"Ah, weel, he came back a wee while ago. He said the laird would be soon to follow." Tom scowled at the gates.
Ilsa wondered if Tom thought that stern expression would cause Diarmot to come running home like a good boy. She could fully understand Diarmot's need to break free of all constraints for a while. That same urge had been what had driven her to hunt him down. She had thought they could escape those constraints together. It was why she was standing there holding the reins of her mare Rose demanding Tom tell her where Diarmot was. If she had gotten another vague reply, she had intended to ride out on her own. It appeared that was exactly what she was going to do.
"What are ye doing, m'lady?" asked Tom.
"I do believe I am mounting my horse, Tom," Ilsa replied sweetly as she settled herself in the saddle, amused at how hard a blushing Tom tried not to look at her stockings before she could arrange her skirts a little more modestly. "I am going to look for my husband. Do ye have any idea where he might be riding?"
"Mayhap ye should wait, m'lady. The laird could return soon. Mayhap your brothers and Sir Nanty will return and they could ride with ye."
"My brothers and Nanty have traveled far afield this day, Tom. They may nay be back until the morrow. I dinnae think I should leave the laird wandering around by himself until then, do ye? Now, do ye ken where he might be?"
"Geordie said the laird was riding along the ridge. Some lambs have gone missing and he wanted to see if they had gotten themselves trapped or had fallen. Ye can sometimes save the pelt," Tom began, then gasped as Ilsa started to ride past him. "Ye cannae ride about on your own!"
"Verra soon I willnae be on my own," she called back to him. "I will be with my husband."
She heard Tom cursing as she rode away. She felt a brief twitch of guilt over her actions, but swiftly pushed it aside. If anyone ought to feel guilty, it was whoever put Tom in charge of manning the gates. Not only was Tom a little young and untested for such an important post, but he simply could not be threatening or authoritative. She would just have to be very careful not to be injured in any way or Tom would feel at fault.
She took a deep breath and sighed with enjoyment. She knew the air outside the gates was the same as the air inside the gates, but it seemed sweeter. Over the last few weeks she had done her best to behave, to go nowhere alone. Raised mostly by her brothers, she had always had great freedom. The fact that there seemed to be a cousin around every corner had allowed her to come and go as she pleased, safe and secure in the knowledge that no one at Dubheidland would hurt her or let harm come to her. She had also been taught when to heed orders given for the sake of her own safety, however, and she knew her brothers would not be pleased with her disobedience, no matter how much they might understand and sympathize, Ilsa hoped she could return to Clachthrom safely, with her husband at her side, preferably without her brothers discovering what she had done.
Although she was a married woman, and a mother, Sigimor would not hesitate to lecture her and she hated those lectures. Sigimor had truly mastered the art over the years.
Reaching a thick stand of trees, Ilsa slowed her pace to a cautious one.
There were a lot of very wild places on the Clachthrom lands, she realized.
Harshness and wild beauty marched side by side. The children were going to have to be carefully taught to respect the land around them and the dangers it might hold. She idly wondered if she could keep them tethered to the keep until they were twenty and laughed softly. Although she liked to move freely, she obviously did not like the thought of her children doing the same.
The unmistakable sound of clashing steel abruptly cut through the peace of the wood. Ilsa tightened her grip on the reins as she fought back the instinctive urge to gallop forward to see what was happening. One of Sigimor's most repeated lessons went through her mind and she took several deep breaths to calm herself. Caution was a person's strongest shield, her brother was fond of saying, Ilsa held tightly to that thought as she tried to decide what to do.
Since she was certain Diarmot was just ahead, that the sounds of fighting meant he was in danger, calm and caution were difficult to cling to.
She could not go racing to his rescue. Although she considered herself strong and able, she was no warrior and, at the moment, the only weapon she had was a dagger. A horse could also be a weapon, but Rose had never been trained in such skills.