Seven

The upper chambers were a treasure trove.

Jane might have been reeling from the shock of having Diocail turn his back on her, but she couldn’t completely ignore the beauty of what she found in the bundles. Of course, the reason she was working in the chamber was that no one wanted to see her face. It was harsh, but she enjoyed having the privacy to deal with her own feelings.

Only her mother’s death had ever affected her so deeply.

You haven’t known Diocail long enough to suffer heartache…

And yet when had Fate ever been kind to her? Unfairness was something she should expect. It wasn’t the first time Fate had turned her morning milk sour.

“I thought better of ye.”

Jane blinked, wondering if her sanity had finally broken, and she was hearing voices.

“Staying up here, as though ye do nae expect stubbornness from that man ye’re wed to.” Dolina stepped into the chamber Jane had claimed as her own and looked about. “Ye’ve been in here for a fortnight. Even if ye have made good progress, I know it for what it is. Ye are hiding.”

Dolina had clearly come to take issue with her. Jane fought back a smile because no one bothered with someone they’d dismissed as beneath them.

“The staff made it clear I was not welcome in the kitchen.” Jane took a moment to admire the chamber. “And the men do not care to suffer me in the hall.”

Two weeks later, she was still unable to grasp how completely Diocail and his men had turned from her.

Well, she could treat them with the same disdain, by Christ.

Her temper was poor company though.

Dolina was watching her. “Ye are well suited to him.”

Jane snorted, unable to control the response. Dolina’s lips twitched in victory. “It’s a solid truth, seen it with me own eyes. There is passion between ye.”

“I suggest you keep that opinion to yourself, Dolina,” Jane muttered. “For your laird will not thank you if he hears it.”

Dolina settled her hand on her hip and offered Jane a look full of confidence. “He is certainly no’ the first man displeased by me opinion or by me voicing it. I assure ye, that fact will no’ silence me. Foolishness turns me stomach. It’s one of the finer things about living in the Highlands, being able to tell men when they are being pig-headed.”

Jane smothered a little giggle behind her hand.

“Feels good?” Dolina asked. “To laugh?”

Jane let out a sigh. “Yes. And I do thank you for trying to be kind to me.”

Dolina lifted an eyebrow. “Kind? Have ye forgotten the state of this house? There is naught kind about me coming up here to ask ye to come below. I need the help. Eachna is back to thinking she should run things, and ye know well she can nae make a decision and stick to it. Chaos has taken over as every maid tries her best to do the least for her pay. For all that Eachna likes the idea of leading, even she will welcome ye back if ye get that unruly lot under control.”

Jane let out another giggle.

“No one wanted ye there before, but ye proved yer worth,” Dolina continued. “The women are nae so blind as the men, and I’ve wagered a good silver penny against ye taking in hand those who are bold enough to try ye.”

“A penny, is it?”

Dolina nodded.

“Well, I would not want you to lose that,” Jane answered. She reached over and replaced the rope stopper in the top of the ink well. “And…Dolina. I appreciate you taking me to task over hiding.”

Dolina bestowed a different sort of smile. Jane decided it was the kind of smile that her own mother might have given her when she had made her proud, had her own mother lived long enough.

* * *

“Try me, sir, and you shall regret it.”

Diocail looked up as Jane appeared in the back of the hall. The sight hit him like a blow to his unprotected gut. Her voice set off a jolt of excitement despite how deeply she’d wounded him.

It didn’t seem to matter. No, he still felt something shift inside him at the sight of her, reminding him how hard he’d struggle not to cross paths with her. He couldn’t trust himself not to bend.

As though she was indispensable to his ability to draw breath.

“All of you will heed my rules,” she warned them. “I shall bring this house to order.”

His men weren’t backing down. Two of them spat on the floor right at her feet. Plenty of his people turned to watch, waiting to see what their little English foundling was going to do.

Jane wasn’t daunted. She lifted her hands, and a moment later she’d tossed the contents of a pitcher at the retainer.

“Ye damned bitch!” he roared as he fell back a step in surprise. “That was cold!”

The retainer lifted his hand, intending to slap her.

“Hold.” Diocail’s command echoed down the hall.

His man turned an incredulous look on him. “Did ye see what she did to me? This English strumpet?”

Diocail made it to where Jane was standing firmly in the face of his man’s temper.

“And it will be the least I do to you if I catch you pissing inside the passageway again,” Jane informed the retainer. “This tower reeks because you all treat it like a swine pen.” She shifted her attention to Diocail. “Food is carried through that passageway, and I will not have our skirts stinking because your men are somehow ignorant of where they should relieve themselves.”

Diocail felt his eyebrows rise. Jane nodded once before she turned and went marching back toward the kitchen like a Valkyrie. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he noted several of the women from the kitchen falling into place behind her.

His man started to follow. Diocail blocked him with his arm.

“She is not a strumpet,” Diocail informed his man softly but with the clear ring of warning.

His men didn’t care for him defending her. They glowered at him.

“And she’s correct.” Diocail turned to face them. “This tower reeks.”

“She labeled me a swine. Before all,” his retainer protested. “She needs to be bridled and taught to mind her sharp tongue.”

It was a harsh suggestion. The bridle was a metal cage that locked around a woman’s head, with a tongue plate set into her mouth. A new emotion moved through him, and he realized it was shame because his argument with Jane had granted his men permission to treat her harshly.

A leader needed to be more conscious of what his actions unleashed.

“She spoke the truth, and if ye do nae care for the sound of it, do yer pissing elsewhere,” he informed his men. Muir and Kory were among those listening, and Diocail shot them a hard look. “Ye wanted this place taken in hand. She’s doing it, so ye will mind her when it comes to matters of the housekeeping.”

His comment wasn’t popular. His men shifted and narrowed their eyes before they left. Muir remained and more than one of the retainers looked to him to reason with Diocail over the matter.

“Ye said ye were finished with her.”

“I know what I said,” Diocail snapped back.

However, his words were like a yoke around his neck, dragging him down with their weight, though he wished for nothing more than to be free of them. His pride was a different matter though; it wasn’t yet willing to bend.

Muir offered him a slight shrug. “Aye, well, since she is here, best for her to be of use. At least until ye can send her back to England.”

“Don’t test me.”

Muir offered him an expression of innocence.

“And do nae try that with me either,” Diocail exclaimed. “Ye’re playing again. Meddling in me personal life.”

Muir shook his head. “Ye’re laird. The day ye took that position, the matter of yer marriage became more than a personal one. Ye have position but no’ privacy.”

Diocail bristled, but Muir only sent him a self-assured look before he left.

He’d have a say in who his wife was. And damn it all, he’d have a woman who chose him.

Jane had.

The memory surged up from where he’d locked it away. Diocail watched it flash through his mind, leaving a sting from how hot the need to have her still was inside him. Just one glimpse of her had been enough to rekindle the flame.

Well, that and the way she’d stood there, unwavering, as a man who topped her by several inches threatened to strike her.

Not while he was laird.

The thought flashed through his mind and ignited his temper. Damn the passion between them, and curse her for a fool because she’d left him.

He needed to banish her from his mind. But it seemed that was not the need in which his body was interested. He was being drawn back to the flame, and he didn’t want to resist the pull between them.

* * *

“Good night, mistress.”

Jane froze. She turned and blinked, but it was Eachna who had spoken. More than one of the other maids turned to face her and nodded.

“We’ll get to scrubbing the passageway tomorrow,” Jane said to test them.

“It will be a relief for the senses, to be sure,” Dolina added.

“Aye,” Eachna agreed. “Now that the men are no’ going to be ruining our efforts.”

“Me sons will be learning the error of their ways if they do nae heed the mistress’s rules,” Dolina announced. “We’ve enough to do without cleaning up after them as if they were babes still in skirts.”

There were nods all around and mutters of agreement. Jane was grateful for the dark of night because she felt the unmistakable sting of tears in her eyes.

Acceptance.

Hard-won and worth it because nothing given could ever touch her so deeply.

“Until sunrise,” she said softly before venturing into the passageway. A chill went down her spine, driving away the moment of joy.

She didn’t care to walk alone.

The dark shadows might hold Keefe or another man who wanted her dead, yet the women behind her gave her hope that it would not be so simple for someone to discard her now. The dagger tucked into her belt helped as well.

Jane smiled ruefully as she made her way to the stairs of the tower with all the chambers filled with Colum’s tribute.

“Why are ye going that way, Jane?”

She shrieked and turned to face her company. Diocail cursed as he jumped away from the blade of the dagger. He’d made a miscalculation though, and a thin line of blood appeared on his forearm.

“Christ almighty, woman!” He looked from his forearm to the dagger she held in front of her. “What do ye think ye’re doing turning on me with weapon in hand?”

“I didn’t know it was you.” Her voice betrayed how frightened she was. Her heart was thumping in hard, frantic beats that felt as though they shook her entire body. “It might have been Keefe again.”

Diocail had gone still. She’d seen him stand steady, but this was different. It was a tightening of his body, and she could feel his rage.

“Don’t you dare become angry at me now.”

Jane stuffed the dagger back into its sheath and forced herself to draw in a deep breath because her damned voice was cracking. She would not allow him to hear her break.

He stepped closer. “Ye never uttered that name before.”

He was towering over her, and the darkness of his expression pleased her because at last he was angry on her behalf. Which only infuriated her because she shouldn’t be weak enough to need his protection.

“You dismissed my explanation and never allowed me to give you details,” she replied, fighting to make her tone even.

But she couldn’t stay still. It felt as if she were coming apart at her very seams. Tears were gathering in her eyes, but she was angry!

And she refused to be anything else.

Jane turned and ran up the stairs. She hoisted her skirts out of the way so she might take the steps two at as time. She made it into her chamber and stopped as she drew in breath, certain her heart was going to burst and hoping it would hurry because she wanted to escape the churning emotions welling up inside her that threatened to reduce her to tears.

Diocail caught her by the upper arm and whirled her around to face him. “Ye have no trouble taking me men to task in the hall, woman.”

“And you”—she jabbed her finger into the center of his chest—“have no difficulty telling me I am a liar in front of your men!”

The chamber echoed with the sound of their breathing. It was harsh and raspy as they faced off with one another, teeth bared. He was so powerful, his presence reaching across the space between them as she struggled to think.

Her mind refused, letting go of her desire to think in favor of feeding her need to reach for him. They collided, meeting in the space between them as though some command had moved them both toward each other.

It was an explosive connection, control shattering as she touched him once again. Diocail growled against her mouth as he gripped her nape and claimed her as his possession.

But she kissed him back, rising onto her toes so she could meet him halfway. She wasn’t going to be taken, oh no. Jane sent her own tongue into his mouth to stroke his before she pulled away from him and boldly reached for his belt buckle.

“I am not going to be yours, Diocail Gordon,” she declared as his kilt fell to the floor.

“Ye sure as hell are.” He kicked the fabric across the floor and jerked his doublet off. His cock was already hard, pushing out the front of his shirt.

“No,” she informed him slowly. “You are…going to be…mine.”

She wrapped her fingers around his member before she finished speaking. Her head was tipped back so she could watch his face. He bared his teeth at her, and it filled her with a white-hot confidence.

In that moment, they were evenly matched, and she was eager to reduce him to the rubble he’d left her in. So she slipped to her knees and worked her hand along his length. The skin was satin soft and warm. It delighted her, the sensation of petting him.

The truth was she hadn’t really looked at it the last time. Now she took a long look at his cock, from the crown to the base where his seed sac hung. She teased his staff, stroking him with her fingertips and then closing her hand around its girth to pump her hand up and down it.

“Sweet Christ…” he growled at her. “Where did ye learn that from, woman?”

Satisfaction filled her at the way his voice rasped through his teeth. She’d done that to him. The same way he’d reduced her to a withering mass of uncontrolled need.

Well, not quite in the same manner.

“I learned it from you…” she muttered as an idea formed in her mind.

“Holy Christ!” he exclaimed as she licked his cockhead.

Diocail recoiled from her but backed into the wall. Jane was quick to follow, renewing her grip on his member and closing her mouth around it once more.

He caught a handful of her hair, but she felt him quivering. She teased the ridge that ran around his cockhead with her tongue and heard him curse. But the grip on her hair became one of encouragement. She took it to heart, licking and sucking on his member. There was a slit running along the top of it, and a salty fluid appeared there as she labored. She licked it away and pressed herself forward so that more of his member thrust into her mouth.

Diocail’s hips pressed toward her.

His motions matched her memory of the way she’d bucked beneath his mouth. The way he gasped told her he was in the midst of passion too. She wanted to drive him over the edge while she was the one in command.

She felt the moment approaching, could feel his member hardening to the breaking point. He was driving it toward her, holding her head in place as he neared climax. The room echoed with his growl as his seed spurted into her mouth. It was hot and thick, and she sucked on him harder as she drew it from him.

She left him leaning against the wall, his knees slightly bent as he gasped and shuddered. Jane sat back, watching him. She might well have been on her knees, but he was the one who was conquered. He’d tipped his head back, giving her a look at the corded muscles that ran down his neck.

Exposed. Just as she’d been for him.

They were like two side of a coin, incomplete without the other side. And yet unable to see one another clearly.

“Proud of yerself…”

It wasn’t really a question. Jane absorbed his words as his gaze seemed to pin her in place.

“As much as you were…when…” The look in his eyes made her too breathless to complete her statement.

“When I did the same to ye,” he finished.

Anticipation was flaring inside her, twisting her until she felt as if she might snap, and all the while, she recalled how much she’d enjoyed it when he did take her to that point.

And beyond.

“I enjoyed it.”

He was opening his cuffs, the motion of him pushing the buttons through their holes so very slow. She was almost certain she could feel the time between each of her heartbeats in that moment.

When he finished, she realized her mouth had gone dry. She was mesmerized by the way he straightened up and reached for the hem of his shirt. He found the edge of the garment while keeping his gaze locked with hers and pulled it up and over his head in a powerful motion of arm and shoulders. The shirt fluttered to the floor, off to the side as she drank in the sight of him.

Bare.

Hard.

His member hadn’t slacked. It stood at the ready, as though she’d dreamed draining it.

“Oh aye, I’m right thankful indeed, lass…” He lowered himself to his knees, but there was nothing submissive about it.

She stiffened, feeling as though he were closing in on her, and the glitter in his eyes proved that she wasn’t wrong. He flattened his hand on the floor and crawled toward her as she leaned back.

“Very thankful…” His brogue intensified with his emotions. “Because now…now…I am going to last a very long time between yer thighs.”

It was blunt.

Raw.

And exactly what she craved.

He hooked her thighs and tugged her legs out from beneath her. A cry escaped from her lips as she landed on her backside, the fabric of her skirt and bum roll cushioning the impact as he pulled her legs out straight and slid up between her thighs. But her hip roll pushed her bottom into the air, her spread sex facing the ceiling.

Diocail grinned as he teased her folds with his fingertips. “Do ye want that, Jane?”

She was spread wide, her skirts flipped back as he flashed her a grin of victory. He held her thighs, keeping her pulled against him so his member lay straight across her open sex. She gasped, the sensation ripping through her. The anticipation was going to kill her.

“Do ye want me to ride ye?”

He found her clitoris and rubbed it gently, wringing a cry from her. “Yes!”

Need was threatening to consume her. It was a twisting mass inside her, and she wanted to be flung into its center. “Unless you’re too spent.”

His eyes narrowed at her brazenness. “No’ by half, lass, no’ by half…”

He was leaning over her, his cock delving into her open body. He stretched her, and the feeling was perfect. She didn’t want him gentle. Didn’t want to be submissive.

He plunged into her all the way to the hilt, and she was surging upward, wrapping her arms and thighs around him as she shoved them over. He clasped her against him as he rolled and landed on his back.

“Well, I am not in the mood to be ridden,” she snarled at him from on top. She lifted herself up and plunged back down onto his member with a harsh breath.

“Let us see if ye can stay in the saddle.” He reached up and popped open her bodice. “For I am no gelding.”

He wasn’t. His cock was hard inside her. She lifted herself off him and plunged back down as he tore at the front of her bodice until her breasts were free. They bounced as she moved until he cupped them, brushing her nipples with his thumbs while she controlled their pace.

He shoved at her clothing, rising up to push it down her arms and bare her. His growl mixed with the cry that escaped her, and all the while she rode him, feeling the need to move faster, to come down on him harder.

He found the tie that held her skirts together at her waist and ripped it open, dragging them up and over her head before he was turning them and pressing her down onto her back. Her hip roll lasted only a moment before he was pressing her flat, clasping her wrists above her head as he growled.

“Ye’re mine, Jane…mine, and I am going to have ye…take ye…make ye cry out.”

She didn’t want to escape, but she twisted against his hold. It was some instinct, rooted in the fibers of her being, to rise up against him, somehow proving she was strong enough to be his match, not just his choice.

He enjoyed it.

She witnessed the flash of savage pleasure in his eyes as he moved against her harder. They were both panting, driving one another at a frantic pace. Her heart was near to bursting again as Diocail held her down. She bared her teeth and decided she had never felt more alive.

She did cry out.

The sound echoed around the chamber as she arched and pleasure tore away everything except her husband. Diocail was there with her, pushing her to the very limit her flesh might tolerate as she heard him lose his battle to hold off his own release. He jerked with it, burying himself to the hilt while his seed spilled inside her. There seemed no end to the madness, and she happily surrendered to it. Some things could not be understood. They simply were.

At that moment, she was simply his, and to argue was to deny her own nature. So she didn’t. They collapsed against each other, the night wrapping them in darkness to cradle them.

* * *

He hadn’t slept well since bringing her back.

Diocail opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling as that bit of truth hit him. He was tired, bone weary, but he struggled to fend off sleep because it would deny him the chance to pull Jane close. He needed that much more than rest.

Her breathing was soft against his shoulder now. Both their bodies relaxing, although collapsing was perhaps a truer description. He was spent. And he’d never been more willing to admit it.

He gathered the strength to sit up. There was no bed in the chamber. He spotted the bundle of bedding Jane had clearly been using, and it shamed him.

Still, part of him recognized the spirit she had. She wouldn’t put the staff to the trouble of ensuring her comfort when there was so much to do. She shifted, pulling her knees up as the night air chilled her bare skin. He reached for the bedding, shaking it out before lying it down and gathering her close. He rolled them onto the furs, keeping her close as he covered them.

She opened her eyes, blinking as he settled onto his back. “Go to sleep, Jane. Tomorrow will be time enough for talking.”

She held herself stiff for a moment before the warmth from his body eased her back into sleep. She relaxed against him, her hand resting on his chest.

For the moment, it was everything he’d hoped for.

Of course, in the morning, he was going to have to deal with matters.

* * *

“Mistress… Mistress… Mistress!”

Bari came up the stairs like a hound on the trail of a fox. Someone had made him bathe, and his clothing was clean, but his hair was a wild mass of untamed curls as he skidded to a halt and blinked at the sight of his laird standing with sword in hand and nothing else on.

“Is yer manroot frozen from being naked, Laird? Is that why it is a sin to be unclothed?”

Diocail let out a word that made Jane smack him on the side of his leg from where she was hiding beneath the bedding. He looked down at her. “Ye do nae understand Gaelic.”

“Bari does,” she reprimanded him. “And that needed no translation—your tone was quite telling.”

Bari was grinning and showing off his two missing front teeth. “He said—”

“I know what I said, lad, but the lady does nae, and she is a lady.” Diocail found his shirt and pulled it on. “What has ye coming up here in such a hurry?”

Bari’s expression changed instantly. “The men are…” He looked at Jane and froze, his eyes large and round in his young face.

“Doing what?” Diocail demanded as he pulled his boots on.

“They are…lifting their kilts…doing what the mistress told them no’ to do, and the women in the kitchen are threatening to cut off their…manroots…and…and…oh please, get dressed, mistress!”

Bari looked around the room and found her clothing. He dragged it over to where Jane was peeking at him. “Ye’re too hot under there, mistress,” he exclaimed. “Yer face is all red…”

Diocail choked on his amusement a second before he scooped Bari up and headed for the door. He deposited the boy at the opening and pointed him down the stairs. His kilt was still draped over his arm as he looked back at Jane.

“I’ll deal with the men.”

“I can do very well on my own, thank you.”

Diocail didn’t heed her. No, he closed the door behind him and left.

Well, she’d be a liar if she didn’t admit it was a relief to have something to keep them from being alone now that the sun had risen.

Curse Fate.

Bari’s words rose from her memory, and she threw the covers back. Her temper sizzled as she fought to get into her dress. By the time she found both of her shoes, she was in a full fit. Of course, the Gordon retainers wanted just that.

Jane stopped in the stairwell, contemplating her next move. She drew in a deep breath before descending the last steps as though she didn’t have a care in the world.

Diocail lifted an eyebrow, but his men sent her looks that made it clear they expected no better of her.

“English noble…”

“Sleeping late while others do the work…”

Dolina let out a little growl, and many women standing in the hall nodded agreement.

“The mistress”—Eachna stressed the last word—“works as hard as any of us.”

“The lot of ye should be ashamed,” another woman said.

The scent of fresh urine was strong. Jane lifted her nose and sniffed long and hard. When she finished, Diocail was looking at her with one eyebrow raised, waiting to see what she was going to do.

Part of him was actually looking forward to it.

“It would seem,” she said as she faced the kitchen staff, “that the men…” Jane fluttered her eyelashes. “Our lords and masters…” There was grumbling as she made the statement. “Prefer filth to hot meals on the tables.”

Understanding began to dawn on the women. The men had been puffed up with pride, intent on their course of action. A few began to follow her thinking, and they didn’t care for the conclusion they arrived at.

“To carry food through filth would be very careless of us…” Jane smiled at the men.

“Aye,” Dolina stepped up. “Someone could take ill.”

“Be a terrible thing for us to be responsible for,” another woman added.

“So,” Jane stopped in front of Diocail and lowered herself. “We will not bother any of your men with our efforts to make this a fine home. For you all…” She sent a glance around the clustered group. “Have made it very clear that you prefer…rough conditions.”

She straightened and shot the men a firm look before turning and disappearing into the kitchen. The women followed her.

Valkyrie.

Diocail stood and watched Jane go, enjoying the way she held her chin steady.

“What is that supposed to mean?” one of the men demanded.

“It means,” Kory bellowed at the man who’d spoken, “we’re no’ getting anything to eat on account of yer behavior.”

The men broke into curses and complaints. One of them pointed at Diocail.

“Take yer wife in hand.”

The boldness of that demand sent silence through the men as Diocail turned to face the perpetrator. His retainers waited to see if the insubordination would be tolerated.

“Was this yer idea?” he asked softly. “This display of yer…what exactly is it, man? Truth be told, I can nae imagine why any of ye thought pissing inside yer own hall in the dead of winter was a grand idea.”

“She was disrespectful yesterday.” The man nodded. “Needed a lesson.” He sniffed. “Like the one ye gave her, showing her who her master is.” He made a vulgar motion with his hips.

Diocail felt his temper heating, but Kory snorted and pointed at the men. “Ye need to learn that it is always wise to keep the cook happy!”

Muir let out a chuckle. “Aye. We’ll all be learning how important that one is now. The tables are going to be bare until the women are happy, make no mistake about it.”

“But…they have to cook.” The man still wasn’t ready to admit defeat. “I’ll get the priest on them.”

Diocail grunted. “Shut yer jaw, man. Keep on like that, and ye’ll be sorry when they serve up something that will tear yer insides up. I am no’ so great a fool as to turn a blind eye to the improvements me wife has brought to this hall.”

“She ran from ye.”

Diocail slowly smiled. “That’s part of the fun.”

Damned if he didn’t enjoy the sound of that a bit too much as Muir sent him a questioning look. Diocail took a moment to sweep his men with a hard glance. “I suggest ye all get to scrubbing that passageway. I doubt ye’ll be eating another hot meal until it’s clean and as sweet-smelling as a spring meadow.”

Narrow-eyed looks were cast at the ringleaders. It became clear who they were as the main body of the men broke away, moving off to begin cleaning the passageway.

“Part of the fun?” Muir questioned Diocail softly.

Diocail sent his captain a hard look. “Bring Kory, Aylin, and Niven.”

His men were quick to join him in the room that served as his private study. The room was off to the back of the hall and still filled with Colum’s things. Only the long table that served as a desk had been cleared off as Diocail began the process of bringing the contracts and books to order. There was a pile of messages stacked in one corner large enough to knock him flat if it fell. He suspected some of the letters might be older than he was himself. But there were more pressing matters.

“Jane named Keefe as the man who abducted her.”

There was a stiffening of his men. The others who had claims to the lairdship were well known because Diocail was no fool. He’d keep his friends near and his enemies closer still.

“Are ye saying ye believe the lass now?” Aylin asked.

Diocail felt the sting of guilt burning a hole in his gut as he nodded. “I am no’ certain of anything except there is no reason for her to know that name or to think he might have reason to harm her. Preventing me from having an heir would be something Keefe would be very interested in doing if he still had his eye set on me position.”

“Unless she’s been getting the women in the kitchen to talk,” Muir countered. “Now that they’ve accepted her, she might well have learned who the other bloodline relatives are.”

“Aye,” Diocail replied. “I thought of that as well.” He held up his forearm. “She turned on me with a drawn dagger when she did nae know it was me in the dark.”

His men looked from the thin line of dried blood back to his face.

“So,” he continued. “I think I’d be a fool to dismiss the fact that she might have been telling the truth. It is no’ in Jane’s nature to strike out like that, and she was frightened. I saw it clearly, and it shamed me to know she feels that way inside this tower.”

That made them shift. Guilt was making the rounds through them all, for none had spoken a kind word to her since they’d returned.

“If ye take a moment to think it through,” Muir began, “that business at the mill was suspicious.”

Diocail grunted. “Aye, she said she had a goose egg on the back of her head.”

“And ye dismissed that?” Niven asked incuriously.

Kory elbowed him. “Ye didn’t think to ask how she ended in the water either.”

“None of us did,” Aylin admitted disgustedly. “To my shame, it never crossed me mind to question the incident.”

“Which would make this two matters, and if we take the lass at her word, that means we’ve been negligent,” Muir said.

Diocail nodded. “She needs looking after, but we still need to know what is truth and what is nae.” He locked gazes with Muir. “Keep it quiet. If Keefe is trying to get rid of her, I need to catch him with the evidence to make it plain to the rest of the clan. For her sake more than me own.”

His men nodded and tugged on the corner of their caps. Their support brought him a measure of relief, but the tension between his shoulders persisted.

The reason was simple.

He wanted her.

Uncertainty was smoldering inside him, and the problem was he wasn’t sure if it was going to die out or erupt into flames. He wanted it to die. Wanted to be able to move past his injured feelings and go forward, but he didn’t think he would ever banish her from his mind.

Or his heart.

* * *

Her bedding was missing when she made it to her chamber that night.

Jane blinked once she finished barring the chamber door and took in the bed set up in place of the spot where she’d been sleeping. It was quite the sight for sore eyes. No gold-and-gem bit of finery would have pleased her more.

She smiled as she moved toward it, reaching out slowly to stroke the thick bedding spread out over soft sheeting. A pair of plump pillows waited for her head as the scent of rosemary assured her it was clean.

“I am glad to see it pleases ye.”

She wasn’t as startled by Diocail as she’d been the night before. The truth was he’d been in her thoughts for most of the day, so it was simply fitting to have his voice come out of the darkness. He moved away from one of the far walls.

“Ye might have directed the staff to see to the matter before now,” he said.

Jane looked back at the bed, feeling a blush stain her cheeks. She had felt as if the steps leading up to her chamber were almost impossible to mount because of how tired she was, but now her body was warming at his appearance.

“Say what ye are thinking, lass.”

This was the side of his nature she had no defense against: the man who had moved his men away so she might bathe and spoken so frankly about why they had to wed. She shifted away from him.

He let out a soft grunt. “I see I have made a grave tactical error in no’ directing the staff to put this bed against a wall.”

Understanding dawned on Jane, making her giggle softly. He raised an eyebrow as he sent her a look across the bed. “So it amuses ye to think of me chasing ye around the bed?”

“You would be disappointed if I simply flopped down in the middle of it and assumed a submissive position to perform my wifely duties.”

So very brazen…and it pleased her to the core to know she didn’t have any intention of simpering with him.

Diocail’s eyes flashed with enjoyment. Hard, male enjoyment.

“Let’s not be hasty now.” He braced his hands on the side of the bed. “Ye have no’ ever tried…flopping down on a bed…perhaps we might give it a go-round—”

“It would serve you right if I did exactly that.” She was being tart once more, but he could leave if she displeased him.

Instead, his lips twitched, forming that grin that she seemed to enjoy so very much. It was only a fleeting moment though before his expression hardened. “Are ye barring that door against me?”

“No,” she snapped.

The flare of temper disgusted her, and she shook her head. “Please go. I do not want to argue with you.”

He offered her a soft grunt. He’d straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest while considering her across the expanse of the bed.

“Perhaps we might settle this matter,” he began.

“I’m not certain what you are talking about.”

He came around the bed. Standing in place took more discipline than it should have, but it seemed she forgot just how large he was. Sensation rippled across her skin. He stopped only a pace from her, and her heart started to accelerate.

“We wed under difficult circumstances,” he began.

Jane nodded.

Her response pleased him. She found it touched her deeply to see it flash through his eyes. Brown eyes.

Warm, secure, strong. She didn’t understand why she lamented the fact that she hadn’t been able to stare into his eyes lately; all she knew was that she had missed doing so.

“So.” He reached out and stroked her face. “Last night…”

She quivered, the connection of their skin setting off a reaction he felt as well. He paused, his eyes narrowing while he teased the surface of her lips with the tip of his finger.

Delicious…

His touch was simply more pleasing than any sensation she had ever experienced in life.

“Last night,” he repeated, clearly intent on finishing what he wanted to say. “Well…it proved we’ve a fine foundation for this union. More than most couples discover once the vows are spoken and the sheets turned back.”

Her cheeks were stinging, and she fluttered her eyelashes, but she was also smiling, reveling in the truth of his words. Oh, how she knew that truth!

“Trust is more important than passion,” she muttered, hating the way the words sounded because she knew they were so very true.

His expression tightened. But he fought to temper it.

“I can forgive ye, Jane.” These were difficult words for him to say. She watched the way his jaw was clenched as he forced them out. “Ye have been raised to fear me.”

He was offering excuses…and she didn’t want them.

“I did not lie.”

His expression darkened with disapproval.

She stiffened, withdrawing a step so his hand wasn’t in contact with her face. She needed that space so that she might think clearly. But he came after her.

“Do not,” she warned him. The hand she lifted between them was not going to stop him if he decided to press the matter. “I cannot think when you touch me.”

His lips twitched.

So arrogant. And yet it sent a jolt of excitement through her.

“Ye tempt me to forget everything in favor of putting me hands back on ye.”

It was an admission that echoed the same need she was trying so hard to clamp down inside of herself. “Well, we’ve never shared a bed before.”

And maybe it would be a terrible thing to waste the moment. Brenda Grant’s words rose once more from her memory to tease her with the opportunity at hand. What made Jane reach for the tie holding her cleavage was the fact that she very much feared those words could also haunt her.

Diocail’s eyes narrowed as her fingers dipped into the valley of her cleavage. She popped open the knot and slowly began to tug the loosened lace through the eyelets running down the front of her bodice. The plain clothing suited her perfectly right then because she was certain no fancy dress could have put quite the same look on Diocail’s face.

At that moment, he was mesmerized. By her.

Which made her breathless and giddy and stoked something deeper inside her. It was that same part of her personality he seemed to unleash. There was so much left unsettled between them, and yet, at that moment, the only thing she cared about was the glow brightening his eyes.

The night air brushed her breasts through the open front of her partlet shift. It opened down the front like a shirt. The edges gapped with her motions, exposing a strip of bare flesh.

“Christ almighty, if this is bewitchment, I will do yer bidding gladly.”

His tone was husky, and it sent heat surging through her body. Opening her waistband was a necessity because her clothing felt too tight.

And warm.

She let out a little contented sound as her skirts and hip roll slid down her legs to puddle around her ankles. She was left in her shift, exposed to his keen gaze. Diocail took a long moment to sweep her from head to toe.

“Now watch me…”

His tone was commanding but edged with need. She obeyed willingly, without a care for how submissive it might seem. She craved the sight of him. Watching him bare his body for her fanned the flames of her desire. His kilt was easily shed, and his shirt didn’t take much more attention. She drank in the sight of him, boldly staring at his cock.

“No’ just yet.”

She lifted her attention to his face. It was drawn tight, demand flickering in his eyes.

“Turn around, Jane.”

She didn’t want to comply. He knew it, reaching out to cup her far shoulder and turn her. The shift of power between them left her neck tight.

“Last night…ye took me…” His breath teased her ear, and then he was kissing the side of her neck.

She shuddered, a soft, breathless sound filling the chamber.

“You enjoyed it.”

He chuckled in response. “I did, but tonight ye’ll wait for me…” He stroked the other side of her neck with one fingertip. “And enjoy knowing that I am contemplating where to touch ye next.”

She shuddered, drawing a chuckle from him that was very male and arrogant enough to have her turning to face him. He clasped his arms around her, binding her against his body instead.

“Diocail.”

“I admitted enjoying ye taking me.” He leaned down and bit her softly on the side of her neck. “Tonight ye are going to admit ye like it very much when I claim ye.”

She wiggled against his hold, not because she truly desired freedom but because she simply had to touch him. Her craving for him was too sharp, too insistent. Desperation was clawing at her insides, and nothing mattered except gaining satisfaction.

“Get on with it,” she growled.

He let out a sound very close to a snarl. “With pleasure.” He turned her toward the bed.

He pressed her hands down onto the soft bedding as he gripped her hips. The head of his cock teased the folds of her sex from behind as he thrust forward.

It was a hard possession. The bed shook as Diocail rode her from behind with deep thrusts. She was leaning over the bed, her weight braced on her hands as she lifted her bottom for each new plunge. It was what she craved, and it took over her mind, shattering her thoughts as instinct and need controlled her completely.

But she peaked too quickly. Her cry was long and thin, a combination of pleasure and lamentation for how easily they both were spent.

“More…” He rasped next to her ear. “That was nae enough…”

He scooped her up and deposited her in the bed. Still reeling, Jane rolled over, sighing as the bed ropes took her weight and she settled onto the soft surface. She heard him unlacing his boots. Recognized the sound in some part of her brain that wasn’t still absorbed by the glow of satisfaction.

“I want…so much more…”

The bed rocked as he crawled onto it and pushed the bedding aside to cradle her. He was searching through her hair, seeking the pins that held her locks to the back of her head. Somehow, it was more intimate than anything else they had done.

More like the secret things she thought lovers might do in the dark hours of the night.

Those things you’ve never experienced…

And now, nothing was going to stop her from experiencing intimacy. Not logic, not reality.

Jane sat up, her back to him as he worked to free her hair. The single candle she’d brought with her was burning on the stand next to the door, its golden light just reaching them.

“I wanted to touch this…the night I carried ye to the fire to dry it.” He combed his fingers through her newly freed tresses, sending a deep ripple of enjoyment through her. “I believe I was as close to acting the savage ye English believe me to be as I ever have been that night.”

“You jest.” She arched her neck back as he grabbed a handful of her hair.

He tightened his grip, giving her a taste of his strength as he bound her to him with a solid arm around her waist. “No. Ye test me in ways I do nae care to admit.”

Leaning back against him, she noticed all the details that were different between their bodies. His chest was covered in crisp hair that tickled her back, and he was wider than she, making it so comfortable to lean against him. He’d settled onto his haunches again, his knees on either side of her as he cupped her breasts, and she watched while he teased her nipples into tight peaks.

“I hear the king has a wall of mirrors in his palace…”

Diocail slid his hand across her belly and lower, to where curls decorated her mons. “I’d like to have a mirror…right in front of us…tonight…”

She drew in a ragged breath as she imagined what it would be like to see themselves as they were. “I’m sure that would be…sinful.”

“Are we no’ made in the image of our creator?”

She choked on a round of snickers. “Oh Christ, Diocail!” She couldn’t stop laughing and ended up doubled over as she chuckled.

“You, sir…” She struggled to not sound breathless. “Are going to land us both in the stocks.”

“It would be worth it.” He muttered against her ear as he sent his fingers into the folds of her sex. She was still wet from their coupling. His movement should have made her shift away, but he found her little pearl, and she gasped. “I want to watch ye…as I build yer passion…”

His was rekindling as well. Between them, she could feel the length of his member hardening. It was a promise he’d satisfy the need he was stroking with his fingers. Her heart accelerated as her breathing became little gasps.

“We’re no’ going to rush this time…” He held her still, all the while teasing and worrying her little clitoris. She was so wet she could hear it while he fingered her. He was driving her toward a peak. She felt it twisting inside her belly, the throbbing intensifying.

“I want to ride you, Diocail!” She was torn between demand and begging, struggling against his hold as he released her and she turned to face him.

He cupped the back of her head, kissing her as hard and deeply as she craved. And the other thing she needed was there too, all she needed to do was claim him.

He cupped her hips as she climbed onto him, her thighs opening to spread around his lean hips while he held her weight and settled her onto his length. It completed the moment. She kissed him back, teasing his tongue with her own before she began to lift and plunge back down.

There wasn’t a hurry.

No, they were exactly where they both needed to be. This time, she rode him long and at a steady pace while he gripped her hair, and she watched the need flickering in his eyes. It might have lasted for hours; Jane had no idea. She’d never been so close to someone. It defied definition and thought.

It simply was, and when the wave crested over them, she collapsed into the glow of satisfaction with complete submission.

* * *

“What does yer sister write?” Phelan demanded.

Keefe sent him a hard look. “I can nae read any more than ye can. Me sister was taught by one of the nuns, and the woman did nae allow boys into the convent.”

They both looked across the tavern common room at Sheehan as he made his way about asking for someone willing to read. Keefe toyed with the edge of the letter as he watched his man. Luck finally favored them. Sheehan held up a coin, and the man in front of him nodded agreement.

Sheehan kept a firm grip on the money as he led the man back toward them. Keefe held the letter tight. “Ye are far from home, Gunn.”

The man settled on a bench and eyed him. “It’s barely started to snow. Ye sound soft.”

The woman serving the ale came near, reaching out to place a mug in front of the Gunn retainer. He flashed her a grin that earned him an appraising look from the woman.

“But I do like some…soft things,” he informed Keefe when he returned his attention to him.

Keefe held out the letter. The man took it and broke the seal.

* * *

“What manner of business was that?” Bothan Gunn asked as Maddox returned.

“The sort that would make me mother proud,” Maddox answered as he straddled a bench. He held up the coin and flipped it into the air before catching it and tucking it into a pocket on the inside of his jerkin. “And me belly as well, for it will buy me some fine supper on the morrow.”

“As if I do nae feed ye well enough,” Bothan groused.

Maddox feigned shock. “Well now…me laird…I meant no…disrespect!”

Bothan kicked him in the shin, causing Maddox to chuckle. He reached into the center of the table where the remains of their supper lay and selected a section of the broken bread. “Ye see…” He bit off a chunk and chewed it with a good-natured look on his face. “There are appetites ye provide for and then…well, other hungers I like to feed.”

Maddox cast a longing look at the tavern wench.

“Ye mean ye have to pay for that?”

It was Maddox’s turn to do some kicking. Bothan sent his man a grin. “Sorry to hear of yer lack of luck, me friend. Indeed I am. So ye read to earn yer…tumbles.”

The other Gunn retainers gained a good chuckle at Maddox’s expense. The captain took the teasing in stride, smirking. “It beats being virgins such as the lot of ye.”

The last of the supper was finished off before Bothan spoke again. “What is the news from Gordon land?”

Maddox shrugged, uninterested. At least he was until his fellow retainers leaned forward, looking to him for a bit of entertainment. It was slim pickings in the tavern. An old man with an eye patch was jabbering on about how he’d lost the eye in the vain hope someone would fill his cup. But it was the posted sign against gaming that ensured everyone was going to have a dull evening. The tavern owner was keeping a sharp eye on his customers with a large club hanging from his belt to enforce his rules. Gaming turned ugly too often for his taste, it would appear.

Maddox leaned over the table. “Seems the new mistress of the Gordon clan has returned home.”

“Aye, I saw her and Diocail at the festival,” Bothan remarked.

“It seems this is a second time she has returned, and in disgrace, no less. The lass ran away, and Diocail had to fetch her so she would nae freeze. He’s vowed to send her back to her father in the spring.”

That gained a raised eyebrow from Bothan.

Bothan cast a glance toward the Gordon retainers. They were nearly touching noses they were clustered in so tight. The letter was open on the table between them, and a blind man wouldn’t have missed how pleased the news written on the parchment made them.

Which made him suspicious. He was going to make sure he rode across Gordon land on his way north.

* * *

“She’s seen our faces.”

Keefe snorted, making it clear he wasn’t interested in Sheehan’s warnings. “But the laird does nae believe she was forced to leave.”

Sheehan cocked his head to the side. “We ride into the yard, and it’s likely to bring the whole matter up for discussion. More than one man will question just where we have been.”

“That fool woman has let half the clan into the towers,” Keefe declared. “All I have to do is wait until nightfall, and then I’ll slit her throat. Even if the laird suspects something, he’ll have no way to prove anything.”

“That will no’ gain ye the lairdship,” Phelan pointed out.

“It will keep her English father from ruling us through her son,” Keefe declared. “Ye heard what me sister wrote. The laird is seeking her out, even though he called her a liar. She is bewitching him, and let us no’ forget that her last husband ended up dead at the hands of a mob. Who’s to say she did no’ play a part in it? Maybe that is the true reason those same townsfolk tried to hang her.”

They were hard facts to ignore. Keefe watched Sheehan and Phelan bend beneath them. They nodded and followed him into the stables.

* * *

“We did nae finish speaking last night.”

Jane turned around with the bar in her hands to discover Diocail pulling his shirt on. The man she’d woken up to holding her securely against his body was now stern-faced.

Yes, the morning light was as sharp as always.

She set the bar against the wall and gathered her courage. “It might be best if we do not raise that topic.” Jane looked straight at him.

He’d sat down to pull on his boots. He tightened each one above his knee with the aid of a small buckle before he drew in a deep breath and stood.

“I can forgive, Jane.”

They were hard words for him to speak. She recognized the effort, felt the temptation to allow him his way in the interest of keeping the happiness she felt when he was there with her.

“I did not leave you.” She forced the words out. “And I will not build a life with you on lies.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt as his jaw tightened. “Would ye prefer I simply keep ye? Behave as the savage ye believe Highlanders to be?”

“I never called you such a thing,” she defended herself. “You judge me harshly.”

“And ye clearly believe I am a fool,” he argued. “Ye have been the one demanding an annulment.”

She drew in a breath, hoping to calm herself. “I did ask for one.”

“More than once.”

And he was a proud man.

“I meant no injury to you, Diocail.” She opened her hands as she sought the right words. “I judged you by the actions of my last husband. You are nothing like him. I know that now. Our union happened so quickly that I acted in haste. Forgive me for that.”

His stern expression softened. She watched the pleasure flash in his eyes. He moved toward her, granting her hope. A resolution might indeed be theirs.

“Aye, I do.” He reached out and stroked her cheek. “Promise me ye will nae leave me again.”

She stiffened, withdrawing so his hand was no longer in contact with her skin. “So I am to offer you my trust, and you deny me yours?”

His jaw was tight again, confirming she was correct.

“I asked ye for yer word, Jane.”

“Because you believe I lied to you,” she countered. “I might have asked for an annulment, but I never called you a liar in front of others.”

“This is no’ about anyone except us,” he exclaimed. “When I close me eyes at night and rest beside ye, I will know ye do nae plan to slit me throat.”

Jane wanted to argue with him. It would have been a relief to feel her temper rising. Instead, what filled her was a cold certainty that he did not trust her, and that distrust ran so deeply in him there would be no changing it. That unbendable part of him was now the wall separating them.

“I did not leave you,” she muttered softly. “And I will not welcome you back to my bed so long as you cannot accept my word. You are not the only one who wishes to close their eyes and trust the one they sleep next to.”

Henry would have laughed at her for such words or slapped her for the impertinence. The wife was chattel, the husband her master. She backed away from the horror of knowing Diocail could do as he wished with her.

But what sent tears into her eyes was the fact that she’d tasted something with him that had made her believe happiness might be hers.

No, it was fleeting. Touching her only long enough to make certain she noticed the lack of it when it departed. She dashed into the stairwell to keep him from seeing her cry.

Ah…Fate.

How could she have forgotten the sharp edges? Today she felt the cut even more deeply because this time her heart was laid bare.

Love truly was the torment so often written about in plays that ended in death. No slice through her flesh would have hurt her as badly, no, not even if her arm were cleaved clean off. Love was the cruelest weapon of all, for it broke her heart in two, but left her drawing breath so she might suffer the agony.

She had the distinct feeling it would indeed last for a lifetime.

* * *

“So, ye love him.”

Jane looked up and found Dolina watching her.

“I did not say—”

Dolina waved the towel she was holding in the air between them. “It’s written on yer face.”

There was a pair of giggles from two maids working at the long table in the kitchen. In fact, Jane made a full turn and realized the only person in the kitchen who looked unaware of what was going on was Dolina’s young son, who was turning the meat in the hearth.

The strangest sensation went through her. As though she was relieved. And she realized she was indeed happy to know the matter was out in the open.

“The next thing ye are going to say is that it matters naught,” Dolina continued. “I will save ye the breath. It’s written on yer face, and the laird is, well…” There was more laughter, only this time it was a mature sort of amusement. “The laird is smitten with ye.”

“He thinks I am a liar.”

Dolina pursed her lips. “Men,” she began, “have more pride than is healthy.”

Eachna snorted.

“I hear yer mother died young,” Dolina said.

Jane nodded. “Childbed fever.”

Dolina nodded slowly. “Well, if she were here, she’d have taught ye a few things about the nature of a man. Since she is no’, it falls to me, for I…we…can nae have ye bending so easily. The men around here already have too many ideas about how much coddling they should receive from us.”

Brenda Grant suddenly came to mind as Jane dusted her hands on her apron and discovered several women moving in close with amusement glittering in their eyes.

She was nearly giddy as they leaned in and began giving their advice. It wasn’t the fact that they were helping her find a path toward resolving her issues with Diocail that pleased her so much. No, it was the acceptance she’d won all on her own. And she would not be giving that up.

Diocail would be the one to adjust his thinking.

* * *

“Did ye have a change of heart, lad?” Sheehan asked.

Keefe grunted and grabbed a round of bread from the center of the table, breaking it before answering. “The door was barred,” he grunted as he chewed.

“Why would it be barred?” Phelan asked.

“Simple,” Keefe said. He looked around and lowered his voice. “I told ye already, she’s bewitching him. Luring him into her bed and doing…”

“Doing what?” Sheehan pressed him for details.

Keefe opened his hands between them. “As if I know anything about dark arts.” He stabbed a piece of cheese with his knife and brought it close to his lips. “But I will say this. The door was barred, so she must have wanted to hide something. All the more reason why we need to be rid of her for good. Ye wait and see, next season the crops will fail on account of that English witch.”

* * *

“Looks as though Bothan Gunn has gotten caught in the snow.”

Diocail looked up as Muir popped his head over the edge of the roof he was working on.

“He’s waiting outside the gate.”

Diocail followed Muir down the ladder and into the yard. Bothan had let his beard grow and looked a lot like a bear making ready for winter. He was wearing a full sheepskin down his back with the fleece facing up to protect him from the falling snow. There were strips of that fleece wrapped around his horse’s legs too.

That made Diocail frown.

Bothan was ready to travel. Something else had prompted the man to stop.

Diocail lifted his hand and waved Bothan forward. “What has ye stopping?”

Bothan tilted his head to one side. “Am I no’ welcome? It’s snowing.”

Diocail sent him a hard look. “And ye are dressed to ride north. Do nae forget, I was raised at Sutherland. This”—he pointed at the fresh covering of white snow—“is no’ really deep enough to be called snow. No’ by ye anyhow.”

Bothan offered him a knowing chuckle. “I knew there was something I liked about ye, Diocail Gordon.”

“Come inside,” Diocail offered. “Yer gilly looks hungry.”

The younger boy assigned to Bothan as his personal gilly bristled under the comment. He was determined to be every bit as tough as the men he rode with. Of course, that was why Diocail chose the lad to make the comment about—his skin wouldn’t thicken without a few jabs.

It was the way boys became men.

It was the way of survival.

* * *

“Do all witches bar their doors?”

Muir turned around and found young Bari standing near him. “What are ye doing asking a question like that, lad?”

Bari didn’t look at the captain but watched Diocail as he and Bothan Gunn walked toward the hall. “Is the laird bewitched because the mistress is English, or is it on account of him going to her bed?” the youngster asked. “Is it sinful to seek out the company of women?”

“Who have ye been listening to?” Muir managed at last, confounded by the child’s questions.

“A retainer…I only saw his plaid…he said the mistress barred the door to her chamber so she could practice…dark arts with the laird.”

Muir went still, and Kory moved closer. Bari looked between the two men, trying to decide if he’d done something wrong. He lowered his chin and rolled his lower lip in.

Muir was suddenly there on a knee so he was at eye level with Bari. “When did ye hear that being said?”

“Where did this happen?” Kory demanded.

Muir held up a finger to quiet his fellow retainer.

“Ye’ve done naught wrong.” Muir assured Bari. “Telling the truth is no’ wrong.”

Bari nodded, letting out a sigh of relief. “I was no’ spying…at least, I was no’ trying to listen in. Me mother always did say that I should no’ be hiding inside the house when she and me father were talking about things me ears did nae need to be hearing.”

“Yes,” Muir agreed. “But tell me again what ye heard.”

“Where were ye, lad?” Kory asked.

“In the hall,” Bari answered. “One of the hounds has a litter of pups. I was under the table with them, and that is when I heard…one of them asking the first man if he’d had a change of heart.”

“About what?” Kory demanded.

Muir shoved him. “Ye’re confusing the lad. I’ll ask the questions.”

“That is all I heard,” Bari said in a rush. “They left after that, saying the crops would fail if they did nae deal with the English witch. Are they going to hurt the mistress?”

“No.” Muir stood and rubbed the top of Bari’s head. “We’ll not be allowing harm to come to her.”

“I don’t think she looks much like a witch,” Bari continued.

“That’s because she is no such thing,” Kory informed the child.

“Then why is she barring her chamber door?” The child’s curiosity wasn’t satisfied.

“Because we’re a bunch of fools,” Muir muttered, shooting Niven a hard look. “Find her and do nae leave her unattended.”

Niven nodded, and Bari made to escape from the two men because it seemed as if they were angry.

“Oh, no, lad.” Muir grasped him by his small shoulder. “I need ye to come with me.”

“Have I chattered?”

Muir smiled at the boy as he started after Diocail. “Ye’ve done good, lad. Very good indeed.”

Bari smiled, but he was soon back to rolling his lower lip in as his laird glared down at him, clearly displeased by what he had to say. Chief Gunn wasn’t any more pleased and looked as though he just might reach out and send Bari sprawling with one of his huge hands.

“Well done, lad…”

Bari looked at his laird, baffled by the words of praise compared with the dark look on his face. Perhaps he’d understand when he was older. His mother had said as much many times. He just wished he knew when exactly he would be older.

* * *

“I’ve been a fool.” Diocail didn’t much care who heard him either.

“Ye were no’ alone in that,” Muir said quietly.

Diocail locked gazes with his captain. “Someone is watching her?”

Muir nodded. “Niven.”

“We needs find them.” Diocail wasn’t comforted by the knowledge. “The lad does nae know the danger he’s in.”

“I’ll go looking for Keefe,” Bothan added. “I know what he looks like, and he will nae be keeping an eye out for me.”

Diocail nodded, his mind on Jane. A quick glance around the hall confirmed she wasn’t anywhere in sight.

He prayed to God he wasn’t too late.

* * *

Dolina stepped back and admired the mirror they had just brought up the stairs. She cut a look over to Jane. “I knew there was a reason I liked ye.”

Eachna nodded. “I certainly never thought to see the men scrubbing the passageway.”

Jane looked around the chamber where Diocail slept. The laird’s personal rooms took up the entire top floor of the second tower. Once inside, you could see every direction from the windows. Which was likely a good thing because the filth inside was astounding, inches thick in places.

Eachna was struggling to remove the canopy covering the master bed.

“Niven, could you please help?” Jane asked.

The retainer was hovering outside the chamber door, likely to make certain she wasn’t taking her spite out on Diocail’s personal things. Jane looked back to see if he was going to ignore her. Instead he reached up and tugged on the corner of his bonnet.

The respectful gesture stunned her, and she stood frozen for a moment as he went over to look at the canopy. “I’ll fetch a few of the lads to help me.”

He was gone a moment later, giving Jane a moment to admire the huge mirror they’d brought into the chamber. It was five feet high and mounted in an ornately carved frame. One of the treasures Colum had received at some point and left in the other tower.

Jane smiled at it and the reflection it showed of the bed. Diocail claimed he enjoyed her spirit? Well, she was going to put that to the test.

“Ye are going to make me blush,” Dolina exclaimed with a mocking, fanning motion of her hand.

“Doubtful,” Jane answered. “Considering you were the one to advise me to stop allowing my husband to think he knows everything.”

Husband…

It sounded right, more than right, really.

It seemed almost perfect. Jane was looking forward to making the stubborn Scot apologize to her for thinking her a liar.

He might not do it…

She drew in a stiff breath and refused to listen to the part of her that said he might refuse. Good fortune often came to those who worked hard for it. She fully intended to be rewarded for her tenacity.

Niven returned with Aylin and two others. They tugged on the corners of their caps as they entered. Niven directed them, and within moments they had the entire canopy removed.

“Ye have the right idea, mistress,” Aylin remarked as they all got a look at what had accumulated on top of the canopy. Jane shuddered as she caught sight of at least two long-dead mice.

“Best we take that down to the yard…” Dolina muttered.

She and Eachna began to guide the men toward the stairs. They bumped against the walls, the wooden frame making scraping sounds as they made their way down, and Jane laughed.

There was a sense of satisfaction filling her as she realized she was taking charge of the house. Her house.

“I’ve been looking high and low for ye, Jane.”

Diocail was suddenly there, his voice awaking flutters in her belly.

Anticipation.

Doubt.

She decided she was going to hold tight to the first one as he came across the chamber toward her. They had always reacted to each other, and today she enjoyed the sensation, intent on making sure she had years to experience it.

“I am taking the house in hand,” she informed him. “If you had seen the top of that canopy, you would be grateful.”

Her words confused him for some reason. He seemed to shake out of whatever had sent him looking for her. “I am no’ the one who asked for an annulment.”

He was exasperated with her, and she decided it was the most welcome sound she’d ever heard. She stuck her finger into the center of his chest as she stepped up close. “I am not the one who doubted your word. But…I can forgive too.”

His eyes lit. She watched the elation brighten his face as his hands tightened on her elbows.

“Jane…”

She was intent on his eyes but heard the impact of something on the back of his skull. He staggered toward her, his hands tightening to a painful grip as he fell onto her. She collapsed under his weight, struggling to escape from beneath him before he smothered her. But gaining her freedom didn’t bring her any relief.

“Luck is with me today…” Keefe announced in a soft voice. “Ye should have gone back to England, bitch, for I will no’ have ye on Gordon land, much less as mistress of this tower.”

He’d used the heavy pommel of his dagger to knock Diocail on the back of the head and was now turning the point on her.

She should have been afraid. Instead, she was furious to see Diocail injured, and the need to retaliate rose inside her.

“Do you truly believe no one will question our murder?” She was against the wall, her hands flattened on the stone.

Keefe slowly grinned. “Let them. I will tell one and all that the laird saw ye for what ye are at last and ran ye through.”

Jane inched along the wall. Keefe glanced back at Diocail, and she might have taken that moment to escape, but she couldn’t leave Diocail.

“You don’t believe he should be laird.”

Keefe snapped his attention to her. She slipped another few inches along the wall now that he was focused on her. Anger flickered in his eyes as he stepped toward her.

“He…is no true Gordon.” Keefe was following her, intent on making her see his point. “No’ that I’d ever expect an Englishwoman to understand the way it is in the Highlands.”

“I understand bloodlines.” Jane eased further from Diocail’s crumpled form. “Is that why you took me away?”

Keefe’s lips twisted into a sneer, and he pointed the dagger at her. “Admit ye plan to use yer son to rule this clan.”

“I have no son.”

“Ye have nae bled since coming to this tower.”

Her focus had been solely on gaining as much distance between Diocail and herself, but Keefe’s words distracted her. “That does not mean—”

“Everyone knows what it means,” Keefe hissed as he rushed her. The tip of the dagger was against her neck, its point slicing into the delicate surface of her skin. “We are nae fools, English! There are those among the laundresses who do nae care for yer plans to rule us any more than I do. They wash yer linens and tell me ye have not bled…” He looked down at where the point of his weapon lodged against her throat, slipping it toward the visible vein on the side of her neck. “I am going to make ye bleed.”

She clutched at his wrist, knowing it was a lost cause, but unwilling to surrender her life without a fight. Keefe snickered and then made a strange sound before he was suddenly gone.

Diocail flung the other man away, placing himself between them.

“Thank God,” she muttered.

“Stay back, Jane,” he warned.

Keefe had regained his balance, tossing the dagger into the air as he began to slowly circle Diocail. Blood was trickling down her neck, but she was more concerned with the rage burning in Keefe’s eyes.

“To the door, Jane…now.”

Diocail had placed himself between her and Keefe, moving the other man around so the path toward the door was clear.

“But—”

“Go now, woman!” he growled.

Keefe snickered. “Ye see why I am concerned? She is no’ biddable.”

“She is loyal, something ye know naught about.”

Diocail reached down and pulled the dagger from the top of his boot. It was a small one compared to the one Keefe held, but her husband took up a stance between her and the door, clearly intending to defend her escape. The only way she could help him now was to raise the alarm.

She pushed off the wall, propelling herself toward the open chamber door. Keefe lunged after her. She heard Diocail collide with him, the sound of hard flesh meeting making her gasp. It was a horrible thing to know they were intent on killing one another.

Her heart was racing as she took to the stairs. They had not seemed so long before; now she felt as though she couldn’t lift her feet fast enough, almost as though they were stuck to the stone. She fought to move faster to somehow stop murder.

“Mistress!”

Niven was around the corner, hooking her about the waist. They both would have tumbled down the last flight if he hadn’t taken control of her. He lifted her high, turning with the momentum of her downward flight and placing her on her feet on the step below him.

“What—”

Niven didn’t finish his question. His eyes focused on the blood running down her throat, and then Diocail’s voice was bouncing through the stairwell.

“Get her out of the way, Niven!”

There was a whirl of motion and a hard grunt as Diocail kicked Keefe in the chest. It sent him tumbling toward her and Niven.

Jane let out a sound of surprise as Niven hoisted her high while moving down the stairs. He’d always struck her as young for a retainer, but he proved just why he’d been allowed to ride with his laird by reacting faster than Jane could manage to think. She was half over his shoulder, bracing her hands so she could remain upright, watching the battle unfolding behind her.

Keefe lunged at Diocail, intent on cutting him in the leg. The light flashed off his blade, her brain noting the detail. A line of blood appeared before Diocail sent Keefe sprawling with a hard blow from his knee to the other man’s chin.

And then she was spinning free, Niven releasing her as he let out a shrill whistle. Jane skidded to a stop, her skirts swishing out in front of her. Muir and Kory were running toward her, and her brain felt frozen.

Kory reached her first, locking his hand around a handful of her skirts and jerking her toward him. He moved out of her way, sending her stumbling as he ducked around her and placed himself between her and the fight behind her.

Keefe came tumbling out of the stairwell, cursing and jumping to his feet.

“Ye’re no’ fit to lead this clan,” Diocail informed his opponent. “Sneaking about to do yer dirty work when I offered ye the chance to challenge me fairly before all.”

Keefe realized they had an audience. “That was before ye brought an English noble woman here to steal Gordon land.”

“Ye’re babbling nonsense,” Diocail hissed. “A laird is expected to marry for advantage.”

Keefe pointed at Jane. “She plans to use her son to take our land after she kills ye!”

Diocail tilted his head to the side. “I want to kill ye for laying me low abovestairs and cutting me wife, but ye sound like a lunatic.”

“She has no’ bled!” Keefe announced to everyone. He turned in a wide circle. “Ask the laundresses. And she bars her chamber door at night. She is a witch!”

Muir tossed a dagger of the same size as Keefe’s toward Diocail. Her husband caught it with an ease that made her shiver.

“No, she’s barring her chamber door because I was too big a fool to listen when she told me someone stole her away.” Diocail’s tone betrayed his rising rage. “I had faith in me fellow Gordons. Faith that the matter of me being laird was settled and that ye’d be man enough no’ to lower yerself to harming a woman.”

“It will never be settled so long as ye are laird,” Keefe declared.

A dangerous gleam glittered in Diocail’s eyes. “Then ye may take up the matter with me, man. Only a coward steals a man’s wife or sneaks up behind him. I stood in this very hall and offered ye the chance to challenge me. Man to man. That’s the sort of courage I believe the Gordons deserve in a laird, and I will nae have ye wearing me colors.”

There was a ripple of agreement from those watching. Keefe didn’t care to hear it either. His face darkened as he tightened his grip on his dagger. “I am no’ alone in me thinking.”

“I’ll deal with yer compatriots after I finish ye.”

Jane jerked, reading the way Diocail’s body drew taunt. The impulse to scream at him to stop was almost too strong to ignore, but she realized that crying out would shame him. Niven was near her, standing half a step in front of her. She dug her hands into her skirts as she quelled the urge to surge forward.

She loved Diocail and had to accept all that he was.

The two men circled, crouching low, gauging each other. They were both hardened and confident. Diocail had no intention of hiding behind his men.

Barbaric.

Savage.

She was quite sure the people in the town where she’d been raised would have labeled him exactly so. And yet she discovered herself agreeing with Diocail’s methods. He did not want to split the clan, so he was risking his own life to ensure that the fight started and ended with him.

She felt a hard grip on her shoulder. Jane only glanced back for a brief moment, but it was enough to see Bothan Gunn.

There was a grunt as Keefe lunged toward Diocail. A sharp sound of metal against metal rang in the air as the two men fought.

Keefe went for the kill. Diocail defended and avoided the plunge of Keefe’s blade. Keefe went stumbling past Diocail, making it possible for him to lock the man in a choke hold. Keefe didn’t surrender. He thrashed and tossed them both to the ground, the pair grappling in a sweaty mess of muscle and profanity. The daggers were out of reach, but Keefe pulled a smaller knife from his boot, slicing upward and catching Diocail on the side of his arm.

Ruby-red blood spurted onto the floor, the scent of it nauseating her, but what made her want to retch was the fact that it was Diocail’s. Bothan’s grip tightened on her shoulder, making her press her heels even harder against the floor.

She’d not distract her husband.

Keefe was seething with rage, the need to kill burning in his eyes. By comparison, Diocail looked disgusted as he smashed the man in the back of his knee to cripple him.

“Enough, Keefe!” Diocail growled. “Do nae make me kill ye.”

Keefe lifted his head, blood running from his nose. For a moment, he appeared ready to be done with it, his anger spent. Diocail was nodding, the men clustering around them, offering a mutter of approval for the way it all ended.

“It is finished,” Diocail announced.

“And witnessed,” Bothan Gunn replied.

Diocail looked toward Jane, locking gazes with her. There was a flutter of motion near him as Keefe surged up and off his knees. Her eyes rounded as the light flashed off one of the larger daggers he’d retrieved from the floor.

It was merely a moment, and yet it felt as though it lasted an hour. She watched Diocail read the threat off her face, saw him turning to face the blade. Bothan was pulling her back as Diocail tried to lunge toward Keefe.

Diocail only had time to defend himself, grasping Keefe’s hand and turning the blade back on him. The momentum of the attack sent them sprawling onto the floor. There was a dull sound as Keefe landed on the blade. Diocail could only look into the man’s eyes as he died.

Jane was certain she would see that moment for the rest of her days. She was horrified, but satisfied too.

She stumbled back as Bothan reached Diocail, pulling Keefe’s body off him. Muir and Kory and too many others to name were there as well. Keefe was rolled onto his back, his body flopping onto the floor with a dull sound as his blood seeped around the edges of the blade buried in his chest.

Jane was moving backward, recoiling from the horror of it all. She lifted her skirts as she turned and climbed the stairs, seeking escape.

* * *

Diocail followed her. The chamber door shut with a soft sound, and Jane turned on him, staring for a moment, soaking up the sight of him as she tried to absorb the fact that he was well and safe.

“It’s over, lass…” He came toward her, reaching for her.

She hit him, hammering her fist against his chest. It made a dull sound as tears suddenly flooded her eyes. “How could you take such a chance?”

Jane didn’t wait for her demand to be answered. She aimed another blow at Diocail and then a third.

“Jane…” he grunted as she landed her blow, and he wrapped his arms around her, binding her in place.

“Let me…go…” She was straining against his hold, tears streaming down her face as he held firm. “Now.”

He turned her loose and jumped back a pace when she lifted her fist. “You should be worried,” she informed him. “I want to beat you within an inch of your life for taking such a chance!”

He crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m worried ye might do our child harm.”

She gasped, shaking, as everything that had just happened seemed to assault her all at once. “I am not with child.”

At least she hadn’t really thought about it. But she did now, standing still as she considered how long she had been at the towers.

“Jane?”

Absorbed by her thoughts, she jumped and blinked as he asked the question. Diocail took the moment to move close to her, reaching out to stroke her cheek gently. His touch made her tingle, awakening life inside her, as spring did when it drove winter away.

She closed her eyes, savoring the feeling. “You have no right to take issue with me when you are the one who just risked his life.”

Diocail’s expression tightened, his gaze lowering to her neck as he lifted her chin. “He…drew…yer…blood.”

Each word was tight and edged with rage. He stepped closer, his fingers still beneath her chin as he locked gazes with her. “I was a fool no’ to believe ye, and I will fight a hundred men if that is what it takes for this clan to understand they will never touch ye.” He stroked her cheek. “Ye are mine, Jane.”

No words had ever pleased her more. She trembled with joy, feeling it wash through her like a flood.

“Do ye forgive me?”

His tone was stern and guarded, but it was the look in his eyes that sent fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.

Diocail Gordon needed her to forgive him.

She witnessed the truth in his eyes. He suddenly lowered himself to his knee, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his head against her lower body.

“Forgive me, lass…I’ve too much pride.”

She smoothed his hair back, her fingers shaking. “I do…I love you.”

He looked up at her, stunning her with the glitter of tears in his eyes. He drew his hands around her body, gently settling one over her belly. “Are ye carrying, Jane?”

The note of hope in his voice made her wish she might answer him with a yes. “It’s really too soon to know…for certain. My courses might simply be late.”

His lips curled into a huge grin. He pressed a kiss against her belly before rising. “But ye are late!”

He was suddenly moving across the chamber. He reached for the chamber door and yanked it open. Aylin and Niven stood there, both jumping at the suddenness of the door moving. They regained their poise quickly, tugging on the corner of their caps.

“Ring the bells!” Diocail announced. “We are going to have a child.”

“Diocail!” Jane ran after him, clutching at his arm. “Do not. I am not certain.”

Niven stopped two steps down, looking back at them. Her husband looped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, turning to nuzzle her neck. “In that case…best we make very, very…certain.”

Her face went up in flames as she heard his men chuckle.

“Have you no shame?” she demanded as he scooped her up and walked her back toward his huge bed. She heard the door closing behind them as Diocail settled her.

“With ye? No’ a shred.” He pressed a kiss against her mouth, one that warmed her to her core and drove the worry from her at last.

“And I like the gift…”

Her thoughts scattered by his kiss, Jane blinked as she tried to decide what he was talking about. Diocail grinned, a wolfish, arrogant curving of his lips that was joined by a flash of anticipation in his eyes.

“A fine place for it as well.”

She gasped and then giggled. The mirror. It stood where she’d had it placed, where it afforded them a fine reflection of themselves on the bed.

“And ye, my English flame…ye have no shame either.” He was seeking out the tie that held her bodice closed, his fingers delving between her cleavage.

She reached out and touched him on the chin. “No, husband. What that mirror means is that I was determined to make this union work in spite of your stubbornness.”

He popped the knot on the lace, and she felt her breasts push the front of her bodice open. Anticipation filled her, heating her blood with the need to be joined with him.

“I am a Highlander…stubborn is part of me nature…” He reached into her open bodice and cupped her breasts. “But I’ll apply meself to demonstrating it in more…pleasing ways, wife.”

He brushed her nipples, making her breathless.

“See that you do…husband.”

* * *

A week later, Diocail got his wish to have the bells rung.

Jane rose from bed and only had time to dash to the garderobe before she was heaving up the contents of her belly. The effort was intense, leaving her sweating in spite of the chill in the air. Every muscle she had was quivering as she emerged to be swept against her husband’s hard body.

“Ye’re carrying!” he declared in a tone rich with happiness. He turned them around in circles before laying her on their bed. He backed up a step, fixing her with a glance that looked very much like he was attempting to memorize the sight of her there on the bed.

“I love ye.”

It was a solemn declaration. For a moment, she didn’t feel worthy, and then she realized what she truly felt was complete. The phrase soul mate had never really had meaning until that moment.

“As I love you.”

He winked at her, turning around to find his shirt before he wrenched open the chamber doors. She let out a little shriek as she dove into the rumpled bedding because she was only wearing her chemise.

“Ring the bells, lad!” he announced to the retainer standing outside the door. “We’re going to have a child.”

The retainer grinned and set off down the stairs. Diocail turned and curled his finger at her. “Out of bed with ye, Jane.”

She slowly smiled. “Yes, it would seem this marriage duty has been seen to.”

Diocail’s smile faded. “And just what do ye mean by that, woman?” He knew exactly what she was hinting at. He propped his hands on his hips and glowered at her. “Now maybe in England…” He stressed the name of the country. “Maybe in England, couples sleep apart while the wife is with child, but this is Scotland.”

She crawled out of bed, walking toward him as the morning sunlight cut through the thin fabric of her chemise. It really was too lightweight a fabric for the season, but the chill was nothing compared to the thrill she experienced when his lips curved in the sensuous manner that made her quiver.

“Scotland…” She purred, exactly the way Brenda had. “Yes, you do have some very interesting customs here…”

“We do,” Diocail responded, joining in her teasing as he settled his hands on her hips. “We like to please our wives…very, very, often. So do nae be thinking to leave me bed.”

“Hmmm,” she muttered before backing away from him as the bells began to ring. It started with one, and then more of the large brass bells mounted on the walls began to fill the morning air with their sound. The news spread fast, and it wasn’t long before the bell in the village church was toiling as well.

Diocail picked up a length of wool and draped it over her shoulders. A few moments later, they had company. The women clustered around her as Muir and his men slapped Diocail on the shoulder.

“Dolina,” Jane muttered, raising her voice so that Diocail was sure to hear. “My husband had warned me that Scottish customs are different than English ones.”

“It is a fact.” Dolina’s lips twitched as she fought back a smile because she knew her mistress was making ready to toy with her husband.

“Is it true that the father of the child must wear a dress while his wife is in labor to confuse the demons who might wish to steal the unbaptized child’s soul?”

Dolina made a scoffing sound under her breath as she tried to swallow her mirth. “It is very true, and all of his friends…” She raised her voice to make sure it was heard. “Must appear to be midwives.”

“That is no’ the custom I was talking about, Jane.”

Jane turned and sent her husband a feigned look of innocence that made Muir choke. But Diocail’s eyes were glittering with happiness, and she knew without a doubt hers were as well.

* * *

Symon Grant used the long winter months to deal with the letters that needed his attention.

“Still at it?” Brenda asked from the doorway of the study.

Symon looked up, his chin shaved clean now, even if there was a lingering sadness in his eyes. His wife was long dead, but she seemed to remain in his heart.

“Only because I have failed to make a choice,” Symon confessed as he pressed his hands flat on the desktop and rose from his chair. He was staring down at two letters.

Brenda moved forward, intent on somehow lending comfort as he tried to confront the very distasteful duty of selecting a bride. There were also two miniatures with the letters, each one showing a girl of the right age for marriage.

“For all that I selected Tara in this very manner, it leaves me cold this time,” he grumbled before walking away.

Brenda peered at the letters, but they were equally well composed, listing the attributes of each girl. But something else gained her attention. It was a letter Symon had pushed off to the side with her name clearly written on it.

Symon was stretching his back. It popped, and he rolled his shoulders before he realized what she’d taken off his desk. “That intrigues you.”

Brenda jumped, startled because she’d been absorbed in reading the letter. “No’ a bit.”

Symon’s eyes narrowed. “Ye’re the one who told me we both needed to start living again, Brenda.”

The truth was the Grant castle was a silent place, inhabited by too many ghosts. They were the last of their line, Brenda and Symon.

Brenda’s eyes flashed. “I agreed ye needed yer backside kicked. Niul McTavish was here and did exactly that. Ye are laird.”

“And ye are me cousin,” Symon continued as though she hadn’t argued with him. “And we are the last of our line. Niul McTavish made the point that both of us need to start living again.”

“I am me own woman, by yer father’s decree when he died.” Brenda was so passionate the letter crumbled in her grasp. She looked down at it and scowled before tossing it back onto the desk. “Bothan Gunn can find himself another bride. I will no’ wed him.”

“Ye are yer own woman. I promised me father on his deathbed I would no’ force ye to wed.” Symon perched himself on the corner of the desk. “Just as I am laird, and no one can force me to wed.”

Brenda let out a little sound. “It’s yer duty.”

“And yet no’ yers?” Symon tsked at her. “As the only other member of our line, I argue with ye, Cousin. For I have tried, and still there is no heir.”

“Argue as ye like.” Brenda moved away from the desk. “It will do ye no good. I have had all of marriage that I ever wish to experience. Ye do nae promise obedience when ye wed. A woman does.”

“I saw ye with him.”

Brenda stopped halfway to the door of the study. For a moment, it appeared she was going to continue on, but she turned to look back at Symon.

“I saw ye talking to Bothan at the festival.” Symon slowly grinned. “Ye blushed.”

“It was a warm day,” she exclaimed before she turned and left with a snap of her skirt because she took the turn around the doorway so quickly.

Symon reached down and picked up the letter from Bothan Gunn. The man was direct, but the wording of the letter didn’t really ask for permission to court Brenda.

Symon slowly grinned. No, Bothan had informed Symon of his intentions. It made Symon chuckle, something he realized he hadn’t done enough of since losing his wife.

Four years. The time seemed to vanish, and Niul McTavish had been correct in telling him and Brenda that Grant Castle had become a place of tears and lament.

Symon looked back at the letter from Bothan Gunn and nodded before he reached over and rang a small bell. It took a few minutes for a maid to come into the doorway and lower herself.

“Take this to Mistress Brenda’s chambers and leave it on her pillow.”

Senga had served in the castle for a long time. She boldly looked at the letter before she sent him an amused look. “This will warm things up for certain.”

Symon flashed her a grin. “Me hope exactly.”

She clicked her tongue before lowering herself again. A ring of keys hung from her belt, declaring her high position in the household. “I’ll be sure to see there are a few sets of clean sheets waiting for yer bed.”

Symon frowned.

“Because I wager yer cousin is going to pour salt in yer bed after finding this on her pillow.”

Symon snorted, amused even by the idea of his cousin’s spite.

Yes, it was time to have life back in the castle. He sat down and concentrated on the two miniatures with a renewed interest.

* * *

“Ye are blessed beyond words to be able to birth yer babes in so little time.” Dolina shook her head, sending Jane a slightly envious look.

“Me mother was like that,” Eachna remarked as she handed the new baby to Jane. “All her babes came just like yers. Quick and fierce.”

Jane was leaning back in the birthing chair, sweat on her forehead, but now that her baby was breathing, the pain didn’t seem nearly as bad. It was all dissipating in the rush of meeting her son. How he’d arrived wasn’t nearly as important as the fact that he was there.

She’d known she was going to have a baby, but she was astonished to gaze on the tiny little miracle her child was. Seeing his little chest expand with breath filled her with more faith in life than she had ever imagined she’d experience.

There was a cry from down the hall. Dolina went to the chamber doors, opening them only enough to slip through. She came back a few moments later. Her face was turning purple as she held in her amusement long enough to make it across the chamber to where Jane sat with her baby. “They are still down there, every last one of them in skirts, while yer husband is acting as if he is giving birth.”

“We should tell them the baby is here,” Jane said.

“Do nae ye dare,” Eachna reprimanded her. “We have nae had this much entertainment in years.”

Jane lost interest in everything else as her son opened his eyes and looked at her. His head was covered in dark hair, and the women had encouraged her to pull her breast free from her partlet so he might lay his cheeks against it. He moved his hand, placing his tiny fingers on her skin, and she was fairly certain nothing had ever felt so perfect in her life.

* * *

“Ye’re no’ doing it right,” Muir exclaimed.

Diocail grunted and straightened. “Fine. Show me how since ye seem to know so much.”

Someone cleared his throat, and Diocail looked up to see Sorley standing near the door to the hall. Bothan Gunn was there beside the man, his lips slowly curving as he took in Diocail and his men.

“Laird Diocail Gordon?” Bothan questioned.

Diocail grunted as Muir dug out the two bowls he’d stuffed into his jerkin to look like breasts.

“Aye,” Diocail replied, offering the man his hand. “I am surprised to see ye.”

The man’s gaze swept him from head to toe, taking in the makeshift dress Diocail was wearing. “Clearly.”

Diocail only shrugged and slapped him on the shoulder. “Ye’re in time to raise a toast to me babe.”

“Ye do nae say son?” Bothan asked as he walked with Diocail toward the high ground.

Diocail left a trail of discarded costume pieces as he went. “Lad or lass, all that matters is Jane coming through it strong and healthy.” Diocail shot him a hard look. “That’s the only thing I pray to God for.”

One of the maids served them as Diocail kept a watch on the stairwell. Women came and went with baskets of linens and kettles of water, but they didn’t stop to look at him. Young Bari was perched on a stool, looking up the stairs as he worried his lower lip.

“What has ye riding south?”

Bothan slowly grinned. “Brenda Grant.”

That distracted Diocail from his worry. “From what I hear, the woman enjoys being unbridled, and Symon swore to his dying father he would no’ make her wed against her wishes.”

Bothan lowered his mug. “So I hear as well.”

Diocail’s lips curved into a wide grin. “I wish ye luck, man, for I believe ye’ll need it.”

Bothan raised his mug toward Diocail. “Ye’re the first man who has no’ tried to talk me into a more biddable female.”

“Where is the fun in that?”

“Exactly me thoughts,” Bothan replied. “Exactly so.”

“Dolina is waving, Laird!” Bari chirped as he took off up the stairs.

Diocail sent his chair back so fast it hit the wall. Bothan watched him go, trying to decide if it wouldn’t be wiser to turn around and ride north before he was as smitten as Diocail clearly was.

Bothan stayed where he was because he’d had a long, cold winter and all of the planting season to try to shake Brenda Grant from his thoughts.

She was still there, so he was going to face her and the strange way she affected him.

* * *

The chamber was quiet at last.

So many people had been in and out. Jane drew in a deep breath now that only Diocail was there with their son. The scent of amber and rosemary lingered from the herbs the midwives insisted on using to purify the chamber. Everything had been cleared away, including the birthing chair. She was sore but content as she felt Diocail crawl onto the bed next to her.

“I didn’t think to see Bothan Gunn here again, much less intent on courting Brenda Grant.”

Diocail’s tone was hushed as he lay in the bed next to Jane. Their son was falling asleep on her breast, his lips locked around her nipple.

“Or that he’d catch ye wearing a dress?” Jane mocked softly.

Diocail pointed at her. “That was yer doing, madam.”

“You think because I’m English I can’t jest?”

Her husband grunted and sent her an annoyed look.

Jane snickered, sealing her lips so the only sounds that made it out were half-smothered ones. They both looked down at the baby, but he was well asleep. Diocail gathered him up as gently as he might an egg and settled him in his cradle next to Jane’s side of the bed.

The weather was fine and warm now, and when Diocail lay down behind her, pulling her close while they both listened to the sound of their son’s breathing, everything was perfect.

Fate could be reasonable after all, it would seem. Love, although very difficult to understand, seemed worth the effort.

Diocail smoothed Jane’s hair back, settling his head on top of hers. The strong beat of his heart was against her back, and the warm breath of their son touched her fingers where she had them resting next to his head.

Yes, perfect.

So very, very perfect.

* * *

She should have burned it.

Brenda glanced at the letter, wondering once again why it was still in her chamber. Did she want him to come? Was that it?

Would it be so terrible?

She avoided answering that question. She thrust the letter aside in favor of contemplating other tasks. Running the castle was a huge responsibility, and she’d risen to the occasion since Symon had no wife. Of course, now that spring was past and the crops were in the ground, Symon would be attending to the duties of securing himself a wife.

It was expected.

And yet she found herself contemplating how her life would change once he brought a bride home. That did not mean she was contemplating Bothan’s offer.

She turned around and looked at the letter once more. It wasn’t even an offer. It was a declaration of his intention to court her in the summer.

Well, she had plenty of intentions of her own, and none of them included being claimed by the Gunn chief. She would not wear the shackles of marriage ever again.

Not even for love.

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