The faintly amused look upon his handsome face annoyed her. She had realized it had been cowardly, even childish, of her to run home because she was upset and confused, but to have him apparently think the same was irritating. Ilsa also realized that she was afraid. She was afraid that he would simply take her back to Clachthrom with nothing settled between them. She was even more afraid that he wanted all she had given him a year ago, but would still not be returning it in kind.
In the time she had been back in her little cottage, Ilsa had done a lot of thinking. She had given Diarmot everything she had had to give when they had first become lovers. In recalling all that had passed between then, she had come to the sad realization that he had never spoken of love, that she had foolishly seen love in sweet words and heated embraces. When he had left her, she had clung to her dreams and her faith in him, certain that he would return for her.
With each month that had passed with no word from him, those dreams and that faith had slowly turned to ashes, and it had been a constant grief to her.
Her love had never died. Ilsa was not sure it could. She had buried it, however, buried it very deeply. Despite all of her plans to prove herself and win his heart after reaching Clachthrom, she now knew that she had never really intended to completely free that love again. She had not dared, had always feared a return of the pain she had felt when she had thought herself deserted, then found herself forgotten. In many ways she had liked their marriage as it was, that she had only wanted there to be trust between them. It had been passionate, but safe.
Then he had started to woo her. The sweet words, the tenderness, the hints of affection had beckoned to that love she was trying so hard to keep safely tucked away. That part of her so eager to give him everything--heart, soul, and mind--
had begun to stir to life again and it had terrified her. It still terrified her.
"Ilsa," Diarmot said, a little annoyed by the way she seemed to be ignoring him, "why did ye leave?"
"To think," she replied, struggling to subdue the panic she could feel coming to life inside of her. "Aye, to think, just as everyone has obviously told ye.
There are many things I need to think about. Since I arrived at Clachthrom it has been one shock after another. Margaret, becoming mother to eight children instead of just two, someone trying to kill ye, then kill me, too, and your loss of memory. Weel, there was nary a moment with some peace to just think, was there?"
"Ilsa, ye are babbling," he murmured and took her hand in his. "I ken it hasnae been easy for ye. Ye have been sorely pressed." He kissed her hand. "And I was most unkind much of the time. Aye, my memory was gone, but I cannae use that to excuse all my faults. Ah, but now, my Ilsa, I can remember it all. How sweet ye were, those passionate trysts in the copse, the plans and promises made. I want that back, Ilsa."
He was startled when she yanked her hand free and jumped to her feet. For a moment he was hurt, feeling the sharp sting of rejection, but then he looked closely at her. Ilsa looked more than just upset or confused, she looked terrified. This trouble between them was a lot more complicated than he had realized.
"Why must ye try to change everything?" she asked, a strong hint of desperation in her voice.
"I was hoping nay to change things so much as return to what we once had together."
"I cannae. Dinnae ye understand?"
"Nay, I dinnae. Ye stay whilst I am being unkind and flee when I try to fix things, things I had made wrong."
"It went wrong o'er a year ago! It went wrong when ye ne'er came back for me, ne'er sent word."
She stamped her foot and placed a hand over her eyes when she realized she was crying. "I tried so hard to believe in ye, in what we had shared. For near three months I kept trying and then I had to face the truth, that ye werenae coming back for me. I accepted that." She placed her other hand over her heart as she felt a stirring of that old pain. "And then, and then I had to hunt ye down. We had two sons. I couldnae just hide here, denying them what was theirs by right. And, oh, I found ye, dinnae I? Kneeling afore the priest exchanging vows with Margaret."
Shock over the sight of Ilsa crying had kept Diarmot stuck to his seat, but now he stood and cautiously approached her. It sounded as if she was saving that her love for him had died from the force of too many blows. Yet, if she had lost all love for him, why was she so upset, so afraid to hear his fumbling words of affection?
"Ye ken why I was marrying Margaret," he said. "I had forgotten--"
"I ken it! I ken all of that, I truly do. In my head, I ken it. The forgetting of me, nay kenning that the twins were your sons, the suspicions, all of it." Try as she did to stop crying and calm down, all Ilsa seemed capable of doing was crying harder. "So I accepted. I decided we would simply begin anew. I would prove myself to ye. Twas necessary. I accepted that, too."
"But now ye think ye cannae accept me? Is that it?" He stood close by her side and lightly stroked her hair.