"When did ye suspect ye might love me?" she asked.
Diarmot absently stroked her back. "When I stood in that copse where we had first made love. I confess I didnae think of love, except that I could almost hear ye say it and I wanted to hear ye say it again as ye just did. Three times." He smiled fleetingly when she lightly pinched him. "What I remembered was the passion, the sweet ferocity, and the peace I felt."
"The peace?" Ilsa had thought she had brought him some peace back then, but had recently begun to have doubts.
"Aye, the peace. It had been a long time since I had felt at peace. I had ceased to reach for it in a woman's arms almost a year before I met ye. Your cousins were wrong about the maid at the alehouse," he hastened to say when she started to speak. "Aye, she was giving me inviting smiles and I did wonder on accepting, but had decided it would be a waste of precious coin. In truth, one reason I had decided to marry Margaret was because I had been celibate for a year. Couldnae understand why. I think a part of me did remember ye. That was the trouble. I was verra reluctant. I also kept feeling it was wrong to marry Margaret and the nearer the wedding day drew, the stronger those feelings grew.
Then there were those dreams."
"What dreams?" Ilsa began to kiss his chest.
"I kept having dreams about an angry redheaded elf surrounded by a horde of fiery demons." He smiled when she collapsed against his chest, giggling.
"So, a part of ye did remember me and my family." She started to kiss her way down his chest.
"Aye. Ye proved a sore trial to me."
"Good." She lightly nipped his taut stomach.
Diarmot laughed. "I had to keep reminding myself that I must nay trust ye, that ye were the only true suspect I had, the only one who would gain from my death."
She could hear the regret in his voice. "I didnae like how ye mistrusted me and, aye, it hurt, but I did understand."
"Ye accepted it."
"Aye, I accepted it."
"As ye accepted my six children, some of who might nay e'en be mine?"
Ilsa looked at him even as she caressed his strong thighs. "They are your bairns. Just because your seed made them doesnae mean they must look just like ye. Many of them do. Odo has your eyes, as does Ewart. Ivy has the look of a MacEnroy, and Alice and Gregor have hair verra much like yours. But, e'en if your seed didnae make them all, they are all your bairns. Ye are Papa. I wasnae just giving them soothing words when I told them a family doesnae have to be one of blood. It can be one of heart, soul, and mind."
"They do feel like my bairns." The last word came out as something perilously close to a squeak as Ilsa curled her fingers around his staff.
"And how does this feel?" she asked as she stroked his staff and kissed his thighs.
"Like more."
A heartbeat later she gave him more. He closed his eyes and savored the feel of her lips and tongue as the heat of them replaced the soft caress of her fingers. When she took him into her mouth, he thought he could have the strength to enjoy that pleasure for longer than he had yet been able to since they had so recently made love. He soon realized he was wrong, that his emotions were still too high, feeding and strengthening his need for her.
Diarmot caught her up under her arms and gently tossed her onto her back. He gave her a grin that made her eyes widen as she recognized the passionate threat he silently made. Then, pulling forth every ounce of willpower he had to rein in his need to join with her, he did his very best to drive his wife wild with need.
Much later, as he roused himself from a thoroughly sated doze in Ilsa's slim arms, Diarmot raised himself up on his elbows and looked at her. He grinned.
Ilsa looked beautifully ravished and utterly exhausted. He silently patted himself on the back as he brushed a kiss over her lips. Then he moved off of her, lay down on his side next to her, and tugged her into his arms. Once he got her settled with her back pressed close to his front, he kissed the top of her head, and closed his eyes. At last, his sense of peace, of quiet joy and satisfaction was back, and he reveled in it.
The thumping noise dragged Diarmot from his sleep and, after a moment of confusion, he realized someone was banging on the door of the cottage. Pulling away from a still sleeping Ilsa, he got up and donned his braies. It was undoubtedly one of her massive family, he thought crossly. As he hurried down the steps, he realized it was barely past the dawning hour and he felt a tickle of unease. Throwing open the door, he stared sleepily at Odo, noticing an equally sleepy Liam slumped against the side of the cottage.
"Odo, what are ye doing here?" he asked.
"I came to see if ye made a mistake," Odo replied, then frowned. "Where are your clothes?"
"Somewhere in the bedchamber. Odo, everything is fine."
"Ye didnae say anything stupid?"
"Och, I suspect I did and so did your mother, but everything is fine now."