"I would think the mon is fair vulnerable as weel," said Diarmot.
"In many ways, aye," agreed Sigimor. "She was shown her own weakness with the first rape." He glanced at Diarmot. "I think there were other abuses, mayhaps other rapes."
Diarmot nodded. "I got that feeling, too."
"So, Lady Anabelle came to the decision to turn that weapon, as she saw it, against men. Her trysts were written of as if they were battles waged and won.
She had a strong fascination with a mon's private parts."
"I noticed those things finally. Anabelle turned that mon's weapon into a mon's weakness."
"She certainly tried her best. Some men think getting a lass into their bed means they are handsome, or monly, or great lovers. Some women think getting a mon into their beds means they are beautiful, desirable, may e'en think it means they are loved. Lady Anabelle thought it proved her strong and the mon weak, fools whose will and wit rest in their rods. As I read her writings, I got the distinct impression that Anabelle saw every mon who succumbed to her allure as a weakling. She especially enjoyed turning so many of your people into traitors, Diarmot. Pushing them to betray their laird in her arms. She considered it a galling defeat when she couldnae get any of your brothers to succumb. She loathed Lady Gillyanne."
"I suspicion that is because Gillyanne saw what Anabelle was all too clearly."
"Aye, I believe so. At times your late wife sounded as if she was on some vengeful crusade. Since we now ken many of the men simply wanted to bed a woman, tis clear Lady Anabelle was deluded in thinking she had accomplished any more than giving a mon what he wanted. A verra troubled woman."
"And the young lass she made her lover wasnae, or isnae, much saner, I suspect."
"Nay, and reading your wife's writings has only made me e'en more certain that that woman is the one we seek."
"But, ye willnae tell me if ye found some hint as to where or who, will ye?"
Sigimor shook his head. "Nay, for I cannae be sure. I need to talk to Liam.
Talking on what few suspicions I have now will serve nay purpose, may e'en falsely raise your hopes."
Diarmot did not think his hopes could get any higher, but he made no further argument. He had tried very hard not to let his expectations grow and had failed miserably. Every instinct he had told him he would soon find the answers he had sought for so long. He was not sure he could endure another disappointment.
Anger, bitterness, and fear had ruled his life for too long. The anger and bitterness had faded, time working its magic on the wounds Anabelle had inflicted. Ilsa had aided that healing as well, and it was past time he recognized that gift. The fear lingered, fed by his still-incomplete memories and his unknown enemy. It had been bad enough when the enemy had been his alone, but now his foe sought to kill his wife and had shown that he, or she, cared nothing about the lives of his children, either. He wanted that enemy gone, the fear scoured from his life, and the threat removed from his family. It was past time this game ended. He briefly glanced back in the direction of Clachthrom.
When he rode back through those gates, he wanted to do so as a man who remembered the past, but was free of it.
*
"Do ye think he will find the truth?" asked Fraser as she sat beside Ilsa at the head table in the great hall.
Ilsa looked at Fraser, Gay, and Glenda who were obviously making the most of enjoying a midday meal but could not completely hide their intense curiosity.
She had called the women together for a council of war, as she liked to think of it. Since Nanty was with the four older children and Jenny was watching the four youngest, it seemed a perfect time.
"Aye, I think he will, or most of it," Ilsa replied. "E'en before that fall brought so many of his memories back, Diarmot's memory was stirring. A few words or some incident would yank free an odd memory now and again. He is now riding to the place where it all began. The truth, however, may nay give him all the answers he seeks."
"Oh, ye mean he may nay find his enemy?"
"There is that chance, but I think tis a small one. I just worry because this enemy has remained nay more than a chimera for so long. Diarmot's lack of memory helped, tis certain. I e'en think that beating happened because Diarmot had drawn too close to the truth. What puzzles me is, why did naught else happen for so verra long?"
"Because, if he couldnae remember anything, what was the need to kill him?"
asked Gay, then frowned. "Nay, that makes no sense, for someone seems to have been trying to kill him before that."
"Aye, e'er since Anabelle died, Diarmot appears to have become an extremely unlucky mon," said Ilsa.
"Ye are certain that is when it all started?"
"Aye. I decided to ask about, to see if there was a clearly marked time when all of Diarmot's troubles began. There was. But, puzzling o'er all that isnae why I wished to have this wee talk."