Four

“It’s a good thing ye are accomplished at making shirts.”

Muir spoke to her sometime late the next day. The captain’s eye was swollen shut, but he’d only allowed her to clean it once before waving her away, dismissing it as “naught.”

“Yer husband is rather hard on his.” Muir held up the tattered remains of Diocail’s shirt. The blood had dried dark brown. Washing it would be a waste of time because the lower sleeve was shredded, as was a good portion of the front of the garment.

“So it would seem.” Jane took the shirt, earning a grin from the captain.

She looked across the camp and found Diocail. He’d pressed them on to the next village and seen to the tenants waiting for him before riding out again. There was little light left when he called a halt to their day, and the lack of sleep the night before had everyone anticipating a good night’s rest. Bari was already sleeping in the wagon.

Diocail was avoiding her.

It shouldn’t bother her. Or at least she had to accept that she had no right to be wounded, since she felt an annulment would be the best for both of them.

However, she would need his agreement for that to happen. Her belly tightened as she moved toward him. Honestly, she should have had a better grip on her poise now that she had clothing. But it seemed being properly covered didn’t affect the way she felt when Diocail looked at her, as if he could strip her bare with his brown eyes. There was a boldness in him that lurked like a promise in his warm gaze. He’d taken the slap she’d delivered like a prize, and she would be a liar if she didn’t admit to wanting to know just what manner of husband he might have made.

But following foolish whims was likely to get her nothing more than dire circumstances, so she pushed herself forward, intent on securing his agreement to an annulment.

It was sound, logical thinking.

And ever so disappointing.

Lachie was sitting next to Diocail, but the secretary flashed her a grin before leaving as she approached.

“My apologies if I am interrupting.”

Diocail offered her an unreadable expression. “Ye’re me wife.”

His tone was firm, which gave her a moment of pause. Jane drew herself up straight. “Yes, it was a necessary action, as you said.”

He nodded.

“However, now that we are well away, I thought we should discuss the future.” Her tone came across as congenial, which should have pleased her, since she was battling to maintain her poise. It was frustrating the way her heart was accelerating, her voice trying to rise higher as though the discussion was somehow alarming to her.

“We’ve two more weeks on the road before we return home,” he informed her.

“I see.” She bit her lower lip. “I would think it would be best to leave me at the next crossroads so I can make my way back to England.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “And I think ye’re daft for suggesting such a thing.”

She didn’t care for how easily he dismissed her opinion, even as she realized it was exactly what she expected from him. Negotiation wasn’t part of his persona. He was a leader and took to the position more naturally than anyone she had ever encountered.

Which made it all the more important for her not to take shelter beneath his wing. He deserved respect for the honorable man he was.

“You needn’t insult my intelligence,” she countered. “I know very well you did not wish to wed me. I do not intend to exploit your kindness.”

Something she’d said gave him pause. She watched him contemplate her for a long moment as though he was weighing his response.

“It’s understandable ye did nae wish to wed,” he agreed. “Yer last husband was a bastard.”

Jane looked away, for some reason feeling exposed. Diocail reached out and cupped the side of her face, gently turning her back toward his keen stare. The simple touch sent a pleasurable shiver down her spine.

“It’s his shame, and no mistake about it.”

God but she enjoyed hearing him say that. How often had she heard it was her place to toil and please her husband? That the man was master of home and spouse? Happiness was merely a selfish desire she was expected to discard in favor of duty. Her temper strained against such dictates, and yet she’d kept it tightly leashed because the law favored Henry in every way.

“He’s dead, and I’ll say plainly it’s a blessing,” Diocail continued.

The temptation to take solace in his tone was growing. She drew back, severing the connection between their flesh as she drew in a breath far too shaky for her pride.

How could she respond to him? To any man? It was true she had a favorable opinion of Diocail, however, he was still very much a stranger. Better the devil she knew.

Which was Alicia.

“On to the matter of deciding when I will make my way back to my father’s house.” Her words came out in a rush, as though she was trying to convince herself of what she said.

“Yer father wed ye to a bastard,” Diocail declared in a voice so low, she had to strain to hear it clearly. “I will nae be sending ye back to his house so he can do it a second time.”

“As I told you, I will not be weak enough to take solace in your kindness.”

There. At last her poise had proven solid. She stared straight at him, unwavering in her choice.

Diocail was just as solid in the way he stared back at her. “As to that, lass, I’ll be giving ye the time to get accustomed to me.”

He stood and offered her a hand. She laid her hand into his before she thought about what she was doing. The connection sent another tremor through her, this one making her belly flutter.

“Perhaps I owe Gillanders a small debt for compelling us to leave. We were not forced to spend the night together.”

She tried to pull back, but he slipped his hand down to her wrist and held her in place. She’d realized he was strong, just not the extent. At that moment, she was so keenly aware of him it frightened her. It felt as if she were drowning.

He moved closer, looming over her as she struggled to make sense of his words, her brain fighting off a rush of impulses. “I confess, I am no’ certain I’d have made it through the night and kept me hands off ye when I knew I had the church’s blessing to touch ye.”

“But you did not want to wed me.” She jerked against his hold. For a moment, he held her, letting her feel his determination through the grip, but then he released her, his expression tightening as she stumbled back and sent him a hard glare.

“So,” she continued. “You can just forget about touching me.”

Heat teased her cheeks as she spoke the words out loud. Why? She honestly didn’t know. Part of her refused to ignore the fact that she liked it when his skin connected with hers.

He stepped toward her, catching a handful of her skirt to keep her close. “And ye have some time to settle into yer circumstances.”

He released her skirt, and she stumbled back again. The urge to step closer toward him and argue was strong. She bit it back, counseling herself to maintaining a calm demeanor.

He liked it when she flamed at him.

So she turned and began to walk away.

“I will be waiting, Jane.”

Her breath caught with anticipation. She looked back, unable to stop herself. His lips twitched, rising into an arrogant grin of victory.

“Stubborn man,” she accused. “Why me? You are a fine-looking man. I cannot believe you have difficulty…filling your bed.”

Now he’d pushed her past being polite. She felt the sting of heat in her cheeks as she faced off with him. It increased as his lips twitched, declaring how much he enjoyed her distemper.

“Why are you smiling?” she demanded. “No man desires a shrew who doesn’t keep to her place or hold her tongue.”

The man laughed at her display of temper.

Diocail Gordon tipped his head back and roared with amusement while she stared at him in confusion. The truth was her mouth was open, but her tongue was frozen as he leaned forward, slapped his thigh, and opened his eyes to display the unmistakable glitter of satisfaction.

“Ye’ll be filling me bed,” he assured her as she caught sight of his men boldly listening to their conversation. “And ye can let yer spirit loose, lass. I can nae wait to warm me hands on the flames I see in yer eyes.”

“You will wait,” she declared boldly. “Until…well…until…” Why had she never learned to curse? It was bloody unfair considering how Fate was determined to toy with her.

“Until we reach home,” Diocail finished for her.

“I am not going with you.”

His amusement died a little as determination filled his eyes. “Oh yes, ye are, Jane. That’s a promise.”

One of his men stepped closer to ensure she knew they agreed with their laird.

“To…take your kitchen in hand?” she tossed her hand into the air, so flustered she’d lost control of her actions as well. “For Christ’s sake, find a large, round woman, and hire her as your Head of House.”

“But why?” Niven spoke as he was thinking. “A round woman, I mean?”

Muir reached over and pushed him. “Do nae interrupt the mistress.”

The title made her want to bare her teeth. She fought the urge, and Diocail crossed his arms over his wide chest, tucking his chin low and stroking his beard to hide the smirk curving his lips.

“Do not ever trust a skinny cook,” Jane tossed out, completely frustrated with the lot of them.

Understanding brightened Niven’s face along with those of his companions. Then their gazes swept her from head to toe, and they frowned.

“Her husband and father were both misers.” Diocail seemed to know what his men were thinking. The worried looks in their eyes faded as her temper boiled over.

“I am not…going with you.”

A moment later, she was hanging over Diocail’s shoulder. His men hooted with mirth as she was carried back toward the wagon. Diocail tossed her into it with all the ease of moving a bag of grain.

“Diocail—”

He smothered the rest of her retort beneath his lips. The man reached around and cupped her nape before tilting his head and fitting his mouth against hers.

The kiss wasn’t as brutal as she expected. No, it was hard with promise and sent a twist of anticipation through her insides. She shivered as he opened her lips with his, kissing her thoroughly and leaving her breathless. Her very skin felt more sensitive, her clothing tight as though it was holding her back from enjoying his embrace even more.

“Leave that wagon, and I will be happy to give ye me full attention.” He reached up and tugged on the corner of his bonnet.

The light was fading, the last of the day departing. The evening breeze held the touch of cooler weather, but her temper kept her plenty warm as she fought the urge to test him. Diocail waited for a long moment, watching her as she curled her fingers into fists and settled for punching her puddled skirts.

A hint of disappointment entered his eyes before he turned and walked back to join his men. Young Bari was watching her as well, his eyes huge in his young face. Muir reached out and took him by the shoulder, steering him toward where the Gordon retainers were settling down for the night. Bari flashed them a grin, enjoying being allowed among them instead of being sent to sleep in the wagon with a woman.

Diocail didn’t lie down all the way. He settled back against his saddle to keep his shoulders propped up so he might open his eyes and see anyone approaching. He’d tugged the longer pleats that formed the back of his kilt up and around his shoulders before he settled down and pulled the fabric around himself. But his hand returned to the hilt of his dagger before he sent Jane a last look and closed his eyes.

Muir was sitting on a rock, slowly working a stone over the blade of his sword. The fire had been allowed to die down to just a single log, and the light illuminated his face as he took the first watch. They all knew their place and were devoted to one another. It was admirable, but that didn’t mean she was going to agree to being taken along like some prize they had encountered on the road. Even if Diocail had decided she would be.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow she’d find a way to change his mind.

Diocail wasn’t the only stubborn one among them, after all.

* * *

The harvest was finished.

They saw the effect on the faces of those they encountered. The labor of the spring had paid off in full root cellars and enough grain to put food on the table for their families. It was time for celebration and feasting.

Jane noticed the increase in people on the road as they neared the next village. They moved toward the outer edge of the village, the scent of roasting boar floating on the wind as they heard music in the distance. They were happy faces too, eager for celebration before the winter shut everyone inside.

“No work today, lads,” Diocail announced as he contemplated what was in front of them. “Harvest festival.”

People were eagerly leaving their homes, the younger girls wearing wreaths made of autumn leaves and nuts. They wore their best clothing—many of the skirts looked new. Their steps echoed on the road as they all but danced toward the festival and what would likely be the last entertainment until after winter had passed.

“There are Grants here,” Muir cautioned.

“Aye,” Diocail nodded. “But we’re on the edge of our land, so it’s to be expected.”

“Are you fighting with them?” Jane asked.

Muir sent her a grin as Diocail offered her a shrug. “The last laird was no’ very good at making friends with his neighbors.”

“Well, we can no’ be leaving,” Muir stated. “No’ when it’s our land.”

“Symon Grant is likely here to get a look at me,” Diocail answered. He shifted and raised his hand. “Let’s no’ waste the light, lads.”

Their arrival was noted. Men raised their tankards as they sat drinking beneath the trees. Merchants looked up, hope of more sales glittering in their eyes. More than one young girl looked toward the retainers with wicked enjoyment in her eyes. A market fair was the perfect opportunity to indulge in a bit of flirtation that on a normal day would be considered improper.

Jane discovered herself smiling. It seemed a very long time since she’d indulged in simple whimsy. So very long since there had been anything except duty foremost in her thoughts.

“There’s something I’d like to see more often.”

Diocail’s tone was different. She turned and discovered an easygoing grin on his lips and a flicker of relaxation in his brown eyes.

“Ye should smile more often, lass,” he said softly.

He was waiting, offering her his hand to help her out of the wagon. She could manage the task on her own and almost said so.

Yet there was a grin on his lips and a sparkle in his eyes she couldn’t bear to squash beneath the weight of reality. The music and scent of celebration were too tempting, as was the gallant manner in which he was waiting to play her escort.

She placed her hand into his before she realized he was making a show of his favor. The move didn’t go unnoticed either. She watched several onlookers turn to whisper to those next to them. Diocail shifted her hand to his arm and turned so they were strolling together. His men closed in around them as he took her toward the festival.

Henry had never escorted her so gallantly.

Jane!

She truly meant to chide herself, but the truth was she had never enjoyed Henry’s touch so very much. Being on Diocail’s arm was, well, it was all the things she’d once daydreamed about.

The moment was short-lived. She felt his forearm tighten as a group of men started toward them. They wore similar clothing, meaning they’d clearly dressed for function instead of fashion. Their kilts were formed with a slightly different coloration of plaid wool, but their doublets and jerkins were leather and thick wool, most of the oversleeves tied behind their backs. Just like Diocail, there was one man who was clearly the laird.

“Someone you know?”

She likely shouldn’t have voiced the question. Women were expected to hold their tongues, and yet part of her seemed to be indulging in the fact that he claimed to like her unbridled.

“Symon Grant,” Diocail replied. “His land borders me own.”

The man in question was every bit as large as Diocail. He moved up to them and stopped with his feet braced apart as he looked directly at Diocail. It was clear Symon had come to see the new laird of the Gordons.

“Niven,” Diocail called out.

The retainer was quick to answer his laird’s summons. Diocail nodded to Niven before he released Jane’s hand and stepped in front of her. Niven tugged her back as the new group came closer.

“Laird Symon Grant,” Diocail offered first.

“Laird”—Symon drew out the title—“Diocail Gordon.”

Around them, people aimed curious looks their way. Jane watched as a few of them began to wager. Niven was still trying to ease her backward, which sent a twist of apprehension through her.

Apparently, fighting wasn’t out of the question.

“So this is Diocail Gordon…”

A woman was suddenly sweeping in front of Symon Grant, her eyes flickering with mirth. She stopped, and her skirts swished before she boldly settled a hand onto her hip and contemplated Diocail from head to toe. Whoever she was, she was a beauty and brazen.

“I must say,” she informed them all with a voice as sweet as honey. “Me disappointment is nearly impossible to bear.”

“Is that a fact, mistress?” Diocail asked in a guarded tone.

“It most certainly is,” she continued. “For I have heard that ye—” She pointed a slim finger at him. “Are a consort of the devil, that ye slayed Tyree Gordon with spells from Satan himself, and that old laird Colum was the one who first made the pact with the unholy fallen angel, which accounts for how long he lived.”

“Well, now,” Diocail replied as he crossed his arms over his chest. “That is a great deal to live up to.”

She pursed her lips and swept her gaze up and down Diocail once more. “Ye fall short, sir.”

Diocail let out a bark of amusement. “In this case, I believe I will be content no’ to measure up to the idea of a demon.”

“Brenda.” There was a soft warning in Symon Grant’s voice. The man had amazing topaz eyes that Jane stared at for a moment before Brenda shifted her attention, looking at Jane.

“Oh yes.” Brenda swept Diocail a deep courtesy. “On to the business, it would seem.”

Symon nodded at her. Brenda wasn’t repentant or in any fashion submissive to his authority. No, there was a twinkle in her eye and a smile on her lips. She reached out for Jane.

“It would seem the men desire the women to be gone.” She crossed over without a care for the fact that she was among the Gordons and clasped Jane’s hand. “We should take ourselves off as the obedient creatures they desire us to be…”

Symon let out a scoffing sound, but the look he sent Brenda was amused. Brenda winked at Jane. “We’ll simply have to content ourselves with spending as much of their money as possible.”

Brenda’s brazen attitude was infectious—or at least amusing. Jane laughed as Brenda tugged her forward. They ended up nearly skipping away from the men. There was a whistle from behind her that Jane recognized as Diocail’s. She turned to glance back at him. He’d used it with his men before, and today was no different. Niven and Aylin nodded, one of them catching a purse their laird tossed into the air before setting a determined pace to catch up with her. A couple of Symon’s men were already on their way to join Brenda.

“We’ll have much more fun without them anyway,” Brenda informed her as though the two women were compatriots.

In fact, Brenda had hooked her arm through Jane’s and was strolling along as though the two were long-lost friends. “So tell me true,” Brenda continued. “Are ye newly wed to Diocail?”

Jane worried her lower lip, which only served to confirm Brenda’s suspicions.

“Hmmm…” Brenda made a soft sound beneath her breath. “I admit I am most curious now. There is a wild tale of ye being rescued from the hangman’s noose and wed by demand of the crowd.”

Jane let out a sigh. “All true. Laird Gordon has shouldered much for his kindness toward me.”

Brenda made a scoffing sound in her throat. “This is Scotland.” The woman turned to face her. “That level of meekness must be discarded at once.” She leaned close. “I beg ye, else me cousin is like to expect the same from me.”

Jane laughed. She tried to seal the sound inside her mouth and ended up choking. “I’m sorry, but—” She looked at Brenda, with her flashing eyes and perfect features. “I simply cannot see you needing to be so reserved.”

“There was a time when I was.” For a moment, darkness shadowed in her eyes, but she shook it off. “My first husband was a bastard as well. I was his chattel, and even if he did nae wager me favors against a roll of the dice, it was only because he hadn’t yet thought to do so.”

“You really have heard everything there is to know of my circumstances.” And it was more than a bit unsettling.

Brenda merely shrugged and pulled her toward a merchant who was offering two mugs of fresh-pressed cider. Jane hesitated, but Niven placed a coin down on the counter before Jane could tell him no.

“Enjoy,” Brenda encouraged her. “If what I’ve heard of Gordon land is true…” Brenda sent her a confident smirk. “And me sources are very reliable…” She took a sip of the cider and nodded approval. “Ye’ll be earning every treat Diocail pays for today tenfold.”

“It sounds more like the man needs a competent Head of House.”

Brenda nodded after lowering her mug. “Indeed. Yet this is the Highlands. Such a woman is not easily found, and more than one man has wed for such a woman.”

Jane was distracted by the look on Niven’s face. He had a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes and firm confidence on his face. He looked at her as though she were the answer to something, and surprisingly, she enjoyed it. She felt needed and more valued than she ever had before.

“Come on, then.” Brenda took her by the hand and tugged her toward the waiting merchants. “Let’s find ye something pretty. Yer dress is drab, no’ at all what a bride should be wearing.”

“I couldn’t spend—”

Brenda turned on her in a swirl of skirts and flashing eyes that promised mayhem. “Ye most certainly can.”

“We are planning to annul—”

There was a grunt from Aylin that made it clear the retainer wasn’t pleased by her words. She glanced at her chaperones and found both eyeing her with disapproval. But it was Brenda’s soft little “hmm” that claimed Jane’s full attention. Brenda stepped in close so her words wouldn’t carry.

“If Diocail is going to send ye back to England, why is he taking ye further north?” she asked bluntly.

Jane’s eyes widened, but Brenda reached between them and clasped her wrist to keep her from recoiling. “Is he terrible to ye?”

It was a frank question. Looking into Brenda’s eyes, Jane realized that for all her poise and brazen confidence, Brenda had tasted harshness. The sort a wife was forced to swallow at the hands of a man who believed himself the master.

She couldn’t allow Diocail to be thought of in such a way. “In truth, he rescued me.”

Brenda’s eyes narrowed. “So it was the wedding night that turned ye against him?”

Jane shook her head. “He hasn’t touched me. There was a fight at the inn, and we left…”

Brenda pressed her lips into a firm line. “Well then, I suppose ye might have a right to the annulment ye speak of, and yet ye are heading north. So, I do nae think Diocail shares yer mind-set.”

Two solid truths.

“He has a mind to keep me.” Jane enjoyed being able to voice her frustration. “Thinks we will suit in spite of the circumstances.”

Brenda made a little amused noise in the back of her throat. “In true Highlander fashion.”

“To his way of thinking, I am a challenge.”

“Do ye have better to return to in England?”

Brenda watched her for a long moment, observing the way her question struck Jane. Brenda might play the carefree lady enjoying her day at festival, but there was a great deal of knowledge in her eyes. For a moment, they were bound together by that shared awareness of just how unholy the state of matrimony could be. “Of course, since ye are widowed, ye might try him and see if he is to yer liking without fear that anyone would ever know. If ye have naught better in England, best to think on the matter a bit.”

Brenda’s eyes glittered with anticipation. She turned and cast a glance to where Symon and Diocail were talking. They’d acquired mugs of ale now, proving they were getting on well.

“You cannot mean that,” Jane remarked far too breathlessly for her comfort.

“Why not? Men sample what they will quite often. He is a fine-looking man,” Brenda remarked under her breath. “If ye had nae wed him, I might have given him the chance to impress me.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “I’m curious to see if he can please a woman.”

“Please?” Jane wished she didn’t sound so completely ignorant, but she was simply too curious not to ask the question.

Brenda let out a breathless sigh and hooked her arm through Jane’s before the two turned and resumed strolling slowly among the merchants.

“Ecstasy,” Brenda muttered.

“That is a fable.”

Brenda paused, making it look as though she were contemplating a table full of fabric. “When I was wed, I would have agreed with ye.”

The merchant was quick to snap his fingers at his daughter, who hurried forward to display a length of green wool. It looked as though the man would have liked to do it himself, but the burly retainers with them kept him behind his table.

Brenda trailed a finger across the surface of the cloth. “This suits ye,” she said to Jane. Niven was quick to move toward the merchant and begin to haggle. Brenda made a little sound of victory under her breath before she tugged Jane further away from their escort and audience.

“Ecstasy is no’ a fable.” She sent Jane a look full of confidence.

Jane discovered her mouth going dry. Brenda smiled and winked. “The trick is to find the right man. One who is interested in being yer lover.”

Brenda cast another look back toward Diocail. “He might do.” Brenda grinned at Jane. “And no one need know yer private affairs.”

“What of God?”

Brenda’s eyes narrowed. “I have suffered enough at the hands of me lawful husband to appease the sin of taking fifty lovers.” She looked straight at Jane. “From what I hear, ye have already done a fair amount of yer own penance as well.”

Do you dare?

Jane settled her attention on Diocail for a long moment. She didn’t look away, didn’t shy away from the way he made her insides tighten. In truth, it was a thrilling sensation, sending heat into her cheeks and making her breath catch.

He caught her looking at him. He turned to glance her way, as though he felt her gaze on him. Such a thing was impossible, and yet she would have sworn there was a connection between them. Looking away took far more effort than it should have.

Niven was grinning at her with the length of fabric over his arm. He patted it in victory. “A fine dress it will make for ye, mistress.”

Aylin was nodding his agreement. Brenda refused to allow Jane to linger over the matter, tugging her toward another merchant to make good on her promise to spend as much money as possible. Brenda’s joy in living was infectious, pulling Jane into the moment and away from her doubts. Happiness had always been such an unreachable thing, something that existed in stories along with the fae folk.

For that moment, though, Jane was laughing with Brenda, and her feet were lighter than they had ever been as the morning gave way to afternoon. There were food and sweets, late harvest fruit, and what seemed like endless cider. As the light begin to fade, the music started up. Jane sat on a straw bale, sipping at a new mug of cider that Muir had brought her when he traded duty with Aylin. It was spiced with cloves, cinnamon, and nutmeg, making it a potent mixture that hit all of her senses at once. Sweet and spicy and warm, it made her giddy.

“Come,” Brenda announced after she finished her own mug. “Let’s dance.”

There was a long line of people forming for a new dance. The musicians were strumming out the first notes to signal they were about to launch into the song. Brenda pulled Jane into the mass of skirts and kilts. Someone took her hand as the music began. It was a country dance that had them changing partners over and over as they laughed.

Jane was no exception. She turned and clapped and then dove under a pair of clasped hands before reaching out to grasp her partner’s hand so they might provide an arch for the couple behind them, and then she turned again to face a new partner.

Only this time it was Diocail. There was only a moment to absorb his arrival before they were swept along in the motion of the dance. He kept time with her, pulling her around and off her feet as they moved through the figure.

She was breathless in his embrace as the music came to a stop.

“Hmmm.” He leaned close, his hands on her lower back. “Ye smell delicious.”

She liked the way he felt. That seemed to be the only thought her mind cared to hold as she relaxed against him, laying her hands against his chest with a little contented sigh. “Muir brought me spiced cider.”

Diocail’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Did he now?”

She nodded, captivated by the way Diocail smelled. It was better than cinnamon, and she drew in a deep breath, letting out a little hum of approval.

“Come.” He turned and captured her hand in his.

His grip fascinated her. It was so strong, so full of life, yet it didn’t bite.

Henry had often bruised her.

Diocail didn’t. He led her away from the dance as the evening breeze teased her with cool air. She needed the relief, for the dance had left her overheated. Even with dusk falling, she felt like kicking her boots off and trailing her bare feet through the stream.

Diocail took her toward the water. The sound of it was soothing, and the grass was still green along the riverbank.

“Now let me see if ye taste as sweet as ye smell.”

He captured her in his embrace as he spoke, folding his arms around her as she made another little breathless sound before he tilted his head, cupped her nape, and pressed his mouth against hers.

It felt perfect.

Far better than anything she had ever done. Brenda’s words rose from Jane’s memory as she kissed Diocail back. That made it all feel even better.

So she kissed him more firmly, slipping her hands along his chest, delighting in the feeling of his hard body beneath the fabric of his doublet. It wasn’t enough, and when she found the open buttons near his neck, she slipped a hand inside and settled it against his skin.

“Touch me, lass.”

In all honesty, she could not stop. The connection between them was enchanting. She stroked him, pressing her hands against his nape the same way he did to her and stretching on her toes as she gently pulled his head toward hers.

He let her complete the kiss, following her lead as she shyly moved her mouth against his. There was a tenderness in their connection that she had never encountered before nor expected to find. All that mattered was kissing Diocail back, and she discovered that boldness suited her very well. She loved reaching for him instead of being dutiful and submitting.

But his doublet frustrated her. She pulled on one of the buttons, breaking away from their kiss as she struggled to pay enough attention to the task to accomplish pushing it through its hole.

“Aye,” he growled. His tone was a low rumble.

She trembled in response, but not out of fear. No, she wasn’t afraid of him, at least not in the way she had been of Henry. What she feared was the idea that he would come to his senses and not touch her again. She was certain she would writhe in agony if he abandoned her.

Diocail didn’t disappoint her. He tossed his doublet aside, and in another moment, he unbuckled his belt and spread his kilt on the grass.

“Come, lass.” He scooped her up and lowered her onto the wool. “And lay with me.”

The light was only a memory in the sky, a faint scarlet glow that turned him ruby as he settled down beside her. Somehow, darkness suited the moment, enhancing the way she was so very keenly aware of him. The way he smelled intoxicated her, making her head spin and scattering her thoughts. Which left her with only sensation.

So much of it, and she was eager for more. Reaching for him, smoothing her hands over his body. Only his shirt remained as he kissed her again, this time parting her lips and teasing her tongue with his own.

It shocked her.

Anticipation was a living, breathing thing inside her, like a fire that crackled and popped as it caught. She discovered herself as needy as the flames licking along a new log added to the hearth, hungry for more fuel.

Diocail didn’t disappoint her. He pulled at her laces, freeing her breasts and boldly cupping one. He was looking at the way he handled the soft globe. For a moment, cruel memory intruded, but there was no leer on Diocail’s face.

His expression was pure enjoyment. “Ye’re beautiful, Jane. Christ forgive me, but I’ve thought about baring ye nearly without end for the past two days. Now…” He brushed his thumb gently over the tip of her nipple, sending a shiver across her skin. “Now, I can nae resist the opportunity to taste one of these…”

He leaned over and did just that, licking her nipple before opening his mouth and sucking it.

She gasped, arching beneath him. Was she rising up to offer it to him? She honestly didn’t know because she couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything except twist as it felt as if there were too much sensation inside her to contain. A sound escaped her. So breathless, so passionate, she opened her eyes in surprise.

Diocail laughed softly and lifted his head, locking gazes with her. “I like that. The way ye sound when I touch ye.”

There was a smugness in his tone. It should have needled her, but instead all she felt was a very strange surge of shyness, as though he was seeing a part of her she had always kept tightly concealed.

He released her breast and stroked the side of her face. “Do nae hide from me, lass. I promise ye, I will nae wound ye.”

“I don’t know you…” She was struggling to form thoughts. She needed to recall why she couldn’t lay there, with the rising moon casting its white light across her bared breasts.

He was so close she felt his breath against her wet lips. “So tonight I’ll give ye a glimpse at what I bring to ye as a husband.”

The word husband was too restricting, but he pressed a kiss on her mouth, cradling the side of her face to keep her from turning aside. That was as much resistance as she had left in her. His kiss pulled her back into the heat where she felt like one of the flames dancing along the wood.

He cupped her breasts again, increasing the amount of delight in the moment. She was twisting again, pressing herself against him. One of his legs came over hers, slipping between her thighs and pulling them apart. He was rucking up the fabric of her skirts, stroking her thigh as she gasped and arched.

It was pagan.

Or savage.

Or something sinful.

She couldn’t form the thought, only respond to the way he touched her. There was a throbbing at the top of her sex far stronger than she had ever experienced. It made opening her legs feel correct, as though she needed to spread for him.

“Aye, that’s the way, Jane.”

His voice was a mere rasp, one she barely heard as he smoothed a path from her thigh to her mons. She shivered, feeling as though she couldn’t survive being touched on her mons and yet certain she would perish if he didn’t stroke that throbbing spot.

“Diocail…” Her voice was strained.

In fact, there was perspiration on her forehead, the bare skin of her chest a blessed relief from the heat coursing through her.

“Trust me.”

“I do,” she muttered, forcing her heavy eyelids up. “I shouldn’t.”

And yet there was something about him that drew her to him. Perhaps it was that thing she’d been lectured on so often in her youth.

Lust…

Yet for all the stern warnings she’d heard, tonight the word only drove her closer to the edge of unbridled abandonment. She reached for him, slipping her hand along his neck, rejoicing in the feeling of his skin. A little hum of enjoyment escaped her lips as she pulled him down for another kiss, opening her mouth as she kissed him back.

He groaned low and deep, his chest rumbling with it. This time the sound was one of male enjoyment. She liked hearing it, deep inside herself, past all the layers of rules and expectation. In that place where she was only herself and faced with the realities of what she truly desired.

Which was him.

It was a craving. They weren’t close enough. He felt it too, leaning further over her, and she shivered as she felt his weight. His kiss was harder now, and she answered him by kissing him back just as hard.

Brazen.

Fine, so be it. She’d never felt so alive, and she wanted more. Diocail didn’t disappoint her. He teased the curls on the top of her mons before boldly cupping her sex. She gasped, opening her eyes to find him watching her from a mere inch above her face. There was a glitter of challenge in his gaze as he rubbed her, one of his fingertips slipping between the folds of her sex to find the spot that throbbed.

The touch sent a bolt of sensation through her. It was white-hot and searing. She arched, but he held her down, rubbing.

“Diocail—” Her voice came out as a strangled sound.

“Let me show ye, lass.” He was applying more pressure, increasing the need building in her belly for…for something.

“Show…me what?” She couldn’t seem to draw in enough breath. Her heart was working at a frantic pace inside her chest.

“What yer last husband was too selfish to do…”

There was an edge of determination in his voice. His face was drawn taunt, and she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. In fact, staying still was impossible; she wanted to twist, but he held her down, kissing her hard as everything seemed to center under his hand. She was nearly frantic for release, lifting her hips in the final moments to press herself against his hand harder as she clamped his hand between her thighs.

She cried out when it hit her. The pleasure ripped along her insides and slammed into her head. It sent her reeling, making it fortunate she was on the ground, for there was no way she would have remained standing. For endless moments, she was caught in a burst of pleasure so intense she writhed. It stole her breath, wringing her like a length of wet cloth before dropping her back down into reality in a heap of quivering limbs, more spent and more sated than she had ever been in her life. As well as more pleasured than she’d ever experienced.

She shifted, trying to make sense of everything. Diocail smoothed her cheek and gathered her close. The scent of his body was so welcoming, the way he cradled her more tender than anything she’d ever experienced. It was bliss, and there was nothing more important than drifting off into the soft waves of it while Diocail rolled onto his back and held her.

* * *

Brenda Grant knew more than she should.

It was a condition that came with being at court, among those who peddled everything they had—including their souls—for power. What should have been private was not, and to survive, she’d learned to read men very well while maintaining perfect poise to ensure they didn’t know her own feelings.

“Ye’re watching me.”

Brenda didn’t care for how hard she struggled to control herself as a man stepped into her path. He’d been shadowing her for several hours now, and she’d done her best to ignore him.

However, her best was not as solid as it should have been. Her gaze had strayed to his too many times, and now he thought it was some sort of invitation.

“I watch where I go, sir,” she replied firmly. “Do ye know me cousin, Laird Symon Grant?”

“Scared of me, are ye?” He cocked his head to one side as he peered down from his greater height.

Brenda looked up to meet his eyes. “I said no such thing.” There was a touch of heat in her voice. She chided herself for responding so dramatically.

“And yet ye feel the need to make sure I know who yer relatives are.” He had midnight-black hair but blue eyes.

Brenda offered him a flutter of her eyelashes. “I find it distressing to see foolish men being…dealt with by me kin. It’s more of a Christian duty to warn ye how hot Grant tempers run.”

It was a double warning, one not lost on her company. His lips twitched as he grinned.

“Christian duty?” he asked slowly as he ventured closer.

Brenda offered him a confident nod as she fought the urge to step back. She forbade herself to show such weakness. All around her people were enjoying the early evening, so there was no reason to think she was in any danger. And yet her insides felt unsettled.

“Well then,” the man muttered. “Would it be wrong to admit I find yer description of yer blood to be more of an enticement than deterrent?”

“It would be arrogant.”

He offered her a shrug from his massive shoulders. “I can nae admit to being too distressed.”

No, he wasn’t. She was caught in the grip of a sensation. One that she’d rarely felt in her life. It made her pause as she took a moment to enjoy it but forbade herself to linger in the memory. Or in his company.

Brenda made to step around him.

“Ye’ve no’ allowed me to introduce meself.”

He’d stepped into her path. What made her stiffen was the fact that she spotted other men wearing his colors. They hung back, making sure no one interrupted their conversation.

“Ye are a Gunn.”

His expression became serious. “And ye are Brenda Grant, widow of a Campbell, who took a lover before ye landed in the keeping of the Earl of Morton.”

“I’m no’ flattered by how much ye know.”

He contemplated her for a moment. “Ye should be. I do nae waste me time, Mistress Grant.”

“If that is so, why do ye listen to so much gossip?” she asked pointedly.

“Clearly ye do nae know what a sensation ye cause when ye pass by.” He offered her a soft chuckle. “There I was this morning, set to enjoy a mug of fine cider, no’ even looking at the lasses.”

He put on a mock innocent expression that made her clamp her lips tightly together lest she laugh.

“Ye strike me as the sort of innocent to be doing such a thing on harvest festival morning.” Her voice was dripping sarcasm, but it was also husky, betraying how much she was enjoying the encounter. He made her feel strangely alive, as though she’d been half asleep.

His lips thinned in a purely sensual fashion. One that sent a touch of heat into her cheeks.

“Aye, as I said, ye passed by…” He made a walking motion with his fingers. “And the good wives began to chatter about ye.”

“And, of course, their word is so very reliable.” Brenda bit her lip because she realized she was jumping to defend herself. She shouldn’t care what he thought of her.

“Which is why I doubt ye truly intend to dance naked under the moon tonight.” He sounded pitifully disappointed, even pushing his lower lip out. “Truth be told, I was holding out hope for that one to be true. I do nae suppose ye might consider being generous toward me opinion of ye?”

Brenda snorted and propped her hands on her hips but couldn’t help but admit to being amused by his humor. Not that she intended to allow him to know it.

“Bothan Gunn.” He opened his arms and offered her a low courtesy, but he winked as he rose back to his full height.

“Far from home, aren’t ye?”

He shrugged. “I was summoned to court on account of a relative of mine behaving poorly.”

“I’d worry more about what the Earl of Sutherland has to say about the matter, considering that relative was killed inside his hall.”

Bothan’s expression tightened. “Ye can be certain I agree with ye.”

She knew him now. She had known the name of the successor of the Gunn chiefdom, but now she had a face to go with it. The Gunns lived very far north, and the hardened man standing before her was a prime example of the strength needed to survive in the extreme Highlands. It was admirable, and he was impressive, but there was no way she was going to allow him to know she thought so.

“Excuse me.” Brenda stepped around him.

“Something pressing to attend to, mistress?”

She couldn’t resist the urge to look back over her shoulder. “I’m sure the good wives will be happy to tell ye what I am about.”

“Perhaps I’d rather hear it from yer own lips.” His gaze lowered to them as he stepped closer.

Her insides tightened—he aroused her. She was tempted to linger in the moment, allow the sensation to tease her flesh and remind her what joy there could be between lovers.

If she was willing to trust. Which she wasn’t.

“Goodbye, Chief Gunn.” Brenda raised her voice enough so the Grant retainers trailing her heard. They stiffened, stepping toward her.

Bothan’s eyes narrowed. “An interesting response, lass.”

She didn’t care for the fact that he’d called it a response. However true, it needled her, making her bite back the retort that sprang to her lips.

Rising to his bait would only confirm his words. So she moved past him, but not before she caught the look he sent her way. There was a promise there, one that sent a shiver down her back.

“Until next we meet.”

* * *

Someone laughed.

Jane woke with a start, blinking in confusion as she tried to remember where she was. Her memory came back with a brilliant flash of precise recollection of just how she came to be lying on top of Diocail with her bodice open in the afternoon sunlight.

He grunted and sat up as she did. His gaze lowered to her unbound breasts, and his expression became one of male enjoyment before she hastily grabbed the edge of her chemise and tugged it up, fighting to find the ends of the string that would pull the neckline tight.

“What on earth…” She was fumbling to make sense of her thoughts and, it would seem, her balance as well.

“I should have Muir’s balls,” Diocail mumbled as he rolled over and pulled at the length of wool that made up his kilt. He began to pleat it but looked up at her with an arrogant grin. “Except I’m too honest no’ to admit I benefited from his actions.”

“What actions?” She was threading the lace through the eyelets to close her bodice. The lace was long, making the process slow.

Diocail was making good progress at forming all of the wool into what would become his kilt. He reached over and retrieved his belt from where it lay discarded in the grass and threaded it beneath the pleats before he lay down and buckled it. He was turning over and standing, working to tuck in the front flaps of the kilt, before he answered her.

Of course he was. Diocail Gordon wasn’t a man to be caught unawares.

He buckled a second belt over his waist to finish the process. “The cider was spiced with a very generous amount of whisky.”

Jane tugged the lace hard, and the front of her bodice closed tightly as his words sunk in. She tied a firm knot before adjusting her cleavage and standing.

“Do nae look at me like that, Jane.”

“Am I expected to be pleased to know my trust was taken advantage of?” she demanded before looking around for Muir. The urge to take him to task was strong. Diocail reached out and caught her arm, pulling her back to face him.

“It was nae enough to intoxicate ye.”

“And yet,” she sputtered. “I am…here…”

“With yer husband,” he answered firmly. “Naught is amiss, madam. Muir would never have allowed ye to be at risk. No one faults ye for being distrustful of our union. Ye’ve cause enough for it, but Muir knows I will nae treat ye poorly. He meant to put ye at ease so we might get past what is distressing ye.”

His meaning was as clear as a church bell ringing in the morning.

“I do not want this marriage,” she exclaimed as she pulled free. One look at his face made it clear he didn’t care for the insult. “And neither did you. So, you have no right to be angry that I am trying not to trap you into keeping me. Many a man would thank me for not making him keep an unwanted bride, especially one who came with no dowry and who is not pure.”

His expression had become hard, his body tense, but she didn’t back away. Jane stared straight at him.

“I did nae want it at the time.” He held up a finger to quiet her so she might let him finish his thought. “For ye are no’ the only one who understands kindness.”

It wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. “I don’t understand.”

“Yer reasons are valid. For all that ye are English and I am Scottish, we were both raised to see wedding as a way to gain wealth. Kindness was only an afterthought.”

She nodded, longing for the world to be something it would never be.

“I would have something different between us. Everything else in me life is a duty. What I crave from ye is a wife who chooses me.” He moved closer and lowered his voice. “If that were not so, I’d have claimed ye just now and made very sure there was a witness or two to the consummation, for ye are a prize worth keeping.”

It would not have been hard.

The horror of it nearly made her retch. But Diocail grabbed her upper arms and held her in place as she started to recoil, proving without a doubt just how strong he truly was. Her weight was nothing to him.

“I didn’t do that, Jane.”

She’d looked away, but the tone of his voice pulled her attention back. She locked gazes with him, witnessing the determination blazing there.

“Instead, I proved me worth to ye.”

Her cheeks burned with the memory, and his lips twitched. “Did yer last husband ever please ye?”

She gasped at the bluntness of the question. “You shouldn’t ask such a thing.”

Diocail pulled her closer so she was against his body. His scent teased her senses once more, awakening the yearnings she’d thought well satisfied.

“Answer the question, lass,” Diocail’s tone was a husky whisper. For certain, it must have been the same raspy tone Lucifer used to lure Eve into sinfulness.

“Did he ever move ye to ecstasy?”

“No.” The admission crossed her lips like the darkest confession. “I don’t know why it happened.”

He grunted. “It happened because I am no’ a selfish swine who uses a woman for his own pleasure and hides behind the scriptures that tell him a wife is his property, which makes it permissible to ignore her pleasure.” He slid one arm around her waist, boldly cupping one side of her bottom and bringing her into contact with his lower body. The hard presence of his cock was impossible to miss.

“I wanted to claim ye.” In his eyes was the bright glitter of unsatisfied need. “And if ye expect me to understand why ye ended up on a gallows about to be hung, well then, I’ll have ye hearing what I am telling ye now.”

He released her, and she stumbled back.

“I will have a wife who wants me, Jane.” His tone was edged with determination. “Me life has ever been one filled with responsibilities and expectations, but in this matter, I will have something that is me own.”

“And I have offered to give you your freedom,” she replied.

“In turn, I give ye a choice in whom ye are wed to,” he countered.

His offer was tempting.

She felt as though everything she knew were being shredded to reveal things she had never known were lurking deep down inside her. It was a revelation to be sure, one that made her feel as if the entire world were shifting beneath her feet.

“Aye, ye think on that.”

“How did ye know—”

He offered her a nod. “Because I am drawn to ye. I notice things about ye that I have nae done before in a woman.”

“You want this marriage?” she boldly asked. “I come with naught.”

He grunted. “There is a reason me men are so eager to take ye home. Me house is in a state of disorder. They see ye as a solution to it and a way to escape a long winter of poor fare on the tables. Ye come with the ability to right the situation. No’ a single one of them can do so. A comfortable home, that is something me men value.”

“As if your people will be willing to follow the direction of an Englishwoman.”

He lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “I would no’ have thought ye so timid as to be crying quarter before ye even set eyes on them or tried yer hand at directing them.”

She rolled her eyes. “That is an underhanded method of gaining my compliance.”

He grinned, unrepentant. “I’m Scottish. It’s me duty to dupe ye.”

She scoffed at him. It earned her a grin that might have been cheeky if he wasn’t so imposing, and yet the tension seemed to ease between them.

He opened one of his hands. “What have ye to return to? Truthfully. Ye mentioned a stepmother who seems no’ to want ye under her roof.”

“That is true.” Jane worried her lower lip. “Yet I am not sure I wish ever to be a wife again.”

His eyes glittered with understanding. “Ye enjoyed me touch.”

And he wasn’t going to let her shy away from that fact.

“Yes,” she admitted softly, recalling the moment of pleasure and feeling her cheeks heat with the memory. “But…marriage…binds me so very completely to your will…”

“And ye do nae trust me,” he finished for her.

“I do not mean it…unkindly. The truth is I knew Henry more than I know you, and he was quite the disappointment.”

There would be no escaping a tower in the Highlands while winter raged around them. That was a fact she’d best get a firm grip on before she landed in dire circumstances. Alicia might not want her, but there would be a place for her in her father’s home if she returned.

He grunted but nodded. “Yer husband sold ye.”

Diocail’s tone was hard as he spoke, and she felt something rising from inside her. A wound still raw and demanding justice. “It is not you.”

“Nay, lass, it was no’ me.” He moved closer, reaching out to brush the side of her face with his hand. She shifted, unwilling to release her uncertainty. But he slipped his hand around her face to cup her nape and hold her in place as he closed the gap completely between them.

“But it will be me pleasure to crush his memory so completely ye will never think of him again.”

Oh, so very tempting…

Just like the kiss he pressed onto her lips. Resisting was impossible. She rose on her toes to meet him, slipping so very easily into the moment and letting it clear all her thoughts away while sweet pleasure flowed through her.

Diocail lifted his head, and she caught the shimmer of victory in his eyes. “So I am taking ye home with me.”

And that was his final word. She felt her temper rise but also a stirring of anticipation.

“Better hope you don’t live to regret it.”

He chuckled at her brazen retort before he released her nape and captured her wrist. The light had died while they spoke. Diocail led her back toward his men and the safety they represented. No matter her reservations, she was still warmed by the smiles aimed her way. His men looked toward her for a better life.

Damned if it didn’t feel good to be something useful. But they wouldn’t be the ones becoming chattel. No, that was the lot of a wife. She climbed into the wagon, settling into the bed as her thoughts churned. Diocail wanted a wife that he’d chosen, and he had been bent into submission to take her.

The answer was really very simple. If she took his house in hand, she’d have a place as his Head of House. By the end of winter, his craving for her would be over. Men changed their minds when it came to bed sport, which was something she knew very well. How many of her friends had been courted so sweetly only to suffer their husbands taking mistresses once their bellies began to swell and the season passed into memory?

It was the nature of love though.

Flights of fancy. Tunes of whimsy. Both solid reasons why marriage was best conducted like a business. Yet that had yielded such an unsatisfying union. At least on her end.

Jane opened her eyes and found Diocail in the dark.

He hadn’t taken her.

Looking at him, she noted all the details of his rugged life that made her own kin label him a savage, and yet he’d shown more mercy and honor than the groom her father had willingly wed her to.

Her thoughts were a jumble as he turned to look at her. The darkness seemed to bring out her cravings, making her lament the distance between them.

Well, you are married to him…

True. She closed her eyes as she contemplated the fact that she had a choice. Did she follow Brenda’s lead and cast her fortune on the feelings churning inside her or follow the teachings of her childhood?

She fell asleep before she decided, the warm bed and knowledge that the Gordon retainers would protect her lulling her into slumber.