Fraser had said Anabelle was a troubled woman. That was far too gentle a word for the woman she had found in these journals. If there had been a rime in Anabelle's life when she had not been filled with anger and hatred, it had been before she had begun her journals. Anabelle had scorned and ridiculed everyone.
Not quite everyone, Ilsa thought, as she glanced over the entry she had just read. Whoever her Precious Love was had been spared for most of the time. Every now and then Precious Love had obviously misbehaved and Anabelle had been scathing in her denunciation, ranting about betrayals and a need for vengeance.
Then Precious Love would be forgiven, even though, in Ilsa's opinion, that had not been a very good thing for Precious Love. Anabelle's love appeared to have been a dominating, all-consuming thing. It had demanded complete subjugation, blind adoration, and unwavering obedience, Ilsa had to wonder about the sanity of any person who would endure that for so many years.
She gasped and sat up straight, feeling the thrill of discovery. Precious Love was the only person mentioned with any consistency through the years.
Others, such as Diarmot and Fraser, were mentioned more often than others, but none had the constancy of Precious Love. That annoying name had been sprinkled throughout every journal. Whoever it was had obviously been an integral part of Anabelle's life.
Just as she started to glance through the journals to confirm her observation, Ilsa was distracted by Geordie's entrance into her solar. It annoyed her a little that he had not asked permission to come in, but she scolded herself for that unwarranted irritation. She had left the door open partway so that she could hear if any of the children cried or called to her.
Geordie had obviously thought that meant anyone was free to come and go. She smiled at him as he set a tray of wine and sweetened oatcakes down on her table.
"This was kind of ye," she said.
"Oh, it wasnae my idea, m'lady," Geordie said. "The laird thought ye may want some." He glanced at the journals. "Ye have been working all day on these books.
Have ye found anything important?"
"Nay," she replied and wondered why she felt the need to lie to the man. "I begin to think my husband is right, that something else had compelled him to come to Dubheidland."
"So, ye will be putting them aside soon, aye?"
"Aye." She sipped at her wine, finding it a little bitter, but decided it would probably go well with the sweetened oatcakes. "I believe I might suggest the burning of them as it wouldnae be good for Alice to stumble upon them someday."
She exchanged a few idle pleasantries with Geordie before he finally left, then frowned. She had lied to him and had no idea why she had felt it necessary to do so. Diarmot apparently trusted the man and it was no secret that she was digging her way through Lady Anabelle's journals for some clues about Diarmot's enemy. Yet, the moment he had asked if she had found anything, she had grown wary and secretive. Mayhap Diarmot's suspicious nature was infecting her, she mused as she returned to her reading.
A glass of wine and several oatcakes later, Ilsa had her suspicions confirmed. Precious Love had been a part of Anabelle's life from the beginning.
The meeting had occurred while Anabelle was fostered with the woman she referred to only as L.O. Ilsa judged Anabelle's age to have been about fourteen at that time, yet the girl had obviously already had several lovers by then. The first man had not been welcome, of that Ilsa had no doubt. It was possible that had been when Anabelle had begun to hate men.
Except for Precious Love, Ilsa corrected herself as she poured herself another glass of wine. Yet, if Anabelle loved this person why had she not married him? Why had she been so consistently unfaithful? It also appeared that Anabelle and Precious Love had talked about those other men, scorned and ridiculed them together. Ilsa found that beyond strange.
Not sure why she did so, Ilsa sought out entries concerning private moments with Precious Love and lined up all the journals, each opened to such an entry.
Sipping at her wine, she read each, from the first to the last. The way Anabelle wrote of her lovemaking with Precious Love differed in many ways from her writings about all her other lovers. The tone lacked the usual scorn, although there was the hint of triumph, so he may have been a reluctant lover at times.
Precious Love had soft hands, soft skin, and smelled sweet. Not once did Anabelle describe Precious Love's genitals, something the woman had delighted in doing when writing about every other lover. Precious Love was smaller than Anabelle and had beautiful hair.
Ilsa cursed, finished her wine, and carefully reread every entry. She was so certain she had just discovered something very important her heart was pounding.
Soft hands, soft skin, smelled sweet, small, beautiful hair, a lovely voice, and dainty feet, Ilsa made careful note of each description, wrote them down, and read her list twice. Then she very carefully added one line of praise contained in a tale about a brief tryst: Precious Love kens how to touch a woman, kens a woman's needs and desires as no mon e'er could.