No one speaks of it, but we all ken that such love can exist between men. Why not women? Nay, tis the rest of it. Penances? Crawling to her? That is what sets one's stomach to twitching." He frowned. "And Anabelle wasnae only her love, was she? She was her master. She was probably her whole life."
Ilsa nodded. "She couldnae marry her love, either, had to watch her marry elsewhere, had to watch her belong to someone else and give that hated mon a child."
"And she believes that mon killed her," said Diarmot.
"Ah, nay, though the woman may have made herself believe that," said Ilsa, slumping back against the pillows as weariness began to overtake her. "Precious Love gave Anabelle the potion which killed her."
Diarmot cursed again, then began to pick up the journals. "So how does one find this woman?"
"I think ye guessed. L.O. is all Anabelle called the woman she and Precious Love fostered with."
"Rest, Ilsa." Diarmot kissed her. "Ye have given me a great deal to think on.
Whether this Precious Love is the one who tried to kill me or nay, she will have at least some of the answers I need. I just need to find her."
The moment Diarmot and Nanty left, Ilsa made herself comfortable in the bed and closed her eyes. She had used up what little strength she had had, but decided it had been worth it. In her heart, she felt this woman was their enemy.
If Precious Love had been a man, she was sure Diarmot and Nanty would have immediately agreed. It was often difficult for men to think a woman could be dangerous in any important way, but Ilsa suspected a few certain men were about to learn an important lesson. If a woman wanted to, she could be as ruthless and deadly as any man.
"Precious Love?" Sigimor muttered between bites of rabbit stew. "What a ridiculous name. Almost puts one off one's food."
"Tis a good thing ye have a strong stomach then," said Diarmot. "Anabelle called her lover that."
"And her lover was a woman? Does this woman hate men, too?"
"Aye. As Anabelle, I think that loathing was bred at a verra young age and probably through rape. I believed Anabelle's tale of rape, the one she told me to explain her lack of a maidenhead. Now, after reading the early journals more closely, I see why. She was actually telling me a true story. From what Anabelle wrote, this other woman was also raped, and at a verra young age."
"And so she decided to love women?"
"Nay, I doubt rape or loathing men did that. What few women I have kenned who suffered from a mon's brutality didnae want any lover, mon or woman. If they recovered, as Gay seems to be recovering, they wanted a mon. This lass probably always preferred women. Anabelle rarely mentions Precious Love having another lover, a mon. My wife apparently liked anything." Diarmot shrugged. "We ne'er question those men who prefer men, just accept it as so. It must be the same with women. It just is."
"Aye, I suppose." Sigimor took a large chunk of bread and dipped it into his stew. "If one thought of this lover as a mon and gave him all those same reasons for going, weel, mad with grief and wanting revenge, I suspicion we wouldnae be having this discussion. We would be out hunting the bastard. Tis just a wee bit galling to think some lass has been leading us about in circles and nearly succeeding in killing ye and Ilsa right under our noses."
"Weel, we cannae be certain this woman is the one who tried to kill us," said Diarmot.
"Tis her. She obviously has someone helping her, but tis this Precious Love behind all this trouble." He rolled his eyes. "Best pray we find her ere she succeeds. 'e dinnae want 'Murdered by Precious Love' on your crypt stone."
Sigimor winked and shoved the stew-soaked chunk of bread into his mouth.
Diarmot gave both Tait and Nanty a look of disgust when they laughed. Sigimor had a very odd sense of humor, he decided. He understood the need for a moment or two of foolishness. The last few days had been very long and weighted with anger and uncertainty. Until the one who had tried to kill him and Ilsa was gone, however, Diarmot could not share in it.
"Ye cannae remember why ye were riding about our lands yet, can ye?" asked Sigimor.
"Nay," replied Diarmot. "I searched through all of Anabelle's writings, as did Nanty, but we could not find anything that pointed me toward Dubheidland or Muirladen. I ken whatever did is still there, it just doesnae want to reveal itself. Nothing in Anabelle's writings brings it forth. Fraser couldnae help us, either. Anabelle rarely spoke of her past. And, as Fraser says, Anabelle didnae see her as a confidante, merely a servant. Cannae think of who L.O. might be, either."
"If tis someone near Dubheidland, it could be one of several people. It all depends upon whether the L stands for a title or a Christian name."
"I believe it is the name of the woman Anabelle and her lover were fostered with, the one who was training them."