Diarmot sighed with a mixture of relief and exhaustion as he left the bathing room off the kitchens and started toward his bedchamber. The day had held more triumph than tragedy, but he was not sure he would even have the strength to make love to his wife. Even the confrontation with Margaret's kinswoman had been easier than he had expected. The woman had assured him that there would be no demands for revenge, that Margaret would be quietly buried and all forgotten.
He frowned as he realized that Margaret's cousin had not really been surprised by the madness that had surely infected her cousin. Diarmot had to wonder if Margaret's father had suspected that his daughter was not quite sane.
If he had, the man should never have tried to marry the girl to him. Diarmot decided there was no gain in fretting over it, but he would be very careful in his dealings with the man in the future. It was to be hoped that, after this tragedy, those would be few and far between.
The other thing that left him an odd mixture of exhausted and tense was that he had had a revelation. He loved his wife. He had suspected as much as soon as his memory had fully returned at Muirladen, but now he knew it for certain. That first sight of her facing the sword-wielding Margaret had finished what had begun as he had stood in the copse and recalled their first time together. He had known that he would not find life very sweet if he did not have Ilsa at his side.
Once she had loved him too, but he was no longer certain of that. He had hurt her, could recall the hurt in her eyes all too clearly as time and time again he had abused that love. Although he had done it all unknowingly, he suspected the damage done was the same. Diarmot was not sure how he could mend it. He was very afraid that he may have killed that love he now knew he needed as much as he needed air to breathe.
He was going to have to woo his wife, he decided as he entered their bedchamber and looked toward the bed. It was not something he felt he was very good at, but he would do his best. While matters were so uncertain between them, he did not think he should suddenly begin declaring his love and need for her.
He was going to have to go slowly, show her he trusted her and win back her trust.
Quietly shedding his clothes, he eased into bed and pulled her into his arms.
This was where she belonged. A part of him had known it from the beginning, although he had fought it. Diarmot wanted Ilsa to know it, too.
"Diarmot?" Ilsa murmured, turning in his arms and sleepily kissing his chin.
"Aye, sorry to wake ye," he said, even as he realized that he was not quite as exhausted as he had thought he was.
She snuggled up against him and stroked his chest. "Was there any trouble when ye took Margaret's body to her cousin?"
"Nay." He caressed her slender back and smiled when she hummed with
pleasure and moved against him. "The cousin wasnae verra surprised at all Margaret had done."
"The family kenned she was insane?"
"I fear so, but it doesnae matter."
"At least three people are dead, one of them quite probably an innocent, and many more were almost killed. I think it does matter."
"Actually, there is a strong possibility Lady Ogilvey was murdered by Margaret." As he continued to caress her, he told her all he had learned at Muirladen.
"Jesu," she whispered. "One has to wonder how it all went on for so long and no one put a stop to it."
Ilsa was a little surprised that her passion was stirred by his touch despite the horror of what they were discussing. She decided it was because she had faced death today, and dealt it out. The warmth of his body, the heat of his touch, were helping to ease the chill all of that had set into her bones. Here, in his arms, was life, and the passion they shared was delightful proof of that.
"I wouldnae trust Lesley Campbell much in the future, if I were ye," she said, and gasped softly as he licked her nipple through the thin linen night shift she wore.
"I have nay intention of doing so."
He tugged off her night shift, then settled her lithe body beneath his. "I have been gone for a sennight."
Ilsa kissed his strong throat. "I did notice that ye werenae about much."
"I was aware of a certain absence meself, especially at night."
"What? My brothers didnae keep ye good company?" Ilsa slid her hand down his stomach and stroked his erection, enjoying the soft sounds of pleasure he made.
"They certainly couldnae provide me with the company I was hungering for." He kissed the soft skin between her breasts. "They dinnae smell as sweet, either."