Highland Flame

by Mary Wine

  “Who would lock us in?” she asked as he worked to pull the leather from the window.

  “Me men.” Diocail reached in and twisted the lock on the window shutters so he might open them. There was a cascade of dirt off the ceiling when he opened them, and the night wind blew in.

  “But…why?”

  The candle flame flickered dangerously. Jane turned her back on the window to shield the light from the wind.

  Diocail offered her a grunt in response.

  “If I am expected to understand that,” she groused, “I assure you, Diocail Gordon, I do not.”

  He’d stuck his face out of the window, leaning out as fat flakes of snow flew in. It was bitterly cold now, the clouds thick and swirling around the treetops.

  “You’re going to catch your death,” she warned him.

  He grunted and pulled his head back. His hair was wet from snow along with the front of his doublet. “Muir planned this well.” There was a crunch and groan as he closed the shutters and twisted the lock into place.

  “Planned…to lock us in here?” She realized she was repeating herself, but it defied rational thought. “I still don’t understand why they would even think to do such a thing.”

  Diocail faced her, the expression on his face one of rueful enjoyment. “Clearly…” he began, as amused as he was furious. “They still believe keeping ye is a wise thing to do.”

  “I am here.”

  Diocail grunted and started to prowl the confines of the chamber. It wasn’t an easy task with all the bundles. He pushed at some and went around others, seeking an escape. Jane followed with the candle, suddenly more grateful than she cared to admit for his company. He made the rounds twice before stopping in the center of the chamber and glaring at the walls in contempt.

  “We’re stuck good,” he said in frustration. “No one in the yard with the snow falling thickly now. It will be morning before we can shout down to someone.” He looked back toward the main chamber doors. “At least he provided supper.”

  “What?”

  Her question was answered when she looked near the chamber doors. Sure enough, there was a basket with a cloth covering it.

  “So this was…planned?”

  Diocail offered her an incredulous look. “Have I no’ been saying that, lass?”

  “Yes, but it still makes no bloody sense.” Her tone betrayed her rising frustration.

  “I believe they are intent on taking the French method to celebrating our union.” Diocail lifted the basket and pulled out a bottle. “Honey mead.”

  “So they have locked us in here…”

  “So we can nae get away from one another,” Diocail finished for her. “And nature can take its course.”

  Jane stepped back. In fact, she was several paces away before he grunted and narrowed his eyes at her.

  “Do nae retreat from me as though ye do nae trust me.”

  “Maybe I don’t trust myself.”

  Oh, she truly should have learned to hold her tongue! He closed his eyes. “Do nae test me, Jane.”

  Part of her enjoyed that he sounded as frustrated as she was. In fact, she choked back a giggle, and then another, until she was choking like a daft woman.

  Tears filled her eyes, and she heard him chuckling along with her. “Aye, it’s sure to be a fine story to tell one day…” he said as he looked around the chamber. “Best we keep our minds on that as we try to make a suitable bed in this place.”

  “What is all of this?” At least it was a safe topic. One that didn’t allow her to think about how many times she’d dreamed about him.

  He retrieved the candleholder and picked some bundles up from where they were sitting on a crate. She set the candle in the box, giving it a good push to make sure their only light source was well seated. There was a scratching sound from behind her, and she turned to see Diocail putting more straw into the tinder bowl. He’d pulled another candle from a box and placed it into a second holder on the small table by the tinder bowl.

  “It’s Colum’s tribute,” he answered at last.

  Her eyes rounded with horror. “And the chambers below?”

  Diocail nodded. “He suffered from the sin of greed sure enough. The table empty and the roof leaking, but all of this…stacked and shared with none.”

  “Shameful.” She pulled one of the bundles from a stack and began to unwrap it. Diocail was watching her, and she froze. “I’m sorry. I suppose I shouldn’t—”

  “Open it,” he urged her, his gaze strangely intent. “That is, if ye are planning to continue putting this house to rights.”

  “I only came up here because the hall is so full of people seeking shelter.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. Understanding flashed through his eyes. “I wondered what drew ye here.”

  “Why are you here?” She’d forgotten all about the bundle, far more interested in him.

  God, I’ve missed him.

  The week was suddenly flashing before her eyes, all of the hours when she hadn’t seen him, hadn’t heard his voice.

  Hadn’t been tempted by him…

  Diocail gave a grunt. “Muir came running to tell me ye’d came this way and there was a crash…”

  “I dropped the lock down the stairs,” she defended herself. “Any fool could see exactly what made the sound.”

  “Muir is no fool.” Diocail looked around again. “Just a damned crafty bastard. He sent Bari running out to tell me ye were in trouble instead of checking on ye himself. Diocail offered her a shrug. “I should have questioned it, but I came running.”

  And she wasn’t fool enough to miss the fact that Muir knew full well what he was about. There was something between her and Diocail. An attraction that defied logic. Perhaps it was lust that might be labeled passion since they’d taken a blessing from the church, but in the end, it was carnal. She felt it tugging on her insides, powerless to ignore it.

  You are more aware of him than any other man.

  It was strangely hypnotic. Like a fae creature whispering in her ear while she slept.

  “So I ran up here—” He stopped with his hands on his hips as he shook his head. “And Muir is likely sitting down in the hall laughing until he pisses himself over how simple it was.”

  “It is rather…amusing.” She tried to keep her lips straight but failed.

  Diocail offered her a smile in return, one that was menacing. “Aye. Amusing it is. I do hope ye laugh when we’re trying to sleep on the hard floor in naught but me kilt.”

  Which meant he’d have to take it off.

  And share it with her.

  Her cheeks heated. “There must be something in here to use to keep us warm.”

  She finished pulling the wrapping off the bundle in her hands and found a length of shirt linen, complete with a wooden spindle of thread provided for sewing it.

  “That won’t keep us warm, but it might be good if I can find some pelts.”

  He was moving off toward the darker areas of the room. Jane picked up one of the candles and followed. For it seemed they were going to spend the night together.

  * * *

  “I did nae think it would work.” Aylin shook his head and grinned. He pointed at Muir. “Ye’re a crafty one, to be sure.”

  Muir lifted a mug to his lips and smacked them when he was finished. “The mistress knows how to set the fare on the supper table.”

  There were nods all around as they enjoyed the few moments of relaxation before they all sought their beds.

  “But at what cost?”

  Muir tilted his head and looked over to the man who had spoken. “Sheehan, man, do nae go starting with yer complaining about her being English.”

  “She is English,” Sheehan insisted. “It’s a fact, no’ a complaint.”

  “No’ the way ye say it,
” Kory answered back. “Ye should be ashamed, sitting there with a full belly and thinking ill of the woman who made sure there was bread on the supper table for ye.”

  “A Scottish mistress could do as well,” Keefe argued.

  “Doesn’t matter where she came from.” Muir thumped the table with his mug to make sure his words were heard. “She’s ours now. Good Scottish bellies she’s making sure are filled.”

  “Aye,” Aylin agreed. “And it’s done.”

  “Ye said it was not so,” young Bari lifted his face to stare at his elders. “That’s why ye locked them in together.”

  “Hush now, lad.” Niven pulled the boy close and shushed him.

  “But…when ye tell lies…ye get locked in the stocks, me mother always told me so.”

  “Aye,” Niven spoke quickly to try to keep the child silent. “Yer mother told ye right. It’s just not exactly a lie. Ye’ll understand when ye’re grown.”

  “What does consummated mean?”

  “Time for the lad to be sleeping,” Muir announced.

  Niven swung his legs over the bench he was sharing with Aylin and led Bari away. Muir lifted his mug to his lips again but sent Keefe and Sheehan a stern look over its rim. They bristled and turned back toward one another, giving Muir their backs.

  Muir took the opportunity to share a glance with Aylin. It was full of accomplishment as well as a healthy respect for the fact that sometimes even the best plans didn’t turn out as well as one liked.

  Well, if that were to happen, he’d just have to do some more planning.

  * * *

  “The marriage is unconsummated.”

  Keefe was pleased, to say the least. Sheehan hurried to close the door, and it wasn’t because of the snow blowing over the threshold. The small cottage was bitterly cold, and both men went toward the hearth to warm themselves. It was a peat fire and smoldered heavily, filling the top of the cottage with thick smoke.

  Keefe sat down on a log to escape the fumes. “All we needs do is get rid of her now before the laird has a chance to sample a ride.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Tomorrow ye’ll bring up yer uncle’s cart. We’ll load her into it and take her away.”

  “What makes ye think the laird will no’ ride out after her?” Sheehan asked. “With the snow, our tracks will be clear.”

  “We’ll stick to the road, where it will be a muddy mess because the ground has no’ yet frozen.”

  Sheehan didn’t answer but stared into the fire. Keefe reached out and hit him on the shoulder. “Ye’re either for me cause or no’.”

  “Aye,” Sheehan answered. “I am yer man, and ye know it well.”

  “So, we’re agreed?” Keefe pressed.

  “So long as ye’ll promise me one thing.”

  Keefe’s eyes narrowed. “What might that be?”

  “That we’ll no’ kill her unless we have to.”

  Keefe’s eyes narrowed, but Sheehan refused to shirk in the face of his displeasure. “She’s just a woman.”

  “Maybe she does no’ want to be here,” Sheehan argued. “The English do nae care for us any more than we like them.”

  “They like taking what is ours,” Keefe answered. “She’s a fourth daughter. Her father can nae get her a better match.”

  Sheehan shrugged. “Maybe ye’re right, but we can give her the chance.”

  “One,” Keefe said grudgingly. “If she hesitates, I’m going to slit her throat.”

  * * *

  “A bed fit for a Viking,” Jane said.

  Diocail looked at her from the other side of the mound of furs he’d laid out on the ground. The length of shirt linen was resting on top of it all. The chamber was so full it wasn’t a very big bed, but with the chill in the air, she’d likely come to appreciate having Diocail close during the long hours of the night.

  His belly rumbled, and she laughed, turning around and retrieving their dinner basket. The cleanest spot was on their makeshift bed, so she stepped onto it and settled down. Diocail joined her, watching what she pulled from the basket.

  “At least he made sure to provide well,” Diocail remarked as he pulled the dagger from his boot top once more and used it to slice into a large piece of meat. “I’m famished.”

  He stabbed a chunk of the meat with the tip of his knife and lifted it to his mouth. A smaller knife was resting in the bottom of the basket, and Jane used it to slice a chunk of cheese into small cubes. Diocail happily claimed one and then another piece of meat.

  “Are ye nae hungry, lass?”

  Jane flashed him a smile. “I was working in the kitchen most of the day.”

  “Ah…tasting, were ye?”

  Jane tore a round of bread apart and offered him some. “There is no other way to ensure what is placed on the table is good. I may just turn into the large, round woman I advised you to find.”

  “Would that be such a terrible fate?”

  “You’re the one who left my room the other night.” Clearly she hadn’t learned to hold her tongue yet. Jane fluttered her eyelashes as she looked down on their meal and felt his gaze on her.

  “It was no’ meant as an insult.”

  She lifted her chin and locked gazes with him. “I know. That was harsh of me.”

  He washed his meal down with a long swig of water from a jug Muir had included. She reached for it and enjoyed some as well.

  “I will say this for Scotland,” she said when she lowered the jug. “The water is the finest I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Aye, well, ye’re a long way from where the muck of the city is being added to the rivers. I understand the English think it savage to drink it though.”

  “My father allowed us to buy clean water for the table.”

  Diocail raised his eyebrows. “I’ve heard of that at court and such. Can’t say I could ever see meself parting with good coin for something that is flowing across the land.”

  He was making steady progress through their supper. Soon it was gone, and there was a satisfied grin on his lips.

  “Ye’ve barely touched yer share.” He plucked a chunk of cheese from where it was sitting on the cloth that had covered the basket and held it to her lips. “How can ye be expected to survive a night in me company without sustenance?”

  “Consider yourself to be taxing?” she inquired after swallowing the cheese. He’d opened the honey mead, and she took a taste.

  Diocail pointed at her. “I am a Highlander… Ye are an English lass… There are expectations.”

  There was something about the moment that touched off a spark inside her. Right there, they were hidden from the world. Whatever they did was going to be a secret between them. At least Jane hoped so. Highlanders didn’t seem to show much modesty, especially with regard to their laird’s marriage bed.

  “Perhaps I am going to be the one to tell you what I expect.” No, she wasn’t holding her tongue, and for that moment at least, she was very content with her lack of restraint. It was a freedom she’d never thought to experience.

  Diocail’s expression tightened, but not in the way she’d seen before. This was a different sort of frustration. There was a glitter of eagerness in his eyes as he tightened his fingers on the linen. He was poised, ready to spring at her, and part of her very much enjoyed knowing she’d dared him to do exactly that.

  “Ye might try him and see if he is to yer liking…”

  Brenda’s words rose from her memory, tempting her. He had already proven his ability to please her, and yet she wondered what it might be like to lie with him completely.

  You mean you wonder if you will ever get another chance at discovering what it’s like to have a lover…

  “Jane…”

  Diocail’s tone was strained. He was drawn tight, waiting on her to commit herself fully. Just as he’d said when he’d left her
.

  She pushed back and rose. Diocail set the bottle of honey mead aside as she dipped her fingers into the valley between her breasts to find the end of the tie that laced her bodice closed. Dolina had found her garments more suited to the Highland climate and easier to dress herself in.

  Now, Jane discovered just how simple it was to tug on that lace and feel the loosened ends of the tie slither through the eyelets that closed the bodice as the weight of her breasts pressed on the front of the garment.

  Diocail wasn’t slow in responding. He was there, cupping her face and tilting his head so he might press a kiss against her lips.

  It was just as good as she recalled.

  Better, even. Her dreams were a poor substitute for the way he felt. Or smelled.

  She drew in a deep breath, enjoying the way her senses reeled. He cupped her nape, making her his captive as he moved his mouth against hers, letting her feel his hunger.

  She kissed him back.

  Reaching for him, fighting at the buttons that kept his doublet closed because they prevented her from touching him.

  Just him. That was what she craved.

  And she wanted the same in return.

  So she wiggled free, catching sight of a dark frown on his face before he noticed her fighting to pull the last of the tie from her bodice. His lips curled up, wolfish and pleased by her efforts.

  “Christ…” he muttered as she succeeded, and the front of her high-necked smock parted to grant him a glimpse of her bare breasts.

  “Ye’re a siren for certain, lass…” He reached out and stroked each nipple. “I’d follow these to me death without a complaint.”

  She sucked in a harsh gasp, the feeling of his fingers on her breasts stunning her. “I’d follow anywhere you lead, so long as you touch me…”

  Her voice was husky and wanton and struck her as perfectly suited to the moment. Diocail’s hands cupped her breasts, gently taking their weight before he squeezed them lightly. The sensation was beyond compare, for she’d never once thought her breasts might be the source of so much pleasure.

  Wicked?

  She bloody well didn’t care. What mattered was that they were both there and his touch didn’t make her feel the horrible awkwardness that Henry’s had. But she did wonder if she might give as much as she received.