"Nay, ye need to rest."
"And ye need to see what I saw, to judge its importance as quickly as possible. We have already lost two days. Someone tried to kill ye on your own lands, Diarmot. If the incident at the cave wasnae an accident, they also tried to kill me right upon your own lands. They have poisoned me right here inside this keep. That brings the enemy too close to our bairns for my liking. I can rest after I show ye what I found."
Diarmot nodded and went to get the journals, Ilsa was right. They needed to find this person, needed to find the traitor within Clachthrom. Although it infuriated him to admit it, he knew the only men he could trust were Nanty, young Tom, and the Camerons. He knew it was probably unfair, but he would not include Geordie on that list until he was absolutely certain about where the man got that wine. He could also trust Gay, Fraser, and Glenda. There were one or two others, such as little Jenny, but none of them would be much use in protecting his wife or his children.
He was collecting up what he needed when Nanty walked in and said, "I thought ye were visiting with Ilsa."
After he explained, Diarmot recognized the curiosity Nanty could not hide.
"Bring the writing supplies. Your hand is better than mine," he said as he started out of the room. "I am surprised the Camerons arenae lurking about."
"Once they kenned ye and I were staying here, they went hunting rabbit.
Sigimor likes rabbit stew."
"So it isnae just me they dinnae trust."
"Oh, they trust ye now. Seems they only trust each other, ye, me, and young Tom. Then the women, of course. Gay, Fraser, Glenda, and little Jenny. Tait thinks Peter is probably trustworthy, but wasnae ready to add him to the list.
Or Geordie."
"Their list matches mine. Comforting, if irritating." He smiled faintly when Nanty laughed.
Diarmot hesitated a little when he entered the bedchamber and saw that Ilsa's eyes were closed. Before he could turn and leave, however, she opened her eyes and smiled at him. He cautiously approached the bed.
"Are ye sure ye dinnae wish to rest some more first?" he asked as he set the journals down on the bed.
"Nay. This would prey upon my mind so vigorously I wouldnae be able to rest."
She started to look through the journals, finding the pages she had left them open to. "This Precious Love is mentioned here and there from the first journal to the last. I believe Anabelle met Precious Love when she was fostered with a certain L.O. She was probably fourteen then."
"A longtime love? That sounds unlike Anabelle. And, she wasnae faithful, was she?"
"Never. So, one wonders why she didnae marry Precious Love. Why so consistently unfaithful? At times, she and Precious Love talked about Anabelle's lovers. There." She looked at the journals she had before her, then at Nanty who sat next to the bed. "I am going to read ye a word or two from each of these and I want ye to list them."
When Nanty nodded, she began. As the list grew, so did the looks of confusion on Diarmot and Nanty's faces. Ilsa carefully set to the side the journal with the sentence she considered the coup de grace. She held it when she finished with the others and watched Diarmot read the list Nanty had made. When both men looked at her, she just smiled. There was the glint of understanding in their eyes, but also hesitation.
"Precious Love sounds a verra odd sort of mon," murmured Nanty.
"Verra odd," agreed Ilsa. "Now, write this down as I read it. 'Precious Love kens how to touch a woman, kens a woman's needs and desires as no mon e'er could.' " She watched both men read it again, then curse.
"I did catch her one time with a woman," said Diarmot. "I didnae see the woman though. It was dark, I was drunk, and the lass burrowed into a cloak and fled ere I could get a good look at her. Yet, sin though the church is wont to call it, it doesnae mean this woman is the one we seek."
"Mayhap not," agreed Ilsa. "It wasnae actually the discovery that Precious Love was a woman that made me think this is what sent ye hurrying out to Dubheidland or thereabout. Yet, Precious Love was verra important, was a part of Anabelle's life since they were both verra young girls. From all I read, Anabelle ruled that woman with an iron fist, controlled her, enslaved her, if ye will. It gives me the shivers, but Anabelle wrote of times when she demanded a penance and got it, even to making the woman crawl to her on her belly, naked.
Think of what that woman must be like, how she must have felt about Anabelle to allow herself to be used that way. One has to wonder. From the time she was a young lass, Anabelle was her love."
"A sick sort of love," muttered Nanty, "and nay because it was between women.