Ilsa felt herself shatter. She kissed him as if she were starved for the taste of him. She used her arms and legs to hold him close, to push him deep inside. His movements became fierce, the hard, swift thrusts of his body renewing her passion. When he groaned out her name and filled her womb with the heat of his seed, Ilsa felt herself shatter a second time. Blindly, she clung to him as he collapsed on top of her.
Unsure of how long she lay there, sated and oblivious, Ilsa slowly became aware of her surroundings. She winced at the bright rays of sunlight spilling in through the window. The sight of Diarmot sprawled on top of her was rather pleasing, but, when she recalled all they had just done, she nearly groaned.
Then she caught sight of her legs splayed out on either side of him.
"Jesu, I am still wearing my hose," she muttered.
Diarmot turned onto his side and looked her over, smiling at her blushes.
"Ye look verra tempting."
Ilsa growled and turned onto her side, her back to Diarmot. She saw her shift on the floor, grabbed it, and hastily put it on. By the time she had laced it up and turned back to look at Diarmot, he had redonned his hose and shirt. Ilsa prepared herself for his abrupt leave-taking now that he had gotten what he wanted, but he stood there scowling down at what appeared to be a tattered letter. She moved across the bed to kneel at his side.
"What is that?" she asked.
For a minute, Diarmot hesitated, then sighed. She had already seen the message he had found at the cottage so there was no sense in trying to hide it again. A clever lie was beyond him at this point. In truth, he no longer believed she would try to kill him. It did not mean she was innocent of all trickery, he sternly reminded himself, but if she wanted him dead, she had had numerous occasions to accomplish the deed since coming to Clachthrom. So had her brothers, he thought, then quickly shook that thought away. Someone wants ye dead, Diarmot, he reminded himself for what had to be the hundredth time, and the Camerons are still the ones with the most to gain. Telling Ilsa about the ruined message he had found would make no difference, either in proving her guilt or innocence, or in prompting her to change her plans in any way.
"I found this in a cottage at the western border of my lands," he replied.
"The cottage should have been empty, dirty, and showing all the other signs of several years of disuse. It did not. Decided it might be a trysting place for some pair of lovers, then found this. It was wedged between the leg of the bed and the wall." He handed the note to her.
"The wall evidently isnae completely free of leaks. Damp has made it nearly illegible."
"Aye, it has." She studied the message. "It was written by a woman."
"How can ye tell that from this mess?"
"Some words are clear enough. Tis the script a woman would use, I am certain of it. And, tis nay verra old. Though soiled and smudged, the paper shows no sign of age and the ink is still dark." She frowned at it for a moment. "Tis a love letter, I think. The greeting looks to be an endearment, as does the ending. No names, just an endearment. I can see a few words such as 'meet me,'
'must talk,' and 'taking too long.' A tryst, although the words 'growing impatient' imply all is nay weel, I should think."
Diarmot nodded and tucked the letter into a small carved box on the table by the bed. "I had hoped to find out who was using the cottage. If naught else, the place needs new tenants." He rose, selected a clean doublet and slipped it on.
"It isnae good to have an empty place upon one's lands and tis a waste to have the land sit unused."
"Mayhap ye should look for a couple who are soon to be wed, but will have to live with her family or his. Or some young couple already in such a position.
Such ones may be eager to become crofters, would be grateful for the chance."
"And their gratitude would be to their laird thus inspiring loyalty."
"Without a doubt."
Diarmot kissed her and moved to the door. "A verra good idea, wife."
Ilsa stared blindly at the door after it shut behind him. That was definitely a compliment and Diarmot had not been feeling the slightest bit lustful when he had given it. Even though he had hesitated for a telling moment, he had shared his discovery with her. Ilsa felt a stirring of hope concerning their future and she knew it would take a great deal more than lecturing herself to kill it this time.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Where is he?"
Ilsa was almost able to smile at the expression upon Tom's face, and the way he looked around a little desperately in search of a way to escape her question.
She would not allow it. Diarmot was nowhere to be found within the walls of the keep and she had to wonder why. From what she had seen as she had hunted him down, if he had gone outside the walls of Clachthrom, he had done so alone. In the three weeks since the incident at the cave, none of them had been allowed to leave Clachthrom alone.
Tom sighed. "He is out riding. Tis a fine day and he had an itch for it."
"I dinnae suppose he had an itch to take anyone with him."
"Geordie went with him."
"I just saw Geordie. He was sitting in the great hall drinking ale and talking to Peter."