King's Knight [Highland Menage 8] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Reece Butler

  “I canna see well here with those hills and trees and all,” he replied, grumbling. “Wait till ye see Duncladach. When ye climb the wall walk ye can see for miles.”

  “Aye, miles of cold, wet sea,” replied Rory.

  “Is Duncladach bitterly cold in winter?” she asked, thinking of the six fireplaces at Calltuin. Her forest provided lots of wood.

  “Aye, it can be,” replied Tearlach, hedging.

  “We near died in a blizzard bringin’ food back to our younger brothers,” said Rory.

  “Ye dinna need speak on that,” grumbled Tearlach. “’Twas just once.”

  “Aye, we almost died in a blizzard once, but we freeze our balls and arses every winter.” Rory didn’t hide his displeasure.

  Tearlach scratched his cheek, shrugging. “It can be a mite fresh at times.” He sent Rory a look she could only interpret as a twin warning.

  “How did ye get out of that storm?” she asked Tearlach when she realized Rory wouldn’t speak.

  “Ewan, next after Torquil, has the Sight. None kenned we were gone so none looked for us. Ewan had a vision and brought Torquil with him. All ended well.” His stern look meant she’d best ask no more.

  There was likely a lot more to the story. If Tearlach wouldn’t talk she might be able to find out more from their brothers. More about a lot of things.

  “Ewan told me my young wife, Eunice, wished me back at home,” said Murray. “He wasn’t going to ruin her surprise, but I demanded he speak. He said she was carrying the first of our children.” His cheeks and ears held a touch of pink. “I’m an old man. I married Eunice so I’d not come home to an empty room. She wished to be in her own home rather than be an extra mouth and servant to her brother. We never thought we’d make a child. So if Ewan touches your hand and tells you something, believe it.”

  “I dinna ken why he touched ye as he willna touch his brothers much, other than Torquil,” said Tearlach. “It gives hope he might one day be at ease with others.”

  “And what of Torquil’s scars?” asked Murray.

  Tearlach chewed on that for a bit before he spoke. “Campbells are long-term foes of MacDougals,” he said to Isabel. “A couple of rogue ones caught Torquil when he was just a lad and took a whip to him. Ewan’s vision sent us out. We found them before they killed him, but ’twas close. It took him a long time to heal. He’s scarred, inside and out.”

  “We all learned how to use a whip as a weapon after that,” said Rory. “Malcolm’s the best. He can use two at once, snappin’ them so ye canna get close.”

  “Ye wish to warn me I’ll find a brother with scars on his face, so not to scream?”

  “Aye. And while ye are bein’ warned, Finn and Dougal are troublemakers. They’ll tell ye stories just to bedevil ye, and they like pranks.”

  “If they try any on me they’ll get it back, worse,” she replied. “What of the youngest two?”

  Rory shot Tearlach a look of surprise. “I hadna thought on it, but Zander’s only a year older than Isabel, and Artair a couple more.” They communicated something she couldn’t follow. Both turned to her with frowns.

  “Keep away from the lads. Ye are our wife.”

  She tilted her head at them, confused. “I ken that. Why do ye say to keep away?”

  “Well, ye are ten years younger than us, but near their age,” said Rory.

  “Ye think I’d want yer wee brothers instead of ye?” They didn’t answer, but a few ears turned pink. “I canna believe it.” She shook her head. “Ye are a pair of braw warriors. Ye please me well, in bed and out. So far,” she added. They frowned, making her roll her eyes. “I dinna wish another man.”

  They rode on for a bit more. Both men seemed to be grumbling still. A bit of devilment got to her.

  “At least, not for a wee while,” she added softly, just to see them squirm.

  Chapter 8

  Sam and his family fit well into Calltuin, taking over the chores from Janet, who was the age of most grandmothers. The family slept in the garret where Isabel, Janet, and wee Jenny had slept. They were overwhelmed by the wonder of being under a roof with stone walls, out of the weather. A safe, dry place to sleep, and a wee bit of food in their bellies, was as far as they could yet dream.

  Jenny was enough older than their bairns that she acted like a big sister to them. It was decided she’d stay at Calltuin rather than returning to the village. Jenny knew the chores and people and where everything was. That gave Janet and her new husband, James the blacksmith, much-needed time alone.

  Calltuin House now had a good caretaker, one who knew about trees, so they moved on to Duncladach. Herald Murray left his two guards to travel with them and returned to Stirling Castle. Each night the guards rolled themselves in their plaids, and she lay between her husbands. It was extremely unsatisfying. The most they could do was a kiss. That inflamed more than anything, making her wish she’d gone without.

  By the time they got to MacDougal land she was tired, needed a hot bath, and was ready to take her husbands against the nearest wall or ride them on a flat piece of ground.

  * * * *

  Rory waved at the guards, thanking them for the escort over Campbell lands. He, Tearlach, and Isabel were now on Clan MacDougal land. The air smelled fresher, the sun brighter, and he was hornier than a stallion surrounded by mares in heat.

  “Where is the nearest hollow?” demanded Isabel.

  “There’s naught but us,” replied Tearlach, looking ahead. “Ye dinna need to find a bush. But could ye nay wait until we be home and use the garderobe?”

  Rory rolled his eyes. He’d watched Isabel twitch and shift in her saddle, rubbing her clit. As they’d gone without orgasms for too long, and he was equally aroused, it was easy to figure out what she was doing.

  “I dinna wish to use the garderobe.”

  “Well, then, be quick about it. I wish to be home.”

  “Then go,” she blasted. “Rory and I will find a wee meadow to frolic in afore we ride up to yon castle.”

  “Ah, lass, ye read my mind,” said Rory eagerly. “Frolic is exactly what I wish to do with ye.”

  Tearlach shifted uncomfortably on his saddle. “We arena alone.”

  Isabel turned her head far to one side, then the other. She opened her eyes extra wide at Tearlach. “I dinna see a soul, husband. Do ye?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Nay, but Ewan kens we’re coming.”

  “Then he’d best stay away until we each come at least once. I wish for three or four!”

  “That isna what I meant.”

  Rory held his hands up at Tearlach’s glare. “Dinna blame me that she doesna ken what ye mean.” He snickered when his twin glared even harder.

  Tearlach grumbled, his lips twisting. Finally he sighed. “I told ye Ewan has the Sight.”

  Isabel stared Tearlach in the face and tugged her bodice down. Unfortunately, her nipples did not pop out. She did show a fair expanse of bosom, though. He groaned. He hadn’t yet shown her about sliding a cock between those white pillows of flesh.

  “Then yer brother had best have a vision to say he should wait to greet ye until we show up at the gate.” She tugged again, releasing twin nipples. Rory choked. “Or else he’ll have a view of us doin’ what we would have done if we’d not had guards each night!”

  He held back from commenting as brown eyes glared. She sighed. “Ye say ye have eight brothers in Duncladach,” she said slowly as if he were a dolt.

  Tearlach’s attention had dropped to the breasts that swayed with each movement.

  “Husband, do ye ken that I’ll be the only woman? Do ye think they wish to hear me scream yer name when I peak?”

  “The lady has a point,” said Rory. He stood in the saddle, pulling at his groin, his braies tight. “Rather, she has two points showing and a couple of holes under her gown. I have one long, hard point under my plaid. I ken just the spot to put them together.”

  Rory had Isabel out of her saddle before Tearlach could mov
e. She was equally eager, her tongue tussling with his.

  “What of the horses?” demanded Tearlach hoarsely.

  He pulled his mouth away. “Best hobble them, brother. We may be here awhile.”

  “Isabel is my wife. Why should I not kiss her first on MacDougal land?”

  “Because ye were too slow.” He turned her around to undo her gown. “We dinna wish to have this stained.”

  With Isabel’s help the gown dropped quickly. He tossed his plaid on the ground as she scrambled out of the rest of her things. She dropped to her hands and knees, wiggling her bare arse at him.

  “Are ye going to squabble or will ye do yer husbandly duty?”

  Rory stripped and knelt behind her. One finger between those puffy lips proved she was soaking wet. He pressed it into her pussy.

  “Where’s yer cock?” she demanded, turning her head to glare at him. “I need ye to fill me, not tickle me with yer wee finger.”

  “Ye are a demanding wee baggage,” he replied, grinning.

  “A lass has needs.”

  “As does a man.”

  The smooth cheeks of her arse flashed white in the sun. He set his cock on her swollen, wet pussy and pushed in, slow and steady. Both of them groaned. The tight heat she clasped him with was heaven. He felt for her clit. When he wiggled it she clenched him tighter. His orgasm built up, straining release. His twin was her husband under God but he’d be the first to claim her on MacDougal soil.

  The thought of that claiming did him in. He grabbed her breast and squeezed, wiggling her clit at the same time. He tried to hold back, but it was too much. Just as he exploded her pussy clenched around him. He thrust into her, wave upon wave showing what he couldn’t say in words.

  Isabel was his. His to share with Tearlach, but none other.

  When the tremors faded he held her tight. He did not wish to release her so hung over her back, both of them fighting for breath. Tearlach’s low growl warned him to back away.

  “I’ll treat ye with care this night,” he promised.

  “’Twas just what I wished, hot and hard,” she replied saucily.

  He pulled out.

  “Dinna move,” ordered Tearlach, stripping.

  “Aye? And why not?” she demanded.

  “I wish my first son to be made here on MacDougal soil.”

  “We shall be here a few days,” she replied, teasing him.

  “I canna wait.” Tearlach knelt behind her. Once more she waggled.

  “Lass,” warned Rory, “dinna jest with my twin when he growls like that.”

  “He’d best begin by making me as hot as I was afore!”

  “Ye are such a lusty wench ’twill be easy.” Tearlach, grimacing as if in pain, used his fingers on her. It didn’t take long for her to cry out, with her mate a second later.

  Chapter 9

  Laird Somerled MacDougal waited, framed in the arch at the far end of the stone passage. With the sun at his back and the tunnel dark, Isabel could see nothing but the outline of his body. While Tearlach and even Rory were eager, pushing her forward, her feet dragged. Duncladach Castle had been built for big men. She was dwarfed by the walls. Tearlach went forward, clasping arms with Somerled. Tearlach was thirteen inches taller than her. Somerled topped him by three more.

  The glow of her orgasms faded in the glare of the laird’s eyes. They caught her and drew her in, at the same time his scowl pushed her away.

  “Who is this?” he demanded harshly.

  “Laird Somerled MacDougal, this is Lady Isabel Graham of Calltuin.”

  The laser eyes went to his brother. “Lady? Why did ye bring a useless female here?”

  Rory held her back, reminding her of his warning not to speak.

  “King James wishes ye to marry, laird,” said Tearlach. “’Tis why Herald Murray came here. Murray sent us to get Isabel and bring her to the king.”

  “She is for me?”

  Somerled’s eyes devoured her. She took a step back, banging into Rory. The laird and her husbands were full brothers, sharing a mother as well as their father. They looked eerily alike, yet so different.

  “She is standing in front of ye,” said Isabel icily. “Dinna speak of me as if I am elsewhere. And I am not yers, nor ever would be!”

  Somerled’s scowl darkened. “Good, as I dinna wish a wife with a saucy mouth. And look at the size of her. Such a wee thing, even smaller than Fiona. She’ll die birthin’ her first babe.“

  “Father said our mother wasn’t much bigger, and she gave him all of us.”

  Isabel jabbed Tearlach with her finger. He looked down, startled. “Ye havena told yer laird that I am already married, or who my husband might be.”

  Rory put his arm around her, giving her a squeeze. “Laird Somerled, I would like ye to meet this lovely lass, Lady Isabel Graham, who has kindly accepted to let us into her life.”

  “Speak plain, Rory!” demanded his laird.

  “Isabel married Tearlach in front of King James. She holds good growing land north of Stirling, and wishes to return there. The king is thinking on it. He may allow Isabel, and so us, to keep the land. If so, we’ll be sending food and more to ye.”

  “North of Stirling? Ye married a Lowlander? ’Tis almost as bad as a Sassenach!”

  His horror was plain. Not only was she too small and too opinionated, she was almost English.

  “Isabel,” said Rory mildly, “do ye wish to answer that?”

  “What I wish,” she said loudly, “is to be greeted with what I’d heard was Highland hospitality. I am aware ye have had few women here. Let me tell ye what women require after a long, hard journey.” She looked past Somerled, noticing two pairs of brothers closer to her age. She spoke to them instead of the brute standing in her way. “A woman requires a hot bath on arrival, with soap as well as clean clothes. I brought my own soap and clothes, but I need a tub and hot water. And privacy,” she added.

  Somerled’s scowl got even stronger. “If ye are finished?”

  “Aye, for now,” she graciously allowed.

  “We dinna cater to ladies.” He said the word as if it was the worst insult possible.

  “I’m not asking ye to cater to me, fool! If one of ye will show me the kitchen, or allow my husbands to do so, they can make the fire up and get me a bath.”

  He smirked at her. “Ye think they’d do that for a woman?”

  She smiled sweetly back. Sweet with a more than a touch of acid.

  “Not for any woman, for their wife.” She tilted her head and spoke slowly and clearly, as if he was daft. “I ken ye are laird through my husbands. However, if I dinna have a bath those husbands will be sleeping alone. They willna be pleased.” Another thought struck her, one that might get his attention. “And, if I dinna have a bath as befits a woman, I willna be doing womanly things.”

  “Womanly things?” He looked as close to uncertain as was possible while being full of arrogance.

  “Ye canna have it both ways, laird.” She opened her eyes wide. “If I be a woman, and ye wish me to cook and such, then ye must treat me as one.” She narrowed them again, changing sweetness to a demand. “And that means a hot bath!”

  Somerled lifted an eyebrow at Tearlach, ignoring her yet again. “I thought ladies canna cook?”

  She poked the laird in the chest to get his attention. All six brothers gasped, but he finally looked at, rather than through her.

  “This lady has managed an extensive property raising crops, sheep, and more, for most of her life. While she has never cooked for ten large men she can cook for her two husbands.” She saw a pair of younger men edging closer. “Are ye Artair and Zander?” She gave them her best smile.

  “Aye, Lady Isabel.”

  Someone had taught them manners. “Would ye be so kind as to get my things from my horse and show me where I may sleep?”

  They rushed forward, elbowing each other to get closer.

  “Wife,” growled Tearlach, “what did I say about keeping clear of the youn
g lads?”

  “Husband,” she answered just as growly, “what did I just say about needing a bath, a place to rest my sore arse, and such like?” She turned to Artair. “Would there be a garderobe somewhere in this castle?”

  Somerled dismissed her with a glance. “Ye’d best take care of yer wife, lads. And dinna do it lightly, either.”

  Her jaw dropped at what he was implying. She snapped it shut, deciding it best not to reply just then. There were other ways to get revenge. Without a word, he ran up the stone steps and disappeared through a door. A roar, sounding quite like the one Somerled had made, though different, erupted. An identical shape appeared through the doorway. Was it Somerled returning? No, this man had a smile. It must be his twin descending toward her.

  “Good day, Lady Isabel. Welcome to Duncladach. I am Niall MacDougal.” He put his hand over his heart and bowed. He was the same size as Somerled, only pleasant. “Tearlach, will ye take yer lady wife to our guest chamber, where Gillis and Angus stayed with Fiona?” He turned to his brothers. “Surely you lot ken some of what James told ye on how to treat a lady?”

  “And if ye dinna remember that,” said a grinning blond man slightly older than herself, “surely ye ken what Gillis told us. I’ve been practicing my letters.” He winked at her. “If we wish a demonstration—”

  “Shaddap!” Tearlach lifted her, one arm under her shoulders and one under her knees, and strode across the courtyard. Rory followed, snickering.

  “Dinna growl at me, Tearlach MacDougal,” she warned. “’Twas yer laird who started this battle.”

  “I suggest ye hush, wife, or I’ll do as my laird suggested and put ye over my knee. Right here and right now.”

  Whatever devil was hopping on her shoulder caused her to lean her head back and scream. Tearlach stopped, staring down at her. She struggled enough that he set her down, though his surprise at her scream no doubt helped. She looked up, smiling as if they were on a walk in the park at Stirling Castle surrounded by eager eyes looking for gossip.

  “That’s a lovely echo off the curtain wall.” She looked around. “Ye were right, Calltuin House could almost fit in here. And we’d be far more comfortable in it, too,” she added with a touch of ire.