Page 50 of The Warrior
“The keeper is my father.”
* * *
Moira stood in the center of her old bedchamber and turned slowly in a circle. “’Tis almost as I left it, except that there are no gowns strewn across the bed and the bed curtains are a bit faded.”
It was odd to find her old chamber had changed so little when she could hardly remember the lass she had been when she lived here.
Moira smiled at Ilysa when she noticed the branch of holly in a jug on the side table. “This must be your doing.”
“’Tis hard to come by anything in bloom this time of year, so I thought the holly berries would brighten the room,” Ilysa said and dropped her gaze to her feet. “Connor never mentions the flowers I put out on the tables and in his chamber in summer, but I think he appreciates them all the same.”
Moira doubted it. “The holly is lovely.”
“I’ve been managing the castle household for Connor as he had no one else to do it,” Ilysa said with a slight quiver in her voice. “I hope you’ll find everything in good order.”
“I’m certain you’ve done a fine job.”
“When you’re planning the menus with the cooks,” Ilysa hurried on before Moira could say more, “Connor doesn’t care at all for goose liver, though he’d never say so. He’s never one to complain.”
Ach, no. Did the poor lass fancy herself in love with Connor? That would never do. Even if Ilysa caught Connor’s eye—which seemed unlikely in that old woman’s cap and ill-fitting brown gown—Connor would never act on it. Her father had no such scruples when it came to women, but Connor would never dally with his best friend’s sister. And when he wed, he would put duty first and make an alliance for the clan.
“I should warn ye that Tait is the orneriest of the guards,” Ilysa rattled on, “but he’s always the first to lend a hand when ye need it. And then there’s…” Ilysa stopped speaking and clasped her hands together. “I’m sorry. I’m sure ye don’t need my advice.”
Clearly, these responsibilities had become very important to Ilysa.
“Good heavens,” Moira said. “I hope Connor doesn’t expect me to manage his household for him.”
“Ye don’t wish to?” Ilysa asked, her eyes going impossibly wide.
“Would ye mind doing it awhile longer?” Moira asked. “I’m so distracted with worry over my son that it would be an unwelcome burden to me.”
“I’d be happy to,” Ilysa said.
“Duncan told me ye lost your husband at Flodden,” Moira said. “You’re so young. Surely ye will want to marry again and set up your own household before long.”
Ilysa dropped her gaze to the floor again and shook her head.
“Well, Connorisbound to marry soon—he should have already,” Moira said in a soft voice and touched the younger woman’s arm. “Ye do know that when Connor weds, his wife will take over these duties?”
“Of course,” Ilysa said.
Connor had always been tediously responsible. In fact, Moira suspected the only reason Connor had waited this long to wed was that the time was not yet ripe to make the best match possible.
How different she and Connor had been as children. Moira had rushed headlong into things, letting her heart lead her wherever it would, while Connor thought things through. Living with Sean had taught Moira to be cautious and calculating like her brother.
Moira could not help Ilysa win Connor, but there were plenty of fine warriors in the castle. Ilysa was a pale thing, but she had a pretty face. If only she didn’t wear the drabbest colors and loose gowns that did nothing to flatter her slender figure.
Intent on giving Ilysa some pointers, Moira pulled her over to the standing mirror, a gift her father had brought all the way from Edinburgh for her.
“God have mercy!” Moira cried when she caught her own reflection in the mirror. “Look at me!”
“Is your face as painful as it looks?” Ilysa asked, scrunching her delicate brows together.
“Painful? It’s hideous!” Her face was a misshapen mass of bruises, ranging in color from purple to a sickly greenish yellow. And her gown looked even worse than she had imagined.
Moira sat down on the nearby bench with a thump. Ach, she must have looked even worse before. She thought of all the hours she’dspent with Duncan. Especially the hours in bed. In the afternoon, when it was light.
Moira did not pretend she didn’t know she was beautiful. Men had lusted after her since she was thirteen, so she was well aware it was her looks that drew them to her.
