"Curse it, I just want to see how she fares, ye fool," Diarmot complained even as he allowed Nanty to pull him away from Ilsa's bedchamber door. "Ye would think I was planning to slip in and cut her throat." He exchanged a final glare with Sigimor who guarded the door.
"Ye talked to Glenda," said Nanty, "and she said Ilsa will recover. Until Ilsa recovers and clears up this confusion, her brothers willnae let ye near her. Accept it. She has had to put up with it from ye for weeks." When Diarmot started toward Ilsa's solar, Nanty released his grip upon his arm. "Suspicion has become a cursed plague in this keep. E'en Odo was putting us through an inquisition."
"I kenned Odo wouldnae accept some vague soothing words," said Diarmot, pleased to talk about something beside the fact that he was getting a hearty dose of his own medicine and disliking it intensely. "Ilsa told me to ne'er underestimate the lad. She said he is what she considers the most dangerous of creatures." He smiled faintly at the memory.
"Oh? And what would that be?"
"A clever little boy." He nodded when Nanty grinned. "And he is. If I hadnae kenned the way to the cave that day, he would have led me to it without any hesitation. He was terrified that day, but got to Clachthrom to seek help and told me exactly what I needed to ken. He rules that nursery, but kindly, and by the will of the others. And, the way his wee mind works is a wonder. I dinnae think Ivy witless, yet Odo has her convinced that tis nay him letting wind in the night, but a dragon making the noises and the stink is the dragon's breath."
He chuckled along with Nanty as they entered Ilsa's solar. "Aye, Odo holds great promise."
"Are ye sorry he isnae your heir?"
"Aye and nay. To be my heir, I would have had to marry his mother and that would have been a misery. If he doesnae choose to go elsewhere, he will serve the twins verra weel indeed, however. Odo has a keen sense of the order of things, has e'en asked me which of the twins will be the laird. I believe Ilsa and Fraser have made it clear to them all how the rules work and without hurting feelings or stirring resentment. I doubt I could have done it so weel."
"It doesnae hurt that your wife treats them all as if they are her own, either. What is wrong?" Nanty asked when Diarmot scowled at Ilsa's table where the journals were. "The journals are still here."
"Aye, but closed," said Diarmot, looking around the room once before returning his gaze to the table. "They were open when we first ran in here after hearing Ilsa scream. I noticed that when she spoke of the wine and I looked for it. They were spread out and all opened."
"Weel, someone has cleaned up all signs of her illness. Mayhap they cleaned other things."
"Nay. The yarns for the tapestry she works on are still scattered about on the seat near the window. Her sewing is still scattered about near the fireplace. Her quill and ink were not put away. Aye, someone cleaned up the vomit, but naught else was touched except for these." He touched the journals.
"They have all been closed. The notes Ilsa told me to look at arenae here either, yet tis clear that she had done some writing."
Nanty cursed and dragged his hand through his hair. "She found something, didnae she?"
"Aye, which could prove a danger to her, but that isnae what worries me the most."
"Nay? If she made notes and someone has them, that means your enemy now kens what she has learned."
"True, but what troubles me the most is, who took them? It would appear that my enemy has an ally at Clachthrom." He nodded when Nanty cursed again.
"Exactly. The enemy I cannae find, cannae recognize, has set an adder in my nest."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
If there was a part of Ilsa which did not ache, she suspected it would be a while before she found it. Then the memories began to crowd her waking mind and she nearly cried out. Someone had tried to poison her. It had been in the wine, wine sent to her by Diarmot. Before fear and suspicion could grasp hold of her heart, her mind banished it. Someone wanted Diarmot to be blamed. There were a lot of things concerning her husband she was confused and uncertain about, but not her belief in his innocence. The question that needed answering was not whether or not Diarmot had tried to kill her, but who would want everyone to think he had.
A dull ache low in her belly sharply recalled her to what else she had suffered. She had lost the child she had only just begun to suspect she was carrying. She knew that, because of the poison, it was probably for the best, but that eased her grief only a little. Ilsa felt the warmth of tears upon her cheeks and heard someone move near the bed.
"Diarmot?" she whispered and struggled to open her eyes.