"Aye," Geordie agreed as he picked up the tray that had held Diarmot's meal and started out the door. " 'Tis a shame ye were near killed so soon after signing them papers and so lost a year with the lass."
Diarmot stared at the door as it shut behind Geordie. Although he had not been making any accusations, the man's words had abruptly stolen away the peace Diarmot had been feeling. He slumped against his pillows, suddenly all too aware of every one of his aches and pains. All of his doubts and fears had returned as well. He did not want to be suspicious of Ilsa, but that made him even more determined to be wary. Diarmot had trusted blindly before and it had cost him dearly. He would not do so again.
Ilsa groaned softly as she woke up and she became all too aware of how much her body ached. She was not as battered as Diarmot, but she had pushed herself hard, too hard, in her efforts to save him. Opening one eye and looking toward the window, she saw that it was morning. Once assured that Diarmot was awake, sensible, and not severely injured, she had bathed, eaten, and collapsed into bed. Exhaustion had demanded such a long sleep, nearly a full day's worth, but she still felt a pinch of guilt. If nothing else, the children would wonder where she was and, after seeing their father so badly injured, they needed all the comfort and reassurance she could offer.
As carefully as she could, she sat up. If the aching stiffness she suffered was any indication, she would be walking like a very old woman for the next few days. If she had known that one of her duties as his wife would be dragging her husband up a cliff, she would have married a much smaller man. Just as she managed to inch herself around until she was sitting on the side of the bed, Gay arrived, and Ilsa breathed a sigh of relief. Although she hated to admit it, she was going to need some help in getting dressed.
"Weel, ye look like ye were dragged through the brambles backwards, ye do,"
said Gay as she set a tray of bread, cheese, and cider down on the chest next to the bed. "Sore?"
"Aye." Ilsa winced as Gay helped her stand up. "Stiff, too."
"I am nay surprised. Did ye think ye were Sigimor that ye could haul that large husband of yours about and nay suffer for it?"
"I couldnae let him die."
"Nay, ye couldnae, though considering how he has treated ye, I doubt many women would have blamed ye."
Ilsa smiled faintly as Gay helped her walk to the bowl of water set near the fire so that she could wash herself. "There is at least one reason to keep the ill-tempered fool around." She caught Gay watching her intently as she rubbed her teeth clean with a dampened rag. "What troubles ye?"
"Ye like him in your bed, dinnae ye?"
"Och, aye. He makes me burn. The passion that brought us together to begin with is still there, still strong. I have told ye before, Gay, what was done to ye had naught to do with passion. Twas an attack, an assault. From what ye said the other day, I thought ye understood that now."
"Aye, I think I do begin to understand, most times. Soon it will be all the time. Diarmot's anger made me fear for you, yet ye went to his bed night after night and came to no harm. Even if he is bellowing, he ne'er strikes ye. Every time he touches ye, I can see no sign of him using his strength to hurt ye. Tis so different from all I kenned, I am slow to believe in what I see."
"Those men--"
"I dinnae mean just the men who hurt me. My father was cruel to my mother. My sisters' husbands are cruel to them. My father never hesitated to raise his fist to any of his children. I have spent my whole life seeing men being cruel, harsh, and brutal to their women. Then I came to stay with you and saw little of men and women together. Now I begin to see that what I had accepted as the way of things isnae completely true."
"Nay, it isnae," Ilsa replied as, with Gay's help, she shed her chemise and began to wash herself. "Far too common, but nay the only way. Ye must ken by now that my brothers would ne'er raise a hand against a lass. Neither would the MacEnroys. I believe we can trust Lady Gillyanne's word upon that."
"Aye. Watching her with her verra large husband was good for me, too. That laird is a hard mon, so strong he could snap her wee neck in a heartbeat, but she has nay fear of him. It didnae take me too long to see that he would rather cut out his own heart than hurt his wife." Gay smiled. "Oh, the mon is rough in manner and speech, so the care he has for his wife may nay be that clear to see, but tis there. And, once, I neared them as they were climbing the stairs to their bedchamber. He was fondling her rump like some rough mon at arms, but Lady Gilly was giggling. And then," Gay clasped her hands together, held them close against her breasts, and sighed.
"And then, what?" Ilsa pressed when Gay did not continue.