Highland Groom (27 page)

"Some, but she is the wet nurse, common born, and verra young. E'en though many people can see she is treated verra weel, nay like a servant, she is more one of diem than ye are. And Jenny can help. Ye and her ladyship can watch the men."

"If the women would have trouble confiding in Ilsa or me, why should the men be any easier to get information out of?"

"Because ye are a woman." Glenda laughed softly at Fraser's look of confusion. "As long as ye dinnae set the fool in a chair and openly question him, a mon willnae guard his words as carefully around a woman as he will a mon.

Most men simply cannae see a woman as a threat. Since they dinnae feel threatened, they speak freely. Tom and Nanty will also be watching each and every mon, too, but as some poor, weak, foolish woman, I suspect ye have a better chance of uncovering some clue." Glenda winked and the other women laughed.

They talked over their plans as they finished their meal and Ilsa felt hopeful. The number of people she and Diarmot could trust might be small, but they were clever and loyal. Since the traitor had to watch closely, gather information, and get that information to his master, he had to leave a trail.

Things had moved swiftly since her poisoning and the men's attention had quickly become fixed upon finding the enemy who would, in turn, lead them to the traitor. Ilsa would dearly like to present them with that traitor when they returned.

Gay and Fraser excused themselves but when Glenda also began to leave, Ilsa briefly grasped her by the hand, halting her. "Dinnae mistake me, Glenda, I am verra pleased ye have decided to come live at the keep. That said, I feel the need to ask if ye are certain this is what ye really want."

"Och, aye." Glenda patted Ilsa's hand. "I had a nice wee house, but twas all it was. A nice wee house. A nice wee empty house. Aye, I have some friends in the village, but we can still visit each other. Here, weel, it certainly willnae be lonely. I can also do my healing work for all who need it, but dinnae have to worry about keeping warm, or dry, or my belly full. And here I can be safe."

"Was there some danger for ye in the village? I ken Wallace said--"

"Wheesht, that was just an angry young fool saying hard words without thought. Yet there have been times when fear or grief made people turn angry eyes upon me. Tis the lot of a healer. The same gift of healing and herb lore they all seek when they are hurt or ill becomes dark and threatening when there comes an illness that cannae be cured. Or a blight or drought which can bring hunger. Ye cannae always depend upon good sense prevailing in time to save ye from harm. Weel, here I nay only have companionship when I want it, and all my worldly needs met, but I have verra thick walls guarded by some fine, burly men to hide behind if tis necessary. Nay, I want to stay here, lass."

"Weel, then, weelcome to Clachthrom."

Ilsa rested her forearms on the walls and stared out over the moonlit lands of Clachthrom. She had tried sleeping, but was too restless. She thought on what Diarmot was doing, whether he would succeed in his quest, and whether it would change anything between them. A sigh escaped her when she finally admitted to herself that she hated sleeping in that bed all alone.

"What are ye looking at, Mama?"

Odo stepped up beside her and Ilsa gave him what she hoped was a very stern frown. "Ye shouldnae be up on these walls, my fine lad. I cannae believe Fraser let ye come up here alone. Nor would anyone else."

"I had to talk to ye, Mama. I have come up here before, too."

"Alone? At night?"

"Weel, nay."

"Odo, my love, ye are a verra clever boy, but I think ye need to try harder to remember that ye are still just a wee laddie. Climbing up to the top of the keep's walls, at night, isnae something a lad of but five should be doing."

"I am sorry, Mama."

Ilsa put her arm around the boy. "Just try to remember that ye are a little boy. Ye will grow to be a mon soon enough. Now, what was so important that ye had to follow me here and risk a scold?"

"Why is Papa unhappy?" asked Odo.

"Ah, I hadnae realized ye had noticed. There are many reasons. None of them have anything to do with ye. Ye do ken that, dinnae ye?"

"I think so, but he didnae like us before ye came."

"He didnae spend time with ye. That is verra different. There was trouble with his wife, the Lady Anabelle, then there was a lot of work that needed to be done here because his uncle wasnae a verra good laird, and then he was verra, verra ill. Now, that doesnae excuse him for ignoring ye children, but he didnae ignore ye because he didnae want ye or like ye. And he doesnae like ye now just because I got him to pay attention to ye. In truth, he did it all on his own. I didnae do much more than bring ye out of the nursery now and again and talk about ye."

Odo frowned for a moment, then nodded. "He got busy and didnae understand that we needed attention."

"Exactly. Is that all ye wanted to talk about?"

"Will he and my uncles find the bad person and kill him so that Papa and ye will be safe?"

"Aye, Odo, that is their plan. I wish there was some way to make your Papa safe without killing anyone, but I fear it will all end that way. Ye dinnae need to worry. Your father is strong and clever and surrounded by Camerons."

"Which undoubtedly makes Diarmot half mad," said Nanty as he walked up and scowled at them. " 'Tis verra hard to guard people who willnae stay where they are put."

Ilsa allowed herself and Odo to be ushered back into the keep. She did think Nanty overdid the scolding, but bit her tongue to keep from complaining. Telling Nanty he sounded like a fussing old woman would probably not set a good example for Odo. As soon as she could, she kissed Odo good night and fled to her bedchamber. It might be lonely, but Nanty would not follow her in there.

*CHAPTER SEVENTEEN*

The keep at Dubheidland was impressive. Its walls were thick and high, its gates intimidating, and its great hall well furnished. It was also so filled with redheads, Diarmot was astonished that his eyes did not hurt. As he was led to the big head table, Sigimor abruptly introducing every man or youth they passed, Diarmot suspected it would take him many years to be able to remember all the Camerons by name. He could almost be grateful for Somerled, Sigimor's twin. That at least was one man he would clearly recall.

As he sat down and a faintly smiling Somerled served him wine, Diarmot became uncomfortably aware that very few of the looks he was receiving were friendly.

Whatever tale the other brothers had told upon returning from Clachthrom had not won him any friends. He was not sure that whatever Sigimor chose to tell the gathered throng would help change that.

"Did Alexander's wife have the baby?" asked Sigimor as he sat down between Somerled and Diarmot and helped himself to some wine.

"Aye, wee Mairi gave Alexander a son," replied Somerled. "They named the lad James and have gone to show her family the boy. Tis the first male born to that family for quite a while. He may weel be named heir, for there havenae been any other bairns born, either, and it doesnae look as if there will be."

"That will suit our Alexander fine, I suspect, although he didnae marry the lass for gain." Sigimor looked around and scowled at his brothers and cousins.

"Why are ye all looking so fierce?"

"Why have ye brought Ilsa's mon and nay Ilsa?" asked a tall, thin youth with hair very similar to Ilsa's. "S'truth, from what Gilbert told us, I cannae understand why ye havenae gutted him."

"I cannae go about gutting your sister's husbands, Patone," Sigimor said.

"Now, either Gilbert didnae tell the tale weel or ye didnae listen clear. So, clean out your earholes ere I do it for ye, and listen. I am only going to tell the tale once."

It only took a few moments for Diarmot to decide once was more than enough.

Sigimor told no lies, but he softened no truths as he saw them, either. Diarmot did think the man did not need to repeat the fact that he considered his sister's husband's wits sadly rattled as often as he did. By the time Sigimor had finished, however, most of the looks cast his way were a little friendlier.

Some, unfortunately, looked as if they expected him to start drooling.

"We were wondering why we havenae heard from ye," Sigimor said to Somerled.

"I would have thought someone would have discovered something by now."

"Actually, Liam was preparing to go to Clachthrom in a day or two if we didnae hear from ye soon," said Somerled.

"What has he discovered then?"

"I sent Gilbert for him the moment ye were seen. He ought to be here soon, and he can tell ye himself."

"Tis time for a meal. I am surprised he isnae here already. The lad hates to miss a meal."

"He hates to miss something else, too, and he was off getting a wee bit of the other when ye rode in."

"Nay wonder the lad ne'er gets fat from all the food he shoves down his gullet. He is tupping himself bone-thin every day and night. Do I ken the lass?"

"Nay. She isnae married and I doubt she will try pressing for marriage, either. I think Liam finally listened to some of what ye told him. I would ne'er have thought near drowning him in a horse trough would make him heed your words of wisdom, but it seems to have done so. Either that or he fears for his life,"

Somerled murmured and ignored Sigimor's scowl.

"I thought ye said Liam would settle down after a wee while, that he was only acting like a randy goat because he had been with the monks and they wouldnae let him have any," said a young boy with reddish-blond hair.

"Aye, I said that, Thormand," replied Sigimor. "And, I was right."

Thormand scowled at Sigimor. "He has been tupping near every lass for miles about for near to two years now."

"Weel, he was with the monks for five."

Diarmot took a quick drink of wine to smother his urge to laugh. He could tell by the look upon the youth's face that he desperately wanted to argue that ridiculous reasoning, but was not sure it was a good time to do so. Many another in the hall were doing exactly what Diarmot was doing. Sigimor wore that smirk that so irritated Diarmot when it was directed at him, and he could sympathize with the youth's blatant annoyance.

The man who strode into the hall at that moment quickly grabbed firm hold of Diarmot's attention. He knew this was the famous Liam because of all the somewhat lewd remarks directed at him as he strode past his kinsmen. With him was Gilbert, but Diarmot's reply to that man's greeting was only half-hearted.

Liam Cameron was a beautiful man. Diarmot hated to think of him so, yet could think of no other way to describe him. He was much like Gillyanne's cousin Payton, but bigger. Long dark copper hair threaded with gold, perfect features, a perfectly proportioned lean, strong body, and grace in his every step. When he neared them and smiled, Diarmot met the man's friendly blue-green gaze and suddenly sympathized with Connor's many grumbled complaints about Payton Murray.

Such manly perfection was irritating.

"He is a good lad," Sigimor said, smiling faintly at Diarmot. "Still, someone that bonny can feel like a splinter under the skin at times."

"Aye," agreed Diarmot, for once not troubled that Sigimor had guessed his thoughts. "Lady Gillyanne has just such a cousin and I was suddenly able to understand why Connor keeps saying the lad needs seasoning, in the form of a broken nose and a few scars."

Sigimor chuckled, then looked at Liam who had seated himself beside Diarmot and was filling a plate with food. "Worked up an appetite, did ye?"

"It was a long walk here," Liam drawled, then he looked at Diarmot. "How is my sweet cousin Ilsa? Did ye bring the bonny wee lass with you?"

"Nay," Diarmot replied, knowing he was being taunted. "I left her home with my eight children." He smiled faintly at the look of shock on Liam's face.

"Dinnae prod the mon, Liam. He is smarter than he looks," said Sigimor. "Now, tell us what ye ken."

"Ye need to go speak to Lord Ogilvey," Liam said.

"That is all ye have to say?"

"That is all I am going to say. Ye have to go and talk to Lord Ogilvey. Ask him about his wife, Lorraine."

Diarmot looked at Sigimor and suspected he was wearing the same look of shocked recognition that man was. "L.O. Lorraine Ogilvey." He looked at Liam.

"Why will ye say no more?"

"Because a lot of what I have been told is gossip, nay more. Tis also sordid--sinful, if one heeds the monks--and I willnae blacken any woman or mon's name on gossip alone. Talk to Lord Ogilvey and I will confirm or nay what he says."

"_Ye_ will be able to do that quickly, too, for ye will be going with us,"

said Sigimor.

Diarmot looked around the small clearing amongst the thick oak trees and fought to regain his composure. He knew the four Camerons riding with him sat on their horses a few feet away watching him, and suspected they knew why he had suddenly veered from the trail and come here. For several moments he had been so caught up in the return of a memory lost for too long that he doubted he would have noticed if they had ridden right over him.

As they had almost done once before, he thought He had made love to Ilsa here several times. It had been a favorite trysting spot of theirs. Here was where her brothers had found them that day. Here was where he had taken her maidenhead.

Everything she had told him had been the truth. He had begun to believe it, but it was a relief to have his own memory now confirm it. Finlay and Cearnach were his sons, could be no other man's. That, too, he had decided upon his own, but could not help but heartily welcome the memory that proved it, the memory that took away all chance of insidious doubt.

Without saying a word, he remounted and rejoined the others. They, too, said nothing, simply continued on their way to Ogilvey's keep at Muirladen. He was grateful for their silence as he needed time to accept this new flooding of memory, time to calm himself and prepare himself for the confrontation to come.

Despite some rather bloodcurdling threats from Sigimor, Liam had refused to say any more, and Diarmot found that ominous enough to feel that his wits had to be very sharp before he met Lord Ogilvey.