Grimacing, he shifted in his chair as the mere thought of Ilsa's passion caused his body to harden with need. Ilsa's passion was hot and sweet, satisfying him in ways he could not recall ever having felt before, not even when he had thought himself in love with Anabelle. Diarmot knew that could prove a weakness, but he felt he had learned his lessons well from his late wife. He might not be able to control his desire for Ilsa, but he knew how to keep it from controlling him or blinding him to the truth.
If he was honest with himself, Diarmot had to admit he was very glad it was Ilsa in his bed instead of Margaret. He could easily understand how he and Ilsa could have become lovers. The fire they could start between them was all any man could wish for. Despite all his doubts, fears, and suspicions, he intended to take full advantage of having Ilsa in his bed, and warm himself by that fire whenever possible. It was the one good thing in the whole tangled mess he now found himself in. He would just be very careful he did not get burned.
Holding her son Cearnach while Gay held Finlay, Ilsa smiled sadly as her brothers kissed their nephews and her farewell. Sigimor and Tait were staying with her, but she knew this was just the first step in the separation of her life from her family's. Due to the unusual circumstances surrounding her handfasting with Diarmot, this painful change in her life had been delayed.
Although trembling faintly, Gay stood firmly at her side enduring the farewells handed out to Finlay, and Ilsa realized Gay saw the Camerons as her family now.
Ilsa took a step toward Sigimor only to pause when Elyas stepped up to Gay and held something out to her.
"Here, lass," said Elyas. "Tis a gift."
Cautiously, Gay took the sheathed knife Elyas held out and then frowned.
"'Tis a dagger, sir."
"Aye. Ilsa will show ye how to wear it and use it."
"Why would ye give me a dagger, sir?"
"So ye will learn how to protect yourself, e'en if only in a wee way. Ye need to feel safer, lass, to feel that ye arenae quite so helpless." He smiled faintly. "Ye can also use it to protect our Ilsa."
Gay blushed. "Thank ye most kindly, sir."
"Oh, that is so sweet," Ilsa murmured as Elyas walked away from Gay, then frowned in feigned agony when Sigimor draped his arm across her shoulders.
"Aye," agreed Sigimor, ignoring her expression. "Elyas has been troubled by how fearful the lass is."
"She is getting better."
"She is." He watched the MacEnroys say their farewells to his brothers.
"Despite your ill-tempered husband's suspicious nature, I think we have made a fine alliance there."
"I am so verra pleased I could benefit ye and the clan." She winced in earnest when he tugged her braid in punishment for her sarcasm, then she waved at her brothers as they rode out of Clachthrom. "'Twill seem so strange nay having them stomping about all the time."
"Weel, ye will still have me and Tait to stomp about ye for a wee while longer."
"How nice," drawled Diarmot as he stepped up to face Sigimor. "Odd, I dinnae recall inviting ye to stomp about Clachthrom for a wee while."
"I ken it, but Tait and I were kindly o'erlooking that lack of good manners,"
replied Sigimor.
"How verra charitable of ye."
"Aye, that it is."
Both men were so tense, Ilsa was surprised she was not hearing any bone or sinew snap. Diarmot was obviously angered by the implication that she needed to be protected from him or felt her two brothers were lingering at Clachthrom to make sure the devious plot he suspected them of having was successful. Sigimor was insulted by the man's suspicions. By the look upon Tait's face as he moved to stand next to Sigimor, he felt the same.
Ilsa breathed an inner sigh of relief when the rest of the MacEnroys joined them. Her relief was short-lived for Diarmot frowned somewhat accusingly at his family and strode back into the keep.
"I suspicion ye would be a wee bit irritated if I snapped his thick neck,"
murmured Sigimor and he glanced at the MacEnroys.
"Aye," replied Connor. "The stubborn, pouting oaf is my brother after all."
"It is going to be hard to get him to see the truth."
"Verra hard indeed. When a mon wakes up from such a deadly beating and with some verra dark spots in his memory, he feels more compelled to be wary than many another might be."
"Fair enough. And, he doesnae ken who his enemies are. Kenning there is a dirk aimed at his heart, but nay kenning the why or the who, can surely gnaw at a mon."
Connor nodded. "If that wasnae enough, he has suffered the sting of too many betrayals in the last few years."
"Weel, I can be patient." Sigimor scowled at his sibling when he snorted in derision and rolled his eyes. "I can. I havenae killed any of ye, have I?"
"Oh? It certainly has been a near thing now and again. What about that time ye tossed our cousin Maddox out the window?" asked Tait. "What was that?"
"That was exactly what he deserved and it only bruised the fool," Sigimor replied. "The lad had gathered some verra bad habits whilst flitting about the king's court with his highborn, wealthy friends. He needed some sense knocked into him."
"Ah, of course. And ye were knocking sense into Gilbert, were ye, when ye tossed him into the river and kept pushing his head under the water?"