Highland Flame

by Mary Wine

  “Sorley?”

  His captain was quick to step forward.

  “How many men have ye been working on the repairs?”

  “Close to a hundred,” Sorley answered.

  “So,” Diocail addressed them all. “There are no more than fifty of ye set to the walls and stables. And yet…” He gripped his belt as he struggled to control his temper. “I counted more than two hundred of ye thinking to fill yer bellies in the hall, and ye dare to label me wife a lackwit for acting to make sure her duties were fulfilled? What have the rest of ye been doing with the daylight?”

  Those who had been so proud of their insults shuffled their feet, losing their confidence. They weren’t sorry, but it was a start. The Gordons needed beginnings tenfold because all around them were the ruins of a once-proud clan. It was time they started building a future that was bright with achievement.

  “The proper word to describe yer mistress is determined,” Diocail announced in a tone that made it clear he wasn’t in the mood to be tested. “A trait I recommend ye all adopt right quickly because this clan will only be strong when the lot of ye are strong. Colum was a bastard for letting ye run idle like lads. There is a high price to be paid for laziness. Riding out to raid the neighbors for the sake of yer pride while yer home is falling to ruin. Well now, I will nae be impressed by the things ye’ve stolen under moonlight. True men make certain their home is fit for their families.”

  Diocail drew in a deep breath. “Muir, gather up some of these men and do yer best to see that mill working. It’s the kitchen staff’s duty to turn the bread, no’ to grind the grain.”

  Muir tugged on the corner of his bonnet before pointing at those nearest to him and heading down to the millhouse. Diocail spared a moment to make sure a fair number of men followed before he turned and headed toward the hall.

  Jane’s path was marked by a trail of water and mud. She’d pushed her hair back from her face and stood halfway up the steps to the high ground as she surveyed the tables and the efforts under way to clean them. She caught Diocail watching her, their gazes locking for a moment. He felt the connection as much as he saw it. For a moment, he was certain he would have killed any man who thought to get between them. The impulse rose instantly and left behind a twinge to make sure Diocail recalled it.

  He wanted her.

  More precisely, he wanted her to choose him. Seducing a woman with less experience wasn’t very difficult. He’d already have claimed her if that was what he wanted.

  No, he craved something different from her. Something very personal.

  Nothing less would satisfy him.

  * * *

  “Ye did nae hit her hard enough.”

  Keefe snarled. “Ye think I do nae know that?”

  Phelan shrugged. “Now, ye’ve gone and helped her earn respect.”

  “It will be a cold day in hell before I respect any English,” Sheehan growled.

  “The men will find it easier to forget her blood when their bellies are full,” Phelan said. “And no one is going to be so trusting of another accident.”

  Keefe grunted and drained his mug. “I’ll find a way.”

  * * *

  Someone was pleased with her.

  Jane found a mug of mulled wine next to her bed when she finally sought out sleep. The scent of cloves lifted the corners of her mouth as she sipped at the liquid. It warmed her insides, promising to ease some of the aches from her day. She was so tired she would have fallen asleep anyway.

  The day replayed in her dreams as she struggled to avoid thinking about her brush with death. But once in the hold of slumber, the memory rose up, claiming her full attention with a vivid replaying. She felt the crisp temperature of the water as she plunged into it, experienced once again the way the river seemed to be folding her inside its grip. The need to fight its grasp was overwhelming. She was straining to break free, feeling panic well up inside her as it held her in a viselike grip.

  “Jane.”

  Diocail shook her free of the nightmare. Jane opened her eyes with a startled yelp as she tried to shove him away from her. He made a low sound in the back of his throat as her hand smacked into his jaw.

  “Oh…” She was breathing hard, her heart pounding as she blinked and tried to banish the nightmare completely. “I’m sorry, Diocail.”

  His eyes narrowed, but his expression became pleased. “I think that’s the first time ye have called me by me name.”

  He was sitting in her bed with her, and her cheeks suddenly heated as she recalled exactly what he’d done to her the last time they were alone. Her damned clitoris began to throb.

  Her body really did have a terrible sense of timing. “I spoke it at our wedding.”

  “Aye, ye did.”

  His voice had deepened, becoming raspy as he continued to grin. He reached out, smoothing the hair away from her face.

  “Ye took a dangerous risk today, Jane. I’ve no wish to shame ye in front of others, but I admit I came close to reprimanding ye right there in the hall.”

  She sat up and scooted to sit against the headboard. “The entire reason I am here is because this house needs to be taken in hand. Did you not like the bread at supper? There was plenty, and your teeth weren’t in danger of being chipped.”

  He grinned, earning a snort from her. “You are the strangest man, Diocail Gordon. Smiling when I show you my temper.”

  “Admit ye enjoy it,” he encouraged her softly, as if was attempting to lure her away from everything she’d been taught was correct.

  “Oh Christ.” She aimed a playful kick at him. “I swear, you are worse than Lucifer whispering to Eve. And the church preaches that women are the ones to worry about sowing decency and leading men to sin’s door because we are descended from Eve.”

  Henry might have slapped her for such a comparison. Diocail tossed his head back and laughed. He rolled onto his back, across the foot of her bed, chuckling like a little boy, with the exception of the fact that he was a huge man.

  She grabbed her pillow and swung it at him. The impact was less than satisfying because the pillow was thin and old. All it really did was collapse on him and alert him to her attack. The bed rocked as he surged up and captured her, rolling her back as he landed on top of her.

  It was all accomplished in a moment, yet it left her gasping, and not because of outrage. No, there was a flush on her cheeks and a twist of excitement moving through her belly. Diocail didn’t miss it either. She watched his eyes narrow as she absorbed how good his weight felt on top of her. It was a deep, maybe even a dark admission that took her by surprise because she’d never enjoyed Henry being on top of her.

  Diocail’s lips curved a bit as he read the emotion on her face. Everything she felt seemed so very transparent to him. It was so exposing and yet intensely exciting. As though he might be the single person in the world to keep her sheltered from loneliness.

  But he rolled off her and sat next to her on the bed. Jane ended up biting her lip to contain the disappointment that assaulted her as a result. He waited for her to sit up.

  “I do enjoy it,” he offered as she settled across from him. “Yer nature.”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  He scoffed at her, his grin becoming wider. “Plenty of people told me I shouldn’t be laird, and yet here I am.”

  It was her turn to grin. “Indeed. Shall I say…congratulations? Or promise you I will pray for the Lord to send you strength every night?”

  He closed his eyes and offered her a soft groan before opening his eyes again and revealing a glitter of amusement.

  “Swear ye will nae leave me to this mess on me own,” he implored her passionately.

  “I’ve a lump the size of an egg on my head from seeing to the mill.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he reached for her, but Jane slapped his hand away. “I wasn
’t complaining.”

  Diocail settled back, giving her enough time to realize they were in fact talking in her bed. He made a soft, male sort of sound in the back of his throat.

  “The look on yer face tells me yer husband…whatever his name was…did nae take the time to have many conversations with ye while in yer bedchamber.”

  “I am not certain it matters.” She looked away and then returned her attention to his face because she felt like a coward.

  Diocail pointed at her. “It matters because the bastard is who ye compare me to.”

  “Well…” she stammered, trying to decide what she was feeling. He had a valid point; she simply didn’t know what to make of it.

  “Look at me, Jane.” There was a firm note of authority in his tone. Obedience in the bedchamber was something she was accustomed to giving.

  “Ye were raised to think of my kind as savages.” He leveled a knowing look at her. “Admit it.”

  She offered him a shrug. “As you were raised to believe all English women are delicate and unable to face challenges.”

  He enjoyed her comeback, offering her a nod. “And yet I tell ye I enjoy yer passion, and I’ve proved it by no’ raising me hand to ye.”

  She nodded. “I do not understand the point of this conversation…” She suddenly felt as though sitting still was beyond her ability. “And why are we talking in bed?”

  She started to slide off, but he moved faster, catching a handful of her smock and pulling her back onto the bed. “Christ, you have the strength of Hercules.”

  He deposited her in the middle of the bed and stretched out beside her, propping his elbow on the mattress next to her head.

  “We’re talking…” He stressed the last word. “Because I’m working very, very hard at making sure ye are accustomed to me before we get to know each other as man and wife.”

  And he didn’t have to do it. That hard truth felt like a knife stuck through her chest, reminding her exactly why she didn’t care to ever have another husband.

  “Christ.” He gave her a glimpse of frustration in his eyes. “I meant that as an offering of me sincerity. Why do ye look at me so wounded?”

  “Because I wish to annul this marriage, and you are refusing my plea.” He was being more than patient with her. It was a fact that shamed her, and yet his determination only strengthened her resolve to not be bound to any man for the rest of her days.

  “That’s a truth,” he admitted.

  He reached out and stroked her cheek. The contact was so pleasing that she fought off the urge to let her eyes slip shut so that she might just immerse herself in the sensation.

  “I believe we might be well suited in spite of the circumstances that brought us together,” he stated firmly.

  “I simply do not care for marriage.” There, she’d said it. He deserved to hear the truth of the matter. “The duties of a wife, they…leave me…cold. Widowhood suits me very well. I might stay and serve as your Head of House, and you can contract a wife who is Scottish.”

  “Ye do nae wish to have children, lass?”

  Disappointment moved through her. “I suppose…well…”

  His fingers were still in contact with her, trailing across her chin and down her neck. Somehow, she’d never realized how sensitive the skin of her neck was. Diocail followed with a line of soft kisses. He slipped his hand beneath her nape, cupping it and giving her a taste of his strength as he continued to tease her with delicate kisses.

  “Diocail…”

  He smothered her comment with a kiss that stole her breath. It was hard enough to part her lips, but controlled in a way that made her intensely aware of how much discipline he maintained over his strength. It aroused her like nothing else ever had, the fact that he was so conscious of her comfort while seeking his own satisfaction.

  She reached for him, unable to quell the urge. He didn’t disappoint her, moving over her and kissing her harder. It set fire to her passion, making even the fabric of her smock feel too confining. A moment later, he rose above her, sitting back on his hunches before he dug his fingers into the thin fabric of her garment and drew it up and over her head.

  She crossed her arms over her breasts as she felt the brush of the night air on her bare skin.

  “Ye’re a fine-looking woman, Jane. It’s going to be me pleasure to teach ye to enjoy being a wife.”

  She opened her mouth to ask him what he meant, but Diocail was finished with conversation. He pressed her back, folding her into his embrace. The wool of his kilt scratched her legs, but it gave her some manner of assurance that he wasn’t going to press himself onto her.

  That bit of knowledge allowed her to simply stop thinking. It was much better to feel anyway.

  Every inch of Diocail was hard, but he kissed her with sweetness. Taking a long time to linger over her lips, he cradled the side of her head, using his elbows to support himself.

  She sighed, opening her mouth and shivering as he teased her lower lip with his tongue. He made a soft sound in the back of his throat that struck her as a more honest compliment than any spoken words. If that meant she was succumbing to lust, so be it. All that mattered was the bliss their motions seemed to create.

  She was kissing him back, pushing her hands into his hair, holding him in place as she took the taste of him she desired. She felt his grip in her hair tightened. A tiny bit of pain went across her scalp, but she let out a breathless little sound of pure enjoyment that Diocail didn’t miss. He lifted his head just enough so he might open his eyes and watch her expression. He tightened his fingers again, watching the effect.

  She shuddered with something so deeply rooted inside her body it left her feeling nearly desperate to allow it to be seen.

  By him.

  Only him.

  “Ye like me strength.” It wasn’t a question but an observation. One he followed by allowing more of his weight to settle onto her. He watched her as he did it, gauging her response.

  A shiver crossed her skin as her nipples drew into hard points. His lips twitched. She might have labeled it a grin, but it was nothing so civilized. No, it was primal, just as he was. And her clitoris began to throb in response.

  “As soon as ye learn to trust me more, I am going to give ye all the strength ye crave.” His tone was hard, edged with determination.

  “What do you mean?”

  He offered her a dark chuckle before slipping down her body. She felt awkward, but he was completely confident in the situation. Drawing his hands along her sides, he delighted her as he pressed her thighs wide and settled his shoulders between them.

  She was mortified, but he looked up at her without a shred of shame that he was hovering over her spread sex. “Trust is earned, Jane. Only a swine demands it from a woman because she has wed him at the command of her father.”

  He believed what he said. She was transfixed by the sincerity in his tone and the hard glitter of determination in his eyes.

  “What are…you…going to do…down there?” She scarcely believed she was asking such a question, but Diocail responded with a very arrogant grin.

  He teased the curls that crowned her mons. She recoiled. Not because of any pain—it felt incredibly good—but he flattened his hand on her belly, pinning her to the bed.

  “I am going to show ye why I would be a very good husband, lass.”

  Her eyes widened.

  Diocail answered her with another husky chuckle. “So ye have heard of it…”

  Her face felt as if it had caught fire. Diocail enjoyed it immensely, his fingers dipping down to stroke the folds of her sex. Just the outer edge, but she felt it so keenly, she jerked and sucked in a gasp.

  “You cannot be serious,” she argued. “No one really does…that.”

  “A man who is interested in being a good lover does.” Diocail stroked her again, watching th
e way she drew in her breath and let it out in a little sigh. “I want to be yer lover, Jane.”

  “That’s a sin.”

  “Between man and wife? God would no’ be so cruel.” He sent her a confident look before he lowered his attention to her spread sex.

  It was mortifying or, at least, it should have struck her as such.

  And yet she felt the first brush of his breath against the folds of her body and shuddered with the deepest pleasure she’d ever felt. Anticipation was like a living force inside her, the skin covering her sex far more sensitive than she ever imagined.

  And Diocail seemed to know it too. He teased her with the lightest licks, drawing the tip of his tongue along the outer folds of her sex before using his fingers to spread her open. The air itself felt as though it set off a ripple of delight, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of his mouth when it connected with her flesh.

  She gasped and then forgot to breathe altogether as he sucked on her most tender parts, applying the tip of his tongue to her clitoris in a motion that destroyed her attempts to make sense of it all. The ability to think fell away like a handful of dry sand. No matter how hard she tried to squeeze her fingers around it, only a few grains remained, and they were all centered on the feeling he created with his mouth.

  She moaned.

  It was a wanton sound that stunned her with how deeply sexual it was. But it wasn’t enough. She was twisting, lifting her hips toward him as he applied more pressure. She understood now. Knew that the tightening was going to end in a shower of bliss, and she craved it more than ever. The night air was no longer cold. Her heart was beating fast; perspiration coated her skin. Her hands curled into claws on the bedding as she cried out in desperation.

  Diocail didn’t disappoint her.

  He sucked harder, pressing her to the surface of the bed as he pushed her over the edge into the swirling vortex of ecstasy. It wrung her body out, dropping her onto the bed in a spent heap as she struggled to pull in enough air. For long moments she didn’t even care. There was such a warm glow of satisfaction encompassing her body that nothing mattered at all.

  She only came back to her senses as Diocail moved. He rose up, the muscles on his arms defined as he crawled up her body. He was hot and hard, and she truly didn’t care if he took her. It seemed the natural conclusion to the moment.