The Chieftain (22 page)

“I wish I could say it is only because I don’t want to take your attention from her,” she said. “But the truth is that she’s
far too pretty, too lively, too sweet.”

“Sweet? She cares nothing about the welfare of my clan. She frets about silly things.”

“Jane is just young,” Ilysa said.

“She is the same age as you are.”

“She hasn’t had responsibilities and doesn’t know any better, but she will learn,” Ilysa said. “Ye will love her in time.”

That was what had finally convinced her she must go. She could neither bear to be the reason Connor did not fall in love with
his wife, nor watch him fall in love with her.

“I’ve told ye that no one else will ever have my heart,” he said.

“I can’t share ye.
I just can’t do it.
” Ilysa briskly re-braided her hair out of habit and to calm herself. “I want something of my own. A home, a family, a husband.”

Connor got out of bed and clasped his hands around hers.

“We can have children,” he said. “Your sons will have chieftain’s blood, and the same chance to be chosen chieftain as my
other sons.”

“Isn’t that precisely what ye feared?” She looked away from him so he would not see the tears that threatened to spill from
her eyes.

“That doesn’t matter to me now, and it’s too late anyway,” he said. “Ye could be carrying my child already.”

“I’m not.” At least, there was no sign of it yet. “I’m a healer. I would know.”

“But I
want
to have children with you,” Connor said.

She closed her eyes against the answering surge of longing in her heart. How she would love to have Connor’s children, to
have a son with his fine looks and stalwart heart. But that was not to be.

“While we were at the gathering, I had an offer of marriage,” Ilysa said. “I plan to take it.”

Connor straightened and stared at her. She tried not to be insulted or hurt that he was so shocked, but she was.

Connor felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach.

“Ye didn’t mention it before,” he said through his teeth. “Who is he?”

“I know ye thought no chieftain would want to wed me because I’m not important enough,” she began.

“I never said ye were not important—you’re everything to me,” Connor said, wondering if she were deliberately misunderstanding
him. “I only meant that ye don’t bring a clan’s power and warriors to a marriage.”

“Regardless of all I lack,” Ilysa said, “the MacNeil chieftain said he wants to wed me.”

“Glynis’s father?” Connor said. “Ye can’t want to marry him. Why, he’s an old man.”

“He’s not old,” she said. “He’s a fine man, and I like him.”

“He has all those children, that’s why he asked ye,” Connor said, raising his arms. “He wants a wife to mother his children.”

Ilysa turned and fixed her direct gaze on him. “Is that the only reason ye believe a man would want me for his wife?”

“Of course not, but he doesn’t love ye as I do.” He tried pulling her into his arms, but she pushed him away.

“Mothering his children appeals to me,” she said. “I like children. Perhaps we’ll be blessed with more. I know that would
please him as well as me.”

The thought of Ilysa having any man’s child but his made Connor feel physically ill.

“I want a family. I want to be mistress of my own home. I want a man I can call husband, who will take a vow to be faithful
and keep it,” she said, relentlessly ticking off the things he could not give her. “I believe marriage to Gilleonan MacNeil
will provide me with all that.”

“But will ye love him?” Connor asked, hating the desperation in his voice.

“I will feel useful and valued.” She wrapped her plaid around her shoulders and tied the corners together with a snap. “I
will be content.”

“It sounds as though you’ve given this a great deal of thought.” Just how long had she been planning to leave him?

“I have,” she said.

“Who else did ye consider in all this thinking ye did? Lachlan of Lealt perhaps?” Connor asked. “Ye seem to have developed
a true fondness for him.”

“Lachlan?” Her face showed surprise, and he wondered if she was feigning it. “I’d never wed a MacDonald now, especially one
who would keep me here on Trotternish. I’m going where I won’t ever see ye again.”

Never see him again? Could she mean it? His anger drained out of him, leaving only emptiness in its place.

“I’ll tell the MacNeil when he comes here to join the battle against the MacLeods.” She busied herself adjusting the plaid
over her nightshift and avoided looking at him as she spoke.

“If you’ll be happy with him, then I shall be content as well.” Connor made himself say it, though it was a lie. “But there’s
no need for ye to make a hasty decision.”

“If the MacNeil still wants me, I’ll leave with him as soon as the battle’s done.”

That gave Connor almost no time to persuade her to change her mind.

“Remember, ye promised not to wed before Beltane,” Ilysa said. “Ye owe me that.”

“Does it matter now?” he asked.

She finally looked at him, and in her eyes he saw the deep sorrow that she had tried to hide behind her brusque manner.

“Aye,” she said softly, “it still matters.”

N
o one leaves the castle without my permission,” Connor reminded everyone before they settled down to their meal.

He had first issued the order the moment Jane set foot in the castle. If word of her grandfather’s imminent arrival with three
hundred warriors reached the MacLeods, they would attack at once while the odds were still in their favor.

Jane sat next to him, and his appetite steadily dwindled as she prattled on about the latest court fashions. His thoughts
grew blacker as he scanned the faces of his men while they ate, wondering which of them had murdered the two guards and left
the gate open for Hugh. He had no better idea of who the culprit was now than the night it happened.

He was relieved when Lachlan entered the hall and strode to the head table, interrupting the meal.

“You and Sorely, come with me,” Connor said, rising from his chair.

Whatever Lachlan had discovered on his latest excursion around the peninsula, Connor did not want him to speak of it in front
of everyone in the hall. And he was glad for the excuse to leave.

As he turned to go, he caught the question in Ilysa’s eyes and gave a slight nod. Before he left, he saw her pick up a flask
of wine from the table as a pretext for coming into his chamber while he met with the two men. He had become accustomed to
having her listen in on his private meetings and sharing her insights with him afterward. Apparently she had decided not to
abandon him entirely yet, though she had avoided him all day up until now.

“What news do ye bring?” Connor asked Lachlan once the three of them were settled at the table in his chamber.

Sorely kept glancing over his shoulder, as if he expected the nursemaid’s ghost to sneak up behind him and strangle him. Connor
withstood the temptation to knock some sense into him.

“The MacLeods have gathered more men at the Snizort River,” Lachlan reported. “They’re harassing the few MacDonald farmers
who still live near the river.”

“Our warriors from Sleat and North Uist will be here soon, as well as MacIain’s,” Connor said. “We cannot let ourselves be
drawn into battle before they arrive.”

“While we’re waiting,” Lachlan said, “can we rattle some MacLeod cages a bit to divert them from the farmers?”

Connor had precisely the same idea. “I’ll send you two and the other men I can spare to the Snizort River.”

“Both of us?” Lachlan asked in a flat voice.

“Aye.” Connor did not think either of them was Hugh’s man, but it always paid to be cautious. The two disliked each other,
and they could not both be spies, so he could count on them to watch each other. “All I want ye to do is create some havoc.
Just enough to make the MacLeods cautious about straying too far from their camp.”

“Who’s in charge?” Lachlan asked.

He was right to ask, for one man had to lead. Sorely was paying close attention now and had a smug expression, anticipating
Connor’s answer.

“Sorely,” Connor said and stood, dismissing them both.

Lachlan was the better man, but Connor was less certain he could trust him. He told himself it was a logical decision and
had nothing to do with Lachlan’s friendliness with Ilysa.

“Leave before daybreak and return as soon as ye can,” he told them.

As the two men left, Connor watched Ilysa meet Lachlan’s eyes and some message pass between them. Connor’s claim on her was
weakening by the hour. He could not bear that she might choose to be with Lachlan—or any man but him. She had said it would
be MacNeil, but there was something between her and Lachlan.

“I’m surprised ye picked Sorely,” Ilysa said as soon as the door was shut behind them.

“I thought we agreed ye wouldn’t question my judgment again,” Connor snapped, jealousy making him angry.

“And I thought ye wanted me in the room because ye valued my opinion,” Ilysa said, crossing her arms. “I can see I was nothing
but a bedmate to ye—and a temporary one at that.”

When Connor put his arms around her, her body was stiff and unyielding.

“I’m sorry. The prospect of losing ye is making me behave like an ass.” Sadness filled him as he breathed in the familiar
scent of lilies in her hair. “You’re everything to me.”

“Would you be willing,” she said in a quiet voice as she pushed him away, “to share me with another lover?”

The thought of her with anyone else made him murderous. If the circumstances were the other way around, he could never leave
her—but her husband would be found with Connor’s dirk in his chest.

“You’re right,” he said. “I am asking too much.”

She touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers, filling him with longing. But it was only a gesture of farewell.

“We must both try to be happy,” she said.

It was not his fate to be happy. It was his fate to save his clan, no matter what it cost him.

The moon was full.

Ilysa pulled her hood over her head, carefully closed her door without a sound, and slipped down the stairs. Outside the hall,
she paused to listen. When she was certain she heard nothing but snoring men, she tiptoed into the hall. The hearth fire cast
a dim, eerie light over the slumbering bodies on the floor and benches. Ilysa skirted the edge of the room, staying in the
shadows.

Connor would never agree to let her go if he knew, and she did not want an escort. She must do this alone. With a glance over
her shoulder to reassure herself that she had awakened no one, she eased the heavy door open just far enough to slide through
and closed it softly behind her.

“There is an ill child who needs me,” she told the guard at the gate, and he gave her no trouble, despite Connor’s order.
Men simply did not see a threat when they looked at her. Besides that, everyone knew she had Connor’s trust.

Before she left to marry MacNeil, she would do everything she could to safeguard Connor. Tonight, she was making her second
and last trip to the faery hills to cast her protective spells for him.

Connor looked up to see Sorely in the doorway to his chamber. Judging from the dwindling candlelight on his table, it was
near midnight.

“You’re not going to like this,” Sorely said.

There was nothing Sorely could tell him that would be worse than the news that Ilysa was leaving. But it must be serious for
Sorely to brave the ghost. He nodded for Sorely to come in.

“I’ve found our spy,” Sorely said.

“No matter who our traitor is, ’tis better to know.” He hoped it wasn’t Lachlan. Despite his jealousy, he liked the man, and
Lachlan was his best warrior. And odd as it seemed, he felt a connection between them because of the shared brother they had
lost. “Who is it?”

Instead of answering, Sorely shuffled his feet and looked distinctly uncomfortable. If he had proof that Lachlan was Hugh’s
man, Connor would have expected him to be gleeful. Perhaps he had not given Sorely sufficient respect.

“Damn it, tell me,” he said, but still Sorely did not answer. Connor had lost all patience with him when he finally spoke.

“Ilysa.”

I
lysa?” Connor felt the blood drain from his head. “What about Ilysa?”

“I saw her sneak out of the castle a short time ago,” Sorely said.

“She’s a healer,” Connor said. “I’m sure she’s helping one of the farmer’s wives deliver a babe or some such.”

“When she does that, someone always comes asking for her first,” Sorely said. “No one came. She stole out like a thief in
the night.”

Connor knew Ilysa was no spy for Hugh. The suggestion was ridiculous. But where was she going in the middle of the night if
no one had come seeking a healer?

Can Ilysa be meeting a man?
The thought struck him like a blade to his heart. No, she would not do that, not so soon after they had been together.

He hated himself for thinking it. But now that the idea took hold, he could not shake it. A lass like Ilysa needed a lover.
After Connor had uncovered her passionate nature buried beneath her layers of calm control, he hated the idea of her sharing
it with another man.

“You’re certain it was her?” he asked.

“Aye,” Sorely said, looking mournful. “I’ve seen her go before.”

Had she found another man while they were still lovers? Could that be the reason she was able to turn her back on him so utterly?

“Ye gave a clear command that no one was to leave without your permission,” Sorely said, lifting one shoulder.

“I’m sure there’s an innocent reason.” He hoped to God there was. “She probably woke up worrying about some child she saw
days ago with a fever.”

Ilysa would not want to hurt his pride. If she were meeting a man for a liaison, she would not do it here in the castle where
he was certain to find out. She was nothing if not
considerate
.

“Perhaps we should follow her?” Sorely suggested. “That would answer it.”

Sorely was a fool to suspect Ilysa was their traitor. If she was meeting a man tonight, Connor did not want anyone to discover
it but him.

“No, this is a trivial matter. I’ll send a couple of the young men who need to practice their tracking skills,” Connor said.
“You and Lachlan will be leaving early, so get your rest.”

“I came as soon as I saw her leave,” Sorely said, “but whoever you’re sending will need to be quick to catch her before she’s
crossed the field and is out of sight.”

Ilysa’s breathing was loud in her ears as she ran, then walked, then ran again along the dark path. It was a long distance
to the faery hills, and she had to hurry to make it there and back before dawn. As she hastened her steps, she was grateful
for the moonlight that shone intermittently between the windblown night clouds and kept her from losing her way.

After a couple of hours, the outline of the odd, conical hills emerged against the blacker night. White dots of sheep lay
scattered across them, like stars in the sky. Ilysa set down her bag and caught her breath as she unpacked her things. Before
starting the fire, she changed into her robe. Though no one was here to see her, she felt too exposed to remove her clothes
in the firelight.

Once she had the blaze going, she found a stick the right length. She needed to calm herself and focus her thoughts for the
spell to work. She stood facing the fire and drew in deep breaths until her heartbeat slowed.

Gradually, she pushed back the fear that had dogged her steps while traveling alone at night, as well as the tiredness from
running and lack of sleep. Finally, and hardest of all, she set aside the hurt, the anger, and the desolation that had engulfed
her since the arrival of Connor’s bride.

She released all the emotions that crowded her heart and thoughts. All she kept of them was the longing, for that helped her
to focus not on herself, but on the man. On Connor, for whom she was casting her spell.

She tossed a handful of the herbs she had brought onto the fire, and a burst of sparks shot above her head. The fire glowed
in hues of blue, green, and orange. As she stared into the flames, she conjured an image of Connor, and she felt his presence
so strongly that she was hopeful her spell would succeed.

Slowly, she began to circle the fire, left to right, in the direction for good fortune. As she walked, she dragged her stick
behind her. It made no mark on the grass-covered ground, but the strength of the circle of protection she was making around Connor had nothing to do with what the eyes could
see.

“Connor, son of Donald Gallach, grandson of Hugh, and great-grandson of the Lord of the Isles,” she chanted as she circled,
keeping his image in her mind, “may you be the chieftain who brings security and peace to our clan.

“May your feats be so great that the bards write poems and sing songs about them for many generations,” she chanted as she
circled a second time.

“May ye live to be an old man,” she said, and in her mind’s eye, she aged his beloved face, giving him deep lines and snowy
white hair. “May your children be bonded to each other by great affection, and may ye have grandchildren who bring ye joy.”

When she had circled three times, she flung her head back and raised her arms to the night sky. “May this circle protect and
keep you until all these things have come to pass.”

Now that she had completed the simple protective charm of the circle, she was ready to begin the more powerful fire dance.
With every movement of the dance, she must please the faeries and thereby win their favor. In exchange, they would employ
their magic for Connor’s protection. Highlanders were good Christians, of course, and so the chant also called on God’s help.

Connor knelt on one knee in the grass, mesmerized. So he had not imagined the dancing faery the night he stumbled into the
faery glen injured and bleeding. Somehow, it made sense that his dancing faery was Ilysa. As her hair caught the light of
the fire and her body swayed back and forth, he thought of her above him and the magic of their lovemaking.

When he left the castle, he had been lucky to spot her at the far edge of the field in the moonlight. He had kept close enough
to protect her should trouble find her, yet far enough behind her that she would not sense him following. The distance she
traveled had surprised him. The longer she walked, the lower Connor’s opinion sank of the man who had asked her to come so
far alone to meet him. But when he recognized the odd, conical hills of the faery glen, he realized he had been wrong.

Instead of a romantic liaison, she had come all this way to reach the faery glen and recite some sort of spell. Connor set
less store by the power of the Old Ways than most Highlanders—and clearly less than Ilysa did. With too little thought, he
had dismissed the rumors that she was learning more from Teàrlag than headache cures.

He could not make out the words of her chant, for he kept his distance, not wanting to interrupt her until she finished her
enchantment. Or curse. When he was injured and thought she was a faery, he had not seen her circle the fire with a stick as
she was doing now. But he had fallen asleep that night and could easily have missed it.

As she circled the fire, long-ago memories of his mother cursing his father flashed through his head. What Ilysa was doing
looked the same, and yet was markedly different. His memory of his mother was black as night, from the hate in her eyes, to
her harsh words, to her hair writhing like snakes, while everything about Ilysa radiated light—her hair, her face, her robe.

When Ilysa began to dance around the fire, Connor forgot to breathe. Her movements were so erotic that desire swept through
him like a storm. He imagined making love to her in the firelight and watching her dance above him with her golden hair falling
all around him.

Ilysa dropped her arms and closed her eyes, drained by her effort. When she recalled the image of an aged Connor, she smiled
to herself. Ach, he would be a handsome old warrior. Her smile faded as she remembered that she would not be there to see
him grow old.

When she opened her eyes, a jolt of fear coursed through her. Across the fire, she saw the outline of a huge warrior coming
toward her out of the darkness. Her heart raced. In this magical place, he could be the faery king or a warrior from the dead.
She quickly made the sign of the cross.

“Ilysa.” The phantom said her name in a voice so deep she could feel it in her toes. “I was hoping to find ye here.”

Her mind had been so focused first on Connor and then on her fear that it was a long moment before she took in his disfigured
shoulder and realized who he was.

What was Alastair Crotach, chieftain of the MacLeods, doing here in the Faery Glen?

And why was he looking for her?