Six

Snow flurries began to swirl by the next afternoon. Their arrival sent the men into action as the last of the harvest was pulled in before it froze and was lost. Jane welcomed the frenzy of activity. It kept everyone busy for the better part of the week. No one fell into their beds until well after sundown, and they were up at first light in an effort to collect every plant that might be used to sustain them through the long months of winter. The kitchen staff didn’t have time to question her authority. Jane caught them casting her grudging looks of approval as the days passed, and she neither deserted them because the labor was hard, nor made a muck of things because she didn’t know the first thing about filling the cellars for winter.

Necessity made strange bedfellows.

At the moment, they were women. The steady sound of men toiling on the roofs and walls gave them confidence they’d all survive to see spring.

Jane caught only glimpses of Diocail as he labored with his men to patch the worst of the holes in the roof. They worked so hard they stripped down to their shirts in spite of the snow floating in the air. She herself didn’t have much time to spare either. Shepherd boys were coming in from the pastures, driving their sheep and cattle toward the protection of the castle walls. The animals had thick coats, grown with the help of grazing all summer long, but when the wind began to wail, they would benefit from having something to huddle near.

The retainers brought their families in too. Many of them didn’t have more than homes built of the roughest stone and thatch. Jane struggled to find room for them all.

Which led her to the towers. There were two, with stairs that rose up more than three stories. She looked up one and tried to decide what might be on the floors above. Considering the condition of the rest of the fortification, they were probably in disrepair.

She contemplated the stairs for a long moment, but the wailing of an infant made her lift her foot and begin climbing upward in an effort to see if there was more space available. At least the steps were stone, which gave her peace of mind as she climbed higher. The chill increased too, hinting that it had been a long time since a fire had been lit in any of the chambers.

Jane lifted her hand and looked at the dust coating her fingers from the handrail. She realized why a moment later as a pair of chamber doors came into sight. There was a thick chain looped through the handles with a large lock.

Locks were expensive. And hard to come by as well.

She stared at it, wondering what could be so important. Looking up, she decided to climb further into the tower. The next floor showed her the same thing. Another lock and chain and even more dust. Here the chain was rusted because of a broken set of window shutters. The wind was howling through the hole, blowing thick feathers of snow against the doors. The flakes slipped down to form a puddle against a huge rotted section of the door, clearly damaged from last winter when snow had drifted against the wood unchecked.

It infuriated her to no end to see such disregard for the tower when the number of people clustered in the hall made it plain there were ample hands to see to the task of making sure the tower was secure. And yet something had kept them all belowstairs.

She made her way to the last floor and stopped, facing another locked door. There was an inch of dust on the floor, proving no one had set foot on the landing in years. Reaching down, Jane took the ring of keys off her belt. Dolina had happily given them to her with a look of relief in her eyes. Unlike at her father’s home, this ring was full of keys that were tarnished from lack of use. She moved toward the lock, leaving tracks in the dust and stirring it up so it tickled her nose.

It was a slow process, fitting the keys into the lock and trying them. The lock held each time, making her suspect time had frozen it.

But she kept at it and let out a little sound of victory when one key finally turned. The action was far from smooth. Jane doubled her effort, earning the reward of a grinding noise before the lock gave way and opened. It was a huge, heavy thing. She wasn’t expecting the weight, and it fell from her fingers as it slipped from the chain. The sound of it hitting the floor echoed inside the stairway.

She didn’t squander any concern on what the Gordons might think of her actions. Clearly none had ventured up the stairs in years, so they were not in a position to chastise her. She was taking the house in hand, and that meant doing what had been neglected. There was a thick bar over the doors as well. She struggled to lift it, kicking up a cloud of dust with the hem of her skirt as she twisted and tried to get beneath it so she might lift it. She ended up wiping her forehead when she succeeded, wrinkling her nose at the feeling of dirt being rubbed against her skin from where it had collected on her sleeve.

Well, there was no one to see her at present.

The hinges on the doors squealed and groaned as she struggled to pull one open. Beyond it, the chamber was cast in gloom, the shutters closed tight with leather nailed into them to keep the weather out.

That was a relief to see.

She ventured in, stopping by the door to strike a flint stone into a small pile of thatch left there. It caught with a flash of bright light. Jane held a candle to it, waiting until the wick caught before she placed the candle into a holder and used it to light her way into the chamber.

She held the candle up and blinked at what the flickering light showed her.

“Sweet mother of Christ.”

All around her were chests and bundles, stacked as high as a man might reach. There wasn’t any furniture in the room, at least not any that was assembled. Off near the wall, she spied a headboard that must go with a magnificent bed. She could see the elaborate carvings. Thick layers of dust covered almost everything, but she could see patterns to the accumulation, showing the seasons as new stacks had been added.

“Colum was a miser.”

Jane shrieked. The candle went flying as she swung it at her unannounced company. There was a bone-jarring impact as she struck her target and the candle sputtered out, dropping darkness around them.

“Jane!”

She froze, Diocail’s growl familiar. Her fear died in a sizzle of temper. “You scared me near unto death!”

Her hand landed on his jaw before she ever managed to think her actions through. The loud pop bounced off the wall as he reached out and clamped his arms around her.

That quickly she was bound tightly against him. From head to knee, they were pressed together.

“You might have announced your arrival,” she hissed after fighting to raise her chin. One of the buttons on his doublet scratched her nose because her face was pressed so hard against his chest.

“I’ve never known ye to be so skittish before, woman,” he snarled. “And ye are supposed to slap a man with an open hand, no’ a closed fist.”

“My brothers taught me how to fight. Slapping does naught except anger your opponent.”

That earned her a grunt, but a moment later, the door slammed shut. Diocail let out a frustrated sound.

“Something always likes to interrupt us…” he muttered as he released her, turning toward the door.

Jane felt her eyes widen at the unmistakable sound of the bar being lowered into place. Diocail cursed, and she heard him running toward the doors, heard him collide with them, and then another growl as he tried to force them open.

“Muir!” He pounded on the door as Jane lowered herself to her knees and felt around on the floor for the candle. The stacks of goods made it so the candle hadn’t traveled very far. She found it as Diocail slammed his fist into the door again.

“Curse and rot ye!” he bellowed, but his voice only echoed inside the chamber.

“I doubt anyone below can hear you.” Jane made sure he heard her before she ventured closer. There were only the faintest traces of light coming through the edges of the leather-covered windows. She scuffed her feet against the floor to make certain he knew she was approaching.

“Damned fiend has locked us in,” he muttered in disgust.

“Why ever would he do such a thing?”

Diocail found the flint and struck it. The sparks illuminated his face. She heard him pull something dry from somewhere, and a moment later, he was dropping sparks into the tinder bowl. Whatever he’d found caught fire. Jane lowered the candle so that the wick caught.

A warm bubble of light enveloped them. It showed her a very disgruntled man with a red spot on his jaw.

“Oohh…” She let out a little sound of distress.

Diocail offered her a snort. “Aye. Yer brothers taught ye right.”

“Well,” she sputtered. “You walk so silently.”

“Ye’ve said as much before.”

He gestured her to follow him. He was intent on one of the windows, and she followed, carrying their single source of light along with her. The stacks of bundles made an eerie setting as Diocail pulled a knife from where it was tucked into the top of his boot and started to slice away at the leather.

“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.

She reached for him, slipping her hands into the open front of his doublet and shirt. “Aye…” he ground out as her hands flattened on his skin. She’d barely had time to stroke his neck and breast before he was stepping back.

She let out a little frustrated sound that drew an answering grunt from him. “I need out of these clothes…”

Oh yes. She agreed wholeheartedly.

It should have struck her as an absurd moment. The way they both fought to strip down as though they were too hot. Instead, she tugged and loosened laces until her bodice was laying on the floor behind her and her skirts puddled around her ankles.

Diocail was faster. He opened his belt the moment he shrugged his doublet off, and his kilt went slumping to the floor. His shirt didn’t last any longer as he ripped it up and over his head. When the fabric cleared his face, his eyes glittered with hard purpose.

It sent a bolt of anticipation through her, making her breath catch in her throat. Jane froze, her fingers suddenly trembling so badly she couldn’t work the button on the cuff of her shirt. All she seemed able to accomplish was to stare, absorbing the hard strength etched into his flesh. From head to toe, he was savage.

And she craved him even more for it.

He’d come forward on those silent steps of his, moving slowly, apparently worried she might bolt. “Do nae fear me…”

“I don’t.” Jane didn’t think she’d ever spoken truer words. “I just…can’t seem to stop…so silly of me…really. I’m not a virgin.”

He caught her hand, brushing her fingers away as he pushed the button through its hole to free the cuff. It fell open as he raised her hand and kissed the delicate skin on the underside of her wrist. She shivered, her eyes slipping closed as she let the sheer intensity of the moment engulf her.

“I’m glad ye are no’.”

Jane opened her eyes and locked gazes with him. Need flickered in his eyes. It was hard and, somehow, utterly male. She’d witnessed a man looking at her who thought he owned her before. This was different. Diocail wanted to possess her.

“Take me.” She wasn’t thinking. “Exactly the way I see that you want to.”

His eyes narrowed, his lips thinning to show her a glimpse of his teeth. He was menacing and hard, and it fanned the flames licking at her insides. Her clitoris was throbbing, her breasts aching to be against him again, but most of all, she knew she wanted more than the satisfaction he’d delivered with his fingers and tongue.

She wanted him to claim her.

“No more teasing,” she continued. “I want to know…you.”

Her statement pleased him. She saw the flash of enjoyment light his eyes before he was scooping her up, swinging her against his body as he turned and lowered her onto their makeshift bed. The fur compressed under her weight as he placed her in the middle, the linen soft against her skin. It suited him. And what she craved from him.

Jane reached for him, pulling him down, gasping when his body connected with hers. He was cupping her knees and spreading them as he pushed them up so her center was open. He sat back on his haunches, her own thighs on top of his as his cock stuck out over the spread folds of her sex.

“Ye’re me wife, Jane.”

He bit out each word as he teased her little clitoris with his thumb. She heard the sound of her wet flesh as need became a desperate thing inside her. She might have begged in that moment for him to take her; there was nothing she cared about except having him claim her.

Reckless…

Savage…

And she felt more alive than she ever had before in her life. As though this was her purpose, her gender no longer less than his but a complement.

“I am, and I demand your favors…husband.”

He grunted in response but shifted, setting the head of his cock against her open body. She shuddered, her passage feeling empty. He didn’t let her suffer for long, pressing forward, splitting her open as his length stretched her.

“Christ…” he growled as he fought to stay still for a moment. “I want to ravage ye…”

Her lips were dry in anticipation. Diocail pulled free, his cock wet, and pressed back into her as she lifted her hips.

Control vanished for them both. He covered her, his elbows braced on either side of her head as she clamped her thighs tight around his hips. He rocked her with a motion that built the need churning inside her, fanning it, growing it while they labored toward a common goal. Part of her wanted to savor the ride, but control had slipped from her grasp, leaving her nothing but impulses. She craved him and lifted to take every thrust he drove toward her. He was hard, and she writhed in enjoyment as his strength fed her cravings. They were rushing toward something, and when they reached it, they tumbled over the edge into a swirling storm of sensation. Pleasure gripped her so tightly that she was powerless to do anything except cling to Diocail while she cried out.

He was trapped as well, cupping his hands over her head as he plunged into her, going rigid as he ground out a word in Gaelic. She felt his seed release inside her, a hot flood that triggered another spasm deep inside her. For a time, nothing mattered except holding him as tightly as she might. When she finally released him, her limbs quivered, her skin was coated with perspiration, and he rolled off her as they both gasped as though they had nearly drowned.

It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered but the glow of satisfaction warming her. Nothing at all.

* * *

Diocail woke with a start.

He blinked as he tried to recall where he was. It was harder than it should have been, but he caught sight of Jane lying next to him and realized he was still caught in the throes of passion.

It was stronger than he’d ever experienced. His body felt heavy, and the effort of rolling toward his partner was almost more than he could muster. But he needed to be near her. He pulled his kilt over them, tugging a corner of one of the furs along with it to keep the chill of the night away. Jane muttered in her sleep, and he smoothed his fingers along her cheek, easing her close.

The need to slip back into slumber was strong, but he fought it for a moment, looking down at the way Jane was nestled along his side. Her scent was in his nostrils, her pink nipples bare for him to see. She was so perfect in that moment, beyond beautiful. He curved his body around hers, cradling her head in his hand before locking the other on her hip.

His.

Perfect.

Two different words and yet very much the same to his way of thinking.

* * *

The hard, long days of labor had taken their toll on both of them. Jane slept deeply, blinking her eyes as she tried to wake and identify what had disturbed her. She discovered she was peeking over the edge of whatever was covering her, just able to see past it into the morning light. It made her blink as she became accustomed to it, her vision sharpening after a moment.

“Holy Christ!” she swore as she recognized Muir and Niven.

Blinking didn’t make them dissipate either. She was back to wishing she knew how to curse.

“Ye’ve had yer fun.” Jane let out a squeak as Diocail spoke beside her. She recoiled, earning a snort from him as he clamped his arms around her.

“Now get out so the lass can dress,” he barked at his men. “She’s no’ wearing a stitch.” Diocail’s tone warmed with amusement that made her strain against his hold. All that gained her was a rumble from his chest as he held her steady.

There was a bark of laughter from one of the men looking down on them. Jane was frozen with horror as she realized Aylin and Kory were also there. They had the audacity to tug on the corner of their bonnets when they saw her staring at them before they made slow progress toward the door.

“Lord grant me the strength no’ to lay the lot of them low,” Diocail muttered into her hair.

The moment the door closed he released her. She rolled out of the bedding and sucked in her breath at the chill. Diocail had cast off their makeshift bedding and sat eyeing her.

“I do nae believe I’ve ever looked forward to spring so much, because I know I can keep ye bare in our chambers when the weather warms.”

She intended to make some reply after retrieving her high-necked smock and pushing her arms into the sleeves. But he was watching her, and it made her suddenly shy as memory rushed back to remind her of just how brazen she’d been.

“What troubles ye, Jane?”

He rose, and she realized he’d slept in his boots. In fact, she still wore her stockings, her shoes caught in the puddle of her skirts. She heard him pulling his shirt on as she found her hip roll and tied it in place.

“I’m just cold.”

She lifted her skirts high over her head and dropped them down her body. The waistband caught around her waist because of the hip roll as Diocail hooked her with one powerful arm and pulled her against him.

“Perhaps ye need a wee reminder of just how much ye enjoy being mine.”

She didn’t. Not that Diocail gave her the chance to say so. He pressed a kiss against her mouth as he cupped her nape to hold her steady for the assault. It wasn’t a hard kiss, but it cut her to the core. Even in the bright light of day she craved him, reaching up to stroke his neck because she just didn’t seem to be close enough.

“Aye, that’s the way,” he muttered as lifted his head and aimed a determined look into her eyes. “We’ll stay right here if that is the way ye need it to be.”

Part of her liked that idea very much. But there was bright light coming through the edges of the closed window shutters, and she knew she’d be foolish indeed to squander the fine weather. “The snow will return soon enough.”

Diocail lifted his head from where he’d been nuzzling her neck. “Perhaps winter is a fine season as well. I have the feeling I am going to learn a new application for the long, cold nights.”

He pressed another kiss against her lips when she tried to wiggle from his embrace. “I suppose I should be understanding of yer shyness,” he said as he released her.

Jane felt him watching her as she grasped the open sides of her waistband. Her thoughts were in a tangle, and he seemed the most solid thing in the chamber, so she ended up looking at him. His brown eyes were steady but filled with questions. But she pleased him by looking at him, and he let out a soft sound.

“Aye, I will be patient.”

He turned and somehow found the tie for her skirts. He held it out as she reached for it with fingers that at least didn’t shame her by trembling.

For a moment, the chamber was filled with the sound of clothing being donned. Diocail pleated his kilt and lay down to buckle his belt in place. “Help me with me buttons, Jane.”

His tone was tempered, but she heard the authority in it. Jane was already working the bottom ones through their holes before she thought to question his command.

“You don’t need help dressing.” But she continued to work her way toward his collar.

“Nay,” he admitted. “It’s an excuse to get ye near me, and I am no’ ashamed to say so.” He reached down and lifted her chin so their gazes locked. “Are ye ashamed? Last night, ye were—”

“I know.” She stepped away and smoothed her hair.

“It distresses ye now?” He wasn’t going to allow the matter to remain unspoken.

“Truly,” she began. “I have no idea what to think.” She stopped with her hand on her forehead. “Never have I behaved in such a manner. You bring out something in me that has my thoughts all…tangled.”

He flashed her a grin. A wolfish, smug expression that made it clear he enjoyed her admission. “Well now, that’s fine praise.”

Jane offered him a frustrated look that earned her a mock reverence from him.

“Just remember, I didn’t pray for patience with your men,” she advised him. “Best get on your way and make certain I don’t catch them in the stairwell.”

“I’m planning on being at the bottom to see which one is fool enough to let ye close enough to kick him in the arse.”

He reached up and tugged on the corner of his bonnet before he disappeared through the chamber doors. It left her with a moment of privacy to reflect. Jane turned and looked at their bed of pelts.

You enjoyed it…

She had, and part of her wasn’t sorry one bit. No. Instead, she felt the flutter of something inside her, something that felt a whole lot like she was finished being ashamed of who she was. Or perhaps she was admitting her true nature at last.

Whatever it was, she decided she liked it.

So did Diocail…

She turned and left the chamber with a blush staining her cheeks, but not because of what she’d done. No, the heat stemmed from the thoughts she was entertaining about what to do with him once the sun set that night.

* * *

“Mistress.”

Jane turned around and found a man standing near the door of the cellar. She waved the woman she was working with on, earning a nod. Both of them were hauling bundles of late-season vegetables to the lower rooms where they would stay fresh with the help of the chill.

“Yes?” Jane asked.

Whoever he was, he looked a bit uncertain. He’d taken to looking around instead of at her. A tingle touched her nape, but he looked back at her.

“The mill.” He spoke low and gruff. “Dolina said ye were needed.”

Dolina was proving to be indispensable. Jane trusted her judgment and dusted her hands on her apron. “Thank you for coming to fetch me.”

He looked at the floor again but cleared out of the doorway.

It would take time.

She repeated those words as she made her way away from the towers with the man following her. Honestly, she could not begrudge him or any of his clan for having reservations about her, since she herself had needed to be locked in a chamber with Diocail to face her own feelings.

She was content in that choice now.

She felt herself smiling, had worn a silly expression of joy for most of the day because it felt as if there was a bubble of happiness stuck in her chest. She hoped it never worked its way free.

The truth was she’d honestly never believed she might be so happy. Never suspected she might be filled with it so fully she wanted to twirl around in a circle and then stop and say a quick prayer of thanks because of how grateful she was.

So she would smile at the man trudging along with her, thank him kindly for his time, and let him see she meant to make his life as comfortable as she might.

“Thank you for fetching me—”

Something slammed into the back of her head. Jane stared at the man’s tight expression as she felt the pain rushing through her head, and then darkness claimed her like a raptor snatching a mouse from the ground.

Quick, silent, and deadly.

* * *

“I should lay ye low.”

Muir wasn’t concerned. In fact, he offered Diocail a smirk as they worked on the stable roof. “Ye should be thanking me,” Muir responded.

“Aye,” Aylin added. “Ye are nae so easy to sneak up on. Thought we were going to have to use the club to knock ye senseless to keep ye in that chamber.”

Diocail shot them a look that sent both Aylin and Muir into a fit of snickers.

“Well, now, it would have served to get the lass to cradle ye sure enough!” Muir exclaimed with malicious glee.

“Aye,” Diocail agreed. “And it would have gotten ye a very well-deserved arse kicking.”

Muir opened his arms wide. “I’m wounded. I witnessed with me own eyes the pair of ye snuggled against each other, the mistress’s hair all tousled and her bare—”

“Enough,” Diocail interrupted with a mock look of reprimand. “She is yer mistress…save yer colorful talk for others.”

Muir lifted his hands in mock surrender, but he was still grinning as he leaned over to resume working. It was hard toil, dark clouds appearing on the horizon to encourage them to move faster. Soft noises came from the horses below them, as though the beasts were thanking them for making the roof secure again.

He was besotted.

There was no other reason for him to be so pleased. Even his men’s jesting made him happy because it was true, Jane had been his. Was his.

He’d craved it but never thought to enjoy something so very much. Taking the lairdship hadn’t filled him with the same sense of contentment, even though his mother had spent her life telling him it would.

Having Jane choose him, well, that had given him a whole new perspective on just what true happiness was. Retiring to bed early was far more attractive than he’d ever considered it to be because he knew she’d be there too. He glanced over his shoulder at the sun, willing it to sink.

Instead he spied a woman’s head at the top of the ladder they’d used to climb onto the roof. It was one of the women from the kitchen, a mature woman who he’d noticed stepping up to help Jane take charge.

She looked straight at Diocail. “I can nae find the mistress.”

* * *

Whatever she was lying on jerked and rolled.

Jane let out a groan as she tumbled and felt the bruises from other impacts. The pain was enough to have her fighting to clear her thoughts and wake completely. She had been tossed into a cart, was now lying on her back as the thing made its way down a rutted road. The scent of mud and horse manure came up from beneath it, and she could see the mud through the rough planks that made up the bottom of the cart. She was sitting at an angle, which meant it had two wheels.

Her wrists were bound. She strained against the rope and felt it tearing her skin. The binding held, keeping her hands locked behind her. All she could do was fight to press her feet against the bottom of the cart in an effort to stop herself from being flung about.

Diocail.

He would come for her.

Jane latched onto that thought and tried to let it be the only thing in her mind. She didn’t dare allow herself to feel the bite of the rope on her wrists or notice the way the cart was covered in thick leather to make sure no one saw inside it.

No.

She must not think of anything except Diocail. He didn’t know how to fail, didn’t have weakness in him. He would come for her. And she would not disgrace him by being afraid.

* * *

“I should have put some of the lads on her.” Muir shook his head. “Until she was more settled. I did nae think she’d bolt.”

Diocail knew without a doubt that his temper had never been so tested. “Better to know.” He growled at his captain. “Better that I understand she wants naught to do with me.”

“She’s just no’…settled yet.” Muir attempted to soothe him.

Diocail reached out and grabbed the man by the front of his jerkin. “I defended Colum against Tyree even though I felt the world would be better off without him. I took that woman to church because it was best for all of us, but I will no’ have a wife who runs away from me.”

He was snarling by the time he finished. Diocail watched acceptance wash over Muir’s face. “Aye, we do nae need to be begging her to like us. If she’s so keen to be on her way back to England, good riddance.”

Muir spat on the ground to make it clear that he stood with Diocail on the matter. Aylin slowly nodded.

“Ungrateful bitch,” Aylin muttered.

Diocail quelled the urge to defend Jane’s name. News was spreading fast through the castle that she’d run from him. Women were clustered in the doorways, leaning their heads toward each other as they whispered.

“How long does it take to saddle a damned horse?” he bellowed.

“Leave her,” Kory advised. “Ye can gain an annulment on grounds of abandonment.”

“I brought her here,” Diocail bit out. “And it has nae changed that we do nae need a dead Englishwoman on our land.”

“Aye,” Kory groaned as the stable hands began to pull horses into sight. “We’d better go get her. Even if I am no’ looking forward to sharing a roof with her through the winter.”

“She’d better stay out of me path,” Muir declared, raising his voice so it could not be missed. “We’ve things we could be attending to. Tasks that need doing, and now we’re setting off to waste our time.”

* * *

There was grumbling aplenty as the men mounted and rode out. Dolina stood and watched, a troubled look on her face.

“That’s what becomes of an Englishwoman being brought here,” Eachna remarked.

Dolina turned to contemplate her.

“What is that look for?” Eachna demanded to know. “I am no’ the one who has caused trouble.”

“We do nae know for certain the mistress left of her own free will.”

Eachna made a scoffing sound. “Of course she did.” The maid looked both ways before she leaned in and lowered her voice. “He was raised in the north. Lord knows what happened in that chamber last night, but I know that the mistress is a woman with a firm spine. She’ll no’ settle for being rutted on. The truth is I admire her for no’ submitting.”

“I suppose it might be as ye say,” Dolina muttered. “Still, she did no’ appear to be displeased this morning.”

“Of course not,” Eachna said. “Muir and his friends would have locked her away again so the laird could have time to breed her and force her to stay. No father would have her back with a Scots babe in her belly.”

Dolina had to admit it was a reasonable explanation.

Still, she hated to think Jane would run. She wanted to believe that the sparkle she’d glimpsed in Jane’s eyes that morning had been one of happiness.

Well, it had been. Only the reason behind it was different than Dolina had thought.

Jane had clearly been anticipating her escape. It was going to be sad indeed to see her brought back.

* * *

“I say we slit her throat.”

Jane felt her heart accelerate. She applied all her strength to keeping her eyes from widening but knew she failed when the man in front of her smiled.

“Aye,” he informed her gleefully. “There is a nice place…just over there where I can leave ye for the wolves to enjoy.”

“That was no’ the plan, Keefe.”

The man in front of her turned on his companion. “The hell it was no’, Sheehan.”

Sheehan was older but by no means feeble. There was gray in his beard, hinting at wisdom. He stepped closer to Keefe as Jane struggled not to draw attention to herself.

Her life was being debated.

“Ye agreed to allow her the option to leave Scotland,” Sheehan stated slowly.

Keefe gestured at the dark mass above them. “It’s set to storming. I do nae care to spend me time on the road, freezing because of her. Best to tend to the business now. We can return to the tower and be warm.”

“Go up to the tavern,” Sheehan advised him. “I’ll watch her.”

They had stopped just outside a village. The sun was beginning to set, but she could only tell because the light was fading. The clouds were too thick.

“Ye’ll come with me,” Keefe declared. “Phelan will take the first watch.”

Phelan didn’t appear very pleased, but he grabbed the back of his kilt and raised it up to cover his head and neck. Keefe nodded at him before he shot Jane a look full of promise.

Evil promise.

* * *

“Wake up now.”

Jane didn’t have much trouble obeying. She had no idea how she’d managed to fall asleep in the first place. Sheehan was leaning over her. She caught a flash of moonlight off the blade of his knife as he slipped it between her hands and jerked it upward to cut the rope binding her.

“Keefe is young and passionate,” he said with regret. “He’ll slit yer throat, make no mistake.”

She didn’t doubt it. Jane bit her lip, waiting to see what this man had planned for her. She rubbed her wrists, absorbing the fact that he’d freed her, and tried to draw hope from that action.

“Take this.” He dropped a leather pouch into her hand. “And hide yerself somewhere in the village. Once we’re gone, hire yerself someone to take ye south. Show yer face on Gordon land, and I’ll have to silence ye meself.”

Jane bit back the polite word she started to mutter. He didn’t deserve gratitude, for he had helped to take her away when he might have raised the alarm, and yet, as she jumped down from the cart and felt the ground beneath her feet, she couldn’t deny that she was thankful.

“Get moving.” He made a motion with his hand. “Keefe is fond of drinking, but he’ll notice I’m gone before long.”

He didn’t need to tell her twice. Jane turned and ran. It wasn’t hard, not a bit.

For she was running for her life.

* * *

Fear played with the mind.

Jane discovered her senses keener, details more pronounced. She heard the men in the tavern, detecting Keefe’s laugh in spite of how many men were with him.

The scent of fresh snow was crisper as she trudged through it and then realized her tracks were plain. With a gasp, she hurried down a street that had other tracks in the fresh snow and then around a corner, pressing her back against the wall even though she smelled the scent of piss on the stone.

Ahead of her, she watched as two men relieved themselves before wandering down the road toward their homes. She shuddered in distaste but didn’t dare show herself. The best she might do was focus on the fact that she was free.

But how will you survive?

She was already shivering. The coin purse was tucked into her bodice, but she didn’t dare go into the tavern for a room.

The wind whipped up, bringing a new scent. She turned, blinking as she found herself staring at a man. He was facing her. As though he could see her in the darkness.

Keefe? Had he noted her escape?

“Jane.”

Diocail’s voice washed over her like warm water. She let out a gasp, needed the wall for a moment to support her because her knees had become weak.

“Thank Christ.” Jane reached for Diocail as he clasped her close. He was hard, but there was something else, a stiffness that had her withdrawing from him. He gave a snort and pulled her back into the main road, where light made its way out of the businesses there.

The look on his face confirmed what she’d felt.

“Ye’re a damned fool, Jane,” he rasped out. “And lucky I came after ye. Yer pride will nae protect ye from the winter cold.”

“Do you think I left on my own?” He did. She could see it in his eyes. Fury flickered there, and if she had any doubts, all she had to do was look past him at his men.

Niven, Muir, Kory, Aylin, and the others sent her glares that made it plain they felt she should hang her head in shame.

“Well, I did not,” she informed him with a rise of wounded pride. “I was taken by your clansmen.”

“We needs get back to the tower.”

Diocail wasn’t interested in debating the issue or listening to her. He’d condemned her, his judgment cutting her so deeply that she let him lift her up and onto the back of a horse without another word.

It was a cold trip back, but not because of the snow. Her heart was draining of every bit of warmth. Her elation at seeing him come for her had been the last, cruel twist of the knife, it seemed. A last taste of perfection before Fate ripped happiness from her grasp. The only kindness shown her was the fact that no one seemed to want to look her way.

It was a silent trip back to the castle. Jane slid from the back of the horse as the men ignored her. But she wasn’t willing to let injustice settle on her so easily.

“I did not run away.” She tempered her tone, making a solid attempt at discussing the matter.

Diocail turned to face her, Muir shadowing his laird. His expression was tight.

“How can you believe I did?” she asked him.

“I do nae want to.” Diocail’s temper broke. “For all that it’s true me men employed a fair bit of trickery to see us brought together, the union was a pleasing one. I asked only one thing of ye, Jane, to choose me freely.” He stopped and shook his head. “Aye, well, ye’ve made yer choice clear, and I will no’ ignore it. But ye will have to wait until spring to leave.”

Her eyes grew round as she witnessed the flash of pain in his eyes. Never had she expected to see any weakness in him or to think she could touch such a spot within him.

He was wounded.

Deeply so.

And she was as well. Pain was welling up inside her, threatening to drown her. “You don’t trust my word.”

“Trust?” he bit out. “Ye were given the run of me house! I set ye above every other woman here and told them they’d respect ye or answer to me.”

And he thought she’d rejected him in front of his clan.

“Well, ye can have what ye wish,” he informed her through gritted teeth. “In the spring, I’ll have ye taken south.”

“I did not leave,” she informed him with just as much heat. “Damn you for a fool for thinking I did.”

“It isn’t the first time,” Diocail cut back. “And I’d be a fool to ignore it a second time.”

His men stood watching and listening with expressions that condemned her. Diocail turned and left, and his men went with him without a single word.

She could go after them—name the culprits and force the issue—but she realized that she had yet another thing in common with Diocail.

She wanted him to choose her.

Trust her.

Take her word and never question it.

Set her above the rest of the women? No, he’d tossed her into the fray to see if she would survive.

Well, what did she expect?

Happiness?

Marriage never led to that sort of thing.

Not for her anyway.

This was the reason she had to return to England. More than one noble marriage proved it was impossible to rise above the bad blood between nations. There might be short periods when contentment prevailed, but in the end, the distrust was too strongly rooted in them all. Best to return to her own nation.

Best?

Well, perhaps most fitting was a better way to phrase it.