But urges he had. With darkness falling around them, he was finding it easier by the moment to imagine laying her down on the sand and having his wicked way with her—over and over. Ach, this was wrong.
“Let’s head back,” he said and started walking.
“Who have ye decided upon for a bride?” Ilysa asked.
“I’m considering John MacIain’s granddaughter,” he said. “She is the child of his eldest son, who died in battle while her mother was pregnant with her.”
“Mmm,” Ilysa murmured, and he noticed a slight tightening around her mouth.
“Why do ye disapprove?” Connor found that Ilysa’s opinion of his future wife did matter to him. And she had seen through Deirdre.
“Let’s hope the apple has fallen far from the tree,” she said.
“Ye shouldn’t judge her nature by her grandfather’s,” he said.
“And ye know her nature?”
“I haven’t met her yet,” he said.
“Hmmm.” She was silent a moment, then she asked, “What are ye looking for in a wife, besides a clan alliance?”
“A quiet, respectful lass, who is loyal and doesn’t interfere with my work,” he said. “She should make my guests welcome and be a good mother.” He wouldn’t complain if she were pretty as well.
“Do you not hope for love?” Ilysa asked in a soft voice.
“Hell, no.” Connor frowned. It was not like Ilysa to speak nonsense, which was one of the things he liked about her. She was a sensible, practical lass who could be counted on to do her duties and take pride in doing them well.
“Who are the others you’re considering?” Ilysa asked.
They discussed each of them in turn, and Ilysa found some fault with every possible alliance.
“I can’t help but think…,” Ilysa said and turned her head to look off toward the dark sea.
“What?”
“Ye told me never to question your judgment as chieftain,” she said, still looking away from him.
“I asked for your opinion,” he said. “That’s different.”
She turned and met his gaze. “Should ye risk tying yourself to either a wife or a clan ye can’t be sure ye can trust?”
“I can’t trust any of them,” Connor said and gave a dry laugh. “I’ll never get a wife if I listen to you.”
“You’re asking them to fight for Trotternish, but what will they want in return?” she asked. “Ye don’t know the cost.”
“That’s true, but I have no choice,” he said. “We must fight the MacLeods, and they are too strong for us to do it alone.” What concerned Connor more was the risk that his bride’s clan would find an excuse not to come to his aid when it was time to fight the MacLeods. Alliances were slippery.
“Perhaps ye should look for a clan that needs us as much as we need them,” Ilysa said. After a long pause, she asked, “What about Torquil MacLeod of Lewis?”
If Torquil were not his half brother, Ilysa’s suggestion would have been an astute one. They each needed help in ousting another clan from their lands. In a prior rebellion, the Crown had granted the traditional lands of Torquil’s clan on the isle of Lewis to a rival, and then Torquil’s father had lost possession of the island as well.
“Our mother left his father for mine,” Connor said. “I have as much chance of making an alliance with Torquil as I do with his distant relation Alastair MacLeod.”
“Ye don’t know that,” Ilysa said.
But Connor did know. Shortly before he left for the gathering, Sorely returned with the message that Torquil had refused his offer of friendship. As was so often the case with Connor’s family, their blood tie, which was born of their mother’s passion and disloyalty, separated rather than bound them.
***
