by Mary Wine
Instead he stroked her cheek, easing her hair back from where it was stuck to her wet skin. She reached for him, following her impulses. He cupped her nape, coming to settle over her. He gave her just enough of his weight to make her realize she wanted more. Satisfaction was warming her, and yet there was a need deeper inside her that was still unsated.
So she curled her fingers around his shoulder and tried to draw him closer. His lips curved in victory, but in his eyes, she witnessed something else.
“No.” His tone was gruff and edged with hunger. He stroked her face, his eyes narrowing and his jaw tightening before he pushed away from her.
It felt as if something had been ripped from her. Leaving behind a sting to ensure she noticed that she’d lost something.
Diocail was stiff, bracing himself at the foot of the bed as he watched her. She was sure all of her longing was clear on her face. The truth was every defense she had was nothing compared to the raw need churning inside her.
“I will nae have yer compliance in this manner.”
He seemed to be telling himself that more than her. He shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face before pointing at her. “No’…like this.”
“I don’t understand…” And she was fairly certain she didn’t want to. The darkness lent itself to the moment, making it seem so very right to welcome him back into her embrace. Jane curled up until she was sitting in the middle of the bed, still feeling more rejected than she’d ever thought possible. “I thought…you wanted…this…”
His stern expression cracked, his lips curling up. “Aye. More than I care to admit.” For a long moment, he stared at her, and she witnessed the flare of hunger in his eyes. It sent a ripple of awareness through her, unlike anything she’d ever experienced. It was the sort of look bards sang of when they spoke of heated passion, and it left her astonished to have it aimed her way.
“But I will have ye choose me.” He bit out each word. “Freely. Clearly. In full knowledge that ye are doing it.”
The determination in his voice was a tangible thing. She felt it as much as heard it and realized how deeply important it was to him. Once again, she felt a kinship. As though they shared a secret with one another, a deep, dark, personal one.
She gathered the bedding around herself. “The sun,” she began in a husky whisper, “will not rise for several hours, so…” She sent him what she hoped was just as a determined look. “The door is behind you.”
She would not beg him to stay. No.
Jane bit her lip as he nodded, looking for a long time as though he was going to step over the line he’d just drawn between them. His jaw was so tight she caught a glimpse of the corded muscles going down his neck.
And then he was turning, his kilt swirling out to flash his thighs at her because he moved so quickly. Jane tasted blood from biting her lip so hard. The pain mingled with the distress of watching him leave her. The combination left her sitting in the middle of the bed, her fingers digging into the bedding like talons as she felt the chill of the night nipping at her to emphasize just how alone she was.
Another first. Something else she’d learned at his hand, to realize how alone she was and how wanton she truly was at her core.
* * *
Shadows had plenty of space to hide in.
Keefe watched Diocail leave and smiled. Anticipation was warming his blood, and his conscience didn’t raise anything more than a brief argument against what he’d decided needed doing.
No Englishwoman was going to be Lady of the Gordons. Not after all the Scottish blood the English had spilled.
He’d do the job quickly. Smother her beneath her pillow and let it be said she died from her tumble into the river.
She was an Englishwoman, after all, too weak to survive the Highlands. Diocail’s steps grew fainter and fainter until the sound of the night breeze covered them completely. Keefe lifted his foot and started to walk toward the door of the chamber.
But he pulled back as one of the shadows shifted, forming into a man who stood for a long moment in the passageway. He was too close, and Keefe eased back until the darkness made it impossible for him to be seen.
Frustration ate at him, but he’d never gain enough votes to take the lairdship with a murder pinned on his name. Suspicion that he’d taken care of matters was one thing; in fact, plenty of men would support him because they’d trust that he would not allow the English to have even a clod of dirt that belonged to the Gordons. But murder that was proven? Well, that was another matter.
Until a better time then.
It would come. He’d make sure of it.
* * *
“Why did ye call us here?” Aylin had never been an early riser. He rubbed his eyes and sent Muir a disgruntled look. “It’s no’ even first light.”
“Close enough.” Muir offered him no sympathy. “And the matter is an important one.”
“Well, let’s have it,” Kory asked.
Muir looked around first, making sure they were alone. “The laird needs a wee bit of help with his bride.” He stressed the word bride.
Niven scoffed. “The last time we tried to get him someone to offer him advice on pleasing women, he nearly broke our necks.”
“No’ that sort of help,” Muir amended as he cleared his throat. “Anyhow, as to that part of it…the laird has matters in good hand.”
“Ye are no’ making sense,” Aylin groused. “If ye were only going to waste me time with useless prattle, it might have waited until the dawn broke.”
Muir reached out and cuffed Aylin on the side of the head. “Ye were sleeping so well on account of the fact that ye had yer first decent supper.”
They all shrugged and nodded. “If the mistress managed that in one day, just think what she’ll get done by the end of the month.”
They all grinned with anticipation.
“So, what is yer worry?” Kory asked.
“The laird, he fancies having a woman who chooses him,” Muir explained.
“They’re wed,” Aylin answered. “It’s done.”
“And yet,” Muir said, leaning in. “It is no’…completely finished.”
They all grasped his meaning, bewilderment raising their eyebrows.
“It can nae be,” Kory spoke up. “I saw them going off at the festival…heard…well…I heard them.”
“That’s why I woke ye,” Muir exclaimed. “Last night I heard them too, only I was close enough to listen in on what was said after the moment passed. The laird did nae…ah…take his own pleasure. Told the mistress he will nae trap her in the union, that he’s waiting on her to come to his bed.”
They all stared at him for a long moment. “We’ve got to do something about it,” he exclaimed.
“Aye,” Aylin agreed. “She’ll be seeking an annulment now that she’s seen the mess her house is in.”
“Well…what can we do about such a thing?” Niven honestly asked.
“If I knew,” Muir exclaimed. “I’d no’ be here talking, I’d be doing it.”
His companions nodded.
“Well, it seems…” Kory was thinking out loud. “The two of them being in separate bedchambers, well, now, that is no’ helping matters.”
“Aye!” Muir agreed. “The laird said he was waiting for her to come up to his chamber.”
“So how do we get her to do that?” Niven asked.
Aylin shoved him in the shoulder. “We needs make up excuses, maybe tell her he called for her.”
“He’ll only ask her straightaway if she came there because she wanted to,” Muir said.
Aylin opened his hands up wide. “Well then, we’ll just have to…damage the sheets or do something a good mistress would see to setting right herself.”
Muir was nodding. “Aye, the way she went down to the mill, she’s no’ one to be leaving matters to
others.”
They shared grins with one another. “So, between us, let’s be keeping a watch on her, without her knowing what we’re about.”
“And any man who sees the opportunity, make sure ye do nae allow it to slip from yer grasp,” Aylin added.
“Is nae this deception?” Niven asked. A moment later, he raised his forearm to protect his head as his companions swatted at him.
“It’s for a good purpose,” Muir informed him. “Do ye want our little mistress to be going back to a father who will wed her to a man such as her first husband?”
Niven peeked at them before lowering his arm. “I did nae think about it quite like that.”
“Best for her to be staying right here,” Aylin added. “She’ll settle in. With a bit of time.”
They all nodded agreement before looking around and moving off. Muir enjoyed the sense of relief that went through him. Send her back to England in the spring? Over his dead body.
Six
Snow flurries began to swirl by the next afternoon. Their arrival sent the men into action as the last of the harvest was pulled in before it froze and was lost. Jane welcomed the frenzy of activity. It kept everyone busy for the better part of the week. No one fell into their beds until well after sundown, and they were up at first light in an effort to collect every plant that might be used to sustain them through the long months of winter. The kitchen staff didn’t have time to question her authority. Jane caught them casting her grudging looks of approval as the days passed, and she neither deserted them because the labor was hard, nor made a muck of things because she didn’t know the first thing about filling the cellars for winter.
Necessity made strange bedfellows.
At the moment, they were women. The steady sound of men toiling on the roofs and walls gave them confidence they’d all survive to see spring.
Jane caught only glimpses of Diocail as he labored with his men to patch the worst of the holes in the roof. They worked so hard they stripped down to their shirts in spite of the snow floating in the air. She herself didn’t have much time to spare either. Shepherd boys were coming in from the pastures, driving their sheep and cattle toward the protection of the castle walls. The animals had thick coats, grown with the help of grazing all summer long, but when the wind began to wail, they would benefit from having something to huddle near.
The retainers brought their families in too. Many of them didn’t have more than homes built of the roughest stone and thatch. Jane struggled to find room for them all.
Which led her to the towers. There were two, with stairs that rose up more than three stories. She looked up one and tried to decide what might be on the floors above. Considering the condition of the rest of the fortification, they were probably in disrepair.
She contemplated the stairs for a long moment, but the wailing of an infant made her lift her foot and begin climbing upward in an effort to see if there was more space available. At least the steps were stone, which gave her peace of mind as she climbed higher. The chill increased too, hinting that it had been a long time since a fire had been lit in any of the chambers.
Jane lifted her hand and looked at the dust coating her fingers from the handrail. She realized why a moment later as a pair of chamber doors came into sight. There was a thick chain looped through the handles with a large lock.
Locks were expensive. And hard to come by as well.
She stared at it, wondering what could be so important. Looking up, she decided to climb further into the tower. The next floor showed her the same thing. Another lock and chain and even more dust. Here the chain was rusted because of a broken set of window shutters. The wind was howling through the hole, blowing thick feathers of snow against the doors. The flakes slipped down to form a puddle against a huge rotted section of the door, clearly damaged from last winter when snow had drifted against the wood unchecked.
It infuriated her to no end to see such disregard for the tower when the number of people clustered in the hall made it plain there were ample hands to see to the task of making sure the tower was secure. And yet something had kept them all belowstairs.
She made her way to the last floor and stopped, facing another locked door. There was an inch of dust on the floor, proving no one had set foot on the landing in years. Reaching down, Jane took the ring of keys off her belt. Dolina had happily given them to her with a look of relief in her eyes. Unlike at her father’s home, this ring was full of keys that were tarnished from lack of use. She moved toward the lock, leaving tracks in the dust and stirring it up so it tickled her nose.
It was a slow process, fitting the keys into the lock and trying them. The lock held each time, making her suspect time had frozen it.
But she kept at it and let out a little sound of victory when one key finally turned. The action was far from smooth. Jane doubled her effort, earning the reward of a grinding noise before the lock gave way and opened. It was a huge, heavy thing. She wasn’t expecting the weight, and it fell from her fingers as it slipped from the chain. The sound of it hitting the floor echoed inside the stairway.
She didn’t squander any concern on what the Gordons might think of her actions. Clearly none had ventured up the stairs in years, so they were not in a position to chastise her. She was taking the house in hand, and that meant doing what had been neglected. There was a thick bar over the doors as well. She struggled to lift it, kicking up a cloud of dust with the hem of her skirt as she twisted and tried to get beneath it so she might lift it. She ended up wiping her forehead when she succeeded, wrinkling her nose at the feeling of dirt being rubbed against her skin from where it had collected on her sleeve.
Well, there was no one to see her at present.
The hinges on the doors squealed and groaned as she struggled to pull one open. Beyond it, the chamber was cast in gloom, the shutters closed tight with leather nailed into them to keep the weather out.
That was a relief to see.
She ventured in, stopping by the door to strike a flint stone into a small pile of thatch left there. It caught with a flash of bright light. Jane held a candle to it, waiting until the wick caught before she placed the candle into a holder and used it to light her way into the chamber.
She held the candle up and blinked at what the flickering light showed her.
“Sweet mother of Christ.”
All around her were chests and bundles, stacked as high as a man might reach. There wasn’t any furniture in the room, at least not any that was assembled. Off near the wall, she spied a headboard that must go with a magnificent bed. She could see the elaborate carvings. Thick layers of dust covered almost everything, but she could see patterns to the accumulation, showing the seasons as new stacks had been added.
“Colum was a miser.”
Jane shrieked. The candle went flying as she swung it at her unannounced company. There was a bone-jarring impact as she struck her target and the candle sputtered out, dropping darkness around them.
“Jane!”
She froze, Diocail’s growl familiar. Her fear died in a sizzle of temper. “You scared me near unto death!”
Her hand landed on his jaw before she ever managed to think her actions through. The loud pop bounced off the wall as he reached out and clamped his arms around her.
That quickly she was bound tightly against him. From head to knee, they were pressed together.
“You might have announced your arrival,” she hissed after fighting to raise her chin. One of the buttons on his doublet scratched her nose because her face was pressed so hard against his chest.
“I’ve never known ye to be so skittish before, woman,” he snarled. “And ye are supposed to slap a man with an open hand, no’ a closed fist.”
“My brothers taught me how to fight. Slapping does naught except anger your opponent.”
That earned her a grunt, but a moment later, the do
or slammed shut. Diocail let out a frustrated sound.
“Something always likes to interrupt us…” he muttered as he released her, turning toward the door.
Jane felt her eyes widen at the unmistakable sound of the bar being lowered into place. Diocail cursed, and she heard him running toward the doors, heard him collide with them, and then another growl as he tried to force them open.
“Muir!” He pounded on the door as Jane lowered herself to her knees and felt around on the floor for the candle. The stacks of goods made it so the candle hadn’t traveled very far. She found it as Diocail slammed his fist into the door again.
“Curse and rot ye!” he bellowed, but his voice only echoed inside the chamber.
“I doubt anyone below can hear you.” Jane made sure he heard her before she ventured closer. There were only the faintest traces of light coming through the edges of the leather-covered windows. She scuffed her feet against the floor to make certain he knew she was approaching.
“Damned fiend has locked us in,” he muttered in disgust.
“Why ever would he do such a thing?”
Diocail found the flint and struck it. The sparks illuminated his face. She heard him pull something dry from somewhere, and a moment later, he was dropping sparks into the tinder bowl. Whatever he’d found caught fire. Jane lowered the candle so that the wick caught.
A warm bubble of light enveloped them. It showed her a very disgruntled man with a red spot on his jaw.
“Oohh…” She let out a little sound of distress.
Diocail offered her a snort. “Aye. Yer brothers taught ye right.”
“Well,” she sputtered. “You walk so silently.”
“Ye’ve said as much before.”
He gestured her to follow him. He was intent on one of the windows, and she followed, carrying their single source of light along with her. The stacks of bundles made an eerie setting as Diocail pulled a knife from where it was tucked into the top of his boot and started to slice away at the leather.
