Page 8 of Highland Bride

frightening to think of opening her heart, exposing her feelings, to a man who had given her so few indications of what he might feel for her. He was very possessive, but most men were. He was possessive about his horse, too. Connor was no longer hot at night and icy cold during the day, but neither was he affectionate. He did tell her more now, but only when they were alone in the bedchamber, and very little of it was a true sharing of concerns, hurts, or joys. Their passion was hot and fierce, but she could not be sure he felt it as deeply, as completely, as she did. Her passion was all tangled up with her love. Connor’s could easily be no more than simple male lusting. And that was where the gamble was, she supposed. She would hand him everything, despite not knowing the state of his heart, simply praying that he had something to give her in return for her gift. If he gave her nothing back, it would hurt her more than she cared to think about. No wonder she was frightened. “Ah, Joan, good,” Gillyanne said as that woman came out of the kitchens carrying a tray of bread, cheese, apples, and oatmeal. “I need to talk to you.” Gillyanne sat down and filled a tankard with cider. “My cousin Payton told me that my family will arrive on the morrow.” Joan set the tray down a little too quickly, then sank into the seat next to Gillyanne. “Are ye leaving us?” “Is naught secret here?” “Verra little. We have all heard what Sir James told our laird. Ye can have this marriage ended because ’twas forced on you.” “Aye,” Gillyanne replied a little reluctantly as she picked at her food. “If my fither is returning, ’tis almost certain he brings me the right to end my marriage to Connor. I would just as soon Connor didnae learn that I will face that choice on the morrow.” “I willnae tell him.” Joan grimaced. “Feels a wee bit disloyal, but only a wee bit. Do ye want to leave him?” “Och, nay. I do love the great brute, but — ” Joan nodded. “Aye. But.” “Is it so wrong for me to want something from him, some wee glimmer of affection? Do I truly ask for so much?” “Nay, m’lady. If ye had no choice, I would tell ye to make the best of it, find what happiness ye can. Mayhap in the bairns ye would have, or in keeping a verra fine household, or e’en in using your healing skills. But, ye do have a choice. Ye also didnae make the choice to marry our laird, nay fairly, nay e’en by your own kinsmen’s choice. Ye brought him a fine piece of land and many a new helpful ally. In truth, ye have given the mon a lot, e’en to showing him that it doesnae hurt to enjoy life a wee bit. He could give ye something more than making ye bellow with pleasure and being faithful. Though, neither

of those are poor gifts.” “Nay, and I treasure them,” Gillyanne said. “But, if there is naught else, then neither of those will endure, will they?” “True. Sadly, I think there is more. I would swear to it. Yet . . . ” She shrugged. “Aye — yet. Is it there and, if it is, will he share it or will he keep it as buried as he has so much else? There is a lot that is good about this marriage, certainly compared to many another. I need more, Joan. I need to ken that I truly matter to the mon, that I hold some piece of his heart. Honestly? I wish it all, but, for now, I would accept a piece, a solid hope.” “I dinnae think it will work just to ask him.” “Nay. I have a plan.” She laughed softly at Joan’s exaggerated expression of concern. “Wretch. I plan to follow my mither’s advice. She suggested that, mayhap, ’twould be best to cast pride aside and let the mon ken exactly what it is he will lose if I leave him.” “A wise woman. Just how do ye plan to do that?” Joan suddenly grinned. “I think he has seen almost everything ye have, m’lady.” Gillyanne giggled. “Sadly true. Nay, I mean to show that mon all that is in my heart. I have nay been as guarded as he has, but I have been cautious, protected my heart. Pride. No one wants to offer all only to have it disregarded. There lies a pain it takes courage to court. I will do it, though, on the chance that, if I bare all, mayhap he will soften a wee bit and give me something to hang my hopes on. If he doesnae, weel, the humiliation willnae last so verra long for I can walk away from it all on the morrow.” “And if he doesnae give ye e’en that hope, then he deserves to have ye leave him. What if he comes to his senses later?” “I willnae torture myself with that hope, but I willnae turn him away. If he comes to offer me e’en a little of what I need, I will return. I love him too much not to.” “And how can I be of help?” asked Joan. “Weel, I begin to fear all of Scotland kens there is one place Connor and I seem weel matched. Feeling — shall we say — warmly, will make it easier for me to speak freely. Mayhap, if I do it when we are both feeling warmly, he will be at ease enough to do the same. I also want everything to be a wee bit different — seductive, romantic.” Joan nodded. “Because, if it is, ye may feel the same and gain that courage ye will need.”

“Exactly,” Gillyanne said. “Mayhap a few herbs for the bath. Monly ones, of course. He sniffs out roses or lavender and he will probably run all the way to Edinburgh.” She laughed along with Joan. “Candles.” “Good ones, mayhap a hint of scent. Aye, we have a few of those.” “All his favorite foods, especially the sweets. No strawberries. With my luck, I will accidentally eat one and they make me come out in itchy spots.” “Nay verra seductive that.” “Nay. A few soft coverings added to what is already there. My cousin Payton once told me soft things please a mon and that women enjoy the feel of them against their skin. And, if anyone should ken such things, ’tis my cousin Payton.” “And he tells ye such things?” “Usually only after a few large tankards of good wine. He ne’er gets too precise. Oh, and something enticing to wear. I have that.” “Ye do?” Gillyanne nodded. “Aye. My cousin Avery occasionally gives me enticing things to wear. She says I am to use them when I start to foolishly think I am nay pretty. She says such clothing makes a lass feel pretty and alluring. And, she says, sometimes it can stir a mon as much, if nay more, than if ye stand there naked. Something about teasing them with a glimpse of what they want.” “Your cousins told ye some verra odd things considering ye were just a maid.” Joan blushed a little. “Mayhap, if ye stay, we could have a talk. Mayhap if I am a wee bit more, weel, clever, my Malcolm willnae seek out another lass again.” “Ah, Joan, I will gladly tell ye all ye may wish to hear. But, I truly dinnae think Malcolm really sought out Meg, and he didnae end up with her because ye lacked something or she was clever in the bedding. From what little I gathered, and some of that came from Meg herself, that woman was nay more than a kiss, a fondle, and a rut. I also think Malcolm, like Connor, believed much of what that vile fool Neil told them o’er the years — such as how having lemans and a wife is perfectly acceptable, all men do it, and the wife kens it, allows it, e’en wants it.” Joan smiled faintly. “When Malcolm was groveling with apology, he did say such things. He truly thought I wouldnae care, that I kenned it was what men did. I fear I burned his ears with a few harsh words over that idiocy.”

“Good for you. I feel ’tis a woman’s sacred duty to let a mon ken when he is spitting out nonsense.” She briefly shared a laugh with Joan. “Now, to the plans for my night of confession.” “Ah, m’lady, I do so hope this works.” “Nay more than I, Joan. Nay more than I.” * * * Connor stepped into his bedchamber and stopped, stilled by surprise. Slowly, he closed the door behind him. His bath was ready for him, but that was all that remained the same. There was a scent in the air, a crisp herbal scent he found very pleasing. There was no fire lit for it was a warm night, but candles were all around the room, bathing it in a soft light. He was not sure where it had all come from, but there were soft sheepskins on the floor, even draped over the chairs, and a swath of deep red velvet was thrown upon the bed. The table near the fireplace was covered with a vast array of food and drink. Gillyanne stood by the tub wearing a night shift and robe all made of the sheerest linen he had ever seen, and it seemed to be precariously held on to her lithe body by little more than thin ribbons. “What is this all about?” he asked as he slowly walked toward her and began to unlace his doublet. “A small celebration. Ye are free and the danger is passed,” she replied as she took over the removal of his clothes. Just watching her move, her garments and long thick hair swirling around her in an intoxicating dance was making Connor eager to toss her down onto one of the sheepskins and bury himself deep inside her. “Ye have already bathed.” “Aye.” Gillyanne carefully folded his clothes and set them aside as he climbed into the bath. “Tonight is for you.” “For me?” As she began to wash him, he had to fight the urge to drag her into the water with him. “Me wants ye in this tub.” “Nay. Slow. Tonight we try to be patient. We have all night.” That sounded very intriguing, thought Connor. One thing he did have was patience and control, or so he used to until he had discovered what it felt like to make love to Gillyanne. He also liked the idea of celebrating his freedom, the clearing of his name. He had wanted to celebrate last night, but, after one very satisfying tussle, he had realized that Gillyanne was exhausted. After all the running about she had done to extract him from the trouble he had fallen into, he had almost forgotten that she had been wounded barely a week ago. It was clear that she was well rested now, he mused, as he stepped out of

the bath and she began to dry him off. His eyes widened slightly as, following the cloth she used to caressingly wipe the water from his back, came the warm touch of her lips. He closed his eyes and reached deeply within for every scrap of control he had as she both dried his back of the cooling water and heated his skin with her kisses. When she even kissed and playfully nipped his backside, he trembled. She stepped in front of him to carefully dry then kiss each arm. “Just how slow do ye intend to be?” he asked in a thick voice as she kissed the hollow at the base of his throat. “Verra slow,” she replied as she dried then kissed the ridge of his collarbone. “Would ye deny a lass the chance to enjoy this fine strong body? Such smooth skin, such beautiful warmth for a lass to press herself against.” Connor trembled faintly when she licked his nipples. She continued down to his stomach, drying him, caressing him with her lips, and murmuring flatteries. He knew he was big and strong, that the lasses seemed to like his looks well enough, but none had ever said so in such heated tones. Gillyanne was saying aloud what he had often thought he had seen in the looks she gave him and he found it produced a very heady feeling inside him. She thought he was beautiful, all that was perfect in the form of a man, and he was deeply stirred by that. It was, of course, nonsense, and he did not believe it for a moment, but Gillyanne did and that made him feel very good indeed. “Ye missed a place,” he said when she went from his stomach to his legs, ignoring the part of him that ached for her touch. “As if I could miss that,” she murmured as she dried his long legs then kissed and gently nipped the inside of each strong thigh. “I was but saving the best for last.” She began to dry his groin with far more care and attention than was needed. “So wonderfully big here. All any lass could ask for,” she said as she replaced the stroking of the drying cloth with the gentle caress of her fingers. “I think ye are beautiful here, too. All silk and steel. When I see it like this, hard and arrogant, all I can think of is how it feels deep inside me, stroking me to pleasure.” Connor groaned softly, tangling his fingers in her thick hair as she licked him. “Lass, ye have me so full and aching already, I am nay sure how much of this I can enjoy.” “Enjoy all ye wish, my love. I can wait. Enjoy it to its fullest, if ye so desire.” He wanted to ask her exactly what she meant, if she really was offering a pleasure he had only heard about and had not had the courage to ask for or try to steal, but he managed only a soft groan as she began to love him with her mouth. The heat of her mouth, the stroke of her tongue, and the caress of her clever soft hands made all his attempts at grateful flattery for her gift sound like drunken gibberish. For

as long as he could, he watched her love him, even though he knew the sight made it even more difficult to grasp any control. Many would think her in a subservient position, but he was the one enslaved. Then he lost all ability for coherent thought, sinking deep into the pleasure she gave him, praying he could find the will to endure the passionate onslaught for a very long time. It was several moments after a blinding, shuddering release, that Connor realized what he had done. Gillyanne had kept him teetering on the edge of release for so long, he was not exactly sure when he had fallen into it. Cautiously he opened his eyes, taking courage from the fact that she was softly kissing his belly and stroking the backs of his legs. When he tugged her to her feet, she simply looked a little dazed and flushed with desire. There was not the faintest glimmer of disgust. Inside, he did a little jig of delight and relief as he led her over to one of the two chairs set near the table of food. He sat down on the sheepskin-draped seat and pulled her down onto his lap. Connor started to feed Gillyanne and let her feed him, watching as her breathing slowed and the blush of desire faded from her cheeks. He was a very lucky man. He had never had such an exciting, passionate lover and never would have expected to find one in the tiny, gently bred Gillyanne. Shyness and modesty occasionally raised their heads, trying to confine her passion, but Gillyanne did not let them win. He did, however, have her drink deeply of the wine for he wanted both of those blood-cooling emotions well drowned. Connor intended to pay her back in full for the loving she had just given him, and, considering the plans forming in his mind, a hint of wine-induced euphoria in his wife would make it easier for him. Something was gnawing at him, however. Some faint twinge of dissatisfaction. That made no sense at all. What could he possibly be dissatisfied about? He had a wife who brought him a fine dower land, one he shared a fierce passion with, one who was restoring the rebuilt Deilcladach to a genteel glory he was not sure it had ever enjoyed, one who thought him beautiful, and one who called him her love. He nearly choked on the wine he was drinking. My love. She had called him my love. Connor suddenly knew that he badly wished that to be true. He wanted her to be more than passionate, more than appreciative of his body, more than dutiful He wanted her to care for him, to love him. There was the root of his dissatisfaction. He did not really know how she felt about him, could only guess from the way she looked at him or touched him. In thinking of ways to keep her at his side, he had considered the passion they shared, even considered getting her with child, but now he knew what was needed to hold her at Deilcladach was love. Gillyanne had to love him or he could never be truly certain that she would stay. Connor decided that, before they left this room, he would know what was in her heart. “ ’Twas a fine meal, lass,” he said, and stood her on her feet. Gillyanne was unsteady on her feet for just a moment, but quickly steadied herself, and frowned when Connor started to clear all the things from the table. “Ye dinnae have to do that.” “Aye, I do.” Once the table was cleared, Connor sat down and looked at her. “ ’Tis a night for me, aye?

To celebrate?” “Aye.” “Then take that bonny thing off, lass.” “It was supposed to entice you.” “Oh, it has done that. ’Tis why I want it off.” Connor watched as she carefully unlaced the robe and night shift, letting them slide down to her feet. Her long hair, gleaming with hints of red in the candlelight, provided some covering as she folded each piece and set them on a chair before facing him. He ignored her blushes as he sat there staring at her for a few moments before leaning forward to turn her around. She was slim and small, but he found her sleek little body beautiful. A shiver went through her as he kissed his way down her elegant spine then kissed and nipped at her taut little backside before turning her around to face him. He pushed her hair back over her shoulders and slid his hands down to her breasts. Connor watched with appreciation as her nipples hardened beneath the touch of his fingers and her breathing quickened. Slowly, he trailed his fingers down her taut belly and slid them between her legs. He watched himself stroke her until she tried to press her legs together. A quick glance at her face told him she was slightly embarrassed. “Ah, lass, ye say ye think me beautiful. To me,” he stroked her again, “this is beautiful.” He stood up, took the soft sheepskin from the chair, and spread it on the table, then picked her up and set her down on it. “I mean to wallow in that beauty,” he said as he pulled his chair closer to the table and sat down. “Connor,” she gasped, but his broad shoulders between her thighs prevented her from closing her legs. “Now, lass,” he removed the hand she tried to shield herself with, “I didnae deny ye your pleasure of me.” “Weel, nay, but ye are a mon. Men dinnae have any modesty.” “I am going to have to teach ye nay to have any whilst in this bedchamber.” Connor leaned closer and feasted on her taut little breasts until he felt her body soften. Stroking her legs, he draped them over his shoulders. By the time he began to kiss his way down her slender body, she was wriggling on the table and making those soft sounds of need he so enjoyed hearing. Her whole body tensed, however, when he finally reached his goal and kissed those soft reddish brown curls. “Bonny Gilly, be true; ye like this as much as I do. I but return the gift ye gave me.” He kissed her again. “Tell me, Gilly. Tell me how much ye like it.”

Gillyanne cried out with a soft mixture of pleasure and reluctance as the heat of his intimate kiss spread throughout her body, stealing all resistance and leaving only the pleasure. “Aye, Connor, aye. It fair drives me mad.” She threaded her fingers through his hair, stroking his head as he loved her. A part of her was reeling in shock over her brazenness as she watched him have his way with her, but a greater part of her suddenly understood why he watched her when she pleasured him. It was intoxicating, heightening the pleasure. Soon the strength of her own desire closed her eyes. When her release tore through her, she collapsed on the table, crying out his name, but he was relentless, restocking her desire before it had completely waned. The second time she reached desire’s summit, she told him she loved him. As Gillyanne came to her senses, she felt Connor soothing the lingering heat in her nether regions with a cool cloth. When that caused a flicker of interest to stir in her sated body, she cursed herself for a wanton. Some little memory pinched at her mind and Gillyanne began to think she had done something that would cause a wrinkle or two in her grand plan. She blushed, then smiled, when Connor leaned over her and kissed her cheek. In a moment, she told herself, she would find the strength to arrange herself with some attempt at modesty. “So, my wee wife loves me,” Connor said as he nibbled on her ear. There was that wrinkle, she thought, shivering a little with pleasure when he traced the shape of her ear with his tongue. More than a wrinkle, she decided. More like a complete rending of every little plot and scheme she had devised. It was true that she had planned to tell him how she felt. She had planned, however, to do it in a romantic way, at a time when she was holding the reins in their lovemaking. Bellowing it out while lying sprawled on a table like a filleted haddock lacked dignity. Worse, it gave Connor the upper hand and did not make him feel compelled in even the smallest sense to offer her some words of affection in return. “Your wee wife said that, did she?” She was a little surprised there was enough strength left in her legs for them to stay in place when he wrapped them around his waist. His palms flat on the table, Connor watched her closely as he eased into her. “Aye, she did.” “Mayhap ye imagined it.” Her greedy body started to come to life and she stroked the backs of his legs with her feet. “Since ye bellowed it out, I suspect I could go ask the people in the great hall to verify it. Possibly the stable lads as weel.” “And I am beginning to think I may have been mistaken,” she drawled and gasped softly when he withdrew almost completely, then, grasping her by the hips, thrust back inside.

“And I think I will have to make ye tell me again. Just to be sure, ye ken.” * * * Gillyanne stared up at the ceiling of the bedchamber and repeated every curse she knew. He had made her tell him again. In fact, that time he had tied her wrists to the bedposts and licked thickened cream off her, she suspected she had told him a half dozen times. Her only consolation was that she had gained some control of her voice so that she had not screamed out her capitulation to the whole of Deilcladach. And what declarations had she gained from him? None. Not one. Thinking over all he had said to her throughout the exhaustingly sensuous night, she could find not one word that expressed any true depth of feeling. She knew his passion, knew what stirred it, even knew a few things that could swiftly fray his great control, but, of what lay in his heart, she knew absolutely nothing. Slipping out of bed, she had a brief wash. The urge to fall down weeping was strong, but she refused to give in to it. She had not been able to pull any words of love from Connor with passion. She certainly did not want to be dragging some weak, vague declaration out of him because he pitied her or just wanted her to stop crying. After pouring herself a goblet of sweet cider, she started back to the bed, pausing when she caught sight of the two strips of soft linen hanging limply from the bedposts. Her gaze went to them, to her sleeping husband sprawled on his back, to the pot of sweet, thick cream set on the table by the bed, then back again. Gillyanne had no hope that one last round of mindless passion would wrench any words of affection from Connor. Yet, at some time during the night, she had lost control of the game she had so carefully planned. Perhaps it was time to regain that control. At least later, when she was tormented by the memories of this night, she could remember that it ended with her holding the reins. Connor woke to the feel of a cool damp cloth moving over his body. He opened his eyes in time to see Gillyanne toss aside the cloth she had just washed him with. She knelt at his side, beautifully flushed, beautifully naked, sipping on a drink. When he moved to reach for her, his eyes widened. One quick look told him he was well secured to the bedposts. It appeared his little wife knew how to tie a good knot. He looked at her again. She set her goblet aside and picked up the cream he had so enjoyed licking off her. He felt the warmth of desire rush through his body. When he met her gaze, he thought he saw a deep sorrow and pain reflected there, but it was gone too quickly for him to be sure. “Revenge, lass?” he asked. “Aye.” The thought of the lovemaking to come was pushing her sadness aside and Gillyanne welcomed the reprieve. “Weel, may the poor prisoner ask for a wee boon?”

“Do ye expect mercy?” “A wee bit. When I cannae bear the torment any more, lass, take me inside. I want to be buried deep in your tight heat when the end comes.” “I shall consider it,” she said, and quickly cleared the telltale huskiness from her voice. “And, mayhap, ye will have mercy enough to bring a sweet bit of yourself close enough for me to taste now and then.” When she found herself wondering which sweet bit to offer first, Gillyanne inwardly cursed. So much for regaining the reins.

Twenty-Two “Connor, I think ye have some trouble.” Yanked from a pleasant memory of his wife saying she loved him while he was buried deep inside her, it took Connor a moment to understand the importance of Diarmot’s words. “Trouble?” “Aye. The Murrays have returned.” Slowly closing the ledger he had been unable to concentrate on, Connor turned to look at his brother. “Where is Gillyanne?” “Gone out to meet with them.” Diarmot hastily got out of the way as Connor leaped from his seat and strode out of the small solar where he dealt with the business of Deilcladach. “She was out the gate ere they had reined to a full halt. She kenned they were coming.” And now Connor knew the full meaning of last night. Gillyanne had either been saying farewell or had wanted something from him, something he had failed to give her. He quickly discarded the idea that it had all been a heated farewell, even though he liked the other possibility even less. A woman did not speak to a man as she had, love him as she had, or bare her soul as she had, if all she meant to do was walk away. She had been trying to get him to give her a reason to stay, something beside the passion they had glutted themselves with, and all he had done was take. At the gates he stopped and stared down at her things, all neatly packed. Her cats stared up at him from their basket. Connor thought they looked accusing, even disappointed, then told himself not to be a fool. That was his own guilt and fear twisting his thoughts. He looked to where Gillyanne was talking to her father, a small woman he suspected was her mother, James and the annoyingly handsome Payton. Ignoring Diarmot’s soft warning to tread carefully, Connor walked toward the Murrays, vaguely aware of his brothers and Knobby falling into step behind him. * * * “Weel, lass, I can take ye away from here now,” Eric said after Gillyanne had embraced and kissed her

mother in greeting. “Coercion was acceptable?” Gillyanne asked, trying to swallow the pain swelling up inside her. “Aye.” He smiled slightly at his wife when she slipped her arm through his. “Your wound?” “Healed enough for riding.” “Gilly, sweet,” said Bethia, “answer me three questions.” Gillyanne sighed and stared at her feet, wondering why she ever thought she could hide her feelings from her mother. “Must I?” “Aye, ye must. Do ye love him?” “Aye.” “Do ye want to leave?” “Nay.” “Are ye carrying his bairn?” It was a question Gillyanne was afraid to even consider. The moment her mother had asked it, Gillyanne had felt as if her stomach had just plummeted into her boots. She tried to think of when she had had her last woman’s time and the only one she could recall had ended just before her marriage. For a moment she tried to drown her growing suspicion with excuses from the rigors of travel to her wounding, but failed miserably. She continued to stare at the ground, envisioning herself down there, kicking and screaming like a furious child. It was not fair, she thought. Marriage to a man she adored, but who did not, or could not, love her would be a hell on earth. Her father had the means to free her from that dire fate, but, now, she was not sure she could make her escape. “Ah, Gilly,” Bethia murmured, then sighed and shook her head. “I cannae be sure,” Gillyanne protested, but knew it sounded as weak as she suddenly felt. “Ye are sure. I can see it in your face. ’Tis nay so easy now.” “It wasnae easy before,” Gillyanne muttered, crossing her arms over her chest and fighting the urge to

cry. “Ye cannae get him to say anything to make ye stay? Is there truly no hope that he might care for you, if nay now, later?” “I certainly didnae see any and I tried verra hard to find a scrap or two.” Bethia smiled faintly. “I am quite certain ye did.” “Ye said he was a hard, tightly controlled mon,” said Eric. “Mayhap ye arenae looking hard enough. Ye cannae sense what he feels and thinks. Are ye expecting him to act like the men in your own family?” He reached out to stroke her cheek. “Ye havenae had much luck with men.” “I havenae had any luck at all, Fither,” Gillyanne drawled. “Fools, the lot of them. Yet, mayhap that disappointment clouds your judgment.” He grimaced and swept his hands through his hair. “Ah, Gilly love, I ken what ye fear, ken why ye should dread facing it year after year, yet, are ye absolutely certain that is what ye would face? Ye love the fool. ’Tisnae something ye can just walk away from. And, if there is a bairn . . . ” “It changes everything,” she finished for him. “What do ye wish me to do, Fither? I ken it wouldnae be right to walk away if I am carrying his bairn, yet, if I stay until I am sure . . . ” she shrugged. “If I stay, then, if I am nay with child now, I soon will be.” “Oh, dear,” murmured Bethia. “ ’Tis like that, is it?” she asked, but her gaze was not on Gillyanne. “He certainly is big.” Gillyanne sighed. “He is coming out here, isnae he?” “Aye. Who are those people clumped behind him?” “Knobby and Connor’s brothers,” Gillyanne answered after turning to watch her husband stride toward her. “Diarmot, Nanty, Angus, and Drew. I dinnae see Fiona. Wheesht, and it looks as if near every mon, woman, and bairn of Deilcladach is looking this way. I suppose it was foolish to think this business could be somewhat private. And, Connor certainly doesnae look like he intends to be pleasant.” “It can irritate a mon when his wife decides to walk away from him,” murmured Eric, gaining an identical scolding look from both his wife and his daughter. Connor stopped but feet away from Gillyanne and her family. She had that sad, hurt look in her eyes again and he knew he had put it there. What he was not sure of was how to take it away. She was asking

for something he was not sure he could do. The feelings she sought were all there, he could no longer deny it, but he did not know how to let her know it without baring his soul. It was acceptable for a woman to speak of such things, but he was a man, a laird. To let the world know how badly he needed her would make him look weak, soft. She had to understand that he could not do that. “Wife,” he said, “come here.” He held out his hand. Gillyanne took a step toward him before she realized what she was doing. She stopped and glared at him. “Why?” “Why? Ye are my wife.” “Not for verra much longer.” “Ye took vows.” “Coerced.” “Curse it, Gilly!” His words were cut off as his brothers and Knobby encircled him and forced him back a few feet. He saw the look of irritation on all their faces. Connor knew he had started to let his temper get the best of him, but being angry was far better than revealing the fear gnawing at his innards. Yelling was certainly more manly than dropping to his knees and begging her to stay. “Ye didnae heed a word anyone said to ye, did ye?” grumbled Diarmot. “Since none of ye are married,” Connor snapped, “forgive me for thinking that ye may not have been experts on the matter.” “Laird,” Knobby said, “ye willnae stop her from leaving if all ye do is yell at her.” Connor took a deep breath to calm himself, but it only partly worked. He was filled with the urge to grab Gillyanne and lock her in their bedchamber. Then he could have time to figure out how to be the strong laird Deilcladach needed and give his wife some of the caring she needed. He did not have that time now. He felt as if he were pushed hard into a corner and he did not like it. “Fine. Agreed. I will cease to yell at her.” “A few words about feelings wouldnae hurt,” said Diarmot even as Connor moved back to face the Murrays.

“Come back to Deilcladach with me, Gillyanne,” he said in what he hoped was a calm tone of voice. “We will talk. Ye dinnae want to leave.” “Nay? What have I got to stay here for?” Gillyanne was surprised to actually feel something from him. Connor was highly agitated. “Ye are my wife. Ye love me.” “Aye, we heard ye tell him so,” said Drew. “Near everyone at Deilcladach heard ye bellow it.” Gillyanne almost thanked Diarmot for knocking his brother down. She heard her father murmur the word bellow and forced herself not to look at him. The important thing now was Connor and whether or not he would give her some reason to stay. “Aye, dinnae forget that,” Connor said and ignored the muttered curses from behind him. “I can make ye yell.” It was almost painful to resist the urge to kick him, especially when she heard her father choke back a laugh, telling her he now understood Drew’s talk of bellows. “I suspect, in time, I could find another to do the same.” Despite the tension and sadness gripping her, she was almost able to smile at the looks of outrage on Connor’s brothers’ and Knobby’s faces. “Nay, ye will not,” he said, grinding out the words from between gritted teeth. “Ye are my wife.” “Connor,” she said quietly as she stepped closer to him, “I need a reason to continue with this. Aye, I love you. But, while that is why I ache to stay, ’tis also why I must leave.” “That makes no sense.” “It does. I cannae stay, loving ye as I do, when I get naught back from you. Nay,” she said when he started to speak. “I do not speak of the passion we share. In some way, that can be gained almost anywhere. If I stay, my love for ye will soon become more curse than blessing. I see before me days of giving to ye all I have within me and slowly being starved for some return. I cannae bear the thought of it. Mayhap I am selfish, but I need something from you. It doesnae have to be all or nothing. I but ask for some wee piece of your heart.” He looked at everyone standing there, then at her. Connor knew what she needed, but the words would not come. Instead, he grew furious, at her for pushing him to this point, at the Murrays for trying to take her away, and even at his family for expecting so much from him. He had become what Deilcladach needed and it had saved them all, yet, now, everyone seemed dissatisfied with who he was, wanted him to change.

“Then go,” he said in an icy cold voice. “Break your vows.” He turned and strode back toward Deilcladach. “He will be back,” said Diarmot as he and the others trotted after Connor. Gillyanne felt her mother put her arm around her shoulders, yet she felt no immediate need for comfort. The man she loved had just told her to go and walked away from her. She should be feeling torn apart, yet she did not. To her surprise, she actually felt hopeful. Then she realized that she had actually felt what Connor was feeling. For the first time, he had been open to her senses. The feelings were not particularly pleasant ones, for Connor was battling anger, frustration, confusion, and, to her surprise, fear, but it did not matter. She had felt him and she was certain that could only be good. “Are ye upset, Gilly love?” asked her mother, frowning a little as she studied Gillyanne’s thoughtful expression. “Nay,” she replied. “I think, mayhap, I have been a wee bit unfair, expecting Connor to toss aside twelve years of training in but two months and a little. For the very first time, I could feel what he feels, Mither,” she added softly. “Ye have set the poor lad on his ear, then,” said Eric, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling faintly when Connor was brought up short at the gates of Deilcladach by a large group of women. “Your allies, I suppose.” “Oh, dear,” murmured Gillyanne, recognizing Mairi, Joan, and Fiona at the fore of what appeared to be every woman and girl at Deilcladach. “This willnae make him happy. He is the laird. ’Tis who he is. ’Tis what he is. He is verra precise about what he must do and be to fulfill his duty as their laird.” She frowned slightly when she caught her father staring at her rather hard. “What is it?” “It is your answer, lass. Recall the tale ye told me of his life,” Eric said. “He set himself rules so that e’en as a lad, his people would follow him. Those rules kept them alive, or so he believes. In truth, loving, I was watching that lad order ye home and I saw a young mon who would probably give ye whate’er your wee heart desired, but he doesnae think he can.” “Not if he wants to remain a strong laird and keep Deilcladach safe.” “Exactly.” Eric nodded toward Connor. “And, I dinnae think ’tis ye who can force a complete change. ’Tis up to his clan to make him see that he will lose no stature in their eyes if he softens to his wee wife.” “Mayhap they have to show him that he doesnae have to fight for their approval and loyalty any longer. He has it.”

* * * “Ye seem to have left your wife behind, Connor,” said Fiona, scowling at her brother. “She wants to leave,” he said and his eyes widened at the vast array of scornful noises erupting from the group of women he faced. “If she wants to leave, ’tis because ye do naught to make her want to stay. Why cannae ye just say something nice once in a wee while? Tell he she is bonny.” There was a murmur of agreement from the women. “I tell her that,” he protested and decided that watching so many women roll their eyes in a gesture of feminine disgust was a little disturbing. “ ’Tis no good telling her that when ye are in a bedding mood,” said Joan. “Wheesht, a mon will tell a lass with a huge, hairy wart on her chin that she is the bonniest thing he has ever seen if it will lift her skirts. Ye have to say it at other times so that she kens ye mean it.” Connor wondered when matters had gotten so out of hand that his people felt bold enough to instruct him. “I am a laird, and a mon, and a mon doesnae — Ow!” He stared at the tall thin woman who had just whacked him on the leg with a gnarled walking stick. “Mother Mary!” Knobby tried to grab his mother’s walking stick only to receive a jab in the stomach. “Mother, ye cannae hit him. He is our laird.” “I ken it. He is also young enough to be me own lad,” the woman said. “I was with his mother when he was born. I was his milk mother. And, that is the right I claim now, the right of an old woman who changed his soiled cloths and held him to her breast.” She grabbed Connor by the ear. “That woman is intending to have a wee word with ye, laddie,” she said as she pulled him a few feet away from the others. “If I hear one more word about what a mon does or doesnae do, Connor MacEnroy, I will beat ye bloody. Bury that foolishness with the evil mon who told it to ye, may his poisonous soul rot in hell.” “Aye, ye are right,” Connor agreed as he rubbed his abused ear. “ ’Tis just hard to forget things one learned while growing.” “Some should have ne’er been taught. Och, laddie, the wee lass loves ye. Dinnae ye care?” “Ye dinnae understand. I have to be strong for the clan. A strong mon . . . ” “Doesnae let his woman leave him.”

“Mother Mary, a laird cannae have any weaknesses. A laird has to think only of his clan, of its survival.” She pressed her long bony fingers against his lips. “Ye are strong, Connor. Wheesht, I think ye are one of the strongest people I have e’er kenned. When we stepped out of hiding to see naught but death and destruction, I could almost see the steel forming in your spine. A part of me wept for the lad who was fading afore my eyes, but another part of me said, aye, ’tis the way of it, lad. Get hard, get tough. ’Tis what we need. And we did. We needed hard to survive the rough times, the hunger and cold, the grievous loss of so many. But, laddie, ’tis over. We survived. We are at peace. Ye dinnae have to be the only rock we have to cling to. The widows are strong again, the lads and lasses are men and women now, and e’en most of the wee bairns are still alive.” “But, we need to be strong to stay that way. I need to be strong.” “Did the lass’s father seem like a weak mon? One ye felt you could just ignore?” “Nay,” he replied without hesitation. “Then have a hard look at that laird. See how he strokes his lass’s hair, how he holds his wife close. He smiles at them, gives them wee kisses right in front of the men, jests with them and the lads. All that softness right there to see. Yet, the lass has complete faith in the mon’s ability to help her, protect her. He commands and his men obey. Those two women ken they are cared about, mayhap e’en cherished, but they still look up to the mon.” “They have to. They are shorter than he is,” Connor mumbled, but he knew what Mother Mary wanted him to see, and he did see it. He could watch that man stroke his daughter’s cheek, his expression soft with affection, yet know instinctively that, if he ever came to swordpoint with the man, his added height and weight would not matter, that he would be in a hard fight for his life. Laughter briefly darkened the woman’s eyes. “Wretch. That lass loves ye, foolish boy. ’Tis a fine gift she gives ye. From what I have heard ye suit each other verra weel in the bedchamber. Are ye fool enough to toss that aside, too? She rose from her sickbed to come to you when ye were so sunk in gloom o’er the truth about your uncle. Mended that, didnae she? And, she didnae rest until she had ye set free, your name and honor scrubbed clean. She looks a wee, delicate lass, but all I hear tells me she has as much steel in her spine as ye do.” “Aye, she is verra strong,” he said. “Clever. Full of life.” “She is a perfect wife for a laird. And, a good laird would think hard on those fine lands she brings to the marriage and all those new allies who can only make his clan stronger.” There was a soft murmur of agreement and Connor sighed. “They have all crept nearer, havenae they.”

“Aye.” “When did I lose control?” “Ah, laird, we owe ye our lives. Mayhap we just want to be sure that ye dinnae ruin yours. Go, lad. Spit out a sweet word or two and bring your wee wife home.” She patted his cheek. “Trust an old woman. It willnae hurt too badly.” The soft chuckles that comment brought stopped abruptly when Connor turned to look at everyone. “If I succeed in bringing my stubborn wife back, the Murrays will be requiring food and beds. We wouldnae want them to be disappointed in the hospitality at Deilcladach, would we?” He felt a little better when everyone hurried away, a chuckling Mother Mary following them. Then, straightening his shoulders, he walked back toward his wife, finding some hope to cling to in the simple fact that she was still there. It was a little embarrassing that he had needed to be lectured by Mother Mary before he saw the truth. He just wished she could have given him the courage to speak freely to Gillyanne, or, even more helpful, the right words. * * * “Your husband is returning,” said Eric. “I wonder who the woman was who dragged him off by the ear?” “It looked like it might be Knobby’s mother,” replied Gillyanne, tensing in anticipation and a rising hope. Surely, he could not be striding back just to tell her that she was taking far too long to leave. “He looks rather grim, doesnae he?” “ ’Tis a serious business he is about. Lass, ye willnae press him too hard, will ye? If he doesnae say any more foolish things.” Gillyanne diverted her attention from a rapidly approaching Connor long enough to give her father a quick smile. “I have learned enough o’er these last weeks to ken that, sometimes, with Connor, a little can mean a verra great deal indeed. I just remind myself now and again that no mon could have done what Connor did for his clan if he didnae have a verra big heart indeed.” “Wise lass,” Eric murmured as Connor stopped about a foot away from them. “Have ye come to say fareweel?” Gillyanne asked him, crossing her arms over her chest and steadily meeting his gaze. As usual there was little to read in his eyes or expression, but she did feel the turmoil inside him. Despite the discomfort such confused yet strong feelings gave her, she reveled in it all. His shell was cracking. It

might be only a brief glimpse, a short-lived bonding, but it could not have happened at a better time. “Nay, that was said because I was, weel, irritated,” Connor replied, somewhat resenting her apparent calm. “Irritated?” He ignored the hint of sarcasm in her voice. “I dinnae want ye to leave.” Connor held out his hand to her. “I dinnae want ye to leave me,” he said softly. There was a longing in his voice that moved her and she cautiously put her hand in his. “I dinnae want to, Connor.” “Because ye love me.” “Aye.” “I need you,” he whispered after pulling her close. Gillyanne was deeply affected, not only by his words, but by the emotion behind them. The odd thing was, he looked almost ill. There was the glint of sweat upon his face and he was pale. Speaking his heart was obviously proving to be an ordeal, she mused, and had to bite back a smile. Gillyanne knew he would never understand that her amusment was born of love, of joy that that love was obviously returned, and a touch of sympathy for how difficult it was for him to reveal something when he had spent nearly half his life trying to hide everything. “Ye love me,” he said. “Aye, I believe that matter has been weel settled now.” “So this shouldnae be so cursed hard.” Sympathy won out over her other needs and Gillyanne stepped closer to wrap her arms around him in a tight embrace. “ ’Tis alright, my Viking. It can wait. Ye can try again later, when we are alone.” That was a very tempting offer, but Connor resisted the urge to accept it. Gillyanne openly confessed her love for him. At least once, he could do the same for her. He also refused to let fear and confusion lead him. They were just three little words. He would say them. “Nay, I will do this.” He took a deep breath, tipped her face up to his, and said, “I love ye.”

Gillyanne pulled free of his light grip and pressed her face against his broad chest. She was not surprised to feel the sting of tears in her eyes. All her fears had been banished and all her hopes restored with those three little words. All that kept her from crying like a baby was a touch of humor. Connor had looked grey enough to swoon as he had spit out the words between gritted teeth and the sigh of relief he had given afterward was so huge she was sure he had emptied his lungs. “ ’Tis settled now?” he asked. She looked up at him and smiled. “ ’Tis settled.” A soft cry of surprise escaped her as he picked her up and started for Deilcladach, breaking into a run after only a few long strides. She caught a glimpse of Fiona skipping out to her family and knew they would be seen to. Several objections to this mad dash occurred to her, but, when she realized he was headed for their bedchamber, she decided not to make them. * * * “Do ye think he said it?” Bethia asked her husband as she watched her daughter being carried away. “Aye,” replied Eric. “He was looking verra sick there for a moment.” He shared a laugh with Bethia before smiling a greeting at the pretty young girl who stopped in front of them. “Weel met, lass.” “Weel met, m’laird,” said Fiona. “I am Lady Fiona MacEnroy, sister to the barbarian who just left. I welcome ye to Deilcladach and beg ye to come inside.” She curtsied, then clasped her hands at the waist of her dark blue gown, smiling proudly at the Murrays. “ ’Tis pleased I am to welcome ye to the family as weel. Gillyanne is our treasure. She is teaching me to be a lady.” Fiona blinked when the brief silence of the Murrays was ended by hearty laughter, even the men at arms joining in. Gilly had been right; her family did find the thought of her teaching anyone to be a lady absolutely hilarious. Then Fiona grinned. Connor had his Gillyanne, but there was more to be gained from this union of the Murrays and the MacEnroys than a loving wife, good lands, and strong allies. Here was joy. Here was a love of life. Soon Deilcladach would share in those gifts as well. As she linked arms with the parents of her new sister and led them to Deilcladach, she knew fortune had smiled on them all when Connor had ridden to Ald-dabhach to claim its laird. But, she suspected Connor knew that. For a brother, he could be surprisingly clever at times. * * * “Did I see Fiona wearing a gown?” Connor forced his sated body up on one elbow and looked at his wife.

“Aye,” was all Gillyanne could manage to say, her body still weak and tingling from their lovemaking. Connor was tempted to get dressed and go down to the great hall to have a good look at that wonder, then looked at his wife and decided she was far more tempting. “Would ye really have left me?” he suddenly asked, trailing his fingers down between her breasts to her smooth, taut stomach. “That was my plan.” A certain tone in her voice prompted him to ask, “Ye were changing your mind?” Gillyanne sighed as she stroked his back. “Aye. Mother asked me a few questions.” “What were they?” “Do I love ye?” “And ye said aye.” “I did. Then, did I really wish to leave ye?” “And ye said nay.” I did, although I was still terrified of staying, of loving ye so much and not kenning how ye felt about me.” She accepted his slow kiss for the silent apology she knew he intended it to be. “And the third question?” he asked as he kissed her neck. “Are ye carrying his bairn?” Gillyanne was a little surprised at how utterly still Connor went. “And?” “That was when I began to think I might have to change my plans.” Connor straddled her, his palms flat on the bed on either side of her shoulders. “Ye would have gone, taking my bairn away?” She stroked his chest. “Nay. That I couldnae do.” “Yet ye still pressed me.” “Wouldnae ye have done the same?”

Recalling last night, he murmured, “I did.” He sat back on his haunches and placed a hand on her stomach. “Are ye certain?” “Aye. I havenae bled since the day before we married.” He settled himself on top of her and held her face in his hands. “Ye will be well.” “Aye, because ye love me.” “As ye love me.” “Aye, as I love ye.” Connor grunted and kissed her. Inwardly, Gillyanne laughed with delight. Her Viking would probably never be skilled at stroking her with sweet and tender words, but she had all she needed. And, she thought as he began to make love to her in earnest, she was becoming a strong believer in the saying that actions speak louder than words. They could certainly be far more enjoyable.

Epilogue “There is an army approaching our walls.” Connor looked up from teaching his six-week-old son Beathan how to frown with the appropriate amount of dignity and stern authority. Diarmot looked remarkably calm considering what he had just said. When Diarmot said no more, simply helped himself to a tankard of ale, Connor wished his hands were free for his brother was begging for a sound clout offside the head. “Since no alarm has been raised, I will assume we are nay being attacked,” Connor drawled. “Depends upon how ye wish to look at it.” “If ye dinnae start giving me some answers, ye will be looking at it through two blackened eyes.” Before Diarmot could reply, Gillyanne burst into the great hall. “My family is here, Connor,” she cried. A moment later, he found himself holding his daughter, too, and watching his wife run out of the great hall. She neither looked nor acted like a woman who had birthed twins a little over a month ago. He looked at his children who stared back at him with their mother’s slightly mismatched eyes. Connor doubted he would ever cease to be astonished that his tiny wife had given him healthy twins, and done so with an aplomb that many of the clan still talked about. “I suppose I had best go and greet them,” Connor said and, after Diarmot took his son, stood up. “Ye best prepare yourself,” Diarmot warned as he walked out of the great hall by Connor’s side. Connor stepped outside and nearly gaped. His bailey was crowded with people, carts, and horses. Diarmot had been right to call it an army. Deilcladach had been invaded by Murrays. He was still in shock as Diarmot nudged him down the steps to greet three of the few people he recognized. As Gillyanne’s parents and James admired the twins, Connor calmed himself and looked over the crowd. There were far too many handsome men, he decided, and began to look for his wife.

* * * “My, he is big.” Gillyanne smiled at Elspeth and nodded. “My own verra big Viking.” Avery nodded and shifted her infant son Craig to a more comfortable place on her hip. “And ye love him.” “Oh, aye.” Gillyanne joined her cousins in staring at her husband. “I am so glad ye came. I really didnae expect you.” “Weel, when we heard how few of your family could come, Elspeth and I said that wouldnae do at all. Cameron agreed and he was verra curious to see what sort of mon was wise enough and strong enough to take ye on as a wife. It rather grew from there. ’Tis a busy time of the year, but, one by one, others plotted ways to make the journey. Uncle Balfour and Aunt Maldie were going to come, but he took a mild fever and she threatened to tie him to the bed. So cousins Ewan and Liam, their wives, and older children came instead.” “I see Cameron brought Malcolm, but nay Katherine.” “Katherine is too close to her childbed. Since the land Cameron gave them is nay so far from here, he felt it important Malcolm meet with your husband.” Avery shook her head. “It is astounding how much Katherine has changed.” “She grew up,” said Elspeth as she picked up her three-year-old son Ewing who had been swinging on her skirts. “And, your husband has finally spotted ye in this crowd, Gilly.” Gillyanne waved at her husband then linked arms with her cousins. “Let us get everyone introduced and settled. Then we can talk, I can show off my bairns, and ye can show off yours.” * * * “That priest doesnae seem too fond of you, Connor,” Cameron murmured as he, Cormac, and Connor stood by the huge fireplace in the great hall drinking ale and waiting for the feast to begin. “We have a difference of opinion,” Connor said, wondering if Lady Bethia would be successful in soothing the priest’s ire as she seemed to be trying to do. “He claims I keep abducting him and I say I am merely fetching him to come and do his priestly duty. I fetched him and held him near a sennight when I went to claim Gilly. Then I fetched and held him a few days when the twins were born so he

could tend to their wee souls the moment they were born. Then I fetched him for this, what Gilly says is a proper christening. He has only been here two days. I suspicion Beathan wetting his fine robes didnae soothe his temper much, either.” He smiled faintly when the other two men laughed. “Do ye think our wives are talking about us?” asked Cormac, nodding to where the three cousins stood together. “Probably,” said Cameron. “Who is that lad talking to my sister?” asked Connor. “My son Christopher,” replied Cormac. “He came with me to the marriage after my mistress, his mother, was hanged.” “And the lad next to him is the son I brought to my marriage,” said Cameron. “Alan’s mother was once my mistress and she was hanged, too.” Connor stared at the men. “My mistress was hanged, too.” “Jesu, there is an eerie coincidence,” muttered Cormac. “No bastard though.” “Nay.” “Did ye nearly lose your lass? I was fool enough to let Elspeth go.” “And I let Avery go, too,” Cameron said quietly. “I nearly let Gilly leave me,” Connor confessed then smiled faintly. “All our names begin with a C and we are all tall.” “And handsome,” added Cameron. “And excellent lovers.” “Aye.” “And far, far luckier than we probably deserve to be,” said Cormac and hefted his tankard in a silent salute to their good fortune which Cameron and Connor quickly returned. * * * With the feast nearing the end, Connor swallowed nervously as the time for the celebratory toasts came. He was pleased to hear the ones offered by friends and family, gratified to know that, no matter what

happened, his children would always have someone to turn to. Each toast given, however, brought him closer to the time when he would have to speak. He could feel a trickle of sweat run down his back. “Are ye all right?” Gillyanne asked, thinking he looked a little ill. “Fine, wife. Just preparing myself to speak.” “Ye dinnae have to, Connor.” “Aye, I do.” When his turn came, he straightened his spine and stood up. “I thank ye all for coming to help us bless our bairns. And I thank ye for all the fine gifts. Most of all, I wish to thank ye Murrays for my wife. She is my joy, my heart, and the finest gift any mon could e’er have been blessed with.” He looked at Gillyanne and raised his tankard to her. “I love ye.” Gillyanne barely heard the cheers as her husband drank to her. She grabbed his hand the moment he sat back down. He was a little grey and obviously sweating, but she thought he had never looked so beautiful. He scowled at her and she kissed him. “That wasnae supposed to make ye cry,” he muttered as he wiped the tears from her cheeks with his napkin. “Oh, Connor, that was so beautiful.” “Weel, I wanted to thank ye. I kenned everyone would be honoring the bairns and ’tis ye I honor. I love the bairns — ” She placed her fingers over his lips. “I ken it.” She kissed his palm. “No one has e’er given me a finer gift.” He inwardly cursed for he could feel the heat of a blush on his cheeks. “Weel, ye deserved it.” Gillyanne smiled. He had told everyone that he loved her. She doubted he would ever know how much that meant to her. It was a gift so pure and grand, she was not sure she could ever repay him. However, she mused as she exchanged a grin with her cousins, she would certainly give it her best try later tonight. * * * Connor sighed with satisfaction as he entered his bedchamber. Gillyanne’s mother had calmed the priest, the feast had been sumptuous and well prepared, he had pleased his wife with his words, and all his

wife’s family seemed content. He did find it a little daunting to think that he had not met all of them yet. The ones he had met had accepted him, though, and he could see the promise of strong alliances. He shut the door behind him and then frowned. There was something different. He turned to stare at the door. “We have a new door.” He glanced at the other door in the room leading to the nursery and Gilly’s solar. “Two new doors.” He opened the door, suddenly aware of the weight of it. “Jesu, ’tis thick.” He shut it again. Idly wondering when her husband would notice there was a bath set out and she was wearing nothing but a drying cloth wrapped loosely around her, Gillyanne replied, “It certainly is. Verra, verra thick. Ye cannae hear anything through it.” “Are ye sure?” He studied the door one more time. “Verra sure. And, there is a fine new bell to call the lads in to dine. I willnae be the bell anymore.” Connor started to laugh. “Ah, Gilly, ye are my joy.” She ran over to be enfolded in his arms. “I love ye.” “And I love ye.” He kissed her then became aware of how little she was wearing. “Gilly?” “I thought ye might want a bath.” “The bairns are only six weeks old. Are ye sure?” Since she was already unlacing his clothes, she thought that a foolish question. “I am nay only sure; I am desperate.” “Weel, we cannae have that,” he said as he helped her finish removing his clothes and carried her to the bath. “Ah, wife, ye are my heart, my joy, and my blessing.” “As ye are mine, my Viking. Always and forever.” “That will do for a start. Now, let us give those new doors a proper testing.”