"Dinnae be such an idiot."
Her small fist connected somewhat forcefully with his side and Diarmot grunted. Then he smiled faintly. He did not know what was troubling Ilsa, but it was not that she did not care for him. How he could be so sure of that simply because she called him an idiot and hit him, he did not know, but he did. Now he just needed to puzzle out what she was talking about. He hated to see her cry, to see her so upset, but he hesitated to try and soothe her. The truth was tumbling out. It might require some untangling, but he knew it needed to come out. He was going to have to tell a few truths himself if there was to be any hope for them.
"I thought once ye trusted me again, all would be weel," she continued. "I thought I kenned what I wanted, but then ye got your memory back, and ye started to give me sweet words and gifts and I realized I didnae ken what I wanted at all. Ye were stirring it all up again and it made me afraid. I cannae bear it. I am nay that strong."
Diarmot could not hold back any longer. Her tears were painful for him, especially since he was the cause. He pulled her into his arms, kissed the top of her head, and gently rubbed her slim back.
"Hush, Ilsa, twill be alright," he said.
"Nay, it willnae." She held herself stiff for a moment, then wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his chest. "I am a coward, a puling weakling." Although her crying had eased a little, she felt drained.
"Ye are one of the strongest women I have e'er met."
"Och, nay. I ran away. I ran away because ye were stirring it all up again and it terrified me."
"What was I stirring all up?"
"All that love and faith I had, all that I had given ye so long ago. I thought it was what I wanted, but I didnae. I cannae bear it," she said, fighting the urge to start wailing all over again. "It hurt so much when ye didnae come back for me."
"Ah, Ilsa, I wish I could change that, but I cannae."
"I ken it. But, dinnae ye see? I put it all away, buried it, locked it up.
When I came to Clachthrom I realized I had let it slip free a wee bit and there was all that pain again for ye didnae want me, didnae remember me. And, now, ye are plucking at it again and I cannae seem to keep it all locked away."
"Ilsa, my sweet, what makes ye think I dinnae love ye?" He felt her grow tense in his arms.
Ilsa wondered if all her crying had rattled her wits. "I beg your pardon?"
Diarmot gently cupped her small face in his hands and turned it up to his. "I love ye." For one minute the look upon her face was one of a gratifying wonder and delight, but then she scowled at him.
"Ye couldnae mention that ere now? Ye couldnae have said it ere ye left me o'er a year ago or when ye suddenly remembered it? Mayhap say it as ye gave me flowers or that wee ring or e'en whilst we made love?"
"Ah, weel, I wasnae sure until I saw Margaret trying to run a sword through ye."
Ilsa nearly gaped at him. She stepped back and furiously rubbed the tears from her face with her hands. It was not the fact that he had been so slow to know he loved her that upset her. She knew men could be very slow to grasp such an important fact. It was that he had known for two or three days, but had said nothing.
"If ye had said that but once, I wouldnae have been going near mad with wondering, fretting about what I could or couldnae do, or what I wanted or didnae want."
Diarmot quickly pulled her back into his arms and kissed her. "I wanted to woo ye, to soothe some of the wounds I ken I had inflicted." He kissed the hollow by her ear. "I remembered ye telling me ye loved me and was trying to woo ye into saying it again." He traced the delicate curve of her ear with his tongue, felt her shiver, and relaxed. "Ye can say it now."
"Say what?"
"Ilsa," he growled softly against the side of her neck.
"I think I might just wait as long as ye did ere I tell ye."
"Two or three days?"
"Nay, about fifteen months." She smiled sweetly when he looked at her. "Ye cannae force such words, ye ken."
"Nay?" He picked her up in his arms and headed for her bedchamber. "We shall see. I suspect I can make ye say it."
Obviously, he could, Ilsa thought as she lay sprawled on top of him, struggling to recover from their lovemaking. She had known what he would do once she had thrown him such a challenge, and was glad he had not surprised her this time. There had been a touch of resentment in her heart as she had thought of all she had suffered for the want of three little words. Passion had burned it away. Passion had also made it easy for her to cast off those last shields around her heart.
She murmured a protest when he nudged her onto her side and got out of bed. A minute later, she blushed as he cleaned away the remnants of their lovemaking.
When he climbed back into bed and pulled her back into his arms, she went willingly, Ilsa rested her cheek against his chest and began to idly trace his ribs with her fingers.