Highland Flame Page 11

  “I admit, me patience is worn near thread bare,” Diocail growled. “To suggest I need guidance in how to please me wife!”

  “Every man does.” Janet delivered her opinion with a delicate, knowing smile.

  Muir was nodding, Lachie grinning from ear to ear when Diocail sent his fist into Muir’s jaw.

  Fight, well, he knew how to do that very well.

  * * *

  “Mistress… Mistress!”

  Young Bari was halfway into the room before he heard the other women hissing at him. He looked up with the innocent, wide eyes of youth, blinking as he failed to comprehend that Jane was in nothing but her chemise and corset.

  The women clustered around her as she crossed her arms over her breasts. “Out!” One of them pointed him back the way he’d come.

  Bari pulled his thoughts together. “I need the mistress…below…there is blood. The laird needs…stitching.”

  With the door open, Jane was suddenly aware of the lack of music and laughter. The common room had gone silent far too early in the evening. It could mean only one thing.

  A fight.

  “Men,” Gillanders’s wife groused.

  “Never content,” another woman agreed, echoing the same disgusted tone.

  “Best get dressed.” One of the women tossed Jane her skirt as Gillanders’s wife’s heels made pounding sounds on the stairs.

  “Sweet mercy!” floated up from the ground floor as Jane struggled to tie the waistband closed and pull her bodice on.

  She looked rather off with her hair still braided with ribbons while wearing common wool, but the moment she caught sight of the men, she realized her appearance was of no concern.

  The common room was a disaster. Tables overturned, benches tossed everywhere, including one that had landed too near the hearth and caught fire during the fight. Ale and wine were splattered everywhere, the scent of the liquor mixing with those of fresh blood and smoke.

  There was profanity in the air as Jane swept the room, trying to decide who was the most injured.

  “Here, mistress.” Young Bari was back, pressing the roll of canvas that held the medical supplies into her hands. “I brought yer sewing one too in case ye need the needles.”

  “Good job.” She praised him as she tugged on a table and turned it upright with the help of one of Gillanders’s daughters.

  “Someone will have to pay for all this damage…” Gillanders was sprawled on his backside, his huge kilt spread around him while his pudgy ankles and knees were on display. His wife and daughters flocked to him when he took to complaining. Jane decided he was making too much fuss to be dying.

  Her new husband, on the other hand, had bright red blood staining his shirtsleeve, and was enough to have her scurry over to him.

  “It’s just a cut,” he informed her.

  “One that is deep,” she argued as she tried to pull the torn fabric away from the wound to see it better.

  Diocail made a sound in the back of his throat that made it clear he didn’t think he needed attention. He tried to rise off the bench he was sitting on, but Muir was suddenly there pushing him down by his shoulders. Diocail growled something at him in Gaelic.

  “Ye damned swine,” Muir replied. “I was only trying to help.”

  “I’ve had enough of yer ideas for one day,” Diocail declared ominously.

  His meaning was clear, and his tone slapped her across the face with how little he cared for their forced union. No one in the room missed it either. The rest of the Gordon retainers looked away from her as they stood around waiting their turn for her attention. The fight had included them all, by the look of them. Diocail realized he’d publicly insulted her, his eyes narrowing as he groaned.

  “I need a chest from the wagon I arrived in,” she said softly. Better to tend to them than dwell on her circumstances. “It has more supplies than you brought with you.”

  Muir nodded once before he was off and through the door, looking relieved to have a reason to escape.

  “Here now, that chest does nae belong to ye,” Gillanders argued. His family had him off the floor and sitting in a chair. “Yer husband lost it to me playing at dice.”

  The landlord had made a fatal error in judgment. The Gordons were all looking for anything to soothe the guilt they felt over her treatment, and Gillanders had just made a very large target of himself.

  “Ye are a blood-sucking leach!” Diocail declared with a growl. “I’m ashamed to call ye a fellow Scot!”

  Niven and Kory were moving toward the landlord, their fingers opening and closing into fists.

  “Fleecing an Englishman is one thing,” Niven declared. “A woman is another matter.”

  “Aye,” Kory echoed the sentiment. “Ye’ve been unchristian toward the lady, and that’s a fact.”

  “She’s English,” Gillanders said in his own defense.

  “She’s me mistress, man,” Kory exclaimed.

  “And a woman,” Niven added. “Ye turned her out to starve when ye’re the size of me horse!”

  “She refused to work for her keep.” Gillanders snorted, indignant.

  “I declined to earn my way in your bed.” She likely should have keep her mouth shut, but the day had been too long and far too draining.

  Gillanders made the mistake of lowering his gaze to her cleavage, on display because she was leaning over to get a closer look at the cut on Diocail’s head.

  Diocail let out a snarl and lunged across the space between him and the landlord. There were squeals as the women recoiled, and some of the male members of the staff made an effort to protect their employer.

  There was a thump at her feet as Muir dropped the chest. He looked at Bari. “Get yer mistress out of the way, lad!”

  A moment later the captain was part of the fray. The sound of flesh hitting flesh was harsh as men grunted and tried to beat one another senseless.

  “Mistress,” Bari implored her as he tugged on her skirts with a surprising amount of strength.

  The fight ended as abruptly as it had begun. Gillanders was flat on his back again, his head lolling to the side as his eyes closed. The Gordon retainers all had rather satisfied looks on their faces even as they hunched over and cradled injured parts of their bodies.

  “We’re leaving,” Diocail declared as he wiped the blood off his face with his sleeve and nodded at the unconscious form of Gillanders.

  “Aye,” Muir agreed. “And none too soon, to my way of thinking.”

  Kory and Niven were already heading toward the door to fetch the horses.

  “And tell yer father,” Diocail pointed at Gillanders’s eldest son, who had blood running out of his nose. “If I hear even a whisper about me owing this family even a copper penny, I’ll be back to settle accounts, and he will no’ like it one bit. I promise ye that.”

  Diocail turned to Jane. “Fetch yer things.”

  Diocail had tempered his tone, making it even and respectful, but there was a core of solid authority that made it clear he was the laird. She nodded to him out of habit before she turned and ran up the stairs to the loft room. It took only moments to collect her meager belongings. Their wedding finery caught her eye as did the turned-down bedding.

  At last, Fate was offering her hope. With no consummation, the union might be annulled. Diocail’s tone suddenly struck her as a ray of sunshine instead of an insult. The man clearly didn’t want to be saddled with her for a wife.

  Good.

  She refused to consider the tiny prickling of disappointment attempting to dissuade her from being happy about them parting ways.

  Clinging to him would be weak, and her resolve to remain strong was still the only thing she had left to call her own. She wouldn’t be giving it up in order to force Diocail to keep her.

  No, she would not be weak or take enough leave of he
r senses to do something so rash as stay in a marriage that saw no contract signed with her family. Diocail might cast her out at any time if he didn’t fear her family. For all that Alicia ran a stern house, she’d never allow Jane to be treated in such a manner.

  No, the only true security lay in returning to her family. No matter the temptation to stay.

  Four

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

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

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

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

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

  Diocail was avoiding her.

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

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

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

  It was sound, logical thinking.

  And ever so disappointing.

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

  “My apologies if I am interrupting.”

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

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

  He nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Which was Alicia.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  He liked it when she flamed at him.

  So she turned and began to walk away.

  “I will be waiting, Jane.”

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

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

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

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

  The man laughed at her display of temper.

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

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

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

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

  “I am not going with you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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