The Chieftain (10 page)

Connor followed her down into the undercroft and past the kitchens, which were oddly quiet. When she opened the door to a
storeroom, he followed her inside. He tamped down the impatience tugging at him when he looked about and did not see his dog
amid the sacks of oats and barley.

Ilysa surprised him by dropping to her knees and lifting a board from the floor. Beneath it was a dark hole. Puzzled, Connor
stooped beside her. On closer inspection, he saw that there was a ladder in the hole.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Cook told me it leads down into a secret part of the dungeon, built for special prisoners.”

“Special?” Connor grunted. “Why has no one told me about it?”

“Cook’s grandfather showed it to him when he was a young lad. I don’t think anyone else knows about it except perhaps a couple
of the old folk.” Ilysa smiled and added, “And your dog.”

“How did Maggie get down there?” he asked, trying to see down into the hole.

“I couldn’t find it, but there must be another entrance.” Ilysa turned around to back down the ladder and put her foot on
the first rung.

“No need for you to go,” Connor said.

“I must show ye where she’s hiding,” Ilysa said. “You can carry the torch.”

“All right, but I’ll go first.”

The smell of damp earth filled Connor’s nose as he climbed down through the narrow tunnel. When he reached the bottom rung
of the ladder, he dropped to the floor, then lifted Ilysa down. Such a slender waist she had. He looked around and saw that
they were in a stone-walled passageway. Many castles had secret tunnels like this.

“Maggie and her pups are in there,” Ilysa said, pointing into the darkness.

Connor followed the tunnel around a corner and through an open iron grate door into what was surely a cell. He lifted the
torch to see into the corners, looking for his damned dog. Something was odd, but he could not quite put his finger on it.
Ach, there were no rats scurrying before him, and no spiderwebs. That was it.

When the door slammed behind him, he thought it had been blown shut.
But there is no wind
. He turned around, wondering what happened.

“Ilysa?” He raised his torch higher. Where had she gone?

He pulled on the door, but it was stuck. He jerked at it. Then he glanced about the cell. There were no pups here.

“Ilysa!” he shouted and pounded his fist on the door.

Relief flooded through him when he saw Ilysa’s head poke out from around the corner. She must have been waiting for him back
by the ladder.

“The door’s stuck,” he said. “Ye may have to fetch some of the men to get me out.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, stepping out from behind the wall. “If you’d listened to me, I wouldn’t have to do this.”

“What in the hell are ye talking about?” he shouted. “Open this damned door at once!”

“I can’t do that.”

Connor’s stomach dropped. She could not be betraying him. Not Ilysa.

“I told ye I had a vision,” she said. “You were with your two uncles, and Hugh stabbed ye in the back. He murdered ye.”

Instead of betraying him, had she gone mad? She stood outside of the circle of light from his torch so he could not see her
face clearly, but she sounded as though she was weeping.

“Open the door,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “Ye do have the key?”

“Can’t ye see that I couldn’t let ye meet your uncles?” she said. “I must protect ye.”

“You, protect
me
?” he said, anger surging through his veins. “I am your chieftain, and I command ye to release me.”

“Hugh was going to murder ye if ye went,” she said. “I saw it.”

“Ilysa!” he shouted.

“It won’t be for that long,” she said, brushing her skirts as if she were discussing a problem with the laundry. “Three days
should be long enough for ye to miss the meeting, aye?”

She could not mean it.

“Ye have everything ye need down here. Plenty of candles and parchment,” she said. “I’ll bring ye food and fresh water every
day.”

By the saints, she had planned this all out. “You even cleaned it, didn’t ye?”

He wanted to strangle her.

“If ye look under that cloth on the table, you’ll find one of those apple tarts you’re so fond of.”

“An apple tart?” he said, clenching his fists. “Christ, Ilysa, ye think an apple tart will appease me!”

“No need for blasphemy and shouting,” she said.

“I’m going to commit a far worse sin than blasphemy when I get out of here,” he shouted. “I’m going to murder ye! Now release
me at once!”

I
lysa listened to the men’s snores as she crept through the darkened hall on silent feet. Guiding herself with one hand on
the wall, she descended the stairs into the undercroft. After she was in the storage room and closed the door, she lit the
lamp she had left there.

I locked my chieftain in a cell.
The magnitude of the act struck her as she lifted the board from the floor.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself for another round of angry shouting. Once Connor realized she was not going to
relent and let him out no matter what he threatened, they were usually able to have a reasonable conversation. Ilysa meticulously
reported all the goings-on in the castle so he would not be caught unaware of anything important when he returned.

But this time, there would be no conversation after the shouting. She was releasing him.

After three days of hearing him make violent threats against her person, Ilysa was a trifle uneasy. She did not believe Connor
would actually murder her with his bare hands, as he had said so many times. Yet she did anticipate she would receive some
sort of punishment.

Was Connor angry enough to have her whipped in the courtyard in front of everyone? No, she felt certain it would be a private
punishment.

Anxiety balled in her stomach as she climbed down the ladder. Connor was silent as she approached the door, which made her
more nervous.

“I told everyone that ye left the castle after dark that first night for a secret meeting,” she said as she drew the iron
key from the pouch tied to her belt. “’Tis the middle of the night now. No one will ever know ye were here the whole time.”

Her hand shook too badly for her to fit the key into the keyhole.

“
Aaah!
” she yelped when a hand reached through the grate and grabbed hold of hers. Connor did not say a word, and his hand was rock-steady
as he twisted hers to turn the key in the lock. Ilysa jumped back as he shoved the door open with such force that it banged
against the wall.

“I am sorely tempted to toss ye in that cell in my place and throw away the key,” Connor said with such venom that a shiver
went up her back.

Instead, he lifted her off her feet, carried her to the ladder, and flung her onto it. It did not matter that her legs were
too wobbly to go up by themselves, because Connor was pushing her up from behind with a hand on her bottom. He was, understandably,
anxious to be out of his prison.

A moment later, they were facing each other in the storage room, which seemed far too tiny to contain Connor and his fury.
In the light of the lamp she had left burning, she could see him clearly. His fists were clenched, and his chest heaving.
With three days of beard and that black rage in his eyes, he looked so dark and dangerous that she could barely breathe. Yet
he had never looked more handsome.

“I want ye to leave,” Connor said. “Now.”

“Leave?” Ilysa had not expected this. “Can’t ye just order me whipped instead?”

“I don’t have women whipped, for God’s sake!” Connor said, his eyes narrow angry slits. “Besides, such a punishment would
require an explanation, and no one is ever going to learn about this.”

Ilysa could see that her worst offense had been hurting his pride.

“But ye need me here to take care of your household,” she said, desperation taking hold. “I promise no one will know that
I locked ye up.”

“I will know,” Connor said between his teeth. “You’re leaving, and I don’t want to see you in this castle ever again.”

He turned on his heel and left, his anger like shimmering heat in his wake.

Connor sat in his chieftain’s chair at the high table waiting for his breakfast. He ignored the questioning glances from his
men. He owed them no explanation for where he had been for the last three days, and he was giving none.

Three days in his own dungeon, held prisoner by a wee lass. Even Shaggy Maclean had only succeeded in holding him prisoner
a single day. Connor’s fury was boundless.

Ilysa had the effrontery to tell him she was protecting him. Protecting
him.
And worse, she believed it! That was as offensive as deciding she had the right to dispute his judgment and ignore his commands.
After pacing the floor the remainder of the night—he was too furious to sleep—he had decided to relent and not ship her home
to Dunscaith. He was too kindhearted. Still, she did need to be punished.

Where in the hell was his breakfast? He was starving, which worsened his already black mood. The servants were scurrying about
like confused chickens, but no one was bringing him food.

Was this Ilysa’s way of punishing him for shouting at her last night? Three days ago, he would have dismissed the notion,
believing her incapable of spite. But after living in the same household for much of their lives, he’d discovered that he
did not know her at all.

Anger pulsed through him, making his pounding headache worse.

He slammed his cup on the table. “Where is my breakfast?”

Everyone in the hall was giving him nervous, sideways looks. He never abused his authority by shouting over small matters
like a spoiled prince. This too, he blamed on Ilysa. By God, she deserved a dire punishment. If only he could think of one.
He could not give her additional work, for no one worked harder.

Finally, the serving women scurried in with what looked like last night’s supper. Cold.

“Where’s my porridge?” he asked one of them.

“I’m sorry, Chieftain,” the lass said, her eyes wide as if she expected him to take a bite out of her. “We forgot to make
it.”

Forgot?
He had porridge with his breakfast every single morning. Even in his goddamned dungeon, Ilysa had brought it to him.

“Just see that it doesn’t happen again,” he said, softening his voice with an effort because he did not want to send the lass
into a dead faint.

Ilysa had let everything fall apart in the kitchen. Clearly, it did not pay to upset her.

After his miserable, cold breakfast, Connor went outside for some blessed fresh air. Nothing like spending time in a dank
dungeon to make a man appreciate daylight. He walked along the side of the keep, drawing in deep breaths. As he was about
to round the corner, he heard someone speak his name and paused.

“Where do ye suppose the chieftain was?” a woman asked.

He should have known the entire castle would be speculating about his absence.

“Ilysa’s face went all pink when she told us he’d gone to ‘a secret meeting,’ and he didn’t take his guard with him,” a male
voice responded. “I’d say that means he was visiting a lass.”

“About time!” another man said, and this was followed by a round of bawdy laughter. “We’ll have to stop calling him Saint
Connor.”

“Who’s the lucky lass?” the woman asked.

The names of several women were raised and dismissed in turn.

“He wouldn’t have to ask me twice,” the woman said, which caused loud guffaws.

Connor rubbed his temples as he recognized the woman’s voice as belonging to Flòraidh, a grandmother as round as a turnip.

“He’s keeping it quiet,” the second man said, “so I’d wager our
Saint
Connor is fooking another man’s wife!”

It was time to put a stop to this. When Connor stepped around the corner, the three stared at him openmouthed.

“Since ye have time on your hands, you two will take night guard duty for a week,” he said, pointing at the two warriors.
Then he turned his glare on Flòraidh. “I’d better have hot porridge on my table tomorrow.”

Connor spent the rest of the morning supervising the men’s practice. Knocking his opponents to the ground for a few hours
improved his mood considerably. He felt almost himself again by the time they went in for the midday meal.

The disaster of breakfast was repeated. Cold, tasteless food from the day before was served, and that was soon gone. He had
enough troubles without facing them hungry.

Connor was tempted to give Ilysa the punishment she deserved after all: three days and nights in the hole of a dungeon. And
no hot food, either. He took a long swallow of his drink and slammed his cup on the table. Even the ale had gone sour.

“Send Ilysa to my chamber,” he ordered Lachlan, who happened to be standing by the door as he left the hall.

Connor paced his chamber, waiting. What in the hell was taking so long? Finally, there was a rap at his door. He turned, prepared
to give Ilysa the berating of her life, but it was Lachlan.

“I couldn’t find her,” Lachlan said.

“Then look harder.”

“Ilysa is not here.”

“I suppose someone in one of the nearby cottages needed a healer.” Connor hoped she had the sense not to go alone. “The moment
she returns, I want to see her.”

“Ilysa has gone from Trotternish,” Lachlan said. “She sailed before dawn for Dunscaith Castle.”

“No, that can’t be.” Connor stopped his pacing. “Ilysa couldn’t sail a boat to Dunscaith by herself.”

“Niall took her in that small galley,” Lachlan said.

Two could sail the galley they had stolen from Shaggy Maclean. “How do ye know this?” Connor demanded.

“Cook was the only one Ilysa told, and it wasn’t easy getting it from him,” Lachlan said, looking uncomfortable.

“What do ye mean, it wasn’t easy?” Connor said, narrowing his eyes at Lachlan. He did not approve of his warriors being rough
with the servants.

“Ach, the man is a blubbering mess, weeping like a babe,” Lachlan said, making a face. “I told him that’s no way for a MacDonald
to behave, but it did no good. I expect supper will be no better than breakfast and dinner were.”

Connor went to the window to look out at the sea. Niall was a fine sailor, but they would be passing lands held by the MacLeods,
which was dangerous with just the two of them.

Why did they go?
Connor did not realize he had spoken the question aloud until Lachlan answered it.

“Ilysa told Cook that ye ordered her to leave.”