by Mary Wine
“Come inside,” Diocail offered. “Yer gilly looks hungry.”
The younger boy assigned to Bothan as his personal gilly bristled under the comment. He was determined to be every bit as tough as the men he rode with. Of course, that was why Diocail chose the lad to make the comment about—his skin wouldn’t thicken without a few jabs.
It was the way boys became men.
It was the way of survival.
* * *
“Do all witches bar their doors?”
Muir turned around and found young Bari standing near him. “What are ye doing asking a question like that, lad?”
Bari didn’t look at the captain but watched Diocail as he and Bothan Gunn walked toward the hall. “Is the laird bewitched because the mistress is English, or is it on account of him going to her bed?” the youngster asked. “Is it sinful to seek out the company of women?”
“Who have ye been listening to?” Muir managed at last, confounded by the child’s questions.
“A retainer…I only saw his plaid…he said the mistress barred the door to her chamber so she could practice…dark arts with the laird.”
Muir went still, and Kory moved closer. Bari looked between the two men, trying to decide if he’d done something wrong. He lowered his chin and rolled his lower lip in.
Muir was suddenly there on a knee so he was at eye level with Bari. “When did ye hear that being said?”
“Where did this happen?” Kory demanded.
Muir held up a finger to quiet his fellow retainer.
“Ye’ve done naught wrong.” Muir assured Bari. “Telling the truth is no’ wrong.”
Bari nodded, letting out a sigh of relief. “I was no’ spying…at least, I was no’ trying to listen in. Me mother always did say that I should no’ be hiding inside the house when she and me father were talking about things me ears did nae need to be hearing.”
“Yes,” Muir agreed. “But tell me again what ye heard.”
“Where were ye, lad?” Kory asked.
“In the hall,” Bari answered. “One of the hounds has a litter of pups. I was under the table with them, and that is when I heard…one of them asking the first man if he’d had a change of heart.”
“About what?” Kory demanded.
Muir shoved him. “Ye’re confusing the lad. I’ll ask the questions.”
“That is all I heard,” Bari said in a rush. “They left after that, saying the crops would fail if they did nae deal with the English witch. Are they going to hurt the mistress?”
“No.” Muir stood and rubbed the top of Bari’s head. “We’ll not be allowing harm to come to her.”
“I don’t think she looks much like a witch,” Bari continued.
“That’s because she is no such thing,” Kory informed the child.
“Then why is she barring her chamber door?” The child’s curiosity wasn’t satisfied.
“Because we’re a bunch of fools,” Muir muttered, shooting Niven a hard look. “Find her and do nae leave her unattended.”
Niven nodded, and Bari made to escape from the two men because it seemed as if they were angry.
“Oh, no, lad.” Muir grasped him by his small shoulder. “I need ye to come with me.”
“Have I chattered?”
Muir smiled at the boy as he started after Diocail. “Ye’ve done good, lad. Very good indeed.”
Bari smiled, but he was soon back to rolling his lower lip in as his laird glared down at him, clearly displeased by what he had to say. Chief Gunn wasn’t any more pleased and looked as though he just might reach out and send Bari sprawling with one of his huge hands.
“Well done, lad…”
Bari looked at his laird, baffled by the words of praise compared with the dark look on his face. Perhaps he’d understand when he was older. His mother had said as much many times. He just wished he knew when exactly he would be older.
* * *
“I’ve been a fool.” Diocail didn’t much care who heard him either.
“Ye were no’ alone in that,” Muir said quietly.
Diocail locked gazes with his captain. “Someone is watching her?”
Muir nodded. “Niven.”
“We needs find them.” Diocail wasn’t comforted by the knowledge. “The lad does nae know the danger he’s in.”
“I’ll go looking for Keefe,” Bothan added. “I know what he looks like, and he will nae be keeping an eye out for me.”
Diocail nodded, his mind on Jane. A quick glance around the hall confirmed she wasn’t anywhere in sight.
He prayed to God he wasn’t too late.
* * *
Dolina stepped back and admired the mirror they had just brought up the stairs. She cut a look over to Jane. “I knew there was a reason I liked ye.”
Eachna nodded. “I certainly never thought to see the men scrubbing the passageway.”
Jane looked around the chamber where Diocail slept. The laird’s personal rooms took up the entire top floor of the second tower. Once inside, you could see every direction from the windows. Which was likely a good thing because the filth inside was astounding, inches thick in places.
Eachna was struggling to remove the canopy covering the master bed.
“Niven, could you please help?” Jane asked.
The retainer was hovering outside the chamber door, likely to make certain she wasn’t taking her spite out on Diocail’s personal things. Jane looked back to see if he was going to ignore her. Instead he reached up and tugged on the corner of his bonnet.
The respectful gesture stunned her, and she stood frozen for a moment as he went over to look at the canopy. “I’ll fetch a few of the lads to help me.”
He was gone a moment later, giving Jane a moment to admire the huge mirror they’d brought into the chamber. It was five feet high and mounted in an ornately carved frame. One of the treasures Colum had received at some point and left in the other tower.
Jane smiled at it and the reflection it showed of the bed. Diocail claimed he enjoyed her spirit? Well, she was going to put that to the test.
“Ye are going to make me blush,” Dolina exclaimed with a mocking, fanning motion of her hand.
“Doubtful,” Jane answered. “Considering you were the one to advise me to stop allowing my husband to think he knows everything.”
Husband…
It sounded right, more than right, really.
It seemed almost perfect. Jane was looking forward to making the stubborn Scot apologize to her for thinking her a liar.
He might not do it…
She drew in a stiff breath and refused to listen to the part of her that said he might refuse. Good fortune often came to those who worked hard for it. She fully intended to be rewarded for her tenacity.
Niven returned with Aylin and two others. They tugged on the corners of their caps as they entered. Niven directed them, and within moments they had the entire canopy removed.
“Ye have the right idea, mistress,” Aylin remarked as they all got a look at what had accumulated on top of the canopy. Jane shuddered as she caught sight of at least two long-dead mice.
“Best we take that down to the yard…” Dolina muttered.
She and Eachna began to guide the men toward the stairs. They bumped against the walls, the wooden frame making scraping sounds as they made their way down, and Jane laughed.
There was a sense of satisfaction filling her as she realized she was taking charge of the house. Her house.
“I’ve been looking high and low for ye, Jane.”
Diocail was suddenly there, his voice awaking flutters in her belly.
Anticipation.
Doubt.
She decided she was going to hold tight to the first one as he came across the chamber toward her. They had always reacted to each other, and today she enjoyed the sensation, intent on making sure she had years to experience it.
“I am taking the house in hand,” she informed him. “If you had seen the top of that canopy, you
would be grateful.”
Her words confused him for some reason. He seemed to shake out of whatever had sent him looking for her. “I am no’ the one who asked for an annulment.”
He was exasperated with her, and she decided it was the most welcome sound she’d ever heard. She stuck her finger into the center of his chest as she stepped up close. “I am not the one who doubted your word. But…I can forgive too.”
His eyes lit. She watched the elation brighten his face as his hands tightened on her elbows.
“Jane…”
She was intent on his eyes but heard the impact of something on the back of his skull. He staggered toward her, his hands tightening to a painful grip as he fell onto her. She collapsed under his weight, struggling to escape from beneath him before he smothered her. But gaining her freedom didn’t bring her any relief.
“Luck is with me today…” Keefe announced in a soft voice. “Ye should have gone back to England, bitch, for I will no’ have ye on Gordon land, much less as mistress of this tower.”
He’d used the heavy pommel of his dagger to knock Diocail on the back of the head and was now turning the point on her.
She should have been afraid. Instead, she was furious to see Diocail injured, and the need to retaliate rose inside her.
“Do you truly believe no one will question our murder?” She was against the wall, her hands flattened on the stone.
Keefe slowly grinned. “Let them. I will tell one and all that the laird saw ye for what ye are at last and ran ye through.”
Jane inched along the wall. Keefe glanced back at Diocail, and she might have taken that moment to escape, but she couldn’t leave Diocail.
“You don’t believe he should be laird.”
Keefe snapped his attention to her. She slipped another few inches along the wall now that he was focused on her. Anger flickered in his eyes as he stepped toward her.
“He…is no true Gordon.” Keefe was following her, intent on making her see his point. “No’ that I’d ever expect an Englishwoman to understand the way it is in the Highlands.”
“I understand bloodlines.” Jane eased further from Diocail’s crumpled form. “Is that why you took me away?”
Keefe’s lips twisted into a sneer, and he pointed the dagger at her. “Admit ye plan to use yer son to rule this clan.”
“I have no son.”
“Ye have nae bled since coming to this tower.”
Her focus had been solely on gaining as much distance between Diocail and herself, but Keefe’s words distracted her. “That does not mean—”
“Everyone knows what it means,” Keefe hissed as he rushed her. The tip of the dagger was against her neck, its point slicing into the delicate surface of her skin. “We are nae fools, English! There are those among the laundresses who do nae care for yer plans to rule us any more than I do. They wash yer linens and tell me ye have not bled…” He looked down at where the point of his weapon lodged against her throat, slipping it toward the visible vein on the side of her neck. “I am going to make ye bleed.”
She clutched at his wrist, knowing it was a lost cause, but unwilling to surrender her life without a fight. Keefe snickered and then made a strange sound before he was suddenly gone.
Diocail flung the other man away, placing himself between them.
“Thank God,” she muttered.
“Stay back, Jane,” he warned.
Keefe had regained his balance, tossing the dagger into the air as he began to slowly circle Diocail. Blood was trickling down her neck, but she was more concerned with the rage burning in Keefe’s eyes.
“To the door, Jane…now.”
Diocail had placed himself between her and Keefe, moving the other man around so the path toward the door was clear.
“But—”
“Go now, woman!” he growled.
Keefe snickered. “Ye see why I am concerned? She is no’ biddable.”
“She is loyal, something ye know naught about.”
Diocail reached down and pulled the dagger from the top of his boot. It was a small one compared to the one Keefe held, but her husband took up a stance between her and the door, clearly intending to defend her escape. The only way she could help him now was to raise the alarm.
She pushed off the wall, propelling herself toward the open chamber door. Keefe lunged after her. She heard Diocail collide with him, the sound of hard flesh meeting making her gasp. It was a horrible thing to know they were intent on killing one another.
Her heart was racing as she took to the stairs. They had not seemed so long before; now she felt as though she couldn’t lift her feet fast enough, almost as though they were stuck to the stone. She fought to move faster to somehow stop murder.
“Mistress!”
Niven was around the corner, hooking her about the waist. They both would have tumbled down the last flight if he hadn’t taken control of her. He lifted her high, turning with the momentum of her downward flight and placing her on her feet on the step below him.
“What—”
Niven didn’t finish his question. His eyes focused on the blood running down her throat, and then Diocail’s voice was bouncing through the stairwell.
“Get her out of the way, Niven!”
There was a whirl of motion and a hard grunt as Diocail kicked Keefe in the chest. It sent him tumbling toward her and Niven.
Jane let out a sound of surprise as Niven hoisted her high while moving down the stairs. He’d always struck her as young for a retainer, but he proved just why he’d been allowed to ride with his laird by reacting faster than Jane could manage to think. She was half over his shoulder, bracing her hands so she could remain upright, watching the battle unfolding behind her.
Keefe lunged at Diocail, intent on cutting him in the leg. The light flashed off his blade, her brain noting the detail. A line of blood appeared before Diocail sent Keefe sprawling with a hard blow from his knee to the other man’s chin.
And then she was spinning free, Niven releasing her as he let out a shrill whistle. Jane skidded to a stop, her skirts swishing out in front of her. Muir and Kory were running toward her, and her brain felt frozen.
Kory reached her first, locking his hand around a handful of her skirts and jerking her toward him. He moved out of her way, sending her stumbling as he ducked around her and placed himself between her and the fight behind her.
Keefe came tumbling out of the stairwell, cursing and jumping to his feet.
“Ye’re no’ fit to lead this clan,” Diocail informed his opponent. “Sneaking about to do yer dirty work when I offered ye the chance to challenge me fairly before all.”
Keefe realized they had an audience. “That was before ye brought an English noble woman here to steal Gordon land.”
“Ye’re babbling nonsense,” Diocail hissed. “A laird is expected to marry for advantage.”
Keefe pointed at Jane. “She plans to use her son to take our land after she kills ye!”
Diocail tilted his head to the side. “I want to kill ye for laying me low abovestairs and cutting me wife, but ye sound like a lunatic.”
“She has no’ bled!” Keefe announced to everyone. He turned in a wide circle. “Ask the laundresses. And she bars her chamber door at night. She is a witch!”
Muir tossed a dagger of the same size as Keefe’s toward Diocail. Her husband caught it with an ease that made her shiver.
“No, she’s barring her chamber door because I was too big a fool to listen when she told me someone stole her away.” Diocail’s tone betrayed his rising rage. “I had faith in me fellow Gordons. Faith that the matter of me being laird was settled and that ye’d be man enough no’ to lower yerself to harming a woman.”
“It will never be settled so long as ye are laird,” Keefe declared.
A dangerous gleam glittered in Diocail’s eyes. “Then ye may take up the matter with me, man. Only a coward steals a man’s wife or sneaks up behind him. I stood in this very hall and offered ye th
e chance to challenge me. Man to man. That’s the sort of courage I believe the Gordons deserve in a laird, and I will nae have ye wearing me colors.”
There was a ripple of agreement from those watching. Keefe didn’t care to hear it either. His face darkened as he tightened his grip on his dagger. “I am no’ alone in me thinking.”
“I’ll deal with yer compatriots after I finish ye.”
Jane jerked, reading the way Diocail’s body drew taunt. The impulse to scream at him to stop was almost too strong to ignore, but she realized that crying out would shame him. Niven was near her, standing half a step in front of her. She dug her hands into her skirts as she quelled the urge to surge forward.
She loved Diocail and had to accept all that he was.
The two men circled, crouching low, gauging each other. They were both hardened and confident. Diocail had no intention of hiding behind his men.
Barbaric.
Savage.
She was quite sure the people in the town where she’d been raised would have labeled him exactly so. And yet she discovered herself agreeing with Diocail’s methods. He did not want to split the clan, so he was risking his own life to ensure that the fight started and ended with him.
She felt a hard grip on her shoulder. Jane only glanced back for a brief moment, but it was enough to see Bothan Gunn.
There was a grunt as Keefe lunged toward Diocail. A sharp sound of metal against metal rang in the air as the two men fought.
Keefe went for the kill. Diocail defended and avoided the plunge of Keefe’s blade. Keefe went stumbling past Diocail, making it possible for him to lock the man in a choke hold. Keefe didn’t surrender. He thrashed and tossed them both to the ground, the pair grappling in a sweaty mess of muscle and profanity. The daggers were out of reach, but Keefe pulled a smaller knife from his boot, slicing upward and catching Diocail on the side of his arm.
Ruby-red blood spurted onto the floor, the scent of it nauseating her, but what made her want to retch was the fact that it was Diocail’s. Bothan’s grip tightened on her shoulder, making her press her heels even harder against the floor.
She’d not distract her husband.
Keefe was seething with rage, the need to kill burning in his eyes. By comparison, Diocail looked disgusted as he smashed the man in the back of his knee to cripple him.
