by Mary Wine
“Enough, Keefe!” Diocail growled. “Do nae make me kill ye.”
Keefe lifted his head, blood running from his nose. For a moment, he appeared ready to be done with it, his anger spent. Diocail was nodding, the men clustering around them, offering a mutter of approval for the way it all ended.
“It is finished,” Diocail announced.
“And witnessed,” Bothan Gunn replied.
Diocail looked toward Jane, locking gazes with her. There was a flutter of motion near him as Keefe surged up and off his knees. Her eyes rounded as the light flashed off one of the larger daggers he’d retrieved from the floor.
It was merely a moment, and yet it felt as though it lasted an hour. She watched Diocail read the threat off her face, saw him turning to face the blade. Bothan was pulling her back as Diocail tried to lunge toward Keefe.
Diocail only had time to defend himself, grasping Keefe’s hand and turning the blade back on him. The momentum of the attack sent them sprawling onto the floor. There was a dull sound as Keefe landed on the blade. Diocail could only look into the man’s eyes as he died.
Jane was certain she would see that moment for the rest of her days. She was horrified, but satisfied too.
She stumbled back as Bothan reached Diocail, pulling Keefe’s body off him. Muir and Kory and too many others to name were there as well. Keefe was rolled onto his back, his body flopping onto the floor with a dull sound as his blood seeped around the edges of the blade buried in his chest.
Jane was moving backward, recoiling from the horror of it all. She lifted her skirts as she turned and climbed the stairs, seeking escape.
* * *
Diocail followed her. The chamber door shut with a soft sound, and Jane turned on him, staring for a moment, soaking up the sight of him as she tried to absorb the fact that he was well and safe.
“It’s over, lass…” He came toward her, reaching for her.
She hit him, hammering her fist against his chest. It made a dull sound as tears suddenly flooded her eyes. “How could you take such a chance?”
Jane didn’t wait for her demand to be answered. She aimed another blow at Diocail and then a third.
“Jane…” he grunted as she landed her blow, and he wrapped his arms around her, binding her in place.
“Let me…go…” She was straining against his hold, tears streaming down her face as he held firm. “Now.”
He turned her loose and jumped back a pace when she lifted her fist. “You should be worried,” she informed him. “I want to beat you within an inch of your life for taking such a chance!”
He crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m worried ye might do our child harm.”
She gasped, shaking, as everything that had just happened seemed to assault her all at once. “I am not with child.”
At least she hadn’t really thought about it. But she did now, standing still as she considered how long she had been at the towers.
“Jane?”
Absorbed by her thoughts, she jumped and blinked as he asked the question. Diocail took the moment to move close to her, reaching out to stroke her cheek gently. His touch made her tingle, awakening life inside her, as spring did when it drove winter away.
She closed her eyes, savoring the feeling. “You have no right to take issue with me when you are the one who just risked his life.”
Diocail’s expression tightened, his gaze lowering to her neck as he lifted her chin. “He…drew…yer…blood.”
Each word was tight and edged with rage. He stepped closer, his fingers still beneath her chin as he locked gazes with her. “I was a fool no’ to believe ye, and I will fight a hundred men if that is what it takes for this clan to understand they will never touch ye.” He stroked her cheek. “Ye are mine, Jane.”
No words had ever pleased her more. She trembled with joy, feeling it wash through her like a flood.
“Do ye forgive me?”
His tone was stern and guarded, but it was the look in his eyes that sent fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.
Diocail Gordon needed her to forgive him.
She witnessed the truth in his eyes. He suddenly lowered himself to his knee, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his head against her lower body.
“Forgive me, lass…I’ve too much pride.”
She smoothed his hair back, her fingers shaking. “I do…I love you.”
He looked up at her, stunning her with the glitter of tears in his eyes. He drew his hands around her body, gently settling one over her belly. “Are ye carrying, Jane?”
The note of hope in his voice made her wish she might answer him with a yes. “It’s really too soon to know…for certain. My courses might simply be late.”
His lips curled into a huge grin. He pressed a kiss against her belly before rising. “But ye are late!”
He was suddenly moving across the chamber. He reached for the chamber door and yanked it open. Aylin and Niven stood there, both jumping at the suddenness of the door moving. They regained their poise quickly, tugging on the corner of their caps.
“Ring the bells!” Diocail announced. “We are going to have a child.”
“Diocail!” Jane ran after him, clutching at his arm. “Do not. I am not certain.”
Niven stopped two steps down, looking back at them. Her husband looped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, turning to nuzzle her neck. “In that case…best we make very, very…certain.”
Her face went up in flames as she heard his men chuckle.
“Have you no shame?” she demanded as he scooped her up and walked her back toward his huge bed. She heard the door closing behind them as Diocail settled her.
“With ye? No’ a shred.” He pressed a kiss against her mouth, one that warmed her to her core and drove the worry from her at last.
“And I like the gift…”
Her thoughts scattered by his kiss, Jane blinked as she tried to decide what he was talking about. Diocail grinned, a wolfish, arrogant curving of his lips that was joined by a flash of anticipation in his eyes.
“A fine place for it as well.”
She gasped and then giggled. The mirror. It stood where she’d had it placed, where it afforded them a fine reflection of themselves on the bed.
“And ye, my English flame…ye have no shame either.” He was seeking out the tie that held her bodice closed, his fingers delving between her cleavage.
She reached out and touched him on the chin. “No, husband. What that mirror means is that I was determined to make this union work in spite of your stubbornness.”
He popped the knot on the lace, and she felt her breasts push the front of her bodice open. Anticipation filled her, heating her blood with the need to be joined with him.
“I am a Highlander…stubborn is part of me nature…” He reached into her open bodice and cupped her breasts. “But I’ll apply meself to demonstrating it in more…pleasing ways, wife.”
He brushed her nipples, making her breathless.
“See that you do…husband.”
* * *
A week later, Diocail got his wish to have the bells rung.
Jane rose from bed and only had time to dash to the garderobe before she was heaving up the contents of her belly. The effort was intense, leaving her sweating in spite of the chill in the air. Every muscle she had was quivering as she emerged to be swept against her husband’s hard body.
“Ye’re carrying!” he declared in a tone rich with happiness. He turned them around in circles before laying her on their bed. He backed up a step, fixing her with a glance that looked very much like he was attempting to memorize the sight of her there on the bed.
“I love ye.”
It was a solemn declaration. For a moment, she didn’t feel worthy, and then she realized what she truly felt was complete. The phrase soul mate had never really had meaning until that moment.
“As I love you.”
He winked at her, turning aro
und to find his shirt before he wrenched open the chamber doors. She let out a little shriek as she dove into the rumpled bedding because she was only wearing her chemise.
“Ring the bells, lad!” he announced to the retainer standing outside the door. “We’re going to have a child.”
The retainer grinned and set off down the stairs. Diocail turned and curled his finger at her. “Out of bed with ye, Jane.”
She slowly smiled. “Yes, it would seem this marriage duty has been seen to.”
Diocail’s smile faded. “And just what do ye mean by that, woman?” He knew exactly what she was hinting at. He propped his hands on his hips and glowered at her. “Now maybe in England…” He stressed the name of the country. “Maybe in England, couples sleep apart while the wife is with child, but this is Scotland.”
She crawled out of bed, walking toward him as the morning sunlight cut through the thin fabric of her chemise. It really was too lightweight a fabric for the season, but the chill was nothing compared to the thrill she experienced when his lips curved in the sensuous manner that made her quiver.
“Scotland…” She purred, exactly the way Brenda had. “Yes, you do have some very interesting customs here…”
“We do,” Diocail responded, joining in her teasing as he settled his hands on her hips. “We like to please our wives…very, very, often. So do nae be thinking to leave me bed.”
“Hmmm,” she muttered before backing away from him as the bells began to ring. It started with one, and then more of the large brass bells mounted on the walls began to fill the morning air with their sound. The news spread fast, and it wasn’t long before the bell in the village church was toiling as well.
Diocail picked up a length of wool and draped it over her shoulders. A few moments later, they had company. The women clustered around her as Muir and his men slapped Diocail on the shoulder.
“Dolina,” Jane muttered, raising her voice so that Diocail was sure to hear. “My husband had warned me that Scottish customs are different than English ones.”
“It is a fact.” Dolina’s lips twitched as she fought back a smile because she knew her mistress was making ready to toy with her husband.
“Is it true that the father of the child must wear a dress while his wife is in labor to confuse the demons who might wish to steal the unbaptized child’s soul?”
Dolina made a scoffing sound under her breath as she tried to swallow her mirth. “It is very true, and all of his friends…” She raised her voice to make sure it was heard. “Must appear to be midwives.”
“That is no’ the custom I was talking about, Jane.”
Jane turned and sent her husband a feigned look of innocence that made Muir choke. But Diocail’s eyes were glittering with happiness, and she knew without a doubt hers were as well.
* * *
Symon Grant used the long winter months to deal with the letters that needed his attention.
“Still at it?” Brenda asked from the doorway of the study.
Symon looked up, his chin shaved clean now, even if there was a lingering sadness in his eyes. His wife was long dead, but she seemed to remain in his heart.
“Only because I have failed to make a choice,” Symon confessed as he pressed his hands flat on the desktop and rose from his chair. He was staring down at two letters.
Brenda moved forward, intent on somehow lending comfort as he tried to confront the very distasteful duty of selecting a bride. There were also two miniatures with the letters, each one showing a girl of the right age for marriage.
“For all that I selected Tara in this very manner, it leaves me cold this time,” he grumbled before walking away.
Brenda peered at the letters, but they were equally well composed, listing the attributes of each girl. But something else gained her attention. It was a letter Symon had pushed off to the side with her name clearly written on it.
Symon was stretching his back. It popped, and he rolled his shoulders before he realized what she’d taken off his desk. “That intrigues you.”
Brenda jumped, startled because she’d been absorbed in reading the letter. “No’ a bit.”
Symon’s eyes narrowed. “Ye’re the one who told me we both needed to start living again, Brenda.”
The truth was the Grant castle was a silent place, inhabited by too many ghosts. They were the last of their line, Brenda and Symon.
Brenda’s eyes flashed. “I agreed ye needed yer backside kicked. Niul McTavish was here and did exactly that. Ye are laird.”
“And ye are me cousin,” Symon continued as though she hadn’t argued with him. “And we are the last of our line. Niul McTavish made the point that both of us need to start living again.”
“I am me own woman, by yer father’s decree when he died.” Brenda was so passionate the letter crumbled in her grasp. She looked down at it and scowled before tossing it back onto the desk. “Bothan Gunn can find himself another bride. I will no’ wed him.”
“Ye are yer own woman. I promised me father on his deathbed I would no’ force ye to wed.” Symon perched himself on the corner of the desk. “Just as I am laird, and no one can force me to wed.”
Brenda let out a little sound. “It’s yer duty.”
“And yet no’ yers?” Symon tsked at her. “As the only other member of our line, I argue with ye, Cousin. For I have tried, and still there is no heir.”
“Argue as ye like.” Brenda moved away from the desk. “It will do ye no good. I have had all of marriage that I ever wish to experience. Ye do nae promise obedience when ye wed. A woman does.”
“I saw ye with him.”
Brenda stopped halfway to the door of the study. For a moment, it appeared she was going to continue on, but she turned to look back at Symon.
“I saw ye talking to Bothan at the festival.” Symon slowly grinned. “Ye blushed.”
“It was a warm day,” she exclaimed before she turned and left with a snap of her skirt because she took the turn around the doorway so quickly.
Symon reached down and picked up the letter from Bothan Gunn. The man was direct, but the wording of the letter didn’t really ask for permission to court Brenda.
Symon slowly grinned. No, Bothan had informed Symon of his intentions. It made Symon chuckle, something he realized he hadn’t done enough of since losing his wife.
Four years. The time seemed to vanish, and Niul McTavish had been correct in telling him and Brenda that Grant Castle had become a place of tears and lament.
Symon looked back at the letter from Bothan Gunn and nodded before he reached over and rang a small bell. It took a few minutes for a maid to come into the doorway and lower herself.
“Take this to Mistress Brenda’s chambers and leave it on her pillow.”
Senga had served in the castle for a long time. She boldly looked at the letter before she sent him an amused look. “This will warm things up for certain.”
Symon flashed her a grin. “Me hope exactly.”
She clicked her tongue before lowering herself again. A ring of keys hung from her belt, declaring her high position in the household. “I’ll be sure to see there are a few sets of clean sheets waiting for yer bed.”
Symon frowned.
“Because I wager yer cousin is going to pour salt in yer bed after finding this on her pillow.”
Symon snorted, amused even by the idea of his cousin’s spite.
Yes, it was time to have life back in the castle. He sat down and concentrated on the two miniatures with a renewed interest.
* * *
“Ye are blessed beyond words to be able to birth yer babes in so little time.” Dolina shook her head, sending Jane a slightly envious look.
“Me mother was like that,” Eachna remarked as she handed the new baby to Jane. “All her babes came just like yers. Quick and fierce.”
Jane was leaning back in the birthing chair, sweat on her forehead, but now that her baby was breathing, the pain didn’t seem nearly as bad. It was all dissi
pating in the rush of meeting her son. How he’d arrived wasn’t nearly as important as the fact that he was there.
She’d known she was going to have a baby, but she was astonished to gaze on the tiny little miracle her child was. Seeing his little chest expand with breath filled her with more faith in life than she had ever imagined she’d experience.
There was a cry from down the hall. Dolina went to the chamber doors, opening them only enough to slip through. She came back a few moments later. Her face was turning purple as she held in her amusement long enough to make it across the chamber to where Jane sat with her baby. “They are still down there, every last one of them in skirts, while yer husband is acting as if he is giving birth.”
“We should tell them the baby is here,” Jane said.
“Do nae ye dare,” Eachna reprimanded her. “We have nae had this much entertainment in years.”
Jane lost interest in everything else as her son opened his eyes and looked at her. His head was covered in dark hair, and the women had encouraged her to pull her breast free from her partlet so he might lay his cheeks against it. He moved his hand, placing his tiny fingers on her skin, and she was fairly certain nothing had ever felt so perfect in her life.
* * *
“Ye’re no’ doing it right,” Muir exclaimed.
Diocail grunted and straightened. “Fine. Show me how since ye seem to know so much.”
Someone cleared his throat, and Diocail looked up to see Sorley standing near the door to the hall. Bothan Gunn was there beside the man, his lips slowly curving as he took in Diocail and his men.
“Laird Diocail Gordon?” Bothan questioned.
Diocail grunted as Muir dug out the two bowls he’d stuffed into his jerkin to look like breasts.
“Aye,” Diocail replied, offering the man his hand. “I am surprised to see ye.”
The man’s gaze swept him from head to toe, taking in the makeshift dress Diocail was wearing. “Clearly.”
Diocail only shrugged and slapped him on the shoulder. “Ye’re in time to raise a toast to me babe.”
“Ye do nae say son?” Bothan asked as he walked with Diocail toward the high ground.
