by Ann Stephens
“We’ll talk later.”
Still smiling, she gave thanks that her husband stood glaring down at her, breath flowing in and out of his lungs. “Very well, Kier.”
He stalked away and she dipped her ladle into the mutton stew to serve the next man.
Chapter 15
Kieran paused to thank each man as he made his way across the room. He took a place by Dr. Andrews on the hard bench against the wall. He all but groaned in relief as he leaned back against the unyielding wood. Holding his bowl, he slowly ate the mutton stew, relishing the warm food as it slid down his throat into his stomach.
The two men ate silently for several minutes before the doctor spoke. “Lady Rossburn did very well this afternoon. I thought she’d do no more than try to dispense tea and crumpets.”
His hand tightened on his bowl. “I told her to stay at Duncarie.”
The older man raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps you should have been more specific. After all, this is part of Duncarie as well.”
He gave the doctor a look. “It’s not a part she’s used to.” His gaze moved to Diantha, standing at the far end of the room, quietly collecting plates to put into the washing-up tub. “And where am I supposed to put her tonight? I planned to sleep with the lads upstairs, but she’ll have to impose on some poor woman already suffering the loss of family.”
“Begging your lairdship’s pardon.” Kieran turned his head as an old woman missing several teeth interrupted them.
He sat up at once, giving her his full attention. “What can I do for you, madam?”
Her mouth drooped for a moment. “No’ a thing, sir, unless ye can bring back the dead. But that ain’t wha’ I was going to say. I already offered Lady Rossburn my cottage for the night, and I’d be honored if you would both bide there this evenin’.”
Kieran took one work-roughened hand in both of his. “I am profoundly touched at your offer, but Lady Rossburn and I couldn’t possibly drive you from your home, especially at a time like this.”
The old woman’s chin trembled. “ ‘Tis no’ a problem for me. I lost my husband to the sea eighteen years ago, and then yesterday my youngest son.” She looked down, fighting for composure. “I canna face going back in there yet, so I’ll stay here tonight and get breakfast tomorrow morning for this lot.”
Diantha glided up and slid an arm around the woman’s thin shoulders. “Mrs. Dunn’s daughter and son-in-law live in Ulladale. Doctor Andrews is going to take her back to stay with them when he returns home.” She smiled at the medical man where he sat.
The old woman told her to come along. “I’ve just come from lighting a fire in the hearth to warm it, and we can’t leave it unwatched.”
Diantha lifted a plain wool cloak from a hook on the wall and gracefully wrapped herself up in it.
She looked over at Kieran before following Mrs. Dunn out the door. “I shall see you in a while, my lord?”
The last thing he wanted was company, even hers, but he nodded. “Yes. I have some things to go over with the men first, though. Don’t wait up.”
His responsibilities seemed to weigh down more heavily on his shoulders after she slipped away. He took his time outlining the next day’s tasks, wanting to make sure each man understood his duties. By the time he left the Herring House, he looked forward to a night alone. He needed some time without worrying about everyone’s expectations.
Provided, of course, that his wife was asleep. Then again, given her flagrant disregard for his orders, she clearly did not look to him for leadership. Or perhaps she knew his needs better than he did himself, part of his mind whispered as he walked along the dark lane. He remembered the sense of comfort that swept over him on seeing her at supper and sighed.
Mrs. Dunn had given him exact directions to her house. He found it easily, and stealthily slipped inside the door. Light from a kerosene lamp and the dying fire illuminated an immaculately clean one-room cottage.
Diantha slept in a box bed against the wall opposite the fireplace. She left the sliding panel open in invitation. Before the hearth sat a small tin tub and two pails of water sat warming on the hearth itself.
He emptied one bucket into the tub as quietly as possible and stripped, leaving his dirty clothes in a pile on the floor. Stepping in, he soaped the linen washcloth and scrubbed every inch of his body twice. Then he poured the clean water from the second bucket over his body to rinse off, closing his eyes to keep the water out. Blindly he reached for the towel he had noticed on the chair by the tub.
After drying himself off and pushing the tub to one side, he examined the offerings Diantha had left on the table under one of the windows. Two complete changes of clothes and a pile of thick blankets from the Duncarie linen closets. He smiled, unable to recall the last time he’d enjoyed such a sense of well-being. Then he started.
Diantha’s eyes glittered in the firelight as she stretched out in the bed, hands behind her head, frankly ogling him.
“What are you doing?”
She grinned. “Enjoying the view.” Her manner became more serious as she held out her hand. “Come to bed, Kier.”
He approached her, but did not crawl in. Gently tucking the sheets in around her he kissed her eyes and mouth. “I’m not going to be good company tonight, darling. Go to sleep, I’ll be in front of the fireplace.”
He could feel her eyes on him as he spread out the blankets into a makeshift bedroll in front of the fireplace. She must have been tired, for she soon fell back asleep.
He added some wood to the fire and stared at the flames. He did not expect to sleep tonight, just as he had not the night before.
Twenty-eight boys and men dead. Could he have prevented it?
* * *
Despite the disappointment that Kieran did not join her, Diantha had fallen asleep quickly. His tender good night had eased the sting of rejection, but the sick look in his eyes had disturbed her. She dreamed of watching helplessly while huge black birds attacked him.
She woke up disoriented. Around her was a wooden box and she heard a repetitive booming in the distance. A soft, irregular noise came from somewhere nearby. Throwing out a hand, she hit the edge of the bed. Coming to full wakefulness, she recognized the bed and the hollow thud of waves in the cove, but she could not place the other sound.
Raising herself on an elbow, she looked around the semi-dark room. Her eyes settled on Kieran. Wrapped up in his blankets, he lay before the hearth, breathing in harsh gasps.
Flinging back the blankets, she scrambled out of bed and across the floor. “Kier! What’s wrong? Tell me, please!”
Stepping around him, she knelt in front of him to see his face. When he lifted his head to look up at her, she exclaimed at his reddened eyes and wet cheeks. Diantha slid into the blankets next to him. “My dear, why are you crying?”
He answered by holding her close and burying his face in her shoulder. Grateful that he did not reject her, she wrapped her arms around him, one hand stroking his hair.
Finally he spoke. “I feel responsible for their deaths.”
She hugged him closer. Her hand dropped to his back, brushing over tense muscles. “Why do you say that?”
From the sound of his breathing, she knew he fought to say more, and waited. “The boats they use have small open hulls. They’re easily swamped. Your father agreed to supply the village with new fishing boats built with covered hulls.”
He raised his head and looked down at her. “The new boats are scheduled to arrive next month. I delayed our marriage out of a sense of panic at being trapped. If I hadn’t, the boats would have been delivered by now and those crews might have survived.”
He released her to roll onto his side, facing her. Diantha remained silent as she digested his words. She hated thinking about his financial reasons for marrying her, but she could not deny they existed.
She adjusted herself to face him, shivering unexpectedly as the blanket lifted to allow a draft on her backside.
He pushed their co
vering back and slid out. “I’ll be right back.” She watched him as he squatted on the hearth, seemingly oblivious to his nudity. He built up the fire and returned to the makeshift bed.
She lifted up the top blankets to allow him to crawl back in beside her. Pulling them up over his shoulders, she scooted close to him, warming him with her body as they faced each other side by side. “You can’t blame yourself for losing those ships.”
He started to protest, but she placed her fingertips against his lips. “My dear, there are too many variables.”
“One, we were both out in the storm yesterday. We know how severe it was. Two, it was bad enough to smash wooden buildings close to the water’s edge. Is that normal, or worse than normal?” She removed her fingers so he could answer.
He traced her hip with his hand. “Worse.”
She snuggled closer to him. “And were the men going out on your orders?”
“No.” He shook his head. “They know—” He shut his eyes and swallowed. “They knew the sea better than I ever could.”
She brushed his lips with her own. “They thought it was safe. Then that storm blew up too quickly for them to get back. And it was worse than average.”
She pushed him onto his back and leaned on her elbow, her face above his. “I don’t know how soon my father promised the new boats after our marriage, but I think it’s quite possible they would have foundered too.”
Her fingers brushed a tangle of dark hair off his cheek. He had not shaved yesterday, and the prickle of his emerging whiskers teased her skin. “And because you are a conscientious landlord, you’d be blaming yourself because they were new and the men were unused to them.”
He pulled her down to lie on his chest. Contented, she listened to him speak. “But that’s what it meant for centuries for the Rossburns. The clan system was based on ties of blood, not oaths from vassal to lord. When you put on a tartan and badge, it meant you were part of a family and that your first loyalty belonged to it.”
She lifted her head. “Ah, yes. You had to swear to love and serve the laird of the clan.” She kissed his chest and looked at him. “Why didn’t you ask me to take that oath?”
His hand stroked down her back as he smiled. “We have a family tartan, but I’m not a clan chief.”
She kissed him again, a few inches lower. “You always think of yourself as responsible for the happiness of others.” She flicked her tongue farther down, raising gooseflesh across his skin. “I think you need to let someone take care of your needs for awhile.”
His eyes gleamed green in the firelight. “And what needs do you think require attention just now?”
Her hand slid down to fondle the rapidly hardening flesh of his erection. “I can think of one I’d like to take care of.” Becoming serious again, she placed a hand in the center of his chest. “You’ve thought enough tonight, Kier. Just lay back and feel.”
He did as she asked. He watched her, though, as she moved down his body, kissing and stroking her way to his cock. And she watched him. Watched his chest rise and fall as she nudged his thighs apart to make room for her to crouch. Watched his neck cord as she ran her fingertips over the insides of his thighs. Watched his eyes darken to black as she removed the chemise she had slept in.
When she took the head of his shaft into her mouth, his eyes closed and he sucked in a breath. As she explored the hard flesh with her mouth, he buried his hands in her hair and moaned her name, urging her to go faster and deeper.
Then, panting, he sat up and flipped her over, spreading her wide with shaking hands. “I need to be inside you, Dina.” He poised himself at her entrance, but although she was willing, her body had too little moisture yet.
Wild-eyed, he lowered his mouth to the apex of her thighs and used his tongue to tease her nub while slipping two fingers inside her.
She groaned as the familiar tension started to build. As soon as the thick digits could plumb the depths of her body easily, he lifted himself over her, positioning his cock once more at the opening of her channel.
She looked up at his beautiful face, now contorted with need and desire. “Come to me, Kier.” And then she gasped as he thrust smoothly inside.
He set an ever-increasing rhythm, pounding in and out of her as he whispered his need of her. She met every movement eagerly, matching herself to him. They mated wildly until he raised himself up on his hands and ground into her with a hoarse cry. His release set off hers and she could only cling to him as tremor after tremor shook her.
They remained joined for a long time afterward. Then Kieran moved to her side and gathered her close, tucking the blankets into a warm cocoon around both of them.
When she opened her eyes again, the shuttered room had chilled and she lay alone in the blankets. She faced the bed.
Golden light came from somewhere, so Kieran must have lit a lantern or candle before he’d left her. She buried her head in her arms, afraid she would start crying.
“Dina? I brought you some breakfast.”
She twisted to her other side. Kieran sat, fully dressed in a fisherman’s jumper, corduroys, and boots, beside the hearth.
Amazed, he watched her face light up when she saw him. None of the worldly women he had sought as mistresses had ever looked at him like he brought the morning sun with him. Part of him thrilled at the idea that he meant that much to her.
The rest of him wanted to run in terror.
He nearly hadn’t come back to the cottage this morning. He could have made the excuse of needing to get started on the grim task of moving debris and carrying bodies.
But he had used her so violently last night. He knew he needed to ascertain that he had not frightened her, and that he probably owed her an apology. So now he handed her breakfast and hoped she would not throw it at him.
Instead, she smiled her thanks and started to eat, sneaking wee peeks at him as though she couldn’t believe he sat beside her. She did not appear frightened at all.
But he had to be sure. “Are you all right?”
She swallowed a bite of porridge. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I lost control of myself last night.”
“Oh.” She stared into her empty porridge bowl. “Is it because my behavior disgusted you?”
He sucked in his breath. “No, no, no! Dina, Diantha, look at me.” She did, and he was reminded of the day on the Columbia when she’d thought he was about to hit her.
He moved to her side and pulled her into his arms, blankets, bowl, and all. Gazing into her worried eyes, he tried to find words to tell her that inexpert as her mouth had been on him, he had never had a woman touch him with such honesty and care.
He shook his head, caressing the silken skin of her cheek. “You did not disgust me.” Her intense blue gaze bored into his and she seemed to understand what he did not say, for she nestled her head against his shoulder with a contented sigh. With a sense of shock he realized that his need for her included moments such as this.
Diantha chanced to look out of the Herring House window later that day when Kieran was walking by the cart as it carried a few corpses up to the church. His arm supported a redheaded girl carrying something bundled in a shawl and sobbing bitterly. She finished drying the dish she held and slipped out the door, drawn by the devastated expression on his face.
By the time she reached the church, Kieran had disappeared inside, but the girl stood by the door outside, still weeping. The bundle in her arms gave a squawk and she held it to her shoulder tenderly. Her swollen brown eyes met Diantha’s.
She still felt awkward offering sympathy to strangers. “I’m sorry.”
The girl’s pointed chin dipped in acknowledgment. To Diantha’s relief, Kieran reappeared. He took in her presence, but held the door open for the other woman. “He’s ready.”
His voice sounded strained. Diantha followed both of them inside the dim room. A precise line of covered bodies lay on the floor, awaiting coffins. She sta
yed by the door as her husband led the girl to a body covered not by a blanket, but by a length of tartan. “It was my father’s. I brought it for him when I heard about the boats.”
The girl sobbed once more, and then gained control of herself. “Thank you, my laird. He deserves this.”
Kieran pulled something silver out of his pocket. “For your son.” Diantha thought it was a coin until he pinned the badge on the shawl in her arms. “It belonged to my father as well.”
She did not bring the episode up until they lay before the fireplace in the cottage that evening. “That was a kind thing you did for your brother’s widow.”
He stared at her. “How did you know?”
She chose her words carefully. “Barclay mentioned it to me, and I asked your mother.”
He sat up, the blanket falling off his bare chest. “How could you bring up something so painful to her? Has she not suffered enough because of my father’s neglect?”
“Please listen.” She held up a hand to forestall his protest. “The situation was not quite what you think.” She repeated what his mother had told her about his father’s liaison.
Something dark went out of Kieran’s eyes, but the sadness that replaced it tore at Diantha’s heart. She stroked his bare back, cherishing the feel of corded muscles under his warm skin. “What is it, my dear?”
His back rose and fell in a heavy sigh. “I had playmates on the estate as a boy, and friends at school. But I always envied the boys with brothers and sisters. I understood early on that my mother couldn’t have more children, so I didn’t complain. But I always felt the lack.”
She curled up next to him. “This was obviously before you met my family.”
He placed an arm around her shoulders. “The discovery of my father’s other family made me even angrier at his infidelity. Not only had he hurt his wife, he denied me a brother.
“My half brother refused to approach me or accept anything but the occasional gift. I don’t suppose he had an easy time of it growing up as the laird’s by-blow.” His face stiffened and his eyes glittered with unshed tears in the firelight. “I’ll never get a chance to ask him about that now.”