by Mary Wine
He let out a sound very close to a snarl. “With pleasure.” He turned her toward the bed.
He pressed her hands down onto the soft bedding as he gripped her hips. The head of his cock teased the folds of her sex from behind as he thrust forward.
It was a hard possession. The bed shook as Diocail rode her from behind with deep thrusts. She was leaning over the bed, her weight braced on her hands as she lifted her bottom for each new plunge. It was what she craved, and it took over her mind, shattering her thoughts as instinct and need controlled her completely.
But she peaked too quickly. Her cry was long and thin, a combination of pleasure and lamentation for how easily they both were spent.
“More…” He rasped next to her ear. “That was nae enough…”
He scooped her up and deposited her in the bed. Still reeling, Jane rolled over, sighing as the bed ropes took her weight and she settled onto the soft surface. She heard him unlacing his boots. Recognized the sound in some part of her brain that wasn’t still absorbed by the glow of satisfaction.
“I want…so much more…”
The bed rocked as he crawled onto it and pushed the bedding aside to cradle her. He was searching through her hair, seeking the pins that held her locks to the back of her head. Somehow, it was more intimate than anything else they had done.
More like the secret things she thought lovers might do in the dark hours of the night.
Those things you’ve never experienced…
And now, nothing was going to stop her from experiencing intimacy. Not logic, not reality.
Jane sat up, her back to him as he worked to free her hair. The single candle she’d brought with her was burning on the stand next to the door, its golden light just reaching them.
“I wanted to touch this…the night I carried ye to the fire to dry it.” He combed his fingers through her newly freed tresses, sending a deep ripple of enjoyment through her. “I believe I was as close to acting the savage ye English believe me to be as I ever have been that night.”
“You jest.” She arched her neck back as he grabbed a handful of her hair.
He tightened his grip, giving her a taste of his strength as he bound her to him with a solid arm around her waist. “No. Ye test me in ways I do nae care to admit.”
Leaning back against him, she noticed all the details that were different between their bodies. His chest was covered in crisp hair that tickled her back, and he was wider than she, making it so comfortable to lean against him. He’d settled onto his haunches again, his knees on either side of her as he cupped her breasts, and she watched while he teased her nipples into tight peaks.
“I hear the king has a wall of mirrors in his palace…”
Diocail slid his hand across her belly and lower, to where curls decorated her mons. “I’d like to have a mirror…right in front of us…tonight…”
She drew in a ragged breath as she imagined what it would be like to see themselves as they were. “I’m sure that would be…sinful.”
“Are we no’ made in the image of our creator?”
She choked on a round of snickers. “Oh Christ, Diocail!” She couldn’t stop laughing and ended up doubled over as she chuckled.
“You, sir…” She struggled to not sound breathless. “Are going to land us both in the stocks.”
“It would be worth it.” He muttered against her ear as he sent his fingers into the folds of her sex. She was still wet from their coupling. His movement should have made her shift away, but he found her little pearl, and she gasped. “I want to watch ye…as I build yer passion…”
His was rekindling as well. Between them, she could feel the length of his member hardening. It was a promise he’d satisfy the need he was stroking with his fingers. Her heart accelerated as her breathing became little gasps.
“We’re no’ going to rush this time…” He held her still, all the while teasing and worrying her little clitoris. She was so wet she could hear it while he fingered her. He was driving her toward a peak. She felt it twisting inside her belly, the throbbing intensifying.
“I want to ride you, Diocail!” She was torn between demand and begging, struggling against his hold as he released her and she turned to face him.
He cupped the back of her head, kissing her as hard and deeply as she craved. And the other thing she needed was there too, all she needed to do was claim him.
He cupped her hips as she climbed onto him, her thighs opening to spread around his lean hips while he held her weight and settled her onto his length. It completed the moment. She kissed him back, teasing his tongue with her own before she began to lift and plunge back down.
There wasn’t a hurry.
No, they were exactly where they both needed to be. This time, she rode him long and at a steady pace while he gripped her hair, and she watched the need flickering in his eyes. It might have lasted for hours; Jane had no idea. She’d never been so close to someone. It defied definition and thought.
It simply was, and when the wave crested over them, she collapsed into the glow of satisfaction with complete submission.
* * *
“What does yer sister write?” Phelan demanded.
Keefe sent him a hard look. “I can nae read any more than ye can. Me sister was taught by one of the nuns, and the woman did nae allow boys into the convent.”
They both looked across the tavern common room at Sheehan as he made his way about asking for someone willing to read. Keefe toyed with the edge of the letter as he watched his man. Luck finally favored them. Sheehan held up a coin, and the man in front of him nodded agreement.
Sheehan kept a firm grip on the money as he led the man back toward them. Keefe held the letter tight. “Ye are far from home, Gunn.”
The man settled on a bench and eyed him. “It’s barely started to snow. Ye sound soft.”
The woman serving the ale came near, reaching out to place a mug in front of the Gunn retainer. He flashed her a grin that earned him an appraising look from the woman.
“But I do like some…soft things,” he informed Keefe when he returned his attention to him.
Keefe held out the letter. The man took it and broke the seal.
* * *
“What manner of business was that?” Bothan Gunn asked as Maddox returned.
“The sort that would make me mother proud,” Maddox answered as he straddled a bench. He held up the coin and flipped it into the air before catching it and tucking it into a pocket on the inside of his jerkin. “And me belly as well, for it will buy me some fine supper on the morrow.”
“As if I do nae feed ye well enough,” Bothan groused.
Maddox feigned shock. “Well now…me laird…I meant no…disrespect!”
Bothan kicked him in the shin, causing Maddox to chuckle. He reached into the center of the table where the remains of their supper lay and selected a section of the broken bread. “Ye see…” He bit off a chunk and chewed it with a good-natured look on his face. “There are appetites ye provide for and then…well, other hungers I like to feed.”
Maddox cast a longing look at the tavern wench.
“Ye mean ye have to pay for that?”
It was Maddox’s turn to do some kicking. Bothan sent his man a grin. “Sorry to hear of yer lack of luck, me friend. Indeed I am. So ye read to earn yer…tumbles.”
The other Gunn retainers gained a good chuckle at Maddox’s expense. The captain took the teasing in stride, smirking. “It beats being virgins such as the lot of ye.”
The last of the supper was finished off before Bothan spoke again. “What is the news from Gordon land?”
Maddox shrugged, uninterested. At least he was until his fellow retainers leaned forward, looking to him for a bit of entertainment. It was slim pickings in the tavern. An old man with an eye patch was jabbering on about how he’d lost the eye in the vain hope someone would fill his cup. But it was the posted sign against gaming that ensured everyone was going to have a dull evening. The tavern owner was keepi
ng a sharp eye on his customers with a large club hanging from his belt to enforce his rules. Gaming turned ugly too often for his taste, it would appear.
Maddox leaned over the table. “Seems the new mistress of the Gordon clan has returned home.”
“Aye, I saw her and Diocail at the festival,” Bothan remarked.
“It seems this is a second time she has returned, and in disgrace, no less. The lass ran away, and Diocail had to fetch her so she would nae freeze. He’s vowed to send her back to her father in the spring.”
That gained a raised eyebrow from Bothan.
Bothan cast a glance toward the Gordon retainers. They were nearly touching noses they were clustered in so tight. The letter was open on the table between them, and a blind man wouldn’t have missed how pleased the news written on the parchment made them.
Which made him suspicious. He was going to make sure he rode across Gordon land on his way north.
* * *
“She’s seen our faces.”
Keefe snorted, making it clear he wasn’t interested in Sheehan’s warnings. “But the laird does nae believe she was forced to leave.”
Sheehan cocked his head to the side. “We ride into the yard, and it’s likely to bring the whole matter up for discussion. More than one man will question just where we have been.”
“That fool woman has let half the clan into the towers,” Keefe declared. “All I have to do is wait until nightfall, and then I’ll slit her throat. Even if the laird suspects something, he’ll have no way to prove anything.”
“That will no’ gain ye the lairdship,” Phelan pointed out.
“It will keep her English father from ruling us through her son,” Keefe declared. “Ye heard what me sister wrote. The laird is seeking her out, even though he called her a liar. She is bewitching him, and let us no’ forget that her last husband ended up dead at the hands of a mob. Who’s to say she did no’ play a part in it? Maybe that is the true reason those same townsfolk tried to hang her.”
They were hard facts to ignore. Keefe watched Sheehan and Phelan bend beneath them. They nodded and followed him into the stables.
* * *
“We did nae finish speaking last night.”
Jane turned around with the bar in her hands to discover Diocail pulling his shirt on. The man she’d woken up to holding her securely against his body was now stern-faced.
Yes, the morning light was as sharp as always.
She set the bar against the wall and gathered her courage. “It might be best if we do not raise that topic.” Jane looked straight at him.
He’d sat down to pull on his boots. He tightened each one above his knee with the aid of a small buckle before he drew in a deep breath and stood.
“I can forgive, Jane.”
They were hard words for him to speak. She recognized the effort, felt the temptation to allow him his way in the interest of keeping the happiness she felt when he was there with her.
“I did not leave you.” She forced the words out. “And I will not build a life with you on lies.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt as his jaw tightened. “Would ye prefer I simply keep ye? Behave as the savage ye believe Highlanders to be?”
“I never called you such a thing,” she defended herself. “You judge me harshly.”
“And ye clearly believe I am a fool,” he argued. “Ye have been the one demanding an annulment.”
She drew in a breath, hoping to calm herself. “I did ask for one.”
“More than once.”
And he was a proud man.
“I meant no injury to you, Diocail.” She opened her hands as she sought the right words. “I judged you by the actions of my last husband. You are nothing like him. I know that now. Our union happened so quickly that I acted in haste. Forgive me for that.”
His stern expression softened. She watched the pleasure flash in his eyes. He moved toward her, granting her hope. A resolution might indeed be theirs.
“Aye, I do.” He reached out and stroked her cheek. “Promise me ye will nae leave me again.”
She stiffened, withdrawing so his hand was no longer in contact with her skin. “So I am to offer you my trust, and you deny me yours?”
His jaw was tight again, confirming she was correct.
“I asked ye for yer word, Jane.”
“Because you believe I lied to you,” she countered. “I might have asked for an annulment, but I never called you a liar in front of others.”
“This is no’ about anyone except us,” he exclaimed. “When I close me eyes at night and rest beside ye, I will know ye do nae plan to slit me throat.”
Jane wanted to argue with him. It would have been a relief to feel her temper rising. Instead, what filled her was a cold certainty that he did not trust her, and that distrust ran so deeply in him there would be no changing it. That unbendable part of him was now the wall separating them.
“I did not leave you,” she muttered softly. “And I will not welcome you back to my bed so long as you cannot accept my word. You are not the only one who wishes to close their eyes and trust the one they sleep next to.”
Henry would have laughed at her for such words or slapped her for the impertinence. The wife was chattel, the husband her master. She backed away from the horror of knowing Diocail could do as he wished with her.
But what sent tears into her eyes was the fact that she’d tasted something with him that had made her believe happiness might be hers.
No, it was fleeting. Touching her only long enough to make certain she noticed the lack of it when it departed. She dashed into the stairwell to keep him from seeing her cry.
Ah…Fate.
How could she have forgotten the sharp edges? Today she felt the cut even more deeply because this time her heart was laid bare.
Love truly was the torment so often written about in plays that ended in death. No slice through her flesh would have hurt her as badly, no, not even if her arm were cleaved clean off. Love was the cruelest weapon of all, for it broke her heart in two, but left her drawing breath so she might suffer the agony.
She had the distinct feeling it would indeed last for a lifetime.
* * *
“So, ye love him.”
Jane looked up and found Dolina watching her.
“I did not say—”
Dolina waved the towel she was holding in the air between them. “It’s written on yer face.”
There was a pair of giggles from two maids working at the long table in the kitchen. In fact, Jane made a full turn and realized the only person in the kitchen who looked unaware of what was going on was Dolina’s young son, who was turning the meat in the hearth.
The strangest sensation went through her. As though she was relieved. And she realized she was indeed happy to know the matter was out in the open.
“The next thing ye are going to say is that it matters naught,” Dolina continued. “I will save ye the breath. It’s written on yer face, and the laird is, well…” There was more laughter, only this time it was a mature sort of amusement. “The laird is smitten with ye.”
“He thinks I am a liar.”
Dolina pursed her lips. “Men,” she began, “have more pride than is healthy.”
Eachna snorted.
“I hear yer mother died young,” Dolina said.
Jane nodded. “Childbed fever.”
Dolina nodded slowly. “Well, if she were here, she’d have taught ye a few things about the nature of a man. Since she is no’, it falls to me, for I…we…can nae have ye bending so easily. The men around here already have too many ideas about how much coddling they should receive from us.”
Brenda Grant suddenly came to mind as Jane dusted her hands on her apron and discovered several women moving in close with amusement glittering in their eyes.
She was nearly giddy as they leaned in and began giving their advice. It wasn’t the fact that they were helping her find a path to
ward resolving her issues with Diocail that pleased her so much. No, it was the acceptance she’d won all on her own. And she would not be giving that up.
Diocail would be the one to adjust his thinking.
* * *
“Did ye have a change of heart, lad?” Sheehan asked.
Keefe grunted and grabbed a round of bread from the center of the table, breaking it before answering. “The door was barred,” he grunted as he chewed.
“Why would it be barred?” Phelan asked.
“Simple,” Keefe said. He looked around and lowered his voice. “I told ye already, she’s bewitching him. Luring him into her bed and doing…”
“Doing what?” Sheehan pressed him for details.
Keefe opened his hands between them. “As if I know anything about dark arts.” He stabbed a piece of cheese with his knife and brought it close to his lips. “But I will say this. The door was barred, so she must have wanted to hide something. All the more reason why we need to be rid of her for good. Ye wait and see, next season the crops will fail on account of that English witch.”
* * *
“Looks as though Bothan Gunn has gotten caught in the snow.”
Diocail looked up as Muir popped his head over the edge of the roof he was working on.
“He’s waiting outside the gate.”
Diocail followed Muir down the ladder and into the yard. Bothan had let his beard grow and looked a lot like a bear making ready for winter. He was wearing a full sheepskin down his back with the fleece facing up to protect him from the falling snow. There were strips of that fleece wrapped around his horse’s legs too.
That made Diocail frown.
Bothan was ready to travel. Something else had prompted the man to stop.
Diocail lifted his hand and waved Bothan forward. “What has ye stopping?”
Bothan tilted his head to one side. “Am I no’ welcome? It’s snowing.”
Diocail sent him a hard look. “And ye are dressed to ride north. Do nae forget, I was raised at Sutherland. This”—he pointed at the fresh covering of white snow—“is no’ really deep enough to be called snow. No’ by ye anyhow.”
Bothan offered him a knowing chuckle. “I knew there was something I liked about ye, Diocail Gordon.”
