“I don’t understand,” she said, and her light touch on his shoulder pulled him like an undertow.
“’Tis my fault,” he said. “I beg ye, Ilysa. Go quickly.”
***
Ilysa shut her door and leaned against it.
Connor kissed me!Not a brotherly peck on the cheek, either. Nor a light brush on her lips. No, this was a real kiss. He wasn’t pretending he wanted to do it, as her husband Mìchael had. This was a thrillingly passionate kiss.
And not just one kiss. Ilysa wanted to count them all and remember each one, but they had blended together, one into the next. Her head was still swimming. She had been surprised when Connor used his tongue. Though she was aware people did that sometimes, she had not expected to like it so very much.
She touched her fingertips to her lips. She had dreamed of this, but it had been more wonderful than she ever imagined. Truly, she could have kissed Connor all night and wanted more. When he pulled her against him, his arms felt so strong around her. She hugged herself, remembering how magical it had been. While Connor held her, she had felt as if anything was possible. Anything at all.
Still, Ilysa was no fool. She understood Connor could never be hers, not truly and not for long. That did not keep her from wanting however much of him he would give her.
Connor had not wanted to stop any more than she had. His kisses did not lie. Nor did the desire in his eyes. His sense of honor stood in her way. He had only turned away from her out of some misplaced sense of duty.
Ilysa may not have Connor for long, but she did mean to have him. Then, for the rest of her life, she would have that to remember.
***
As soon as Lachlan passed through the gate, he knew that Connor had returned from the gathering. The guards on the wall were more alert, and men in the courtyard were practicing with greater intensity, wanting to earn his praise. Lachlan’s awareness of the men’s respect for their chieftain was inescapable.
He saw Connor observing the lads who were fourteen to seventeen practicing and crossed the courtyard to stand beside him.
“I see you’re back,” Connor said, and he did not sound friendly.
“I’ve been scouting the MacLeod camps,” Lachlan said. “They’ve brought in more warriors.”
“I expected as much,” Connor said and kept his gaze fixed on the young warriors. “We’ll discuss it later.”
Sorely, who was a decent swordsman but a poor teacher, was leading the practice.
“They’re no better than when I left,” Connor muttered under his breath.
“Not like that, ye fooking idiot!” Sorely shouted at an awkward lad named Robbie. Belatedly, he felt their presence and turned around.
“Lachlan and I will work with this group today,” Connor said.
Sorely did not enjoy training the younger men. All the same, he resented the dismissal, judging by his sour look before he covered it. If Connor noticed, he did not show it. But then, Connor wouldn’t.
“Bless ye for taking this burden from me!” Sorely said and gave a laugh that rang false.
Sorely was an arse.
“Gather ’round,” Connor called out. “If I hear any more grumbling, you’ll all spend the night in the dungeon with the rats.”
The young men went silent.
“The MacLeods will shred ye to bits if ye don’t learn to fight better than this—and soon,” Connor continued. “Your lives are my responsibility, and I don’t intend to see that happen. Now, ye will give me your best, or go home to your mothers.”
None of them wanted that humiliation. They shuffled their feet as Connor’s steel-gray gaze moved from face to face.
“Are ye prepared to become warriors worthy of Clan MacDonald?” When they remained silent, Connor raised his claymore into the air and shouted, “Are ye?”
“Aye! Aye!” the lads shouted back.
Connor directed them to form two lines, one in front of Lachlan and the other in front of him. During the long period in which the castle was in the hands of the MacLeods, Lachlan had led practices with small groups in fields, with someone keeping watch. He had discovered he was good at training others in the skills of war, and it gave him satisfaction.