"Ye ken what I mean."
"Aye, I am afraid I do." She leaned over him, picked up her night shift from the floor, and yanked it on over her head. "Ye want to ken how many men I have done that to. I couldnae possibly have simply thought to do to ye what ye have done to me. Och, nay. That would be too simple. There must be more to it. Nay, it couldnae be that there isnae any great trick to it that I can see, either."
She got out of bed and went behind the privacy screen. "Just stroke, kiss, lick, and stick it in your mouth. As long as ye dinnae scream in pain or start bleeding, tis being done right."
Diarmot had to choke back a laugh. Ilsa was so angry he doubted she realized half of what she was saying, would probably shock herself if she did. Now she was just muttering. He suspected it was a good thing he could not understand what she was saying now for it would either insult him or make him laugh. She had a right to be angry for his remarks had been both unkind and unwarranted, but she was a delight to listen to when she was ranting. All his amusement faded when she came out from behind the privacy screen and walked toward the door.
"Where are ye going?" he demanded, thinking he was getting sick of asking that.
"To the room across the hall," she replied. "I willnae stay here--"
She screeched softly when Diarmot was suddenly there by her side. He picked her up and carried her back to the bed. Before she could protest, he had them back in bed with her tucked up against him and was pulling the covers over them.
"This is where ye belong," he said, adjusting her a little in his arms so that her firm little backside was nestled comfortably against his groin.
"Ye are a verra confusing mon," she said. "All welcome one moment, then a strong right to the jaw."
"If it confuses ye, try to imagine how it all seems to me at times."
Ilsa winced slightly, recognizing the truth of his words. Diarmot was clever enough to know he was behaving in a very odd way at times, being contradictory in his feelings, words, and actions. To have such large gaps in one's memory had to leave him feeling lost, uncertain. She suspected having some of the memories return, but not being able to grab hold of all of them was not much better. It did not excuse his unkind words, but she also suspected that Diarmot openly admitting to his own turmoil was as close to an apology as he would get.
"Are ye trying to tug at my sympathy?" she asked,
"Will that get ye to take your shift off?"
"Nay. If I cannae go away and sulk, then I am keeping my shift on."
"Fair enough." Diarmot kissed the top of her head and decided not to argue.
Ilsa slept soundly. He would just wait until she fell asleep and take her shift off later.
"Poison?"
Margaret glared at the man. "Aye, poison."
"What am I to do with this?"
She bit back the urge to tell him to drink it and paced the small cottage in an attempt to calm herself. Her gaze passed over the tiny bed where she had just serviced the oaf, the remembered feel of the straw mattress and rough woolen blanket still making her itch. She wanted to leave, to return to her cousin's home and wash the stink of the man from her body. After taking a few breaths to quiet the rage that was becoming harder to control, she faced the man again.
"Put it in her drink or her food."
"I dinnae serve her."
"Wait until she has been busy at some chore for several hours, then bring her some wine and, mayhap, something to eat. Tell her her husband sent it."
"That may work. Why her? I thought ye wished the laird dead."
"I do, but that isnae being accomplished, is it? Mayhap, if another of his wives dies, he will be seen as the murderer he is and will be hanged. It willnae be as satisfying, but twill serve. If not, he will be a widower again, and I can marry him. Then I will be able to deal with this myself as I had planned to ere that red-haired slut interfered."
"I am nay sure ye will be able to. They say his memory begins to return."
"Then ye had best succeed at this so that I can get close to the laird again.
We dinnae want him wandering back to Muirladen, do we. If he does regain all of his memory, ye and I could find ourselves in a great deal of trouble."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ilsa grimaced and rubbed at the ache in her back. She had been studying Anabelle's journals since right after breaking her fast and it was now late in the afternoon. A brief time spent with the children as she nursed Cearnach had been her only respite. She was tired and somewhat disheartened. She also felt battered by all she had read.