"Weel, that was certainly hearty," Ilsa murmured when she was finally able to catch her breath and felt Diarmot chuckle against her skin.
Proper it was not, however, she mused, as she looked over the man sprawled in her arms. Fast, furious, and a little rough, but not proper. She supposed she ought to be outraged that he would ravish her then tug on his boots and ride away but, with her body still warm and alive from his lovemaking, it was impossible. She had not been able to satisfy his needs until now and this was a journey that could no longer be delayed.
It was probably foolish, but she actually felt a little flattered. Diarmot had obviously understood the implications of her having a bath and, despite how important this journey was to him, had rushed to her side. Since it had only been six days since they had last made love, Ilsa knew it was not the urgency of long deprivation that had brought him there. The fact that he would be leaving Clachthrom with the memory of the passion they could share still fresh in his mind was certainly a good thing. No, she thought, Diarmot might be dashing from her bed to saddle his horse and leave, but she could see no cause for complaint about what had just happened.
"I would like naught more than to stay here," Diarmot said, kissed her, and got out of bed, "but I cannae."
Ilsa sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts, and watched Diarmot dress.
"Did Sigimor find any clues in Anabelle's journals?"
"He hasnae said. I asked, but he just shrugged. Said he wants to talk to Liam first. Liam is the clever cousin, aye?"
"Och, aye. I like to think all we Camerons are clever," she exchanged a brief grin with Diarmot, "but Liam is our shining light."
"Every family has one. The twins are too young to ken their strengths, but, right now, Odo is ours, I think."
It was not easy, but Ilsa hid the emotion which swelled up within her over the way he had called Odo "ours." "Nay question about that."
"I must be on my way." He gave her a quick, fierce kiss before starting toward the door.
"Dinnae ye dare to ride away until I get down to the bailey."
"Be quick about it then. I am nay the only one eager to get to Dubheidland."
He laughed softly when she started muttering as he left. It surprised him that she had not objected more to his rushing her into bed, vigorously tumbling her, and then hurrying away again. The moment he had realized what her calling for a bath meant, however, he had been unable to resist going to her. It certainly made for a nicer farewell than a mere wave, he thought, and grinned as he stepped out into the bailey.
"I am nay sure, Tait," drawled Sigimor, "but, as Ilsa's brothers, I think it might be our duty to slap that look off that rogue's face."
Diarmot just smiled sweetly at Ilsa's brothers and moved to check the saddle on his horse.
"I think we ought to slap that look off his face simply because he is wearing it and we arenae," said Tait.
"Aye, that would be justice," said Nanty.
Before that nonsense could continue, Fraser and Gay brought the children out to say farewell. Diarmot looked over the eight children he claimed as his. He could be certain of only the twins, and that was a judgment he had made only recently. It no longer mattered, however. Until Ilsa's arrival, the children had been a rarely seen responsibility, but she had brought them out of the nursery, made him come to know them, and he was glad of it. They were yet another reason for him to make this journey, to reclaim lost memories, good and bad, and to find the truth.
A slightly disheveled Ilsa hurried out of the keep and Diarmot suddenly knew exactly what he wanted, what he needed. Here was the family he had thought to build when he had married Anabelle. His children and his wife were all gathered to wish him God's speed and they would be waiting to welcome him upon his return. He had been laird of Clachthrom for nearly six years and had never had that. Now it was within his reach. All he had to do was clear away the lingering confusion and doubt so that he could grasp that promise without hesitation.
Once away from Clachthrom, after exchanging several waves with his children, Diarmot looked at Sigimor. "Will ye tell me what ye think ye discovered in Anabelle's journals now?" he asked.
"I am nay sure I discovered anything save that your wife was, weel, how can one say it?" he replied.
"A whore?" Diarmot discovered that the only feeling he had concerning Anabelle now was a twinge of embarrassment over the fact that he had been fooled enough to marry the woman.
"Aye." Sigimor grimaced. "I read near all of them, deciding to see if there were any hints about her past further along which might prove helpful. Aye, she was a whore, but, since it wasnae for money or because she had a hunger that couldnae be satisfied, I found myself wondering why."
"Did ye find an answer?"
"Mayhap. I think she wanted the power."
"How would that give her power?" asked Tait. "How could she think she was powerful just because she had some fool thrusting into her? Seems to me a woman is fair vulnerable in that position."