Highland Flame

by Mary Wine

  ALSO BY MARY WINE

  HIGHLAND WEDDINGS

  Highland Spitfire

  Highland Vixen

  Highland Hellion

  THE SUTHERLANDS

  The Highlander’s Prize

  The Trouble with Highlanders

  How to Handle a Highlander

  The Highlander’s Bride Trouble

  HOT HIGHLANDERS

  To Conquer a Highlander

  Highland Hellcat

  Highland Heat

  COURTLY LOVE

  A Sword for His Lady

  STEAM GUARDIAN

  A Lady Can Never Be Too Curious

  A Captain and a Corset

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  Copyright © 2017 by Mary Wine

  Cover and internal design © 2017 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover art by Shane Rebenschied

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

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  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  One

  Gordon land

  They were waiting for him to bless the meal.

  He was laird, and it was his place to begin the evening supper with a prayer. Somehow, in all the times his mother had spoken of that moment with longing in her eyes, she had never mentioned to him just how much it would remind him of facing down his enemies.

  More than one man was giving him a glare that made it plain they felt they were as entitled to the position at the high table as Diocail was.

  Diocail Gordon eyed the bread his staff delivered, and hesitated. It was misshapen, and when he did grasp it, his fingers sank in because it was wet, the top part soaked with water as though it had been sitting out in the rain. He cleared his throat and said the prayer before ripping the bread to indicate everyone might eat.

  The hall was only half full, which surprised him. The laird provided supper for his retainers, yet it appeared a good number of them were choosing to find their meals elsewhere. The clumps of wet bread glued to his fingertips might be one reason—if a man had a wife to turn him better bread—but that didn’t account for the number of retainers missing.

  Diocail sat down and watched, seeking more clues. Maids were entering the hall now, and they carried several large trays toward his table. While the bread might have been lacking, these platters were full of roasted meats that looked very good to his eyes. It was a bounty to be sure, and his predecessor’s captains began to help themselves.

  Along the table that sat on the high ground were men who had served Colum, the last laird of the Gordons. Diocail had given them all a chance to challenge him, and none had. Instead, they maintained their high positions. At the moment, that entitled them to a good supper, served in front of the rest of the clan to make their position clear. There wasn’t an empty chair, and each man had a gilly behind him to take care of his needs. Some of the older captains had two young men standing at the ready, which made Diocail narrow his eyes. When a man was young, he often became a gilly to learn focus, but there was a gleam in these young men’s eyes that didn’t make sense.

  Diocail didn’t suffer in ignorance for long.

  Supper began to make its way into the hall, but it was far from sufficient. Men fought over what was brought, elbowing each other as they grabbed it from maids, who tossed their trays down because of the fray, afraid to get too close to the tables. There were clear pockets of friends who clustered together to defend whatever they had managed to grab from the frightened kitchen staff. Any man who tried to break into their ranks was tossed aside like a runt.

  Diocail never started eating. He watched the squabbling and then realized exactly why his men were fighting when no more food came from the kitchen. Whatever a man had managed to grab was all there was, and the lucky ones devoured their fare quickly before someone else managed to rip it from their grasp.

  “Colum was a miser,” Muir told him. Diocail’s newly appointed captain was making a face as he tried to chew the bread. “Dismissed the Head of House in favor of one who would be willing to serve less food without complaint. There is nary a rabbit within a mile of this keep because so many take to hunting to fill their bellies.”

  Muir was disgusted too, looking at the piece of meat in his hands as though the taste had gone sour. Diocail realized it was because a young boy was looking at it as well, his eyes glistening with hunger. Muir lifted the food toward the boy, and the lad scampered up the three steps to the high ground to snatch it.

  “Even though I am no’ in the habit of questioning the Lord’s will,” Muir growled out between them, “I confess, I wonder why that man was graced with such a long life when he sat at this table feasting while his own men starved.”

  “It makes me see why no one else was willing to defend him,” Diocail answered. “Seems it was justice that saw him stabbed in his own bedchamber.”

  “A justice ye did yer best to shield him from.” Muir sent him a hard look.

  “He was me laird,” Diocail answered. “A man I had sworn to protect. His lack of character did no’ release me from the bonds of honor. Yet I confess, I am grateful I lost that battle, and I am no’ sorry to say so. The bastard needed to die for what he’s allowed the Gordons to become.”

  “Aye,” Muir agreed, looking out at the hall once more. There was now a cluster of children in front of the high table, all silently begging for scraps. All of them were thin, telling him that they weren’t just intent on being gluttons.

  No, they were starving.

  And that was a shame.

  A shame on the Gordon name and Diocail’s duty to rectify. He waved them forward. They came in a stumbling stampede, muttering words of gratitude as they reached for the platter sitting in front of him and Muir.

  The platter was picked clean in moments.

  Diocail stood up. The hall quieted as his men turned to listen to him. “I will address the shortage of food.”

  A cheer went up as Diocail made his way down the steps from the high ground and into the kitchen. Muir fell into step beside him. The kitchen was down a passageway and built alongside the hall. Inside, the kitchen was a smoke-filled hell that made Diocail’s eyes smart and the back of his throat itch. He fought the urge to cough and hack. It was hardly the way to begin a conversation with hi
s staff.

  “The weather is fine and warm,” he declared. “Open the shutters.”

  Instead of acting, all the women working at the long tables stood frozen, staring at him. Their faces were covered in soot from the conditions of the kitchen. Many of them had fabric wrapped around their heads, covering every last hair in an effort to keep the smoke from it. Muir opened a set of doors to try and clear the air. Diocail looked at the hearths and realized the smoke wasn’t rising up the chimneys. No, it was pouring into the kitchen, and the closed shutters kept it there.

  The staff suddenly scurried into a line to face him. They lined up shoulder to shoulder, looking at the ground, their hands worrying the folds of their stained skirts.

  “Where is the Head of House?” he asked softly. It was God’s truth that he’d rather face twenty men alone than the line of quivering females who clearly thought he was there to chastise them.

  Colum had truly been a bastard of a laird. He’d made his people suffer when the true duty of the laird was to serve the clan.

  One of the women lifted her hand and pointed. Diocail peered through the clearing gloom and spotted the Head of House. She was seventy years old if she was a day. Whoever she was, she was deep in her cups and sitting in a chair on the far side of the kitchen as she sang and swayed.

  “Sweet Christ, little wonder the supper is a poor one,” Muir remarked next to Diocail’s ear.

  “Who is her second in charge?”

  The women continued to look at the floor. Two of them were beginning to whimper. Muir took a step back, but Diocail reached out and grabbed the man’s kilt. “Do nae ye dare leave me here alone,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Someone must be making decisions,” Diocail said as gently as he could in an effort to coax one of the women forward. What did he know of speaking to frightened females? Two more started crying, proving his knowledge was extremely lacking. Their tears left smears down their cheeks.

  “Mercy, Laird,” a younger woman wailed. “I need me position. I swear, I will serve less, please do nae dismiss me.”

  The entire group suddenly dissolved into desperate pleading. They came toward him, backing him and Muir up against the wall as they begged him not to send them away.

  Diocail had never been so terrified in his life.

  “No one is being dismissed.” Diocail raised his voice above the wailing.

  It quieted them for the most part, which allowed him to see that a good number of his retainers had made their way into the kitchen after him. Those men were now glaring at him, making it plain that these were their wives or women and they didn’t take kindly to him upsetting them.

  Diocail looked at the woman who had spoken. “Mistress?”

  “Eachna.” She lowered herself but looked up at him, proving she had a solid spine, and while there was a worried glitter in her eyes, there was also a flash of temper that made it clear she thought his visit was long overdue.

  Christ, he’d only been back at the castle for two days.

  But he’d known that taking the lairdship meant his shoulders were going to feel the weight of the burden that went along with the position. He intended to rise to meet it.

  He gestured for her to straighten, and the rest of the women suddenly lowered themselves.

  “Enough of that.” Diocail felt Muir hit him in the middle of his back because his voice had gained a frustrated edge. Diocail drew in a deep breath and regretted it as his lungs burned.

  “I am here to resolve the issue of supper, no’ have ye all quivering. So…” He resisted the urge to run his hand down his face in exasperation. “If ye might explain the lack of food? There was no’ enough served, and I would see the men satisfied.”

  He looked to Eachna, and her companions seemed quite willing to allow her to be the target of his inquiry. They shifted away from her, proving Colum had dealt harshly with his staff.

  Not that such was a surprise. The old laird had been a bitter man who died with hatred in his eyes while his blood drained out of his body from stab wounds inflicted by a man hungry to take the lairdship before time claimed Colum’s life. Being killed by one of his own clansmen seemed to be something he’d earned through neglect.

  “The last laird decreed it so,” Eachna answered after she took a shaky breath. “The shutters are kept closed to reduce how much wood is needed to keep the hearth fire burning.”

  He gestured to the women watching him. “And this is the extent of the staff?”

  “She dismissed half of us to save the coin.” Eachna pointed at the besotted Head of House. The woman was still happily singing in a voice that lacked both tone and rhythm. So soaked in ale, she hadn’t noticed anything happening around her.

  Diocail lost the battle to keep from rubbing his forehead. Eachna’s eyes widened, but she stiffened her back and remained facing him.

  “Double the fare ye put forth. And hire ten more women to help ye here. Someone take that woman to her home.” He pointed at the Head of House. “She’ll be provided for.”

  Eachna’s eyes widened. “But we have only one hearth because the chimney fell on the other, and the roof leaks.” She pointed at the shimmer on one of the long tables from fresh rain that made the wet bread understandable. “And the wall fell off the back of the storerooms two winters past—”

  “Ye’re on yer own,” Muir muttered.

  Diocail sent the man a glare. “In that case, ye can look at the storerooms and decide what needs doing.”

  His captain tugged on the corner of his bonnet before all but running out of the kitchen as though he’d faced demons straight from hell.

  At least the smoke was thinning thanks to the door being open. His eyes were still burning, but Eachna sent him a look that made it clear she wanted him to suffer the conditions she did. He cleared his throat. “I’ve no experience in running a kitchen, mistress. Perhaps ye might speak yer mind.”

  Something flashed through her eyes that impressed him because she was no meek maid. No, there was a sharp wit inside her head. He watched her fix him with a hard look before she began her questions.

  “How much fare do ye want on the tables, and how much do I pay each new girl, and—”

  His head was pounding. Diocail suddenly understood why the Head of House was in her cups. He needed a drink rather badly himself.

  What bothered him was how none of the men clustered in the doorways seemed to be taking notes of the repairs needed. Instead, they simply looked to him to right matters.

  “Whatever ye are paid…increase it a third…for all here…” There was a happy little murmur around him. “And hire whomever ye feel is fit. We’ll begin there while I see to the repairs needed.”

  Eachna snapped her mouth shut and nodded. Diocail reached up and tugged on the corner of his bonnet out of habit before making a quick path toward the door.

  Escaping the kitchen didn’t offer him any relief. His captains were waiting for him in the passageway. Each had a list of needs that took until nearly midnight to be heard. It was Muir who finally appeared with a flask of whisky and a sack that Diocail truly hoped held something to fill his belly.

  “Sweet Christ, I should have let Tyree have this lairdship,” Diocail said as he took a second, longer swig. Tyree had been the man to try his hand at killing Colum, and in the end he’d succeeded in spite of Diocail’s attempts to protect his laird.

  “He was a murdering swine,” Muir declared as he reached for the flask. “So I’m rather grateful ye did nae allow him his way in murdering Colum and laying the blame for the crime on ye.”

  “Grateful enough to help me bring order to this madness?” Diocail asked pointedly.

  Muir offered him a chunk of bread from the sack. It was rough fare, but they were accustomed to it from the years they had lived in the far north. Muir was more than a captain; he was his friend. Diocail smiled as
Muir withdrew a thick slice of cheese and broke it in half. They chewed in silence for a moment before Muir answered.

  “When it comes to the retainers and stables, aye. As for the running of the kitchen…” Muir cast a hopeless look toward it. “What ye need is a wife…but no’ just any woman will do.”

  “Aye.” Diocail tipped the flask up again. “Eachna is a fine girl, but she has no’ been taught how to run a large house.”

  They both fell silent again as they consumed more of the food and faced a topic neither had any experience with. Not many a man did. It was why men wed, and women too, because together a man and woman might combine their knowledge to make a successful home. He’d been taught the logistics of defense and negotiation needed to foster relationships with other lairds.

  But how much fare to put on the tables?

  He had no idea or even how to go about making sure there were ample hands to prepare the food. Diocail felt his brain throbbing as he contemplated all the things needed to run a kitchen, and those were only what he knew about. What truly nauseated him was that he knew damned well how lacking his knowledge was. He knew how many men to ride out with, how many horses, and his education included how many blacksmiths it took to make sure those horses were shoed, how many stable lads it took to make certain those animals were fit to ride, how much feed and what sort was needed to maintain a horse’s strength.

  A hundred details, and a kitchen was no different. No wise man made the mistake of thinking it an easy thing to keep running smoothly. Their current circumstances were proof of that surely enough.

  “Ye need a wife, one raised with the education to see this place set right. No’ that any decent girl would have this house as it is,” Muir added. “Try to contract one, and she’ll run home to her father the moment she sees the condition this castle is in. But ye need one. A wife, that is.”

  “I hoped to have a bit of time before getting down to that part of being laird,” Diocail groused.

  “Best set yer secretary to sorting through the offers in Colum’s study.” Muir didn’t offer him any respite.