a word against ye," Moira said. "But ye must have done something truly dreadful for her to leave."
"I've done nothing to apologize for." In fact, he had punished Ilysa far less than she deserved. Now he was prepared to forgive all and allow her to return. "How is Ilysa?"
"Have ye not seen her yet?" Moira asked.
"Ilysa is here?" Connor asked, turning to look for her in the crowded hall. Why in the hell would she be here? Regardless, it should not be difficult to spot her drab gown in this room full of lasses dressed like brightly colored birds.
"I'm fortunate to have a sister-in-law I'm so fond of," Moira said as she gazed across the room with a soft smile. "I see I'm not the only one to appreciate what a delight she is."
Connor followed his sister's gaze, but instead of finding Ilysa, he saw a lass surrounded by a group of men. Her back was to him so all he could see of her was a slim outline and lovely reddish-blond hair that fell in a thick braid to her waist and was ornamented with tiny blue flowers.
"I don't see Ilysa," Connor said, though in truth he had stopped looking for her.
He could not seem to drag his gaze away from the lass with hair the color of summer sunlight. When she spoke to the man next to her, he caught a bit of her profile. Then she tilted her head back and laughed, exposing the graceful line of her throat, and his pulse skipped.
"Ilysa is right in front of your eyes," his sister said with a smile in her voice. "Perhaps you're having trouble because of all the men blocking your view."
Men blocking his view? They were talking about Ilysa.
Chapter 18
The lass with the red-gold braid turned around. As their gazes met, Connor had the oddest sensation that he was seeing her through a swirling fog. The hall and all the sounds and people in it faded into the mist, and he saw only her.
The lass's eyes widened and her lips parted as if she recognized him before she turned away. Connor's heart lurched, and a terrible longing filled him, just as it had that night in the faery glen. An instant later, disappointment hit him like a fist to his chest because he knew this could not be his faery lass. He had long since realized that the loss of blood from his wounds that night had caused him to imagine her.
How strange that someone in the midst of this noisy, crowded hall had made him think of the faery glen and the ethereal lass who danced with such abandon in his imagination. He was never given to flights of fancy or romantic notions. Yet the fragility of her slender frame engendered an unexpected and powerful urge to protect her.
"Who is she?" he asked.
"Come, let's find out," Moira said and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm.
As they approached, the men surrounding the lass made room for Connor next to her. There were some advantages to being a chieftain.
"Take a stroll with me tomorrow and show me where ye found those wee blue flowers in your hair," one of the men said, which caused her cheeks to blush a pretty pink. "Say ye will, Ilysa."
"Ilysa?" Connor did not realize he had spoken the question aloud until the lass spun toward him.
Connor's mouth fell open. This close, he could see that this was indeed Ilysa, but she was so changed - wonderfully so - that his mind was slow to grasp it.
How had he failed to notice how truly lovely her brown eyes were? A man could get lost in them. His gaze dropped to her gown, and his throat tightened. All this time, she had hidden a lithe body beneath oversize gowns.
"I don't recall seeing your hair before," he said and reached out to touch a shining, red-gold strand that had come loose.
She stepped back from him. "Good evening to ye, Connor."
Connor started at the sound of her familiar, calm voice and dropped his hand. What was he thinking, touching her hair in front of a room full of people, as if he were a lover who could not keep his hands off her. How could Ilysa sound so serene when his pulse was pounding at his temples?
"What happened to ye?" he blurted out.
"Your sister and S矛leas have been dressing me." She plucked the skirt of her gown between delicate fingers. "Do ye think the