonishment. She helped herself to a drink of wine and looked at the earl. He was actually dabbing tears from the corners of his eyes. “Ah, m’lady, ne’er have I heard such a beautiful sound,” the earl said, sighed, and then abruptly grinned. “I ne’er thought I would actually enjoy getting such a verbal slap, either. Or, was that just a wee scold?” Gillyanne blushed with guilt even as she struggled to look sublimely innocent. “ ’Twas but a wee song, m’laird.” “Of course. Peter,” he said to his widely grinning man, “go and fetch that huge husband of hers.” As soon as Peter left, the earl turned back to Gillyanne. “I will hang Meg. It may e’en be a kindness since she is so ragingly mad. ’Twill certainly make certain that others are safe from her venom. The other two women will be sent away to a remote property of mine to be servants. They willnae be allowed to leave, but they may choose how they live — either working at honest labor or on their backs. I care not.” Neither did Gillyanne so she just nodded. She had not wanted them to hang, yet, because they had helped Meg in trying to get Connor hanged, she did feel they needed punishment of some kind. They may or may not get that where they were going, but at least she would never have to see them again. Payton came up beside her and gave her an embrace, keeping one arm wrapped around her shoulders as he said, “Ye did weel, lass. Verra weel.” “Going to pat me on the head?” she drawled and heard the earl laugh.
“Mayhap on the backside. Ah, I do believe your husband approaches,” he murmured. “Swiftly. Eager to get out of that wee room, nay doubt.” Gillyanne started to step away from Payton only to have him frown at her and hold her closer. “Will ye nay introduce me?” “Of course. I just thought, mayhap I should do it standing beside you and nay in your arms.” She peered around Payton to see Connor briefly surrounded by his friends and family. He actually smiled at them all. Then Nanty pointed toward her. Connor took one look and started to stride toward her, no longer looking very cheerful. Gillyanne had the sinking feeling that Nanty had either not spoken up quickly enough, or had completely neglected to tell Connor that Payton was her cousin. Connor certainly did not look like a man thinking he was about to meet another member of her family. “Here he comes,” she said. “I really best move.” “Dinnae be so foolish. We are cousins. What can the mon object to?” Payton asked even as he started to turn to fully face Connor. Payton’s last word ended on a soft cry of surprise. Connor picked him up by the front of his doublet. To Gillyanne’s surprise, Payton began to laugh. She was not quite sure what her cousin found so amusing about being dangled several inches off the floor by a big man with murder in his eye, but decided to worry about his odd sense of humor later. Gillyanne quickly grabbed hold of the fist Connor was about to smash into her cousin’s pretty face. “What are ye doing?” she demanded. “What does it look like I am doing?” Connor said, feeling a tickle of amusement over the way she had wrapped both arms around his fist and was pressing it against her chest. “I intend to pound this pretty runt into the floor.” He pulled his arm back again and nearly laughed at the way she shuffled along with it, refusing to let go. “Release me, wife.” “Ye cannae pound him into the floor. He is my cousin. And a guest of the earl.” Connor glanced toward the widely grinning earl who nodded. “I think ye have too many cousins,” he grumbled at Gillyanne and lightly tossed Payton aside. Gillyanne watched Fiona help a still laughing Payton to his feet. She was increasingly curious about what he thought was so funny, but a sudden strong instinct told her not to ask, that the answer he gave could prove awkward, especially in front of so many people. That feeling was enhanced when she suddenly recalled her cousin’s tales about how Payton had stuck his far too handsome nose into their business with their husbands. Even if it had not been done in a bad way, Gillyanne did not want him prying into her business, too. She released Connor’s fist, a little surprised when he kept hold of one of
her hands and held it close to his thigh. “Connor, this is my cousin Sir Payton Murray of Donncoill,” she said when Payton stood before them again. “Payton, this is my husband, Sir Connor MacEnroy, laird of Deilcladach.” As had happened when Connor had met her father, both men bowed a little brusquely, yet not in such a way as to present any insult. “Why are ye here?” he asked Payton, suddenly recalling some of the tales Neil had related about this far too handsome young man. “When the earl sent word to the king about Sir Neil MacEnroy’s death, asking if judgment could be left to him, he requested a Murray be the one to bring him the king’s reply. After all, ye are wed to a Murray. For now.” Seeing the way Connor’s eyes narrowed, Gillyanne quickly said, “Weel, now we can have a nice wee visit.” “Nay, now we can return to Deilcladach.” Connor looked at the earl. “I am free?” “Aye,” replied the earl. “Your wife brought me the real murderer. Your accuser — that woman Meg. She will hang. Her two companions will be sent far away so that ye will ne’er be troubled with them again.” Gillyanne saw the earl slightly raise one brow when Connor grunted in reply and she inwardly sighed. She was going to have to do something about the MacEnroy habit of grunting, she decided. Then something the earl was saying firmly caught her wandering attention. “And, of course, as his heir, all of Sir Neil’s property comes to you,” the earl told Connor. “ ’Tis a small holding, but, I suspect that, with four brothers and a sister to provide for, ye will welcome it. I cannae recall the name — ” “Clachthrom,” Connor and Diarmot replied at the same time. “Clachthrom? A heavy stone?” Gillyanne rolled her eyes. “And here I thought Ald-dabhach a name which sorely needed changing.” “What is wrong with the name Ald-dabhach?” asked Connor. “It says what it is — an old piece of land.” “Dull. ’Tis painfully dull. I have been trying to think of a nicer name, something that stirs in heart and mind a more pleasant vision. Mayhap something to honor the heather or the flowers.” She almost laughed at the looks of near disgust upon the faces of all the men. “Why would anyone call their keep a heavy stone? E’en an old piece of land makes more sense than that.”
“That was what marked the best place to put the tower house.” Connor shrugged. “If ye can think of a better name, a monly name, I may consider it. Or, rather, Diarmot can do so. He will have Clachthrom, be its laird. Antony can hold Ald-dabhach for us.” Connor turned back to the earl. “Diarmot will send ye a full accounting of all my uncle held, m’laird. I dinnae believe Sir Neil did one for many a year.” Or an honest one, thought Gillyanne. The way the earl and Connor looked at each other told her they were thinking the same. She was not sure what Diarmot had just been given, doubted anyone there did, but she knew he would make something good of it and was pleased for him. “So, ye will make Diarmot the laird of Clachthrom?” the earl asked and Connor nodded. “How old are the other two lads?” “Antony is two and twenty,” replied Connor. Angus is twenty. I always leave one brother at home. This time ’tis Drew, Andrew, who is eighteen.” “Weel, Diarmot, Antony, and Angus,” the earl signaled the three young men to come closer, “have ye been knighted?” “Nay, m’laird,” Diarmot replied. “Connor thought ’twould be best if we gained the honors from another laird, that the title would hold more weight in other’s eyes if it wasnae handed to us by our own brother. Sir Robert saw to Knobby being knighted after he helped the mon rout some thieves upon his land, but we were still a wee bit young then.” “Weel, ye are nay too young now.” “But, we havenae fought to earn it, m’laird.” “Nay? With your brother ye fought to survive, to prosper, and to keep a wide swath of land beneath my jurisdiction peaceful for twelve long years. ’Tis more than enough. In two, three years send the lad Andrew to me,” he told Connor, then shrugged. “Or sooner if he is of a mind to do a wee bit of training away from Deilcladach. I will see that he gets his spurs, too.” Gillyanne moved to stand next to Fiona as the three brothers received their honors. She smiled tearfully when Payton, rolling his eyes, gently dabbed the tears from her and Fiona’s faces with a fine linen cloth. He then draped an arm about her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “I will see ye soon,” Payton told Gillyanne when the ceremony was done and, after hearty congratulating his brothers, Connor looked their way and scowled. “How soon?” she asked, watching Connor stride toward them and hoping he was not going to try to
knock Payton down. “The day after the morrow. Two nights. ’Tis up to you what ye do with them, loving.” “If we leave now, we can be home in time for ye to give me my bath,” Connor said as he tugged Gillyanne away from Payton and started to lead her out of the earl’s great hall. Although still in shock over the news Payton had just given her, Gillyanne managed a hasty farewell and words of gratitude for the heartily laughing earl. Two nights, Payton had said. Two very short nights to try to gain some hint of affection from her husband before she had to make a choice. Tonight, she decided, she would simply enjoy the fact that Connor was free and safe. After all that had happened since she had been wounded, she did not have the strength or wit left to either decide or plot anything. And, it would be especially difficult with her husband’s hand sliding up under her skirts, she mused, then gasped, and grabbed at his arm in a vain attempt to stop him. Gillyanne quickly looked around and realized they were riding alone, several yards behind the others. Connor had also arranged their cloaks to shield them from view. It was obviously dangerous to be distracted around the man, she thought, and shivered as he slid his hand inside her braies to slowly stroke her. “Connor,” she protested faintly, “the others.” “Cannae see us,” he said. “I missed this.” “I will make a noise.” “And I will smother it with a kiss.” “They will guess what we are doing.” “If they look our way, they will just think I am wooing my wife.” “This is wooing?” “Aye.” He nibbled on her ear. “Now, hush, wife,” he slid a finger deep inside her, savoring her soft moan, “and ride.”
Twenty-One The brightness in the bedchamber puzzled Gillyanne as she stretched. Then she gasped and sat up. It was sunlight, the bright full sunlight of late morning. Connor had obviously decided she needed to rest and ordered everyone to leave her alone to sleep. It was considerate of him, kind, and might even be a sign that he felt some softness for her. It was also the very last thing she wished he had done. She had too much to plan to sleep the day away. As she scrambled out of bed, her two cats rose up from the hollows of the rumpled bedcovers and also stretched. Since they did not sleep on the bed when Connor was in it, they had obviously taken some delight in her sleeping late. She stroked each of them and talked nonsense to them for a minute. Connor was very good to them, which had surprised her a little. He had not ordered the cats to stay off the bed, but his large size and restlessness had quickly convinced her pets that they preferred to sleep on the sheepskin bed Connor had made for them in a corner. She had also caught him patting them and slipping them little treats from time to time. Gillayanne wondered if that could be considered a sign that Connor was not as hard as he seemed to be. Cursing softly, she moved to tend to her morning ablutions and get dressed. It was too sad for words that she was trying to find hints of Connor’s emotions in the way he treated her cats. That was like trying to anchor thistledown in a high wind. Gillyanne knew the time had come to cease guessing and press for some statement or clear indication of what he felt for her. Ask yourself if your pride will really afford ye that much comfort. Decide just how much ye are willing to risk ere ye give up on Connor. Gillyanne cursed again as her mother’s advice sounded in her head. Her mother was right and she knew it. She just wished she was not. Unfortunately, she had the examples of both Elspeth and Avery proving her mother’s advice sound. Both of them had swallowed their pride to win their husbands and she doubted they regretted it for one single moment. Gillyanne suspected they had both been as torn as she felt now. In fact, she herself had witnessed much of Avery’s confusion. The situations had been different, the obstacles varied, yet the choice had been the same in the end. Was the man worth subjugating her pride for, if only for one night? The answer was aye. After tying back her hair, Gillyanne opened the door and followed her cats down to the great hall. It was
