urge to throw his cup against the wall and took a slow sip of his whiskey instead. "Did he now?"
"Hugh pledged to quit pirating - or at least to stop plundering lands belonging to the Crown's allies."
"And who would be foolish enough to trust Hugh's pledge?" Connor asked.
"The regent and the council," James said. "From what I hear, the Campbell chieftain, as the Crown's deputy here in the west, is less inclined to bring Hugh into the fold. Still, this can't be good news for you."
Connor had intended to seek a marriage alliance at the gathering, which was only a few weeks away. In light of this news, he might do better to take advantage of the opportunity before him.
"My father has been approached by several chieftains seeking a marriage to my sister." James paused and smiled. "I suspect her beauty rivals my father's fleet of war galleys in fueling their desire for an alliance with us."
Deirdre had lush curves and the kind of overt sensuality that caught a man's attention like a ten-foot wave. In the days before Connor had become chieftain, when women came easy, he had preferred lasses with more delicate looks and subtle attraction. A sprinkling of freckles or an escaped curl played on a man's imagination. But in his current state of unrelenting need, Connor fully appreciated Deirdre's blatant appeal.
"I am considering marriage," Connor said, carefully approaching the subject as he would a pit of writhing snakes, "though I am in no hurry."
That was a lie, of course. The sooner he obtained a strong ally, the sooner he could take back Trotternish. And if Deirdre's father was leaving the rebellion, this would be an excellent match.
"My father thinks well of ye and gave me permission to negotiate a marriage contract on his behalf," James said. "As long as I'm here, why wait?"
Why, indeed? In addition to his legitimate reasons for rushing the marriage, the plain truth was that Connor was tired of sleeping alone and damned tired of his own hand on his shaft. For the sake of the clan, he would have settled for a wife far less attractive than Deirdre.
She was not the sort of woman he dreamed of in those weak moments when he was weary enough to let himself daydream. In his secret heart, Connor had hoped for a lass who could be a friend as well as a lover, someone who would ease the sense of aloneness he felt as chieftain. Deirdre would never be that. She was vain and self-centered and had little to say.
But in this harsh life, he longed for a woman's softness at the end of the day.
* * *
The kitchen was noisy with the sound of pots and pans being washed as Ilysa came through the door.
"What do ye want now?" Cook demanded and pointed a large wooden spoon at her. "If they have complaints, I don't want to hear them."
"I'm so proud of all of ye." Ilysa's voice hitched as tears suddenly stung the back of her eyes. "Everything was perfect. Ye did our clan and our chieftain proud." Whether Connor realized it or not.
Cook's sour expression gave way to a crooked smile. "Thank ye, lass. Now shouldn't ye be upstairs conversing with our important guests?"
"Connor and James have gone to talk in private, and the lady wished to retire early." The saints be praised for that. "I think we each deserve a wee cup of the good wine, don't you?"
In a twinkling Cook and his helpers cleared the worktable and pulled up stools. Ilysa poured the wine, and they toasted themselves and had a fine chat. Eventually, the others left to find their beds, but Ilysa and Cook stayed.
"I worked in this kitchen for twenty years before the damned MacLeods threw us out," he said. "You're not like any of the other mistresses of the castle. They'd never lend a hand nor share a cup with me."
"I enjoy being useful," Ilysa said, then added, "and I was dead set on winning ye over."
Cook laughed. "You're a determined lass."
"Will we be friends then?" she asked.
"Aye." He lifted his cup to hers. "Ye remind me of a ripe plum, soft and sweet, but with a pit at the center hard enough to break a tooth."
It was Ilysa's turn to laugh.
"I hear the chieftain was displeased with our warriors today," the cook said. "Can't say I blame him. 'Tis nothing like it was in the days of his father, when our warriors on Trotternish struck fear