by Mary Wine
“You cannot—”
He was dumping her onto the ground before she finished protesting. At the last moment, he controlled her descent and she landed with only a jolt instead of the hard impact she’d been expecting. She ended up looking at him from where he’d deposited her on her backside.
“Ye’ll be staying with us, mistress. Best set yer mind to it, for I’ve no wish to fight with ye.”
“I will do no such thing.” She stood but stepped back when one of her knees tried to collapse. She pushed her foot into the ground to steady herself and faced off with her tormentor. “You have no right to lay hands on me.”
“I am Diocail Gordon.” He didn’t move back an inch, which meant they were a single step from one another, and she had to tip her head back to maintain eye contact. “And ye are on me land.”
“Which I will be most happy to leave,” she insisted firmly.
“The last thing I need is an Englishwoman raped on me land,” he answered her. “I do nae know who yer husband was, but it’s a good thing the man is dead because I’m of the mind to break his fool neck for wedding ye and leaving ye in such circumstances.”
His words shamed her with how kind they truly were, although gallant was more fitting once she thought it through. He was rough and hardened and so completely suited to his environment that she found herself admiring him. However, the observation revealed how very far from home she was.
“Your intentions do you much credit, Sir Diocail,” she said sweetly. “Yet I cannot stay in this company.”
“I am no knight. Ye’re in the Highlands, lass, and I am sorry to say I can nae afford ye any better circumstances than being in the company of me men. For the moment, it will be better than yon thicket and the men who have grudges against the English. Which they will have few reservations against settling at yer expense.”
His captain slid up close to her, making her shift away. He offered her a harassed look before tossing something at her. She caught it, simply out of reflex, trembling when she realized it was a thick traveling cloak.
The scratchy wool was more dear than the finest silk. She was shaking with the anticipation of being wrapped inside it.
Diocail nodded in approval toward his man. “Put that on and sit down, mistress. I’ll decide how to deal with ye in the morning. For now, me men and I are going to enjoy our supper. Kindly do nae make it necessary for one of us to hand-feed ye like a babe because we have to tie ye up so we can enjoy our meal.”
“You would not dare,” Jane exclaimed.
She realized her error immediately. This man lived for challenges.
Diocail Gordon’s lips twitched, curling up on one side into what might have been a grin if there was anything remotely attractive about the motion. No, it was menacing and too full of promise for her to dismiss. She wanted to think she might argue but knew without a doubt it was a useless fight that would cost her the advantage of being free.
And they were going to feed her and warm her.
Beggars simply couldn’t be choosers.
Well, better a beggar than a whore.
She opened the cloak and swung it around her shoulders. Made for a man, it hung down to her ankles, and she had to gather it close to her body. Diocail watched her, daring her to defy him. There was something in his gaze that hinted that he enjoyed the way she hesitated before sitting down, but the hard set to his jaw confirmed just how good he’d make on his threat to restrain her if she tried him.
Of course, with his men watching, she couldn’t really blame him. So she sat down and heard his men mutter with approval. The master of the house was never going to back down in front of his men, doubly so considering she was a woman and English. She would simply have to choose the time better if she wanted to prevail.
But she would be leaving, and Diocail Gordon would be the one adjusting to her way of thinking. By dawn, he’d agree with her anyway. It was simply the way life was. A person had to work hard to make sure their loved ones were provided for. That left little charity for strangers. Tonight, Diocail might be able to afford to be generous, and it was her good fortune, to be sure.
However, the men serving him wouldn’t agree to let her share their food when she brought nothing with her. No goods, money, or alliance. The meat they allowed her to eat had been brought to the fire through their effort, earned, and therefore their right to enjoy. They were loyal to Diocail because there was strength in numbers.
Tomorrow she’d leave. Return to her father’s house where she had a family to help protect her. Alicia might insist she wed again, but even that prospect, however distasteful, paled against remaining in Scotland while England was ever willing to declare war against its neighbor.
An Englishwoman in Scotland. It would be a far better-sounding tale than the reality of it was proving to be.
* * *
“Untie her without a dagger in hand to defend yerself, and ye’re going to be meat for the hounds. That female is so angry, I think she might bash yer skull with a rock.”
Diocail offered Muir a grin. “I gathered that all on me own.”
Behind them, their guest was snarling through the gag Niven had reluctantly tied around her head.
“And I’m no’ so sure binding her hands in front of her was wise,” Muir continued. “She has more spirit than I thought to find in an Englishwoman.”
Diocail sent Muir a deadly look. His captain wasn’t a bit repentant, grinning back at him before he reached down and patted his crotch in sympathy for the knee their unhappy guest had shoved into Diocail’s privates.
“A lucky shot,” Diocail assured him. “She only landed it because I really did nae want to truss her up.”
“Why did ye?” Muir asked, revealing what was really on his mind. “We certainly do nae need another unhappy woman in our midst. There is a kitchen full of them back at home, in case ye’ve forgotten.”
Diocail sent him a glare. “Ye’d have me allow her to leave in her shift? Think me that sort of a monster? Simply to let her walk into a harsh fate brought on by her circumstances? Clearly her husband was a fool and a bastard for no’ making sure she had a place.”
Muir looked at the ground out of shame. “Aye, ye have the right of it, and offering her our protection—that’s the honorable thing to do. But why tie her up?”
Diocail let out a stiff breath. It betrayed how frustrated he was. He didn’t care a bit for how doing the right thing was making him feel. “Because she’s a decent woman. Highborn, educated.”
Muir nodded. “That’s obvious in her bearing and speech.”
“So, a woman such as that,” Diocail explained, more than a little exasperated with the circumstances, “well, she can no’ accept being in our company. It’s no’ proper to her way of thinking—a bunch of soldiers and no female chaperone. It’s no’ acceptable. But I can nae let her walk off into the thicket to be preyed upon and call meself an honorable man.”
Muir was shaking his head by the time Diocail finished. “Aye, ye’re right. I ken that now.”
“Good, because I was no’ jesting about no’ needing a dead Englishwoman on our land. The Earl of Morton might be out of the regency now, but the young king James is set to inherit England’s crown. So me guess is he’ll no’ be wanting trouble between his two countries.”
“Such as a nobleman’s daughter found dead on Scottish soil,” Muir finished.
“Aye.”
“So what do ye plan to do with her?” Muir asked.
“I’ll decide tomorrow,” Diocail replied. “For now, let’s get what sleep we might. She may be snarling, but she needs rest more than we do by the look of those circles beneath her eyes.”
Although he doubted he was going to get very much sleep himself. Whoever their guest was, she was as foolish as she was spirited. Insisting on going on her way in nothing but a shift. Damned if he didn’t enj
oy knowing she was so brazen.
And color him foolish for enjoying what would surely get her rolled into a grave on the side of the road after some man with a grudge against her blood used her flesh to satisfy his vengeance. The world was a dark, harsh place at times.
But she knew that, or at least she’d tasted it recently. Her body bore the marks of her trials, and still she boldly refused to take his protection. It was admirable, stoking something in him that he’d not encountered in connection to a woman before.
He’d come across unbridled females before. His own mother had been one and proud of her ways. Whoever this lady was, she wasn’t thumbing her nose at her place out of a need to rebel. No, it was far different from that. She had stiffened her spine and squared her shoulders to face what Fate had thrust upon her. Perhaps she had brought it upon herself by running away to wed the man of her heart. Even still, he admired the way she took her due. And that only made him wish he’d never set eyes upon her.
He had enough people looking to him for solutions. Between his mother’s dreams for him and the condition of his inheritance, the last thing he needed was a female who would have to be watched for her own good.
Diocail chuckled.
He and the woman had a great deal in common, it seemed, but he doubted she’d thank him for pointing it out to her. Which was exactly why he was enjoying the thought of doing just that.
* * *
They were watching her.
Jane rubbed her wrists and tried to appear as though she was content in her circumstances, or at least submissive to their greater strength.
Well, your belly is full…
On that account, she could not harbor any ill thoughts against the Gordons surrounding her. Not even for the ache left behind from the rope they had bound her with. It hurt far less than her hunger had the night before.
“Take yer ease and return.” Diocail surprised her by speaking to her. “If ye make me track ye down, I’ll tie ye up again. That’s a promise I do nae fancy making good on, lass.”
“Why do you persist in this?” She climbed to her feet and drew in a stiff breath as pain went shooting through her battered soles. With her hunger satisfied, it seemed the rest of her body was going to make its complaints known.
Loudly so.
“I’ve explained me reasoning.” He aimed a hard look at her. In the light of day, she realized he had warm brown eyes. “I understand yer need to argue, mistress. Any decent woman would. We’re a rough lot, no’ suitable company without a companion for ye.”
“And yet you deny me freedom when you know I must seek it?”
His expression remained unmoved. “I am laird of the Gordon. A dead Englishwoman of noble background—by yer speech and bearing—is the sort of trouble we do nae need. Protecting me clan will come before yer sensibilities. If an ill fate befalls ye, I will be called on to account for it to the king. Me men will no’ harm ye. Best ye stay with us.”
It was his solemn word on the matter. She didn’t know very much about him, but he was an honorable man. Even if he was everything she’d been raised to think of as savage. The very sight of him was straight out of a winter fireside tale constructed to titillate with fear of the Highlanders. He’d pleated up his plaid and secured it around his waist with a thick leather belt. His doublet was of recognizable design, but it was also thick, rustic wool, and he had the sleeves tied back once again, making it plain that the chill of the morning wasn’t something he considered cold.
He was a creature of strength who inspired awe in her because of the sheer magnitude of his ability to survive in his climate. She was huddled inside the cloak, still feeling the bite of the morning air through its folds.
“Go on with ye, mistress.” He’d lowered his voice, granting her some consideration for the delicate nature of the conversation. “Do nae test me, for I have no wish to put rough hands upon ye.”
It was a warning, clear and firm. His expression made it plain that he wouldn’t hesitate to make good on his words, and the memory of him tossing her over his shoulder was very fresh. She hobbled when she walked, her feet paining her more than she’d ever thought possible.
So much so that she sat on a rock once she’d seen to her more pressing needs and looked at the bottom of one foot. The sight was daunting. She had three large blisters, caked with dirt and red now. One was oozing, warning her infection was sure to set in if she didn’t tend to the wound. As well as stay off the foot.
“How long have ye been turned out?”
“Jesus!” She jumped and muffled a curse when she landed on her feet and the blisters sent pain up her legs so acute, her knees threatened to buckle. “How do you walk so silently?”
“It keeps me breathing, lass,” Diocail proclaimed with a touch of arrogance. “And makes hunting a bit more rewarding. Rabbits enjoy life as much as we do and tend to bolt if they hear me coming.”
His pride was not bluster, but earned. For some reason, she decided that it enhanced his appeal.
Savage?
Yes, he was that. Yet there was more, far more than she’d ever stopped to consider might be beneath the label handed out to his kind.
“There’s some water heating over the fire,” he continued. “Do ye know anything of cleaning wounds?”
“Yes, of course.”
He lifted one dark eyebrow. “No’ many have the skill of a healer.”
“I am not a physician,” she explained. “I assure you, Laird Gordon, I was raised well.”
“So why did yer family wed ye to a man who allowed ye to fall into such circumstances?” he demanded.
“I am a fourth daughter.” She didn’t owe him an explanation, but something in his tone made her answer him. She sensed a core of solid responsibility she realized had been lacking in her late husband.
Diocail frowned. “That’s no reason.”
“Henry was far better at acting the good suitor than he was at being a husband, and there was no finer offer.”
“A father’s duty is to make sure he does nae wed his daughter to a man who dupes him,” Diocail responded. “Did ye nae suspect?”
It was a good question, and she had resisted thinking too long upon it during the few months of her marriage. No good would come of such thoughts, after all. The vows had been spoken and consummated, so wallowing in regrets seemed a poor choice when all it might do was make her miserable.
“Scotland’s daughters decide whom they wed then?” she inquired in a tone that made it clear she knew it wasn’t so. “Do they boldly argue against their fathers’ decisions?”
Diocail wasn’t intimidated by her sarcasm. “I wonder if ye ran off with the man of yer choice.” His eyes glittered with something that sent a shiver down her spine. “Ye’re bold enough.”
She shouldn’t have enjoyed how much she liked knowing he thought of her that way.
Yet she did.
“See me as rebellious because I wanted to leave your company?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nay. That proved to me ye are a quality woman.”
He was a man who didn’t hand out false flattery. His words warmed her and took her by surprise. She started to walk back toward the fire, simply because she felt far too much was on display beneath his keen stare. Every step hurt. She tried to keep her gait easy but winced when she stepped on a rock in just the wrong place. There was a snort behind her before she was once again swept up against Diocail Gordon’s wide chest.
“Oh, do put me down.” She detested the fact that it was necessary to plead with him. However, when it came to strength, he had an abundance of it. She wasn’t used to feeling small. Her stepmother had often pointed out how unfashionably tall she was, and yet Diocail dwarfed her.
“Quiet, woman.” He delivered her to a rock near the campfire. “I ken ye do nae have it in yer nature to whine, and I am grateful for that. B
ut I do nae need ye burning with fever while we’re on the road. So ye’ll stay off these feet until I can get ye some shoes.”
“You may leave me right here, sir, and I assure you I will do very well.”
Niven brought over a large bowl and placed it on the ground by her feet. The Gordon retainer sent her a look that made it clear he thought she was daft. Heat teased her cheeks because she knew he was very correct.
Yet it was only right to argue against being with them. She detested the fact that life was so very difficult at times.
Diocail walked to the wagon and pulled something from it. He returned and offered it to her. His expression was unreadable, and she caught glimpses of his men all slowing in their work to watch what she made of the parcel.
A test then…
What she held was a medical kit of sorts. She had to untie it. When she rolled it across her lap, there were pockets with bottles and all sorts of things needed for the treatment of wounds. She pulled some loose until she found what she needed.
Cleaning her own feet was another matter though. She might dip her feet into the bowl, but tending her own soles would be awkward. Diocail settled the matter by sitting down at her feet.
“Tell me what needs doing.”
Her voice was a squeak, but she rattled off the instructions as his men found reasons to come closer. Controlling the urge to wince took precedence though, as she gritted her teeth and wiped the few tears that escaped her eyes.
“Thank you.”
“Ye can show yer gratitude by no’ making a fuss.” He scooped her off the rock and carried her toward the wagon. Someone had cleared a space, even spread out a thick sheepskin with the fleece facing down to cushion the ride. Diocail placed her on it and slid the tailgate of the wagon into place before securing it with a thick iron rod. “I’ve business to attend to, and it will be a difficulty if me tenants see ye trussed up like a pig on the way to market. So kindly do nae make it necessary. Ye’d be foolish to try to walk on those feet or in yer shift.”