King's Pawn [Highland Menage 7] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Reece Butler

  Murray met Somerled’s eyes. Whatever he saw there eased his expression. He leaned back in the only chair in the castle and lifted his empty cup, watching him over the edge. “Best ye tell the truth at all times, Laird MacDougal, as ye dinna lie well.” He waved his cup for more wine. “You can stay if you release a pair of your brothers to me instead.”

  Somerled grunted his relief. “Tearlach and Rory are next after us.” He looked to his left. That end was always dim, the way Torquil liked it. “Anything ye wish to say on that, Ewan?”

  Ewan waited a moment before getting to his feet. Rory went still, as did his brothers as Ewan walked past the herald to Tearlach and touched his neck with one finger. They all held their breath. His face lightened. He stood back, thought for a bit, and then came toward Rory, who tensed.

  “I dinna wish to hear bad news,” said Rory. “Unless ’tis good, keep it to yerself.”

  Ewan waited. Rory knew he had no choice. He cursed and lifted his arm for Ewan to touch. He stared forward, not wanting to see his brother’s expression.

  “Aye, the two of ye will be takin’ a journey. A long one. Say yer good-byes as ’twill be a while afore ye return.”

  Rory swallowed. What did that mean? “Are ye sayin’ we’ll die?”

  “Aye, as will we all,” replied Ewan. “If ye are askin’ if I saw yer death is near, then nay. But if ye do sommat stupid that would change. There’s one more thing. Watch the cat.”

  Rory could feel Tearlach was equally puzzled. “Ye mean Shadow?”

  “Nay, ’tis another cat, one where ye will be goin’.”

  “Watch it do what?” asked Tearlach.

  “I dinna ken,” replied Ewan. “The cat is nay a danger. It is…a warning.” He cocked his head, blinking. “Nay, ’twill warn ye.”

  “What is this?” asked the herald.

  “Ewan is not a witch,” said Somerled quickly. They all knew of the king’s eagerness to torture and burn witches.

  “I ken things,” explained Ewan. He clasped his hands together. “Not the future, just…things.”

  “Would you touch me?”

  Not even brothers asked Ewan to do such a thing. Yet a herald from the king could not be denied. Ewan tilted his head and regarded Murray. He nodded.

  “Aye, as ye have no stench of evil about ye.” He came up behind the herald and touched one finger to the back of his hand. His frown wrinkles eased. He even smiled. “Yer wife wishes ye home, Murray of Strowan. She has good news for ye.”

  The herald reddened. “What news?”

  “Ye wish me to ruin yer wife’s surprise?”

  “I can pretend to be surprised quite easily,” said Murray harshly. “Few ken I have a wife yet ye speak of her. Tell me!”

  “Yer first child will be a healthy lad and yer wife will birth him easily.”

  Murray paled. “Eunice is with child?”

  “A young wife can wake an old cock. Laird MacKenzie just had another son with his new wife yet he’s a grandfather many times over.”

  “I never thought…” Murray looked stunned. He shook it off and sat up, pushing his wineglass away. “We leave at dawn.” His grin cut years off his age. “I find I am suddenly eager to ride home.” He turned to Ewan. “Thank you. The king willna learn of your gift through me.” He cleared his throat. “Ah, you said first child. There will be more?”

  “Aye. Ye might think on letting another take yer place as herald. Ye dinna wish yer young wife to get lonely.”

  “Our mounts must stay here,” said Tearlach. “We’ll be on foot and may hold ye back.”

  The herald shook off the personal and got back to business. “The king will provide mounts.”

  “And from what stables are ye gettin’ them?” asked Tearlach sarcastically.

  “The Earl of Argyll wishes to please King James.”

  “Ye’ll have MacDougals riding Campbell horses?” demanded Somerled.

  “I thought MacDougals would like to set their arses on a Campbell and take the reins,” said Murray blandly. Roars of approval filled the room.

  Rory relaxed in his chair. The older man had a young, eager wife. He had wit and knowledge. He and Tearlach would learn a lot as they rode.

  “My men will meet us at the edge of MacDougal land with a fine pair of horses for ye.” Murray settled himself in the laird’s chair. “The earl doesna need to ken why.”

  Somerled’s low chuckle rumbled down the table. He toasted the herald. The rest of them joined in. “Ye’ll take the fine clothes Angus and Gillis sent back from Darach Cameron’s wedding. That and good horseflesh will show ye well.”

  “Do ye ken why the king wishes to meet?” asked Niall. “Or rather, will ye speak of it?”

  “Since when does the king need a reason?” Murray looked at Tearlach, and then Rory. “Ye may have need of yer claymores and dirks.”

  Tearlach grinned at Rory as the younger ones complained about being left behind. “We’ll be having an adventure, lads!”

  Chapter Five

  They spent the first night wrapped in their old plaids on the far edge of Clan MacGregor. They’d ridden hard as they refused to close their eyes anywhere on Campbell land. Tabard or not, the presence of King James’s herald would not stop an “accidental” arrow from piercing a MacDougal back. In the next few days they skirted around the high Trossach hills, going far out of their way before turning south toward Callander. They crossed the Pass of Leny before stopping.

  Tearlach dismounted, eager to get his feet on land. He hadn’t ridden that much, for so long, ever. His arse was sore from riding and his thighs from rubbing. If this was the cost of adventure, it was worth it.

  “Is the line atween the Highlands and Lowlands that pass?” he asked. “’Tis makin’ me twitchy, getting so far from the hills.”

  “Far from hills?” repeated one of Murray’s men. “Did ye nay see what we climbed this day and the last?”

  “Aye,” replied Tearlach. “But I saw also how it soon flattens to naught.” He shuddered. “There be too many people on flat land. How can a man think for the noise?”

  “Ye canna think at the best o’ times,” said Rory.

  “And ye—”

  “God’s truth, the two of ye are worse than a pair of courtiers!” Murray held up his hands to stop them both from turning on him at the insult. “We part ways in the morn, lads. I’ll be going on to Doune and then Stirling. You, my raucous friends, will go west of Loch Venachar. A ward of King James lives at Calltuin Castle and needs an escort to take her to Stirling. Ye’ll bring her to meet King James, aye?”

  It was an order, not a question. Tearlach looked back to the pass they’d struggled through. A fourteen-year-old lass who expected to be fawned over as a lady was his idea of a nightmare. He’d rather face a Campbell with a claymore.

  “A ward of the king?” He ground his teeth at the herald. “We’re to bring a wan-faced lassie around those hills, along with her maid? And how many carts full of gowns and fripperies will she be hauling with her?”

  “Calltuin? That means hazel grove,” said Rory, looking up in interest.

  “Aye, and a fine grove it is, too,” said Murray. “Ask the lass for some of the bread made with ground hazel flour.”

  “Will the two of ye hush about the trees? I need to ken this lass.”

  “What do you ken of ladies?” asked Murray.

  “The young ones are guarded well by their mothers and are eager for a wealthy man with a title. The ones who married rich old men are looking for virile young men to warm their beds.”

  “And where did you learn that?”

  “Our father spent some time at court." He winced. "When he returned ’twas to find his brothers had been poisoned. They all died, but him. ’Tis why Somerled willna leave our lands.”

  “And ’tis why Father had so many of us,” added Rory. “If we were attacked one of us might live to keep the clan alive.”

  “The woman I speak of is a ward of the king. She goes to Stirl
ing to be married and needs a trustworthy escort.”

  Tearlach set his fists on his hips and glared. “Can she even ride a horse?”

  “Lady Isabel Graham was orphaned young and has lived at Calltuin House since. Her guardian is Laird Graham of Duchray in Aberfoyle. His man is Sir William Graham of Mugdock Castle, the Earl of Menteith. She has an old housekeeper, Janet Wilkie, who was her milk-mother and has raised her since birth. She shares Calltuin with wee Jenny, a bonnie lass they’ve taken in. She has a shepherd and four plowmen for the eighteen oxen. They have two horses and grow wheat, barley, oats, and peas along with the gardens and orchards.”

  “And the hazel grove,” added Rory, giving Tearlach a verbal poke.

  “Aye, dinna forget that,” replied Murray.

  Tearlach ignored the jibes. He would do whatever King James wanted whether he personally wished to or not, and do it well. If he and Rory were lucky they’d find a wife at Stirling Castle to bring home to Duncladach. That couldn’t be soon enough. He already missed the scent of the sea.

  “Isabel’s been working as a servant and has neither a maid nor chests of clothing,” said Murray. “I’ve arranged for a few gowns and such to be made, courtesy of her guardian. They’ll be ready when you come through Callander. Isabel will either ride the pack horse or share a saddle with you. She’s a wee thing, is Isabel.”

  The herald had spoken of many things on their trip. He’d never mentioned a lass needing an escort. He had that look about him, one that said this was part of a plan.

  “King James doesna notice orphans unless they have wealth. Is Calltuin her dowry?” asked Tearlach.

  “Aye.” Murray dropped his voice. “King James keeps a portion of each ward’s dowry for the good of the kingdom. If Isabel isna married afore she turns one-and-twenty she will gain control of all. The king wishes to avoid that.”

  “The lady is merely the king’s pawn, holding land until he wishes to use it?”

  Murray fidgeted with a brooch but finally nodded.

  “And her birthday is in a fortnight?”

  “Aye. Duchray told the lass her father left her with naught but debts. That he took her in out of the goodness of his heart, so she must work as a servant to pay for his generosity.” He spat to the side as if wishing to clear his mouth of disgust. “She’s just learned Calltuin has been hers all along, that Duchray purposefully lied to her, and that he’s already asked the king to grant her in marriage to his son.”

  “Her guardian purposefully treated the wee lass as a servant, lying to her so she thought her father left her with naught?” Tearlach swore when Murray nodded that it was true. “And now the king wishes to take it from her?”

  “Nay, he would have her live well. He must be careful who controls certain lands. The lass inherited as she’s the only one left alive.”

  “And Duchray wants the land, caring naught for the woman?” asked Rory.

  “Who is he, and does she wish to marry him?” demanded Tearlach at the same time.

  Murray held up his hand. “Roderick Graham is Duchray’s third son. Aye, they covet her land and care naught for her.” He paused. “Roderick eyes the land, but he also wishes to beat Isobel into a meek, silent, servant. When he said so she attacked him. I interrupted, in the guise of a traveling peddler, afore Roderick could harm her.”

  “She attacked him?”

  “Aye, with her rolling pin. Her cat helped. Roderick was nay amused. If King James allows the marriage Isabel’s life will be unpleasant and short. He’s already planning for her death.”

  A cold burn started in Tearlach’s innards. He and his brothers had little chance of a wife, yet this woman would be given to a brute? He could feel Rory’s anger, though his twin hid it in mockery.

  “What’s the challenge in a meek, silent wife?” Rory shook his head, pretending to shudder at the thought. “Bedding her would be like sticking yer cock in a warm corpse. I wish for a wife like Gillis’s wee Fiona.” He waggled his eyebrows, baring his teeth in a grin.

  “One raised as a squire rather than a lady?” asked Murray.

  “One with wit and spirit,” corrected Tearlach. “Does Isabel have either?”

  “Both, and a good aim,” said Murray. He eyed Tearlach. “If she’s fractious and picks up her rolling pin, best to duck. And watch out for her one-eyed cat. Tommy has a fast set of claws.”

  “I like cats.” Rory grinned at Tearlach. “The lass sounds like a good wife for us. Why would the king waste her on a Lowlander?”

  “Would you want her? Isabel is used to making decisions and carrying them out. She has no jewels nor pretty gowns, nor any use for them as she canna dance and has no court manners. Her skin has the kiss of the sun and her hands and feet are callused from work. If she plies a needle ’twould be to sew a wound or make something serviceable, not pretty cushions. The strong baskets she weaves from wicker and hazel are much prized. She doesna just sit and give orders. She does the work. All that would turn many suitors away.” Murray shot a hard glance at them. “Few men would wed a woman who’s lived for years as if she was laird and sees no reason to change.”

  “We’ll take her, sight unseen,” said Tearlach. “A pretty wife who does naught but sit and chatter, or wave her hand for servants to work, is nay use to us.”

  “She has a biting way with words,” warned Murray.

  “Did ye nay hear our brothers squabbling at Duncladach?” asked Rory. “After living with fourteen of ’em, one wee lass with a rolling pin willna make us say nay to the thought of a wife.”

  “Can she make pies with that pin, or does she just throw it?” asked Tearlach. “If she can cook—”

  “Dinna get ahead of yourselves, laddies,” warned Murray. “’Tisn’t up to the two of you or the lass who she marries. King James may take Calltuin and leave her with naught more than a wee bothy up in the hills and a few sheep.”

  “I’d marry a one-eyed, half-bald woman twice my age to save her from a brute,” said Tearlach quietly. “We dinna need this land. If she’s used to hard work and plain food she’d do well at Duncladach.” He and his twin shared the thought. Rory nodded.

  “Ye’ll get to the king afore us,” said Rory. “We ask that, if ye can, ye put our names forward to wed the lady. We’ll treat her well. Here, at Duncladach, or wherever the king sends us.”

  “You’ll not beat her or lock her in the garret for what she says to you?”

  “We’re MacDougals,” said Tearlach. He leaned back on his palms, legs stretched out in front. Thinking of what Gillis had told them stirred his cock. “We dinna need to beat our wives to get them to obey.” They’d already spoken to Murray of a few ideas to warm his young wife’s bed.

  “Aye,” said Rory smugly. “We have a way to punish a wife that doesna hurt but makes them scream.”

  “And how do ye do that?” demanded Murray.

  “We keep our wife on the edge without peaking until she begs for release,” said Rory. “’Tisna just for punishment, ye ken. When she does come, ’tis far greater.”

  “How?”

  “If ye speak to the king for us, we’ll tell ye,” said Tearlach before Rory could speak.

  “I am an old man with a young wife. Your brother Ewan says Eunice will have my son. If my babe wishes a brother I must keep my wife happy, aye?”

  “First ye make sure yer hands are warm.” Tearlach rubbed his hands. He dropped his voice and explained what Gillis had told them about punishing Fiona. Murray’s eyes went wide.

  “Ye draw the alphabet with yer tongue? Where?”

  When Rory replied the herald’s eyes went even wider.

  Chapter Six

  “Ye are less than slug slime or toad spit to me!” Isabel thumped the dough hard onto the table, pretending it was Roderick Graham’s face. “If ye put as much as a finger on me I shall take my bread knife, cut off yer manroot, and stuff it in yer yelping mouth!”

  “Isabel! Ye canna say such things to a man!”

  She hit the dough a
gain. “I was saying it for me, kenning there were none around but the two of us, Janet.” She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Ye ken I’d not take a knife to my husband.” She thumped the dough over and pressed down with the heels of her palms. “No matter how much he deserved it,” she added.

  “Aye, but ye’d think on it, often.”

  She nodded her agreement. Once more she flipped and kneaded. “Do ye nay think of toad spit when Roderick rides in wearing clothes worth more than we live on in a year, on the fine horse he doesna deserve?”

  “Toad spit?” Janet shook her head. “Nay, ’tis more of a rancid pie someone put a new crust on to make it look pretty to sell.” Janet stirred the porridge clockwise with her right hand holding the spirtle. Neither of them believed the Devil would get them if they did it wrong, but it was a habit well ingrained. “’Tisna good to insult a man ye may be forced to marry. Ye may forget, speak up, and be beaten for it.”

  “I willna marry the toad!” She thumped the dough again, releasing her fury at what she had no control over.

  “He says ye will, and that the king will make ye.”

  “He also said they’ve been lying to us.” She thumped the dough again. “Calltuin House has been mine all along.” Turn and thump. “If they lied about that they’ll lie about anything.” She slumped, dropping her head and giving in for just a moment. “I wish to have babes and raise them here, Janet. Roderick will beat me and my bairns.” She shivered at the memory of Laird Graham’s fists. “I canna have that.”

  She raised her head again. A few stray hairs feathered her cheek. She pushed them away with the back of her hand. She would not give in. If she let herself cry she didn’t know when, or if, she’d stop.

  “Who would ye marry if not Roderick?” asked Janet. “We’ve seen none who could carry a message to the king to ask for ye, and ye canna wed without his permission.”

  “Wee Jenny said the peddler who left his pack for us would speak to the king.”

  The older man had charmed them all. It had been the best evening she could remember. He’d told them of his travels and answered all of Jenny’s questions until she couldn’t keep her eyes open. And then he’d insisted on carrying her all the way up to her pallet in the garret. Half-asleep, she’d wrapped her arms around his neck and sighed in contentment. Isabel had seen him brush his knuckles at the corner of his eye as they descended. She didn’t ask if he’d had children once, or wished to.