She touched his arm. “What have ye done, Lachlan?”
“’Tis best ye don’t know,” he said. “But ye can trust me to mind Connor’s back from now on.”
She believed him. “I’m glad.”
“There is someone in the castle ye can’t trust, someone who is spying for Hugh Dubh,” he said. “I’m trying to find out who it is.”
***
Connor awoke in a sweat with a throbbing erection. Ilysa haunted his dreams, robbing him of his sleep and peace of mind. Despite his efforts to overcome his desire for her, he wanted to touch every inch of her bare skin, to see her naked above him, and to feel the friction of her breasts against his chest. Most of all, he longed to be inside her and hear her soft moans of pleasure in his ear.
He gave up on sleep and went to his window. From habit, he looked for the outline of the guards on the wall to be sure none were asleep. They weren’t. Before turning away, he glanced around the courtyard. He started when he saw Ilysa in the far corner with a man. What was she doing outside in the middle of the night?
And who in the hell is she with?
In the moonlight, he could not be absolutely certain who the man was. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and fair-haired. The only man who came to mind was Lachlan of Lealt.
Jealousy, like an ugly green sea monster from the deep, sank its teeth into him and pulled him under.What is she doing with Lachlan?The question blazed in his head. No woman had ever aroused jealousy in him before, but the feeling was as unmistakable as it was unfamiliar.
Connor had no right to object if Ilysa turned her attentions to another man. Bedding her once had been a mistake that could never happen again. She was not hisand could not be. More, it was his duty to find a man to look after her. Lachlan would make a good husband, if a lass did not require much conversation. He had both the courage and the fighting skills to protect a wife and family. In truth, Connor could think of no better choice for Ilysa than Lachlan of Lealt.
And yet, the thought of Lachlan touching her sent murder roiling through his veins.
CHAPTER 26
Connor was standing by the hearth after breakfast when the doors to the hall swung open. Silence fell over the room as a gray-haired man in shabby clothing entered carrying a young woman in his arms. As Connor watched her long hair and limp limbs sway with the man’s steps, the memory of his mother being carried up the beach at Dunscaith slammed into his chest.
He knew at once that the lass was dead.
The people who had been milling about a moment before moved aside to let the gray-haired man pass as he crossed the room with his burden to stand before Connor. Rage rolled through Connor as he took in the cuts and bruises on the dead lass’s face and arms and the ugly finger marks around her neck. She was young, sixteen at most.
“My daughter,” the man said in a ragged voice. “She was to be wed in a week.”
Warriors died in battle. Connor felt sorrow for every man he lost, but it was an honorable death in the service of the clan, and he accepted it. He could not, however, accept this travesty as part of warfare, though it often was. The violation and murder of an innocent, young lass was unforgivable and merited the strongest possible retribution. He wanted to take his claymore and kill every last MacLeod warrior himself.
“My wife lives, but they raped her as well,” the man said, his eyes deep wells of sorrow. “They tied me and made me watch what they did.”
Connor’s ears rang with the white-hot fury pulsing through him.
“I promise you,” he said, clenching his fists. “The MacLeods will pay for this.”
The silence in the room echoed like an accusation in Connor’s head. Protecting his clan was his duty, and he had failed this man and his family. All he could give them now was revenge. But he would give them that.
“The devils who did this to her,” the man said, fighting for control as he looked at his daughter draped in his arms, “were not MacLeods.”
“Not MacLeods?” Connor said, stunned. What other clan would have committed this egregious offense against his people. “Who then?”
“They were Hugh Dubh’s men.”
***
Lachlan watched Connor as the old man told him how Hugh’s men had gone on a rampage along the east coast of Trotternish, raiding and killing MacDonald farmers who, up until now, had withstood the pressure from the MacLeods to abandon their homes and fields. Connor’s face was an expressionless mask, but his rage showed in his clenched jaw and the fire in his eyes.
“Do ye know where Hugh Dubh’s men are now?” Connor asked the dead lass’s father in a surprisingly gentle voice. “They must have a camp somewhere.”
Lachlan was disappointed when the father shook his head. That meant he would have to tell Connor about Hugh’s camp himself, which could raise questions he did not wish to answer.
Ilysa appeared at the father’s side like the angel she was. With quiet murmurs, she persuaded him to lay his daughter’s body on one of the long tables that were still set up from breakfast.
