"Nay in your hands."
"I have used one before." She looked at Alice. "I will be grieved to hurt Alice. She looks so verra much like Anabelle. Tis as if Anabelle lives on in her child."
"Wheesht, I hope not. Anabelle was vicious. She used people. She used ye, too, Precious Love."
"Ye didnae ken Anabelle," snapped Margaret. "Ye could ne'er understand her.
Those men, those swine, thought they had beaten her, but she rose victorious o'er them. She made them crawl, exposed their filthy weakness to all the world.
Aye, she used them, but she loved me." Margaret sighed.
"If twas possible, I would spare her child, raise her as my own. It cannae be, however. If I am to have my revenge upon Diarmot, ye all have to die."
"Since ye have killed Geordie and Lucy, just how do ye plan to explain our deaths?"
"Oh, I shall make sure it looks as if Geordie killed ye, then poisoned himself. Guilt drove him to it, of course. Mayhap I shall leave a wee note wherein he confesses all. Lucy's death, too. I must nay forget that."
"Och, nay. I dinnae suppose ye have considered the possibility that I may offer a few objections to your plans. Or, did ye expect me to simply hold my hair out of the way and direct ye to the best place to strike?"
Ilsa could see how angry Margaret was growing and decided her plan was working. It surprised her a little for she had not completely expected it to.
She had hoped to make Margaret so angry, so agitated, she would act without thought, would be blindly eager to spill her blood. Then Ilsa could make a run for the door, drawing the woman outside as Margaret chased her. More important, it would draw Margaret and the sword she held away from the children, out to a place where Ilsa would feel it safe to draw and use her own weapons, to fight.
It was a plan with only a small chance of success, she had thought, but apparently she had been wrong.
"Do ye nay understand that your wee life is in my hands?" Margaret hissed.
"What I understand is that ye obviously lost your wits years ago. I dinnae fear ye. Ye are naught but a murderous whore, just like your lover Anabelle was."
Margaret's rage came so hot and swift, Ilsa nearly missed her chance, a mistake that could have been deadly. She raced for the door even as Margaret lunged toward her, sword raised. Margaret quickly followed, screaming curses.
Ilsa was prepared to run a long way, but then she heard Margaret stumble. She turned, hoping to take advantage of it, but Margaret was already getting back on her feet, the sword still firmly grasped in her hand. Ilsa slid her hand into the hidden slit in her skirts and clasped the dagger that was sheathed there.
Now she had the freedom to draw her weapons and fight. Although she did not want to kill Margaret, she was ready to do so if needed. The woman's obvious madness had eaten away at Ilsa's bloodlust.
"Margaret is going to kill her," said Diarmot.
He started to move into the clearing surrounding the cottage only to be yanked back by Sigimor, who said, "If ye go charging in there now, ye will distract Ilsa and that could certainly get her killed."
Diarmot did not move, his gaze fixed upon Ilsa, but he wondered aloud, "Where is Geordie? Or Lucy?"
"Gone from here or dead, I should think. They would be watching this if they were able. Dinnae think Ilsa would have gotten Margaret outside waving that sword about if Geordie was still close at hand. Or able."
"Nay, I think ye may be right. So, my children could be all alone in the cottage."
"Ah, aye, and that makes sense. That is why Ilsa has drawn this madwoman out here. Now Ilsa can draw her own weapons and fight without fearing that the children will be hurt." Sigimor looked to the rear of the cottage and smiled faintly. "Ye do breed some fine children, Diarmot."
Diarmot followed the direction of Sigimor's gaze and nearly gaped. Alice was coming out of the back of the cottage dragging a blanket upon which rested his sons. The little girl was having a difficult time, stumbling as she fought to pull the blanket along. It was a lot of weight for the child to haul, but she appeared very determined.
"Come on," said Sigimor. "I think tis safe enough for us to go round and come up behind the cottage."
After one last look at his wife, Diarmot followed the others. He wanted to rush down and end the threat Ilsa faced, but forced himself to accept the judgment of her kinsmen. They knew her strengths and skills far better than he did. He could, however, help his daughter and sons.
By the time Diarmot reached Alice, she was crying silently and was badly scraped from falling down so often, but she was still struggling to get her brothers away from the cottage. Her eyes widened when she saw him and the others, but she obeyed his signal to be quiet. A moment later, he was holding her in his arms while Sigimor carefully checked the twins for any injuries.
"They wanted to hurt my brothers, Papa," Alice said quietly.