Highland Flame

by Mary Wine

  “Her husband and father were both misers.” Diocail seemed to know what his men were thinking. The worried looks in their eyes faded as her temper boiled over.

  “I am not…going with you.”

  A moment later, she was hanging over Diocail’s shoulder. His men hooted with mirth as she was carried back toward the wagon. Diocail tossed her into it with all the ease of moving a bag of grain.

  “Diocail—”

  He smothered the rest of her retort beneath his lips. The man reached around and cupped her nape before tilting his head and fitting his mouth against hers.

  The kiss wasn’t as brutal as she expected. No, it was hard with promise and sent a twist of anticipation through her insides. She shivered as he opened her lips with his, kissing her thoroughly and leaving her breathless. Her very skin felt more sensitive, her clothing tight as though it was holding her back from enjoying his embrace even more.

  “Leave that wagon, and I will be happy to give ye me full attention.” He reached up and tugged on the corner of his bonnet.

  The light was fading, the last of the day departing. The evening breeze held the touch of cooler weather, but her temper kept her plenty warm as she fought the urge to test him. Diocail waited for a long moment, watching her as she curled her fingers into fists and settled for punching her puddled skirts.

  A hint of disappointment entered his eyes before he turned and walked back to join his men. Young Bari was watching her as well, his eyes huge in his young face. Muir reached out and took him by the shoulder, steering him toward where the Gordon retainers were settling down for the night. Bari flashed them a grin, enjoying being allowed among them instead of being sent to sleep in the wagon with a woman.

  Diocail didn’t lie down all the way. He settled back against his saddle to keep his shoulders propped up so he might open his eyes and see anyone approaching. He’d tugged the longer pleats that formed the back of his kilt up and around his shoulders before he settled down and pulled the fabric around himself. But his hand returned to the hilt of his dagger before he sent Jane a last look and closed his eyes.

  Muir was sitting on a rock, slowly working a stone over the blade of his sword. The fire had been allowed to die down to just a single log, and the light illuminated his face as he took the first watch. They all knew their place and were devoted to one another. It was admirable, but that didn’t mean she was going to agree to being taken along like some prize they had encountered on the road. Even if Diocail had decided she would be.

  Tomorrow. Tomorrow she’d find a way to change his mind.

  Diocail wasn’t the only stubborn one among them, after all.

  * * *

  The harvest was finished.

  They saw the effect on the faces of those they encountered. The labor of the spring had paid off in full root cellars and enough grain to put food on the table for their families. It was time for celebration and feasting.

  Jane noticed the increase in people on the road as they neared the next village. They moved toward the outer edge of the village, the scent of roasting boar floating on the wind as they heard music in the distance. They were happy faces too, eager for celebration before the winter shut everyone inside.

  “No work today, lads,” Diocail announced as he contemplated what was in front of them. “Harvest festival.”

  People were eagerly leaving their homes, the younger girls wearing wreaths made of autumn leaves and nuts. They wore their best clothing—many of the skirts looked new. Their steps echoed on the road as they all but danced toward the festival and what would likely be the last entertainment until after winter had passed.

  “There are Grants here,” Muir cautioned.

  “Aye,” Diocail nodded. “But we’re on the edge of our land, so it’s to be expected.”

  “Are you fighting with them?” Jane asked.

  Muir sent her a grin as Diocail offered her a shrug. “The last laird was no’ very good at making friends with his neighbors.”

  “Well, we can no’ be leaving,” Muir stated. “No’ when it’s our land.”

  “Symon Grant is likely here to get a look at me,” Diocail answered. He shifted and raised his hand. “Let’s no’ waste the light, lads.”

  Their arrival was noted. Men raised their tankards as they sat drinking beneath the trees. Merchants looked up, hope of more sales glittering in their eyes. More than one young girl looked toward the retainers with wicked enjoyment in her eyes. A market fair was the perfect opportunity to indulge in a bit of flirtation that on a normal day would be considered improper.

  Jane discovered herself smiling. It seemed a very long time since she’d indulged in simple whimsy. So very long since there had been anything except duty foremost in her thoughts.

  “There’s something I’d like to see more often.”

  Diocail’s tone was different. She turned and discovered an easygoing grin on his lips and a flicker of relaxation in his brown eyes.

  “Ye should smile more often, lass,” he said softly.

  He was waiting, offering her his hand to help her out of the wagon. She could manage the task on her own and almost said so.

  Yet there was a grin on his lips and a sparkle in his eyes she couldn’t bear to squash beneath the weight of reality. The music and scent of celebration were too tempting, as was the gallant manner in which he was waiting to play her escort.

  She placed her hand into his before she realized he was making a show of his favor. The move didn’t go unnoticed either. She watched several onlookers turn to whisper to those next to them. Diocail shifted her hand to his arm and turned so they were strolling together. His men closed in around them as he took her toward the festival.

  Henry had never escorted her so gallantly.

  Jane!

  She truly meant to chide herself, but the truth was she had never enjoyed Henry’s touch so very much. Being on Diocail’s arm was, well, it was all the things she’d once daydreamed about.

  The moment was short-lived. She felt his forearm tighten as a group of men started toward them. They wore similar clothing, meaning they’d clearly dressed for function instead of fashion. Their kilts were formed with a slightly different coloration of plaid wool, but their doublets and jerkins were leather and thick wool, most of the oversleeves tied behind their backs. Just like Diocail, there was one man who was clearly the laird.

  “Someone you know?”

  She likely shouldn’t have voiced the question. Women were expected to hold their tongues, and yet part of her seemed to be indulging in the fact that he claimed to like her unbridled.

  “Symon Grant,” Diocail replied. “His land borders me own.”

  The man in question was every bit as large as Diocail. He moved up to them and stopped with his feet braced apart as he looked directly at Diocail. It was clear Symon had come to see the new laird of the Gordons.

  “Niven,” Diocail called out.

  The retainer was quick to answer his laird’s summons. Diocail nodded to Niven before he released Jane’s hand and stepped in front of her. Niven tugged her back as the new group came closer.

  “Laird Symon Grant,” Diocail offered first.

  “Laird”—Symon drew out the title—“Diocail Gordon.”

  Around them, people aimed curious looks their way. Jane watched as a few of them began to wager. Niven was still trying to ease her backward, which sent a twist of apprehension through her.

  Apparently, fighting wasn’t out of the question.

  “So this is Diocail Gordon…”

  A woman was suddenly sweeping in front of Symon Grant, her eyes flickering with mirth. She stopped, and her skirts swished before she boldly settled a hand onto her hip and contemplated Diocail from head to toe. Whoever she was, she was a beauty and brazen.

  “I must say,” she informed them all with a voice as sweet as ho
ney. “Me disappointment is nearly impossible to bear.”

  “Is that a fact, mistress?” Diocail asked in a guarded tone.

  “It most certainly is,” she continued. “For I have heard that ye—” She pointed a slim finger at him. “Are a consort of the devil, that ye slayed Tyree Gordon with spells from Satan himself, and that old laird Colum was the one who first made the pact with the unholy fallen angel, which accounts for how long he lived.”

  “Well, now,” Diocail replied as he crossed his arms over his chest. “That is a great deal to live up to.”

  She pursed her lips and swept her gaze up and down Diocail once more. “Ye fall short, sir.”

  Diocail let out a bark of amusement. “In this case, I believe I will be content no’ to measure up to the idea of a demon.”

  “Brenda.” There was a soft warning in Symon Grant’s voice. The man had amazing topaz eyes that Jane stared at for a moment before Brenda shifted her attention, looking at Jane.

  “Oh yes.” Brenda swept Diocail a deep courtesy. “On to the business, it would seem.”

  Symon nodded at her. Brenda wasn’t repentant or in any fashion submissive to his authority. No, there was a twinkle in her eye and a smile on her lips. She reached out for Jane.

  “It would seem the men desire the women to be gone.” She crossed over without a care for the fact that she was among the Gordons and clasped Jane’s hand. “We should take ourselves off as the obedient creatures they desire us to be…”

  Symon let out a scoffing sound, but the look he sent Brenda was amused. Brenda winked at Jane. “We’ll simply have to content ourselves with spending as much of their money as possible.”

  Brenda’s brazen attitude was infectious—or at least amusing. Jane laughed as Brenda tugged her forward. They ended up nearly skipping away from the men. There was a whistle from behind her that Jane recognized as Diocail’s. She turned to glance back at him. He’d used it with his men before, and today was no different. Niven and Aylin nodded, one of them catching a purse their laird tossed into the air before setting a determined pace to catch up with her. A couple of Symon’s men were already on their way to join Brenda.

  “We’ll have much more fun without them anyway,” Brenda informed her as though the two women were compatriots.

  In fact, Brenda had hooked her arm through Jane’s and was strolling along as though the two were long-lost friends. “So tell me true,” Brenda continued. “Are ye newly wed to Diocail?”

  Jane worried her lower lip, which only served to confirm Brenda’s suspicions.

  “Hmmm…” Brenda made a soft sound beneath her breath. “I admit I am most curious now. There is a wild tale of ye being rescued from the hangman’s noose and wed by demand of the crowd.”

  Jane let out a sigh. “All true. Laird Gordon has shouldered much for his kindness toward me.”

  Brenda made a scoffing sound in her throat. “This is Scotland.” The woman turned to face her. “That level of meekness must be discarded at once.” She leaned close. “I beg ye, else me cousin is like to expect the same from me.”

  Jane laughed. She tried to seal the sound inside her mouth and ended up choking. “I’m sorry, but—” She looked at Brenda, with her flashing eyes and perfect features. “I simply cannot see you needing to be so reserved.”

  “There was a time when I was.” For a moment, darkness shadowed in her eyes, but she shook it off. “My first husband was a bastard as well. I was his chattel, and even if he did nae wager me favors against a roll of the dice, it was only because he hadn’t yet thought to do so.”

  “You really have heard everything there is to know of my circumstances.” And it was more than a bit unsettling.

  Brenda merely shrugged and pulled her toward a merchant who was offering two mugs of fresh-pressed cider. Jane hesitated, but Niven placed a coin down on the counter before Jane could tell him no.

  “Enjoy,” Brenda encouraged her. “If what I’ve heard of Gordon land is true…” Brenda sent her a confident smirk. “And me sources are very reliable…” She took a sip of the cider and nodded approval. “Ye’ll be earning every treat Diocail pays for today tenfold.”

  “It sounds more like the man needs a competent Head of House.”

  Brenda nodded after lowering her mug. “Indeed. Yet this is the Highlands. Such a woman is not easily found, and more than one man has wed for such a woman.”

  Jane was distracted by the look on Niven’s face. He had a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes and firm confidence on his face. He looked at her as though she were the answer to something, and surprisingly, she enjoyed it. She felt needed and more valued than she ever had before.

  “Come on, then.” Brenda took her by the hand and tugged her toward the waiting merchants. “Let’s find ye something pretty. Yer dress is drab, no’ at all what a bride should be wearing.”

  “I couldn’t spend—”

  Brenda turned on her in a swirl of skirts and flashing eyes that promised mayhem. “Ye most certainly can.”

  “We are planning to annul—”

  There was a grunt from Aylin that made it clear the retainer wasn’t pleased by her words. She glanced at her chaperones and found both eyeing her with disapproval. But it was Brenda’s soft little “hmm” that claimed Jane’s full attention. Brenda stepped in close so her words wouldn’t carry.

  “If Diocail is going to send ye back to England, why is he taking ye further north?” she asked bluntly.

  Jane’s eyes widened, but Brenda reached between them and clasped her wrist to keep her from recoiling. “Is he terrible to ye?”

  It was a frank question. Looking into Brenda’s eyes, Jane realized that for all her poise and brazen confidence, Brenda had tasted harshness. The sort a wife was forced to swallow at the hands of a man who believed himself the master.

  She couldn’t allow Diocail to be thought of in such a way. “In truth, he rescued me.”

  Brenda’s eyes narrowed. “So it was the wedding night that turned ye against him?”

  Jane shook her head. “He hasn’t touched me. There was a fight at the inn, and we left…”

  Brenda pressed her lips into a firm line. “Well then, I suppose ye might have a right to the annulment ye speak of, and yet ye are heading north. So, I do nae think Diocail shares yer mind-set.”

  Two solid truths.

  “He has a mind to keep me.” Jane enjoyed being able to voice her frustration. “Thinks we will suit in spite of the circumstances.”

  Brenda made a little amused noise in the back of her throat. “In true Highlander fashion.”

  “To his way of thinking, I am a challenge.”

  “Do ye have better to return to in England?”

  Brenda watched her for a long moment, observing the way her question struck Jane. Brenda might play the carefree lady enjoying her day at festival, but there was a great deal of knowledge in her eyes. For a moment, they were bound together by that shared awareness of just how unholy the state of matrimony could be. “Of course, since ye are widowed, ye might try him and see if he is to yer liking without fear that anyone would ever know. If ye have naught better in England, best to think on the matter a bit.”

  Brenda’s eyes glittered with anticipation. She turned and cast a glance to where Symon and Diocail were talking. They’d acquired mugs of ale now, proving they were getting on well.

  “You cannot mean that,” Jane remarked far too breathlessly for her comfort.

  “Why not? Men sample what they will quite often. He is a fine-looking man,” Brenda remarked under her breath. “If ye had nae wed him, I might have given him the chance to impress me.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “I’m curious to see if he can please a woman.”

  “Please?” Jane wished she didn’t sound so completely ignorant, but she was simply too curious not to ask the question.

  Brenda let ou
t a breathless sigh and hooked her arm through Jane’s before the two turned and resumed strolling slowly among the merchants.

  “Ecstasy,” Brenda muttered.

  “That is a fable.”

  Brenda paused, making it look as though she were contemplating a table full of fabric. “When I was wed, I would have agreed with ye.”

  The merchant was quick to snap his fingers at his daughter, who hurried forward to display a length of green wool. It looked as though the man would have liked to do it himself, but the burly retainers with them kept him behind his table.

  Brenda trailed a finger across the surface of the cloth. “This suits ye,” she said to Jane. Niven was quick to move toward the merchant and begin to haggle. Brenda made a little sound of victory under her breath before she tugged Jane further away from their escort and audience.

  “Ecstasy is no’ a fable.” She sent Jane a look full of confidence.

  Jane discovered her mouth going dry. Brenda smiled and winked. “The trick is to find the right man. One who is interested in being yer lover.”

  Brenda cast another look back toward Diocail. “He might do.” Brenda grinned at Jane. “And no one need know yer private affairs.”

  “What of God?”

  Brenda’s eyes narrowed. “I have suffered enough at the hands of me lawful husband to appease the sin of taking fifty lovers.” She looked straight at Jane. “From what I hear, ye have already done a fair amount of yer own penance as well.”

  Do you dare?

  Jane settled her attention on Diocail for a long moment. She didn’t look away, didn’t shy away from the way he made her insides tighten. In truth, it was a thrilling sensation, sending heat into her cheeks and making her breath catch.

  He caught her looking at him. He turned to glance her way, as though he felt her gaze on him. Such a thing was impossible, and yet she would have sworn there was a connection between them. Looking away took far more effort than it should have.

  Niven was grinning at her with the length of fabric over his arm. He patted it in victory. “A fine dress it will make for ye, mistress.”