by Mary Wine
His man started to follow. Diocail blocked him with his arm.
“She is not a strumpet,” Diocail informed his man softly but with the clear ring of warning.
His men didn’t care for him defending her. They glowered at him.
“And she’s correct.” Diocail turned to face them. “This tower reeks.”
“She labeled me a swine. Before all,” his retainer protested. “She needs to be bridled and taught to mind her sharp tongue.”
It was a harsh suggestion. The bridle was a metal cage that locked around a woman’s head, with a tongue plate set into her mouth. A new emotion moved through him, and he realized it was shame because his argument with Jane had granted his men permission to treat her harshly.
A leader needed to be more conscious of what his actions unleashed.
“She spoke the truth, and if ye do nae care for the sound of it, do yer pissing elsewhere,” he informed his men. Muir and Kory were among those listening, and Diocail shot them a hard look. “Ye wanted this place taken in hand. She’s doing it, so ye will mind her when it comes to matters of the housekeeping.”
His comment wasn’t popular. His men shifted and narrowed their eyes before they left. Muir remained and more than one of the retainers looked to him to reason with Diocail over the matter.
“Ye said ye were finished with her.”
“I know what I said,” Diocail snapped back.
However, his words were like a yoke around his neck, dragging him down with their weight, though he wished for nothing more than to be free of them. His pride was a different matter though; it wasn’t yet willing to bend.
Muir offered him a slight shrug. “Aye, well, since she is here, best for her to be of use. At least until ye can send her back to England.”
“Don’t test me.”
Muir offered him an expression of innocence.
“And do nae try that with me either,” Diocail exclaimed. “Ye’re playing again. Meddling in me personal life.”
Muir shook his head. “Ye’re laird. The day ye took that position, the matter of yer marriage became more than a personal one. Ye have position but no’ privacy.”
Diocail bristled, but Muir only sent him a self-assured look before he left.
He’d have a say in who his wife was. And damn it all, he’d have a woman who chose him.
Jane had.
The memory surged up from where he’d locked it away. Diocail watched it flash through his mind, leaving a sting from how hot the need to have her still was inside him. Just one glimpse of her had been enough to rekindle the flame.
Well, that and the way she’d stood there, unwavering, as a man who topped her by several inches threatened to strike her.
Not while he was laird.
The thought flashed through his mind and ignited his temper. Damn the passion between them, and curse her for a fool because she’d left him.
He needed to banish her from his mind. But it seemed that was not the need in which his body was interested. He was being drawn back to the flame, and he didn’t want to resist the pull between them.
* * *
“Good night, mistress.”
Jane froze. She turned and blinked, but it was Eachna who had spoken. More than one of the other maids turned to face her and nodded.
“We’ll get to scrubbing the passageway tomorrow,” Jane said to test them.
“It will be a relief for the senses, to be sure,” Dolina added.
“Aye,” Eachna agreed. “Now that the men are no’ going to be ruining our efforts.”
“Me sons will be learning the error of their ways if they do nae heed the mistress’s rules,” Dolina announced. “We’ve enough to do without cleaning up after them as if they were babes still in skirts.”
There were nods all around and mutters of agreement. Jane was grateful for the dark of night because she felt the unmistakable sting of tears in her eyes.
Acceptance.
Hard-won and worth it because nothing given could ever touch her so deeply.
“Until sunrise,” she said softly before venturing into the passageway. A chill went down her spine, driving away the moment of joy.
She didn’t care to walk alone.
The dark shadows might hold Keefe or another man who wanted her dead, yet the women behind her gave her hope that it would not be so simple for someone to discard her now. The dagger tucked into her belt helped as well.
Jane smiled ruefully as she made her way to the stairs of the tower with all the chambers filled with Colum’s tribute.
“Why are ye going that way, Jane?”
She shrieked and turned to face her company. Diocail cursed as he jumped away from the blade of the dagger. He’d made a miscalculation though, and a thin line of blood appeared on his forearm.
“Christ almighty, woman!” He looked from his forearm to the dagger she held in front of her. “What do ye think ye’re doing turning on me with weapon in hand?”
“I didn’t know it was you.” Her voice betrayed how frightened she was. Her heart was thumping in hard, frantic beats that felt as though they shook her entire body. “It might have been Keefe again.”
Diocail had gone still. She’d seen him stand steady, but this was different. It was a tightening of his body, and she could feel his rage.
“Don’t you dare become angry at me now.”
Jane stuffed the dagger back into its sheath and forced herself to draw in a deep breath because her damned voice was cracking. She would not allow him to hear her break.
He stepped closer. “Ye never uttered that name before.”
He was towering over her, and the darkness of his expression pleased her because at last he was angry on her behalf. Which only infuriated her because she shouldn’t be weak enough to need his protection.
“You dismissed my explanation and never allowed me to give you details,” she replied, fighting to make her tone even.
But she couldn’t stay still. It felt as if she were coming apart at her very seams. Tears were gathering in her eyes, but she was angry!
And she refused to be anything else.
Jane turned and ran up the stairs. She hoisted her skirts out of the way so she might take the steps two at as time. She made it into her chamber and stopped as she drew in breath, certain her heart was going to burst and hoping it would hurry because she wanted to escape the churning emotions welling up inside her that threatened to reduce her to tears.
Diocail caught her by the upper arm and whirled her around to face him. “Ye have no trouble taking me men to task in the hall, woman.”
“And you”—she jabbed her finger into the center of his chest—“have no difficulty telling me I am a liar in front of your men!”
The chamber echoed with the sound of their breathing. It was harsh and raspy as they faced off with one another, teeth bared. He was so powerful, his presence reaching across the space between them as she struggled to think.
Her mind refused, letting go of her desire to think in favor of feeding her need to reach for him. They collided, meeting in the space between them as though some command had moved them both toward each other.
It was an explosive connection, control shattering as she touched him once again. Diocail growled against her mouth as he gripped her nape and claimed her as his possession.
But she kissed him back, rising onto her toes so she could meet him halfway. She wasn’t going to be taken, oh no. Jane sent her own tongue into his mouth to stroke his before she pulled away from him and boldly reached for his belt buckle.
“I am not going to be yours, Diocail Gordon,” she declared as his kilt fell to the floor.
“Ye sure as hell are.” He kicked the fabric across the floor and jerked his doublet off. His cock was already hard, pushing out the front of his shirt.
“No,” she informed him slowly. “You are…going to be…mine.”
She wrapped her fingers around his member before she finished speaking. Her head was tipped b
ack so she could watch his face. He bared his teeth at her, and it filled her with a white-hot confidence.
In that moment, they were evenly matched, and she was eager to reduce him to the rubble he’d left her in. So she slipped to her knees and worked her hand along his length. The skin was satin soft and warm. It delighted her, the sensation of petting him.
The truth was she hadn’t really looked at it the last time. Now she took a long look at his cock, from the crown to the base where his seed sac hung. She teased his staff, stroking him with her fingertips and then closing her hand around its girth to pump her hand up and down it.
“Sweet Christ…” he growled at her. “Where did ye learn that from, woman?”
Satisfaction filled her at the way his voice rasped through his teeth. She’d done that to him. The same way he’d reduced her to a withering mass of uncontrolled need.
Well, not quite in the same manner.
“I learned it from you…” she muttered as an idea formed in her mind.
“Holy Christ!” he exclaimed as she licked his cockhead.
Diocail recoiled from her but backed into the wall. Jane was quick to follow, renewing her grip on his member and closing her mouth around it once more.
He caught a handful of her hair, but she felt him quivering. She teased the ridge that ran around his cockhead with her tongue and heard him curse. But the grip on her hair became one of encouragement. She took it to heart, licking and sucking on his member. There was a slit running along the top of it, and a salty fluid appeared there as she labored. She licked it away and pressed herself forward so that more of his member thrust into her mouth.
Diocail’s hips pressed toward her.
His motions matched her memory of the way she’d bucked beneath his mouth. The way he gasped told her he was in the midst of passion too. She wanted to drive him over the edge while she was the one in command.
She felt the moment approaching, could feel his member hardening to the breaking point. He was driving it toward her, holding her head in place as he neared climax. The room echoed with his growl as his seed spurted into her mouth. It was hot and thick, and she sucked on him harder as she drew it from him.
She left him leaning against the wall, his knees slightly bent as he gasped and shuddered. Jane sat back, watching him. She might well have been on her knees, but he was the one who was conquered. He’d tipped his head back, giving her a look at the corded muscles that ran down his neck.
Exposed. Just as she’d been for him.
They were like two side of a coin, incomplete without the other side. And yet unable to see one another clearly.
“Proud of yerself…”
It wasn’t really a question. Jane absorbed his words as his gaze seemed to pin her in place.
“As much as you were…when…” The look in his eyes made her too breathless to complete her statement.
“When I did the same to ye,” he finished.
Anticipation was flaring inside her, twisting her until she felt as if she might snap, and all the while, she recalled how much she’d enjoyed it when he did take her to that point.
And beyond.
“I enjoyed it.”
He was opening his cuffs, the motion of him pushing the buttons through their holes so very slow. She was almost certain she could feel the time between each of her heartbeats in that moment.
When he finished, she realized her mouth had gone dry. She was mesmerized by the way he straightened up and reached for the hem of his shirt. He found the edge of the garment while keeping his gaze locked with hers and pulled it up and over his head in a powerful motion of arm and shoulders. The shirt fluttered to the floor, off to the side as she drank in the sight of him.
Bare.
Hard.
His member hadn’t slacked. It stood at the ready, as though she’d dreamed draining it.
“Oh aye, I’m right thankful indeed, lass…” He lowered himself to his knees, but there was nothing submissive about it.
She stiffened, feeling as though he were closing in on her, and the glitter in his eyes proved that she wasn’t wrong. He flattened his hand on the floor and crawled toward her as she leaned back.
“Very thankful…” His brogue intensified with his emotions. “Because now…now…I am going to last a very long time between yer thighs.”
It was blunt.
Raw.
And exactly what she craved.
He hooked her thighs and tugged her legs out from beneath her. A cry escaped from her lips as she landed on her backside, the fabric of her skirt and bum roll cushioning the impact as he pulled her legs out straight and slid up between her thighs. But her hip roll pushed her bottom into the air, her spread sex facing the ceiling.
Diocail grinned as he teased her folds with his fingertips. “Do ye want that, Jane?”
She was spread wide, her skirts flipped back as he flashed her a grin of victory. He held her thighs, keeping her pulled against him so his member lay straight across her open sex. She gasped, the sensation ripping through her. The anticipation was going to kill her.
“Do ye want me to ride ye?”
He found her clitoris and rubbed it gently, wringing a cry from her. “Yes!”
Need was threatening to consume her. It was a twisting mass inside her, and she wanted to be flung into its center. “Unless you’re too spent.”
His eyes narrowed at her brazenness. “No’ by half, lass, no’ by half…”
He was leaning over her, his cock delving into her open body. He stretched her, and the feeling was perfect. She didn’t want him gentle. Didn’t want to be submissive.
He plunged into her all the way to the hilt, and she was surging upward, wrapping her arms and thighs around him as she shoved them over. He clasped her against him as he rolled and landed on his back.
“Well, I am not in the mood to be ridden,” she snarled at him from on top. She lifted herself up and plunged back down onto his member with a harsh breath.
“Let us see if ye can stay in the saddle.” He reached up and popped open her bodice. “For I am no gelding.”
He wasn’t. His cock was hard inside her. She lifted herself off him and plunged back down as he tore at the front of her bodice until her breasts were free. They bounced as she moved until he cupped them, brushing her nipples with his thumbs while she controlled their pace.
He shoved at her clothing, rising up to push it down her arms and bare her. His growl mixed with the cry that escaped her, and all the while she rode him, feeling the need to move faster, to come down on him harder.
He found the tie that held her skirts together at her waist and ripped it open, dragging them up and over her head before he was turning them and pressing her down onto her back. Her hip roll lasted only a moment before he was pressing her flat, clasping her wrists above her head as he growled.
“Ye’re mine, Jane…mine, and I am going to have ye…take ye…make ye cry out.”
She didn’t want to escape, but she twisted against his hold. It was some instinct, rooted in the fibers of her being, to rise up against him, somehow proving she was strong enough to be his match, not just his choice.
He enjoyed it.
She witnessed the flash of savage pleasure in his eyes as he moved against her harder. They were both panting, driving one another at a frantic pace. Her heart was near to bursting again as Diocail held her down. She bared her teeth and decided she had never felt more alive.
She did cry out.
The sound echoed around the chamber as she arched and pleasure tore away everything except her husband. Diocail was there with her, pushing her to the very limit her flesh might tolerate as she heard him lose his battle to hold off his own release. He jerked with it, burying himself to the hilt while his seed spilled inside her. There seemed no end to the madness, and she happily surrendered to it. Some things could not be understood. They simply were.
At that moment, she was simply his, and to argue was to deny her own nature.
So she didn’t. They collapsed against each other, the night wrapping them in darkness to cradle them.
* * *
He hadn’t slept well since bringing her back.
Diocail opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling as that bit of truth hit him. He was tired, bone weary, but he struggled to fend off sleep because it would deny him the chance to pull Jane close. He needed that much more than rest.
Her breathing was soft against his shoulder now. Both their bodies relaxing, although collapsing was perhaps a truer description. He was spent. And he’d never been more willing to admit it.
He gathered the strength to sit up. There was no bed in the chamber. He spotted the bundle of bedding Jane had clearly been using, and it shamed him.
Still, part of him recognized the spirit she had. She wouldn’t put the staff to the trouble of ensuring her comfort when there was so much to do. She shifted, pulling her knees up as the night air chilled her bare skin. He reached for the bedding, shaking it out before lying it down and gathering her close. He rolled them onto the furs, keeping her close as he covered them.
She opened her eyes, blinking as he settled onto his back. “Go to sleep, Jane. Tomorrow will be time enough for talking.”
She held herself stiff for a moment before the warmth from his body eased her back into sleep. She relaxed against him, her hand resting on his chest.
For the moment, it was everything he’d hoped for.
Of course, in the morning, he was going to have to deal with matters.
* * *
“Mistress… Mistress… Mistress!”
Bari came up the stairs like a hound on the trail of a fox. Someone had made him bathe, and his clothing was clean, but his hair was a wild mass of untamed curls as he skidded to a halt and blinked at the sight of his laird standing with sword in hand and nothing else on.
“Is yer manroot frozen from being naked, Laird? Is that why it is a sin to be unclothed?”
Diocail let out a word that made Jane smack him on the side of his leg from where she was hiding beneath the bedding. He looked down at her. “Ye do nae understand Gaelic.”
