The Chieftain (17 page)

C
onnor waited for Ilysa to come to supper, letting the food grow cold before he took up his eating knife to signal the start
of the meal. Though his appetite had left him, he forced himself to eat. Nor did he permit himself to glance at her empty
chair again, though he was aware of it every moment.

He maintained a pretense of calm and spoke with his men throughout the meal and afterward as well. When he could leave the
hall without his departure seeming abrupt, he went up to his chamber.

“Unless we have guests, I will no longer require guards outside my door,” he told the two warriors waiting there. “Tell the
others.”

Having guards outside his chamber was a symbol of chieftainship that now seemed far less important than his privacy. His sword
and the bar on his door was all the protection he needed.

He sat in his chair, drumming his fingers and staring at the glowing logs of peat on the brazier. As he waited for the night
to come, he tried to plan his strategy for the battle with the MacLeods, but his mind kept returning to Ilysa.

Again and again, he went over what happened in this chamber a few hours earlier. The signs of her innocence had been there,
but he had wanted her so badly that he had seen what he wanted to see. She had been willing, but willing to do what? She had
done little more than kiss him back, and he had reacted by tossing her skirts up and ravishing her.

Lust had made him deaf, dumb, and blind. For the first time, he understood how his father could disregard the consequences
and let himself be ruled by lust. But his father believed he had a right to indulge in his desire, no matter how selfish,
and he never felt guilty for it.

Connor was awash in guilt.

Time and again, he saw the swath of blood against the whiteness of Ilysa’s slender thigh. Then he recalled how her legs wobbled
as he rushed her out the door. Though he had been trying to protect her, that was no way to leave her. He could not make things
right. Still, he needed to talk to her and see how she fared.

Finally, the household was asleep, and he could go to her chamber without the entire castle knowing it. A short time later,
he rapped his knuckles lightly on her door.

“Who is it?” Ilysa’s voice came through the door.

“Connor.” He wondered if his name would gain him entry. After a pause, he heard the bar slide back.

He stepped inside quickly—and his breath caught when he saw her behind the door. Her skin and hair glowed in the golden light
of the flickering candle in her hand. Though there was nothing revealing about her long white nightshift, it had the power
of the forbidden to turn his thoughts in untoward directions. His breathing grew shallow as his gaze traveled down its length
to her beguiling bare toes poking out from the bottom.

Connor finally remembered to shut the door. “We must talk.”

She gestured toward the lone bench and, after setting her candlestick on the small table next to it, sat down on one end.
Ilysa looked so small and fragile that he felt huge sitting next to her. While he usually admired her capacity for silence,
he wished she would say something now.

“I was concerned when ye did not come to the hall all day,” he said. “Are ye all right?”

She nodded without meeting his gaze. Clearly, she was not all right.

“I am sorry I…” There were so many things to be sorry for that Connor did not know where to start, and so he said the last
thing he should have said aloud. “I’m sorry I couldn’t hold ye after.”

It turned out, however, to be the right thing.

Ilysa raised her gaze and gave him a faint smile. “That would have been nice.”

When he gingerly put his arm around her, she leaned her head against his shoulder and gave a shuddering sigh. He held her
gently, and neither of them spoke for a long time.

“I’ve never bedded a virgin before,” he said at last. “Did I hurt ye badly?”

“No.”

He didn’t believe her. “I would have been gentler if I’d known,” he said, though he would not have done it at all. “You were
married. I don’t understand how ye could be untouched.”

“Mìchael was killed at the Battle of Flodden a short time after we wed.”

“Precisely how long were ye wed?” Connor asked, leaning back so he could see her face.

Ilysa paused and licked her lips. “Three months.”

“Three months?” Connor lifted her chin. “How could a man be wed to ye for even a day and not bed ye?”

Ilysa’s bottom lip trembled.

“What happened?” Connor brushed a loose red-gold strand back from her pixie face and resisted kissing her forehead.

“My husband didn’t want me in that way,” Ilysa said, blinking hard.

“Ye can’t be serious.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” she said. “I’m not pretty like Moira and Sìleas.”

“Ach, you’re as lovely as a woodland sprite.”

“Ye don’t have to tell me lies,” Ilysa said, attempting a smile, “though I confess I like it.”

“I don’t know how your husband could resist ye once he had ye na—” Connor clamped his mouth shut, but it was too late to stop
him from imagining her naked. Desire hit him hard.
Damn
, why had he not paused to take her clothes off today?

He reminded himself that he was here to comfort her—and to get some answers—but it was difficult to concentrate when he could
feel the warmth of her skin through the nightshift. He was far too aware that she wore nothing beneath it.

“Mìchael did try sometimes,” Ilysa said in a small voice. “But he couldn’t, and that was worse.”

“Did he like men?” Connor asked, as that seemed the only possible explanation. When her eyes went wide, he asked, “Ye do know
that some men are like that?”

She shook her head.

Connor was not surprised. He had met men among the nobility in France who did not hide their interest in other men, but a
Highland warrior with any sense of self-preservation would keep it secret. After Connor explained his suspicions about her
husband, Ilysa was thoughtful for a long moment.

“Mìchael did have a friend, another warrior, that he was especially close to,” she said. “But then, you’re close to my brother
and your cousins.”

“Not like that!” Connor took a deep breath. Ilysa should have had a husband who could share her passion—a passion Connor must
stop dwelling on. “I suspect he wanted a wife so no one would guess his secret. You were the perfect choice because you’d
never gossip with the other women about what happened—or didn’t—in bed.”

“That much is true,” she said, her face going pink. “As a healer, I’m often told women’s complaints about their husbands,
but I never told a soul.”

“I can see why he wed you, but why did you wed him?” he asked.

“My mother was dying, and she wished it,” Ilysa said. “She told me Mìchael would be a good husband because he would not be
demanding.”

Ach, Anna must have known.

“Duncan was gone, and I had no one else.” She shrugged her slender shoulder. “I suppose I was feeling a bit lost, and Mìchael
was a fine man.”

Anna had been a kindhearted but excessively fearful woman. The “undemanding” husband, oversize clothes, and severe headdresses
must have been her way, misguided though it was, of protecting her daughter. She had succeeded in hiding her daughter in plain
sight.

“I don’t know how I missed seeing how pretty ye are, even covered up as ye were,” he said.

Without thinking, he brushed the back of his fingers against Ilysa’s cheek. He was unprepared for the jagged bolt of lust
that tore through him, making him want her so badly that his hand shook. In his mind, he was already carrying her to the bed
and stripping off her nightgown. This time, he would savor every inch of her and make it last. He would rein in this tumultuous
need until she was gasping his name and…

“It will never happen again,” he said and got abruptly to his feet. Cool air hit his chest where she had been leaning against
him. His arms felt empty. “I just needed to know that ye were all right.”

When Ilysa looked up at him, he saw a dangerous longing in her eyes and knew she would let him stay. Temptation dug its talons
into him. One word, one touch, and she could be his.

“Ye mean a great deal to me,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt ye.”

He made himself go to the door. As he closed it behind him, Connor was certain he was doing the right thing for her. And yet,
it did not feel right—and he had never regretted anything more.

It had been two nights since Connor had come to her chamber. Though Ilysa knew he would not come again, she lay awake listening
for his knock. She finally gave up on sleep, wrapped a plaid around her shoulders, and went to her window to stare out into
the night.

Her attention was caught by a movement in the courtyard. It was probably just one of the men assigned night guard duty, but
the way the man skirted the edge of the courtyard as if he did not want to be seen, looked suspicious. When the moonlight
caught his fair hair, she knew who it was.

Where was Lachlan going this time of night? He was always disappearing. This time, she intended to find out why.

She ran down the stairs and crossed the hall on quiet feet amid the snoring men. After slipping through the outer door, she
stood at the top of the steps of the keep searching the dark for him. He was skulking next to the wall, halfway to the gate.
Holding her nightshift up with one hand and her plaid around her shoulders with the other, she raced across the courtyard.

Just as she caught up to him, he spun around.

“By the saints, Ilysa!” Lachlan said in a harsh whisper and put his dirk away. “Ye don’t sneak up on a warrior in the dark.
What in the hell are ye doing out here?”

“You’re the one sneaking about,” Ilysa whispered back. “Where are ye going?”

“Nowhere,” he said, leaning close and keeping his voice low. “I just came in, not that it’s any of your business.”

“Then where have ye been?” she asked. “If ye won’t tell me, perhaps you’ll be willing to tell the chieftain.”

She could feel Lachlan’s eyes boring holes into her through the darkness as the silence stretched between them.

“If ye can keep a secret,” he said at last, “I have a confession to make.”

“So long as it doesn’t endanger anyone else, I’ll keep your secret,” she promised. “I’ve been waiting for ye to tell me what
it is from the first day.”

Lachlan glanced about, she assumed to make sure that none of the guards on the wall was close enough to overhear.

“You were right about Connor,” Lachlan said. “He is a man worth serving.”

Ilysa’s shoulders relaxed. All along she had felt that Lachlan was good at his core and hoped his attitude toward Connor would
change. But since he had not said anything yet that could be deemed a confession, she waited for the rest.

“You were right about me, too,” he said. “I was a threat to him.”

She touched his arm. “What have ye done, Lachlan?”

“’Tis best ye don’t know,” he said. “But ye can trust me to mind Connor’s back from now on.”

She believed him. “I’m glad.”

“There is someone in the castle ye can’t trust, someone who is spying for Hugh Dubh,” he said. “I’m trying to find out who
it is.”

Connor awoke in a sweat with a throbbing erection. Ilysa haunted his dreams, robbing him of his sleep and peace of mind. Despite
his efforts to overcome his desire for her, he wanted to touch every inch of her bare skin, to see her naked above him, and
to feel the friction of her breasts against his chest. Most of all, he longed to be inside her and hear her soft moans of
pleasure in his ear.

He gave up on sleep and went to his window. From habit, he looked for the outline of the guards on the wall to be sure none
were asleep. They weren’t. Before turning away, he glanced around the courtyard. He started when he saw Ilysa in the far corner
with a man. What was she doing outside in the middle of the night?

And who in the hell is she with?

In the moonlight, he could not be absolutely certain who the man was. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and fair-haired. The
only man who came to mind was Lachlan of Lealt.

Jealousy, like an ugly green sea monster from the deep, sank its teeth into him and pulled him under.
What is she doing with Lachlan?
The question blazed in his head. No woman had ever aroused jealousy in him before, but the feeling was as unmistakable as
it was unfamiliar.

Connor had no right to object if Ilysa turned her attentions to another man. Bedding her once had been a mistake that could
never happen again. She was not his
and could not be
. More, it was his duty to find a man to look after her. Lachlan would make a good husband, if a lass did not require much
conversation. He had both the courage and the fighting skills to protect a wife and family. In truth, Connor could think of
no better choice for Ilysa than Lachlan of Lealt.

And yet, the thought of Lachlan touching her sent murder roiling through his veins.

C
onnor was standing by the hearth after breakfast when the doors to the hall swung open. Silence fell over the room as a gray-haired
man in shabby clothing entered carrying a young woman in his arms. As Connor watched her long hair and limp limbs sway with
the man’s steps, the memory of his mother being carried up the beach at Dunscaith slammed into his chest.

He knew at once that the lass was dead.

The people who had been milling about a moment before moved aside to let the gray-haired man pass as he crossed the room with
his burden to stand before Connor. Rage rolled through Connor as he took in the cuts and bruises on the dead lass’s face and
arms and the ugly finger marks around her neck. She was young, sixteen at most.

“My daughter,” the man said in a ragged voice. “She was to be wed in a week.”

Warriors died in battle. Connor felt sorrow for every man he lost, but it was an honorable death in the service of the clan,
and he accepted it. He could not, however, accept this travesty as part of warfare, though it often was. The violation and
murder of an innocent, young lass was unforgivable and merited the strongest possible retribution. He wanted to take his claymore
and kill every last MacLeod warrior himself.

“My wife lives, but they raped her as well,” the man said, his eyes deep wells of sorrow. “They tied me and made me watch
what they did.”

Connor’s ears rang with the white-hot fury pulsing through him.

“I promise you,” he said, clenching his fists. “The MacLeods will pay for this.”

The silence in the room echoed like an accusation in Connor’s head. Protecting his clan was his duty, and he had failed this
man and his family. All he could give them now was revenge. But he would give them that.

“The devils who did this to her,” the man said, fighting for control as he looked at his daughter draped in his arms, “were
not MacLeods.”

“Not MacLeods?” Connor said, stunned. What other clan would have committed this egregious offense against his people. “Who
then?”

“They were Hugh Dubh’s men.”

Lachlan watched Connor as the old man told him how Hugh’s men had gone on a rampage along the east coast of Trotternish, raiding
and killing MacDonald farmers who, up until now, had withstood the pressure from the MacLeods to abandon their homes and fields.
Connor’s face was an expressionless mask, but his rage showed in his clenched jaw and the fire in his eyes.

“Do ye know where Hugh Dubh’s men are now?” Connor asked the dead lass’s father in a surprisingly gentle voice. “They must
have a camp somewhere.”

Lachlan was disappointed when the father shook his head. That meant he would have to tell Connor about Hugh’s camp himself,
which could raise questions he did not wish to answer.

Ilysa appeared at the father’s side like the angel she was. With quiet murmurs, she persuaded him to lay his daughter’s body
on one of the long tables that were still set up from breakfast.

“Warriors, be ready,” Connor’s voice boomed out in the hall. “We leave within the hour to track down Hugh and his men.”

Lachlan followed Connor into the adjoining building and caught up with him on the stairs to his chamber.

“Can I have a word?” Lachlan asked, grabbing his arm.

When Connor turned around, he had battle rage in his eyes. If Hugh could see him now, he would think twice about challenging
him. Connor did not answer, but neither did he object when Lachlan followed him into his chamber and closed the door.

“This is a trick meant to trap you,” Lachlan said. “Can’t ye see it? Hugh’s men made certain this poor father knew who they
were, and then they let him go. They did that for a purpose.”

Connor was glaring at him, but he was listening.

“Hugh can’t touch ye while you’re inside the castle. He’s done this to lure ye out into the open, to a place of his choosing,”
Lachlan said. “Hugh knows this will make ye come, and he’ll be lying in wait for ye.”

“Hugh will continue killing and raping until I stop him,” Connor said, as he shoved a dirk into the side of his boot. “I cannot
sit in this castle while he does this to our people.”

A surge of anger swelled in Lachlan’s chest at Hugh. How could he have let himself be used by that filth of a man, who attacked
his own people?

“Leave Hugh for another day and fight the MacLeods,” Lachlan said, though he wanted to punish Hugh as much as Connor did.
“More of them are crossing the Snizort River each day.”

“We don’t have the forces to fight the MacLeods yet. We must hold off that battle until Beltane, when my cousins and Duncan
arrive with the rest of our warriors.” Connor paused, his face grim. “Pray we have a new ally to come to our aid as well,
because we’ll need one.”

“I don’t suppose you’re willing to wait for the others to arrive before going after Hugh,” Lachlan said, though he knew that
after seeing the old man and his dead daughter Connor would not delay. The problem was that Hugh also knew it.

“Unlike with the MacLeods, all I must do to disperse Hugh’s pirates is find my slippery uncle and kill him,” Connor said.
“That’s more a matter of luck than strength.”

They both knew it would require more than luck. Hugh’s men were foul, but they were good fighters.

“This business between you and Hugh is personal,” Lachlan said, trying a different tack. “Don’t give him what he wants. Send
some of us to fight him, while you stay here and hold the castle.”

“It is personal,” Connor said, pausing in his preparations to fix his steely gaze on Lachlan. “That’s exactly why I must be
the one to go after him.”

If Lachlan had been able to persuade Connor to let him lead the attack, he could have pretended to stumble upon Hugh’s lair
by chance. Now he had to tell Connor where it was without giving away how he came by the information.

“When I was out among our people this time, I heard that Hugh had taken over the old house next to the creek at the south
end of Staffin Bay,” Lachlan said, feeling uneasy about giving him a half-truth. “That’s a short distance from where the attack
occurred, so I suspect he’s still camped there.”

“We’ll look for the house, but if you’ve heard of it, most likely Hugh has already left it,” Connor said. “My uncle is famous
for slipping away into the mist.”

“I’ll see that the men and galleys are ready,” Lachlan said, intending to make certain he was in Connor’s boat. “How many
of us do ye want to take with ye?”

“One galley, twenty men,” Connor said as he strapped on his claymore. “Both you and Sorely are staying here.”

“But—”

“I can’t leave the castle vulnerable to an attack by the MacLeods,” Connor said, cutting him off. “I need ye here.”

“Take care then,” Lachlan said as they gripped forearms in a warrior’s farewell. “Watch for an ambush.”

“Always,” Connor said breaking into an unexpected grin. “Haven’t ye heard? I’m a hard man to kill.”

Connor stood at the bow, peering through the dense night fog that lay over the water. They were nearing Staffin Bay. If Lachlan
was right, Hugh had his camp here, and he would have men watching. Though Connor could not see it, the long, low offshore
island that sheltered the bay lay just ahead. The narrow inside passage was a perfect place to trap a passing boat, and Hugh
knew Connor was coming. If he were Hugh, he would post a lookout on the island.

The fog was too thick for the men to see a hand signal and maintaining absolute silence was essential now, so Connor crossed
the length of the galley, moving between the men working the oars, to speak to the man at the rudder.

“Steer us to the outer side of the small island,” he said close to the man’s ear. “Bring the boat to shore there.”

Connor’s cousin Alex had a sixth sense on the water and could navigate blind, but the man steering tonight was familiar with
this part of Trotternish and did well enough. Soon Connor heard the lap of waves hitting the beach, and the shoreline emerged
to his right. As they glided into the shallows, Connor moved between the men again and tapped the shoulders of the two he
wanted to go ashore with him.

The small island was barren of trees, which meant sound would travel over it almost as well as across the water. Before they
left the boat, he whispered instructions to the two going with him. They would not speak again.

The cold, damp air felt heavy in his lungs as they ran the short distance across the width of the island, keeping close enough
to see each other. When the ground sloped downward toward the opposite shore, they slowed their steps. Connor strained his
ears for the sound of voices or the crackle of a campfire.

Nothing. Damn.

When they reached the shore, he stood still for a long moment, listening hard. He thought he heard a voice across the bay,
but none closer. Stopping on the island had been a waste of time. Hugh must have moved his camp or set a different trap for
him.

But wait. What was that?
Connor heard something—probably just a deer—move up the shoreline to his right. Signaling to his partners to follow, he veered
inland until he was behind whatever had made the noise. The fog was so thick that he almost fell over Hugh’s lookouts before
one of them spoke.

“Hugh’s nephew won’t come tonight in this fog, will he?” the voice said.

Connor made out three men sitting in the beach grass just above the shore, facing the bay.

“Hugh was certain nothing would stop his nephew from coming once that old farmer told him what we did,” another of the lookouts
said. “The farm is just south of here. If that’s where Connor’s going, he’ll pass through here.”

Connor narrowed his eyes, trying to see better. One of the men had his hand on a taut rope that was tied to a rock beside
him. The other end of the rope stretched out to sea, a clever method, which he suspected Hugh had devised, for extending their
vision on a foggy night. By running a rope from the offshore island to a boat midway across the bay, and probably a second
rope from the boat to lookouts on the shore of the bay, Hugh’s men would be alerted to a passing galley that would otherwise
be hidden in the fog.

Connor considered taking one of the lookouts prisoner to question him, but it was better to keep this simple. The risk of
someone calling out was too great.

“Weren’t you the lucky one, getting the daughter first,” one of the men said, keeping his voice low. “The lass was hardly
worth the trouble by the time I had my turn.”

“But the mother still had some life in her,” the third said, and they all laughed quietly.

On his signal, Connor and his partners slit the lookouts’ throats soundlessly. He regretted he had neither the time nor patience
to give them a slower, more painful death.

Now that he had discovered Hugh’s trap, he could avoid it. After returning to the galley, they continued along the outer shore
of the island, rounded its southern tip, and entered the bay from the south, the opposite end from which they were expected.
The creek Lachlan described was nearby, and they came upon it quickly.

The fortuitous timing of Lachlan’s discovery of the location of Hugh’s lair raised questions in Connor’s mind, though his
information appeared to be correct. He was not completely certain of Lachlan’s loyalty to him. And yet he did trust the big,
fair-haired warrior to protect his fellow clansmen in the castle—and Ilysa, in particular—in Connor’s absence. It had not
been easy to leave Lachlan with her. Her safety, however, was far more important than his own petty jealousy.

The fog thinned as Connor and his men followed the creek up the hill, but the night was still dark. When he reached the top
of the rise, he saw windows lit by the glow of a lamp or hearth fire. Gradually, he made out the dark shape of a long, one-story
building.

His heart beat fast. At long last, he had found his uncle. Hugh had not yet abandoned the house. Connor had been this close
before, however, only to have Hugh escape. He was a slippery devil who could be counted on to save his own skin first. This
time, Connor was determined to catch him before he slithered away into the black night.

Connor stationed men at every window and positioned himself with the rest at the door. Two men held a log, waiting for Connor’s
signal to break it down. Connor’s muscles were taut with tension. Every sound in the night seemed unnaturally loud to his
heightened senses.

That was what finally alerted him that something was wrong. The house was far too quiet.

“Run!” he shouted. “It’s a trap!”

An instant later, Hugh’s men poured out of the woods behind the house.

Ilysa was in the kitchen talking with Cook late at night when she felt a coldness pass over her.

“Ye look like someone walked over your grave,” Cook said and rested his hand on her shoulder.

“Connor is in danger,” she said.

“Of course he is.” Cook shoved a cup of wine in front of her. “Our brave chieftain is in danger every time he sets foot out
of the castle—and I expect he’s in danger here as well, if your suspicion about a traitor inside the castle is true.”

Knowing there was a general risk of danger to Connor was different from this certainty in her gut that someone was trying
to kill him right now. Ilysa gulped down the wine.

She had said prayers and protective chants for Connor and the other men under her breath all day as she went about her work.
If there was a full moon tonight, she would have braved going to the faery glen.

“Tell me who ye think our traitor is,” Cook said, “and I’ll poison his bowl of stew.”

“I’d only be guessing,” she said.

“An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure,” Cook said.

“No poisoning,” Ilysa scolded, though she did not believe he was serious—at least, she did not think he was. She kissed his
cheek. “’Tis late. I’m going to bed.”

Before going to her own bedchamber, Ilysa decided to visit Connor’s. She felt his presence most there, and, perhaps it was
silly, but it reassured her to touch his things. She slipped through the doorway from the hall into the adjoining building.
When she reached Connor’s door, she nearly collided with someone coming out.