"Oh, dear," said Gay. "Sigimor has gotten verra angry. He is tossing men about."
"Aye." Ilsa briefly smiled at a giggling Gillyanne. "This foolishness will soon end. Once the Campbells see how many of them are ending in a groaning heap near the walls, they will back down."
"Your brother often ends a fight this way, does he?" asked Gillyanne.
"He says that, if they havenae got the sense to stay down when he knocks them down, they deserve to be thrown away." She shook her head as yet another Campbell went flying toward the wall, but she noticed the urge to keep fighting was slowly leaving the others still facing her brothers and the MacEnroys. "Tait says Sigimor just wearies of hitting them and wants them to go away. I think, too, that he did it once, saw how it made other men hesitate or back away, and decided it was a verra fine battle tactic."
"Aye, it is. I can see that my husband heartily approves." Gillyanne looked at Ilsa.
When the woman continued to study her, but say nothing, Ilsa began to feel uncomfortable. "What is it?"
"Just love the fool as ye do, Ilsa Cameron. Twill take time ere all is weel, but twill be time weel spent. Ah, the priest now ventures forth to try to soothe tempers."
Ilsa wanted to ask the woman what she meant by those words, but suspected she would get no answer. If Lady Gillyanne had wanted to say more, she would have.
Of that, Ilsa had no doubt. She inwardly shook her head. The woman had accepted her quickly, almost without question. Yet, Ilsa could not rouse much suspicion over that, which in itself was very odd, indeed. She turned her attention to the men who were arguing with the priest and each other.
"He shamed my daughter," snapped Sir Lesley Campbell, glaring at Diarmot and the priest. "That insults me and my family."
"It wasnae an intentional slight," said Father Goudie.
"I didnae ken I had a wife, handfast or otherwise," muttered Diarmot.
"How can ye forget a wife?" demanded Sir Lesley. "Do ye truly expect me to believe that?"
"I believe I told ye of my injuries and my loss of memory when this marriage was arranged." Diarmot did not need to look at the Camerons to know they doubted his claim, too. He could almost feel their anger and suspicion.
"Ye will pay for this, MacEnroy. Ye were to take my daughter to wife, to make her the lady of this keep."
"Weel, it seems he cannae do that, can he?" said Sigimor. "He handfasted with my sister nearly a year past and those bairns give her the right to claim him as husband."
"If the bairns are really his," snapped Sir Campbell, only to take a step back when Sigimor started to move toward him.
"There will be nay more fighting in my church," shouted Father Goudie, stopping Sigimor's advance, then he gave Sir Campbell a stern look. "The papers Lady Cameron has are proof enough for me. I also ken that Sir Diarmot was grievously ill. I believe him when he says he didnae recall he had a wife already. This was nay more than an innocent error, no insult intended, and that should be the end of it."
"Ah, weel, ye would say that, wouldnae ye?" said Sir Campbell, growing bold in his anger once Sigimor had stepped back. "Ye are a Goudie, one of a clan allied to the MacEnroys."
Father Goudie stood very straight, his expression and his voice cold. "Ye grow offensive. I am a priest. My first allegiance is to God, the church, and the truth. Ye would do weel to cease your curses and allegations and thank God the truth was uncovered ere your daughter found herself the illegitimate wife in a bigamous union."
Sir Campbell glared at the priest, but said no more, simply looked toward his daughter. "Come, Margaret."
As his erstwhile wife passed by his side, Diarmot looked at her, unable to think of anything to say to make amends. She smiled faintly and he inwardly frowned. There was little expression upon her sweet face or in her blue eyes.
Margaret was as calm as always which made no sense at all. Diarmot knew theirs was not to have been a love match, yet, surely, the woman should be at least annoyed. He began to wonder if what he had seen as a sweet, passive nature was actually bone-deep stupidity.
"It will all come right in the end," she murmured, then let her father drag her away.
Diarmot noticed that everyone was staring after Margaret with the same look of confusion he suspected he wore. "What did she mean by that?"
"Mayhap she is a forgiving lass," suggested Father Goudie. "She understands this was all an innocent mistake and wishes ye weel in renewing your vows with Lady Ilsa. Shall we begin the ceremony?"
It was on the tip of Diarmot's tongue to say no Goudie could possibly be that naive, but he bit back the words. Instead, he fixed his mind on the suggestion that he now marry the copper-haired woman who claimed they had been handfasted.
He did not care what papers she waved about, he was certain some wretched trick was being played on him.