by Reece Butler
Tearlach heard the threat. He dropped his chin on his chest, cursing in the Gaelic of the west, which he was sure the herald could not understand.
“Now I ken why Ewan said to be careful what ye wish for.” He’d wanted something to keep him from getting stale. He had not counted on this. He exhaled heavily, scratching his head as he gave into the inevitable. “How many, for how long?”
“Six lads for six weeks. Laird Fraser suggested asking Artair and Zander to help. I watched them train at Duncladach, and agree. They are closer in age to the trainees and being will be able to say and do what you cannot. They would sleep in the camp, allowing your old bones to sleep in a bed with your lady wife.”
Finn and Dougal were far too wild. They would cause trouble rather than stopping it. The youngest two had been kind to Isabel. They were almost like puppies in their eagerness to please her. That was another reason for them to come here. At Duncladach they were always the youngest, the least able. Yet they were far more advanced than those he and Rory had attempted to train.
“’Twould be good for Artair and Zander to give orders for a change. When will this start?”
“The six arrive in a fortnight.”
Tearlach shook his head as if to clear his ears. “That soon when I havena even thought of where to put them? Will my brothers even get here in time?”
“They are but a few days behind us,” replied the herald blandly. “Less if they ride quickly on the horses the Earl of Argyll has once more donated to the cause.”
While he liked the idea of taking Campbell horses he did not like what would happen if his brothers were caught with them. There was nothing he could do about it now.
“How can that be? I have just now kenned this.”
“A request for them to assist you was part of the message I left with Laird Somerled.”
He was furious at the manipulation but unable to do a thing about it. When Rory returned they would have a good training session, with wrestling as well as claymores. And then he’d bathe and haul Isabel to their chamber for a long bout of pleasure.
“What would ye have done if I’d said nay?”
A scornful eyebrow rose. “Nothing,” he replied blandly. “My men, however, would have clapped you in irons.”
He cursed again. “’Tis but a whim of the king,” he muttered.
“The whims of His Majesty are orders to the rest of us.” The herald paused for a moment. “Can you say truly that you dinna wish to do this?”
He shook his head. This opportunity would make a great difference to his youngest brothers, as well as the lads sent to him. He’d learned so much when he’d left the familiar walls of Duncladach. Artair and Zander would find adventure and learn something other than Somerled’s cold view of brutal reality. There were children here, and laughter. His youngest brothers would see how he and Rory treated Isabel. They would learn how to behave in a home rather than a castle centered strictly on defense. They would also be free of the pressure of eight older brothers. Here they’d have two brothers to obey and six trainees to give orders to.
“Do ye ken who will come? There were a few who were eager to learn.”
“Nay. I left afore ’twas decided. But be warned one may be in the pay of Graham of Aberfoyle. Keep your lady wife from them. If an assassin canna get you or Rory, he will go for your wife.”
“An assassin will go for the weakest who will gain him the most. Laird Graham blames me for losing what Isabel would bring him. He wishes me to suffer. My death would be too easy.” He nodded. “I will guard Isabel well.”
He couldn’t say aloud that Isabel’s death would kill him. He would still be walking and fighting but he would be dead inside. He turned from that to more practical matters.
“They only listened to me for a few hours a day, while the king watched. ’Twill be difficult to get them to mind.” He was, in a way, asking how much he could beat them into obeying. He didn’t like those methods but for some it was the only way to get their attention. He’d also think on how to adapt the methods he and Rory had used on their younger brothers. “At Duncladach I could close the gate, withholding food and shelter as if during a siege. It willna work here as they can walk or ride away. They ken I have not their rank, nor their fancy manners.”
“There is no need for manners in battle, which is what they will be learning for six full weeks. Their horses will be removed. You will hold their claymores. Their lairds will make it very clear they must show a major improvement in their skills or be sent home in disgrace.”
“If they would listen they’d not be sampling the fleshpots of Stirling against their lairds’ wishes,” said Tearlach.
“There are other forms of persuasion. They care what their peers think of them. Bets are already being taken as to what will be given to the best and taken from the worst. A certain woman is even offering her charms for a fortnight of bliss.”
Tearlach grimaced, cursing under his breath. “I’d hoped this would be kept quiet. I dinna wish observers to traipse by.” This made the pressure on him even greater. He paced back and forth, needing to move to think. “If the young bucks come here as a jest, playing at being soldiers to win a whore’s attentions, they will be in for a sore awakening. I have no weapon, other than a sword I cannot cut them with, to make them learn from me.” He didn’t suggest they would respect him. While his ability with a blade brought a grudging respect for the talent, he and Rory had been scorned for everything else. “That sort willna listen to the younger brother of a minor laird from the western coast.”
Whatever he’d said had brought a glint to the herald’s eye.
“Ah, but you forget you defended your king from attack with a naked blade.”
“What?” He frowned at the ridiculous idea. “Roderick was no danger to the king.”
“You have not heard the rumors of your prowess circulating in Stirling. There is even a ballad about it.”
“A ballad? What nonsense is that?”
“It tells how King James was ready to strike Roderick dead when he turned to attack. You saved His Majesty with a blow that chopped off the attacker’s hand.” He coughed, “Luckily none of their garments were harmed when blood gushed like a fountain. And though your wound be deep, you survived thanks to the efforts of your lovely wife.”
“Of all the…” Tearlach grimaced, rubbing his forehead. He took another breath. “I but twisted the pup’s wrist so he’d release his dirk. He scratched me, leaving no scar. The king was never in danger. ’Twasn’t more than a moment’s effort and soon forgotten.”
“The king prefers the version where he was valiantly defending himself when you took the blade aimed for him.” He paused. “Sir Tearlach.”
The words barely registered. When the herald just looked at him, waiting, Tearlach backed away a step.
“Ye jest,” he blurted. “I’ve done naught to be knighted.”
“King James does not jest about his knights. I hold his power and you will kneel.”
Tearlach looked around. No faces looked out the windows at them. There was no sound other than that of a farm. This was both dream and nightmare. Knighthood could bring respect, but only if it was earned. He’d done nothing to earn it during those few minutes.
“Do you wish an audience other than my men? I did not think you that sort.”
“Nay, ’tis just that...” He paused. “My laird brother deserves the honor far more than I. My father cared naught for us. His tales of our glorious past and dire warnings of Clan Campbell brought no food to our bellies. Somerled took over as laird the day he and Niall turned sixteen. They kept us alive, without help.” He spread his arms. “We had no kin. All our uncles were slain and my father’s two wives died young. Their clans didna dare cross Campbell land to help us. We near starved more than one winter, and froze as well. Thirty years of keeping a clan alive should be worth more than a minute or two twisting the arm of a puling weakling.” He shook his head. “Somerled should be knighted. Not I.”
The herald sighed impatiently. “The king kens this. Laird Somerled will be knighted when he accepts his marriage. Now kneel so I may eat and be gone.”
Chapter 15
“Duchray Castle must be near empty with all that’s come here,” said Janet, drawing Isabel up the stairs. “’Twas good that ye sketched where all was to go. There was so much to fit in. The villagers were agog with all the wagons passing through.”
A second bench was the main difference Isabel saw in the kitchen. But the hall stopped her in her tracks. It was just as she’d imagined. Bright tapestries covered the walls, making it bright and welcoming rather than gloomy and cold. Six padded chairs, two of them built extra large for her husbands, waited by the fireplace. A table was pushed against the wall, out of the way but easily moved into place. A pair of silver candlesticks with beeswax candles in them sat on the table. She blinked back tears.
“Oh, Janet. ’Tis perfect. I bought paints and brushes, good ones, for the rooms without tapestries. I saw so much at Stirling Castle that I wish to do.”
“Yer painting will make this yer home, more than all of this.” Janet gestured around the room.
Isabel refused to look in her chamber until she checked the rest of Calltuin. Then she rushed ahead of Janet down the stairs.
There it was. Her giant bed with the soft, comfortable mattress. One of her old work gowns was tossed on it. She looked closer. There was something about it… She burst out in laughter. Tommy stretched his legs, yawning widely before sitting up. He blinked lazily at her as if insulted at being woken.
“I wondered where ye were,” she said. “Trust a cat to ken the best place to sleep.”
“Is that beast on yer bed again? He looked for ye, day and night, yowling. I finally gave up and put yer gown on it to settle him.”
She looked longingly at the bed, thinking of what she and her men had done on it.
“I ken what ye are thinking, but ye must bathe afore ye sleep,” said Janet, smirking. “Those are new sheets, soft as a baby’s arse.”
“I wasna thinking of sleeping on the bed,” she teased. “Do ye dally with yer man when ’tis light?”
“Aye, but he willna do more than a quick rut unless ’tis dark. While it meets the need, ’tis but a tease.”
“Ye have done well, Janet.” Isabel felt tears tickling again. “I must be tired, being all weepy.”
“Do ye get tired late in the day, lass? Mayhaps wake with an unhappy belly?”
“Tired, aye, from all the work at Duncladach, and the traveling. I was eager to get here this morn, yet wondering what I might find. ’Tis why I didna eat. It made me a bit dizzy, but now that I’m home all will be well.” She rubbed her arm across her itching nipples.
Janet’s smile was far too smug. She trailed a hand over the fireplace mantle.
“What are ye thinkin’?” demanded Isabel.
“I’m thinkin’ Mary’s babes will be out of the cradle in time for yer own to lie in it.”
A roaring filled her ears. She wavered. Janet helped her to a stool by the wall. She dropped onto it. Her right hand dropped to her lap. Was she already carrying life?
“A babe?” she whispered.
“Have ye bled since ye left?”
She shook her head, unable to speak. Why was she so surprised? That is what happened when you married, if you were lucky. She’d been working too hard to think, and riding had exhausted her.
“Dinna tell them,” she whispered.
“’Tis up to the wife to do that.”
“I dinna wish them to know yet.”
“Why? They’ll be pleased.”
“They’ll be smug and arrogant.” She rubbed her flat belly. “I wish to be mistress of Calltuin. If they ken I’m carrying a babe they will fuss.”
Janet rested her hand on her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. “Do ye love them?”
“If love means wanting to bash them over the head with a rolling pin one minute, and kiss them passionately the next, then aye.”
Janet chuckled. “Robert would make me wish to scream at him with fury, and then he’d touch me and make me moan and demand more.”
“What of yer James?”
Janet sighed wistfully. “’Tis a slower, more gentle kind of loving with James. We’re older, and we ken ’tis too late for bairns. Our lives are set.” She shrugged, her calm smile lighting the room. “We are comfortable with each other. There’s more hugs and less screaming.” She winked. “But still lots of moans and groans, and not all from aching joints and muscles.”
“Ye ken ye are my mam, so will be a granny with this babe.”
Janet’s eyes spilled with tears. She sank onto the stool beside Isabel. They grasped hands. “Ah, lass, I dinna ken what I would have done without ye.”
Tommy leaped off the bed with a thunk. He trotted over, belly fur swinging, and demanded her lap. She pressed her face into his fur.
“Ye’ll have to share my lap this winter,” she told him.
Already the knowledge of her babe had settled. She had known, but not realized it. And now she must hide it, especially from Tearlach. She gathered Tommy, purring loudly in her arms, and stood.
“Tearlach will stomp and threaten and rattle his claymore,” she said. “I wish to ken where I will be living afore he learns of our babe.”
“He willna be pleased ye kept it from him.”
Isabel nudged Janet. “Aye, so I’ll have to make it up to him.”
The two of them were still chuckling when they descended the stairs. They’d taken so long that Tearlach had cut bread and set out butter and honey. They could hear the men’s voices through the open window.
“Nay,” said Tearlach, “I will tell my wife the truth.”
Isabel’s gaiety evaporated. She exchanged worried looks with Janet. While it pleased her he would be truthful, she worried about what the herald thought should be kept from her.
“You are her husband. ’Tis your right to do with her as you choose.”
“I choose to keep her alive, and well.” There was a moment of silence. Were the two of them squaring off? “As King James has me training the lads here, does it mean Isabel keeps Calltuin?”
She gulped, straining her ears to listen.
“I told you all I can without orders to do so,” replied Sir Lion. “I would say ’tis the truth but until I ken the king has signed his mark…”
His words trailed off. She could imagine Tearlach grinding his teeth. He liked to know all he could so he could plan. So did she, but it was a luxury they did not have.
“Then I will thank ye for the warning,” said Tearlach. “They’d best arrive with food and all needed to keep them for six weeks. We dinna have enough for eight growing lads.”
Eight growing lads? Who was coming, and why?
“Aye, you’ll have all ye need, and more. I wish you, your brothers, and your lady the best.”
She heard the creak of leather as they mounted their horses. “One more thing,” said the herald, his voice raised. “Herald Murray will be assigned to you as elder council. As you canna have the lads thumping one another all the time, he will lecture them on history, philosophy, and the like. I think his lady wife would prefer the north chamber on the first floor. ’Twill mean only one flight of steps for the old man.”
Isabel had to catch him before he left. She ran outside. “Thank ye for yer escort, Sir Lion. Please tell Herald Murray he and his wife are welcome to stay as long as they wish.”
“Sir Lion?” he asked, tilting his head.
“Ye wouldna tell us yer name.”
His face cleared. “Ah, yes. I am of the Glenorchy Campbells, from south of Loch Tay. I didna think your husbands would trust one such as I.”
Tearlach grunted, shaking his head. “We ken ye now. Ye are naught like those who tossed my brother Gillis and good-sister Fiona in Glenorchy’s pit.”
Sir Lion’s eyebrows rose. “I shall have that tale another day.” He bowed. “Adieu Lady Isabel, Lady
Janet, and Sir Tearlach.” Three sets of pounding hooves filled her ears.
Isabel turned to Tearlach. His ears and cheeks were flushed. “Sir Tearlach?”
He tugged on his right ear, avoiding her eyes. “Aye, well, it seems Calltuin will have a wee bit of company. Other than Murray and his wife.”
“Ye mean the eight growing lads ye need food for?”
The red got darker, but he said nothing. She stomped up to him. He wouldn’t look at her, instead looking over her head to the trees.
“Speak, husband, or we’ll nay be taking any more walks in the meadow.”
That got his attention. He narrowed his eyes. She knew he disliked her giving him orders. It was partly why she did it. His nostrils flared like a bull challenged.
“A wife canna say nay to her husband,” he replied, keeping his voice low. Her pussy wept in response but she kept her eyes hard.
“True, but she doesna have to say aye. And if I dinna wish to give myself, ye willna force me.”
He scowled. “I shouldna let ye ken I be a kindly man.” Her reply was a hard poke. He grunted and caught her finger. “But even kindly men can be pushed to take action.”
He stepped closer, keeping hold of her finger. His free hand slipped from her back, over her waist to her bottom. He patted it in warning. She quivered, her pussy throbbing. His expression lightened in knowing arrogance. He lifted her finger, and her hand, to his lips. They skimmed the inside of her wrist where her pulse thundered.
“We shall find Rory and…talk.”
They both knew talking would not happen until other needs were met. He brought her hand to her mouth once more. This time he nipped the heel of it. It was what he called her mound, to match the one above her pussy. His tongue laved it, swirling as he did over her clit. She stiffened her knees so not to sink into a puddle of need.
“Best ye give us the bones of this wee chat afore ye walk,” insisted Janet.
It took but moments for Tearlach to say the words that would change their lives. Six lads, all under seventeen, would soon destroy their quiet valley. Eight, counting Artair and Zander. It wasn’t the lads as much as what they would say to others about Calltuin when they left. Others who might wish to take it from them, or destroy its serene beauty.