“I’d buy all new tapestries and replace the paneling as well,” she said, turning her head from side to side as she glared at his walls. “And I’d love to have one of those elaborate ceilings with rows of carved paterae, like I’ve heard the English king has in his palaces.”
By the saints, Connor had to nip this in the bud. There was so much he objected to that he hardly knew where to begin.
“We Highlanders do not emulate thefilthyEnglish,” he explained in a calm, reasonable voice, and he even managed to call the English filthy rather than what Highlanders usually called them, “most especially their king, who is responsible for the deaths of a great many Scottish warriors.”
“I could be content with the French style—” Jane began.
“My clansmen have suffered great hardship,” Connor said, cutting her off. “As chieftain, it is my duty to provide for those who cannot provide for themselves before spending coin redecorating my perfectly good hall.”
Tears filled Jane’s eyes, and she abruptly fled the room in a rustle of fine silks. He was so relieved to have her gone that he could not even feel guilty for driving her from the table. Perhaps she would take her next meal upstairs with her mother, who had refused to come down at all.
And he had thought he had no romantic notions about marriage just because he did not expect love. Ha. His hope of a quiet, companionable partnership—a friendship even—in which they fulfilled their respective duties to the clan with consideration and respect for each other now seemed like a foolish dream.
He had a thousand memories of Ilysa quietly and efficiently bringing order to his household—decorating the hall with wildflowers, cajoling the servants with an encouraging word here and a firm suggestion there, and winning over the obstreperous cook. Without flinching, she bandaged wounds, helped babes into the world, and prepared the dead for burial.
Connor could not imagine his bride-to-be doing any of that. Jane was utterly useless. He was even more grateful, if that was possible, that Ilysa had decided to stay. Perhaps she could keep him from murdering his wife.
***
Ilysa made herself as small as possible and lay as close to the edge of the bed as she could without falling out. Jane and her mother breathed too loudly and flopped around like beached fish. While it had been a luxury to have a bedchamber to herself as the only highborn female in the castle, Ilysa was accustomed to it.
Or to sleeping with Connor in his bed.
Unfortunately, the other chambers in the keep either lacked beds or were in need of repair, due to the MacLeod occupancy and the castle changing hands twice through violence. Regardless, Ilysa intended to have her things moved to one of the smaller chambers first thing in the morning.
A lass could only take so much, and sharing a bed with Connor’s bride—and the bride’s mother—was more than Ilysa could bear.
The moment she saw Jane enter the hall on Connor’s arm, she felt as if she had been struck in the heart with one of Lachlan’s arrows. All day, the wound festered, spreading poison through every vein. She went about her duties, seeing that a fine meal was prepared for their guests, all the while enduring looks of sympathy from everyone. If she had any doubts before, it was clear that every man, woman, and child in the castle knew about her and Connor—and pitied her now.
Ilysa had hoped Connor’s bride would be a duplicitous creature like her grandfather so she could hate her and not feel guilty about what she and Connor did. Instead, Jane was a guileless lass.
What was she going to do? Ilysa already knew. The decision had taken hold in the back of her mind, but she could not yet face it.
“Ilysa,” Jane whispered, ruining Ilysa’s hope that she was asleep. “Is the chieftain always so frightening?”
“Frightening?” Ilysa asked.
“When he came down the cliff to meet us, he was streaked with mud like a barbarian, and he was carrying that enormous sword.” Ilysa heard athumpas Jane slapped her hand to her bosom. “Truly, I feared for my life.”
“Connor would never harm a woman or a child,” Ilysa assured her.
“Hmm.” Jane did not sound convinced.
“I imagine this is a harsh place compared with what you’re accustomed to,” Ilysa said. “Here, you’ll be glad to have a husband who can protect ye so well.”
“Without the mud, he is no doubt handsome, though he’s a bit large,” Jane said. “I just wish Highlanders were not such barbarians.”
Ilysa refrained from pointing out that, despite her diminutive size, she was a Highlander. Eventually, Jane’s breathing grew even, and Ilysa believed she was finally asleep.
She heard a soft knock on the door. As a healer, she was often awakened in the night to tend to someone. She quickly slipped out of bed, wrapped a plaid around her shoulders, and went to see who it was.
When she cracked the door, she saw Connor in the torchlight from the stairs. He did not speak a word until she slipped out and closed the door behind her. Then he enfolded her in his arms like a dying man clinging to life and said her name into her hair. He held her for a long, long time before he spoke another word.
“I couldn’t wait any longer for ye to come to me,” he said. “I need ye so much.”
How could she resist him? When he lifted her in his arms to carry her to his chamber, she buried her face in his neck. He smelled of sea air and peat smoke—and Connor.
After he closed the door to his chamber, he pressed her against it. His kisses were demanding, urgent, desperate.