"We have enough meat."
"Nay that sort of hunting. We are seeking the who and the why behind your beating as I told ye we would. Ye think someone wants ye dead, and we are trying to find out if ye are right. Of course, if ye continue to act like such a fool, the number of your enemies could swiftly grow." He grinned suddenly. "Ye could be courting a wee pointy elbow in the groin."
Since Nanty appeared to be completely on the side of the Camerons, Diarmot did not bother to point out, yet again, that they should also be considered suspects. "The woman has a bad temper."
"I suspect most of it comes from your skill at stirring it to life with a barrage of insults." Nanty shook his head. "Your idiocy could soon cost ye a verra fine wife. I just pray the Camerons and I can find the true enemy ere ye succeed in making Ilsa one, too."
Diarmot watched Nanty stride off to join the Camerons and ride out of Clachthrom. It stung to see how well his brother got on with Ilsa's brothers. He felt both jealous and a little betrayed. Even if Nanty did not agree with his doubts about the Camerons, he could at least attempt to keep a cautious eye on the brothers. Reluctantly, Diarmot admitted to himself that he sorely missed the camaraderie Nanty was now enjoying. Except for a rare time or two with his brothers, Diarmot realized he had become very much alone since his ill-fated marriage.
Anabelle had started to isolate him, although he suspected that had not been her intention. Her attempts to seduce his brothers had caused them such discomfort their visits had grown less frequent and shorter. He had taken fewer journeys for Anabelle would shame him wherever he went, and, if he tried to leave her behind, she had followed only to behave even more outrageously.
Diarmot knew he had also become an angry, bitter man, and poor company. And considering how many men Anabelle had bedded, there were many who found it uncomfortable to be near him, unable to look in the eye a man they had cuckolded.
Somehow he was going to have to shake free of all that, he decided as he turned to go back into the keep only to come face-to-face with his son Odo. The little boy stood with his hands on his hips, scowling up at him. One thing had certainly changed since Ilsa's arrival, he mused as he clasped his hands behind his back and calmly met the child's belligerent look. His children were no longer unseen and unheard.
"I dinnae think ye should be out here all on your own, lad," he said.
"Aunt Fraser said I could come talk to ye," replied Odo. "Mama and Aunt Gay are busy in Mama's solar and Aunt Fraser is watching us rest. The others are resting, but I needed to talk to ye."
"Ah, and what would ye like to say?"
"What did ye do to make Mama hit ye? Were ye mean to her?"
Noting how the boy now held his two small fists up before him, Diarmot realized that he was in danger of changing from the father who had little to do with his children, to the enemy. For a moment he blamed Ilsa for that, but his own strong sense of justice would not allow him to cling to that unfair judgment. If his children found it easy to see him as the enemy, it was his own fault. He was too much the stranger to them, had left them to the care of others. Ilsa, on the other hand, had become their mother, and even he could not deny the honesty of her care for them.
"Have ye come to defend her?" he asked.
"Aye, she is my mama. We have ne'er had one before and, if ye are too mean to her, she might go away."
"Weel, I deserved the punch, but adults of times make each other angry. It doesnae mean Ilsa will leave. Ye want her to stay, do ye?" Odo's belligerent stance eased slightly and Diarmot decided the boy had accepted that explanation.
"Aye," replied Odo. "She is a true mama. She talks to us, and plays with us, and tells us stories, and," he grimaced, "she kisses us a lot. I dinnae want her to go away. I want her to stay," he stood up very straight and his expression bore the hint of martyrdom, "e'en if she keeps kissing me."
It took a moment for Diarmot to control his urge to laugh, then he said, "She is my wife. She will stay." He put a hand on Odo's shoulder and turned the boy toward the keep. "Now, I shall take ye back to Fraser." He frowned slightly as, taking the child by the hand, he started back toward the keep. "Did ye ne'er consider Mistress Fraser as a mother?"
"Nay. She said she was only the nursemaid. Now she is our aunt."