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

by Reece Butler

  The next morning when Jenny showed them his pack and gave a garbled message, she’d almost cried that he was gone. She’d given Janet and Jenny what they wished from the pack. The rest went to villagers who’d been kind to her. They were hard workers and had little. To them a bright ribbon was a magnificent gift to be cherished. She’d kept one ribbon, a yellow one, as Janet insisted it went so well in her brown hair.

  Janet’s weary sigh filled the kitchen. “Lass, ye ken ’twould be a miracle if one of the king’s servants heard the message. He might even pass it on to one of the king’s men.” She shook her head sadly. “Dinna get yer hopes up. King James has nay time for the likes of us.”

  Isabel had prayed the king would send a husband she could share her life with. As she’d asked for little in her life, and the king was a devout man, she’d hoped with all her heart it would come true. Hoped, but not expected.

  “The peddler said he’d pass on what he could, as far up as possible,” she said stubbornly.

  “Who listens to a peddler?”

  “Then I shall pray for a miracle, for all of us,” she replied. “If I find myself a husband with a pot of gold I’ll buy ye a wee cottage in the village where there’ll be few stairs for ye to climb.”

  Janet accepted the change of topic. “Ah, lass, ye have a good heart. I dinna need a cottage.”

  “Ye have bad knees. They creak and groan with every step, up and down the stairs.”

  “When ye marry I’ll go to my own husband.”

  “Husband?” Isabel gawked at her lifelong companion. Janet turned away but not before Isabel saw her blush. “Janet Wilkie! Now I ken why ye spend so much time in the village. Ye’ve been keepin’ secrets?”

  Janet shook the spirtle at Isabel, flinging bits of oatmeal. “Dinna say a word! Ye are an unmarried lass and such things are not fit for yer ears. Nor those of wee Jennie.”

  “I’d hug ye if my hands were clean.” Isabel’s heart lifted. If she couldn’t be happy at least Janet might. “We’ll have to pray even harder that I find myself a husband so ye can go to yer own.”

  “Well, husbands dinna grow on hazel trees, lass,” replied Janet, still pink-faced.

  Tommy froze in mid-lick, one hind leg high, head toward the hall passage. He’d stopped with his tongue out, making him look foolish. Isabel ducked her head, hiding her smile. The last time she’d laughed at him he’d laid a mouse beside her face as she slept, hauling it all the way up to the garret in revenge.

  “What’s caught yer ear, puss?” she asked. He rolled to his feet and was out the door. “He’s not yowling so it mustn’t be Roderick.”

  “’Tis far too early for that slug to be out of bed,” said Janet with disgust. She gave one more stir and moved the pot away from the heat before bustling down the passage. “Mayhaps ’tis the lad to pick up those shepherd crooks ye grew.”

  Instead of steaming and bending the hazel wood after it was cut Isabel had experimented with training a slender branch so it would grow into a crook. Her shepherd was pleased with the result so she’d done more. Now that she knew Calltuin was hers she could sell or trade them for things they couldn’t produce themselves. Paints, and brushes.

  The sound of horse hooves hitting dirt made her straighten and turn in surprise. Only the wealthy had horses. She stiffened. Had Roderick sent men after her?

  “Good morn, my fair lady.” The deep male voice held a strength and confidence quite different from Roderick. “Would this be the home of Lady Isabel Graham?”

  Lady Isabel? No one called her that.

  “Mayhaps,” answered Janet suspiciously. “Who be askin’?”

  Isabel cocked her head at the tiny window facing the yard. It was designed for shooting arrows, not to see. Roderick had made it clear his father wanted none to know she lived here. Why did a man wish to speak with her? And who was he?

  Could this be her miracle?

  She told her fluttering heart to calm, but it didn’t listen. The creak of leather suggested the man had dismounted. A second creak meant there were two! She scurried around the table to peer out. All she could see was the back end of a pair of fine horses. She did not want to rush out like an eager child. No, she’d finish her job. She set the kneaded dough inside her bread bowl by the fireplace to rise and covered it with a damp linen cloth.

  “Tearlach and Rory MacDougal at yer service, my lady.”

  The two men must be brothers or cousins. Men with voices that made her breath hitch were asking for her! A hot flush crept up her throat to her face.

  “MacDougal?” asked Janet. She sounded more interested than hostile. “From where?”

  “Clan MacDougal holds the land across from the Isle of Mull on the Firth of Lorn.”

  “Ah, I ken it. Are ye still holding out against the Campbells, then?”

  “Aye, and shall unless the dogs slaughter the rest of us,” one replied with a snarl. Isabel shivered at the implied power. “What do ye ken of us?”

  “One of my sisters married a Macgregor of Glen Strae. She was out riding when a raiding party of Campbells caught her. She lived but was ne’er the same.”

  Janet rarely spoke of her past. She’d been born Lady Janet but her family turned their backs on her for eloping with Robert Wilkes rather than accepting the old laird who’d bring them power. She’d been happy until she lost her babe and her husband to a fever just before Isabel’s birth. Isabel’s parents had brought her in as a wet nurse. She’d stayed as nursemaid, training Isabel to be a lady. When she was orphaned and sent here Janet became more of a governess and then housekeeper. Isabel had been her assistant until she’d grown old enough to take over the hard work.

  And all that time Calltuin had been her property! Her fury rose again. She would find a way to keep Roderick Graham from taking what was hers!

  “We spent a night on Macgregor land,” said the deep voice. “’Twas that or ride half the night to get to the Macnabs. We willna stop on Campbell land.”

  She would have to ask Janet what she knew about the nearby clans. She hadn’t thought of it before as she assumed King James would have married her off long ago. Now that her guardian was pushing Roderick at her she had to find her own husband. She liked the sound of this man. His voice seemed to resonate in her belly, and a bit lower as well.

  “Welcome to Calltuin. ’Tis Janet Wilkie ye are speaking to. I be no lady since I married my dear Robert, but I thank ye.”

  “A lady marrying a plain man doesna lose her gracious elegance,” said a slightly different voice. This one definitely had a smile in it and more than a hint of seduction. “Nor does a mannerless brute, no matter how big his…ah, castle, improve his character by wedding the daughter of a lord.”

  Though Janet’s hearty laugh rang out Isabel’s face flamed. Their visitor had unknowingly described Roderick. Though handsome compared to the village men he was also arrogant, bombastic, crude, domineering, egotistical—she’d thought up an extensive alphabetic list of his faults.

  “Did ye stumble in here on yer way elsewhere, lads?” asked Janet.

  “No MacDougal stumbles,” chided the stern man.

  “Unless he be in his cups,” added the second.

  Was he flirting with Janet?

  “Pardon me. Of course such a handsome pair of well-spoken rogues wouldna stumble.” Janet was flirting back! “Ye be twins, aye? ’Tis hard to tell the two of ye apart.”

  “Aye, we shared our mother’s womb. I be Rory, the handsome one,” said the flirter. “My brother Tearlach is the rogue. He’s older and thinks all should go as he wishes. I”—he paused, as if to make a motion—“dinna agree.”

  Isabel could hear the laughter in the deep, teasing tone. Both voices made her feel…strange. Fluttery.

  Eager to see if their faces matched their voices she scrubbed the worst of the dough off her hands and brushed flour off her apron. Of course the first time men came calling would be when her best dress was still drying. It was only a day dress but still better than thi
s one. She tucked a few loose hairs behind her ears as she scurried down the dim passage. She halted just before the doorway, suddenly nervous, and peered out.

  Janet stood nearby, her back to Isabel. A pair of huge men faced her. Unlike Roderick, these men radiated confidence and control though they wore ragged plaids and well-patched shirts. The hilt of a claymore protruded over each man’s shoulder. A ripple of pleasure rolled through her. These were hard men, warriors. They’d go to one knee for their king and their laird, and none other. If Roderick faced them without his guards he’d quake in terror.

  She quaked, but it wasn’t terror. It was…want.

  Their dark hair with broad foreheads and cheeks attracted her. So did their wide shoulders, chests with muscular arms, and legs like tree trunks. They could easily pull those claymores from their backs and cut down an enemy.

  She was fascinated by them, having never seen grown twins before. They were quite alike physically yet their expressions showed different characters, as did how they held themselves. The one grasping the reins of three horses looked stern and commanding. He stood still, chin high and shoulders back. He must be Tearlach, the elder of the two. The other one, Rory, was at ease, flirting with Janet though she was old enough to be his mother. He likely flirted with every female as a matter of course.

  “Hush,” commanded Tearlach. His deep command had her curling her toes to keep from running out for a closer look. And touch. “We bear a message for Lady Isabel from a herald of the king.”

  Dread replaced eagerness. “Oh, no!” She shrank back two steps, hoping she’d not been heard. She’d just discovered Calltuin House was hers. Was the king ordering her to Stirling to marry Roderick?

  “A herald?” demanded Janet.

  “Och, he near blinded us when he came riding up to Duncladach,” said Rory, wincing. “He wore a gold tabard with the red lion of Scotland, near as bright as the sun.”

  “Herald Murray bid us to meet with King James,” said Tearlach. “He had to go on ahead and so ordered us to escort a Lady Isabel Graham of Calltuin the rest of the way. A ward of the king, she is to be wed at Stirling Castle within a sennight.”

  Isabel put her hand out to support herself. The familiar cool stone kept her from sinking to her knees. Calltuin House was hers, and she would not give it, and herself, to Roderick without a fight! Could these men help her? At the least they could speak to the king for her.

  “Aye, Isabel be his ward,” said Janet. Isabel heard her disapproval. “The king is suddenly eager to have her married off now she’ll be one-and-twenty.”

  “When Murray informed us of this task, my dear brother asked if the lady would be a puling wee lass who was too prissy to ride a horse,” said Rory. “He thought she’d be trailing a lady’s maid and far too many gowns and the like.”

  “Calltuin House has no use for a lass such as that,” declared Janet stoutly. “Isabel is a fine, strong woman. She gives orders to the men and works aside them in the fields and hazel forest and does all she can here.”

  Tommy shot past Isabel’s skirts. She lurched forward to grab him but missed. She peered out the door, ready to warn them. A laugh rang out as Rory stood, holding Tommy. She stared as her vicious attack cat rubbed his head under the man’s chin!

  “Ah, I can see ye’ve been starved and beaten for years, haven’t ye, puss?” he crooned. “Not a cuddle or a scratch have ye got, ye puir wee beastie.”

  “That cat has gone near few men since he found his way here, other than to attack,” said Janet, staring in awe. “Isabel said he slashed Graham’s face when the brute tried to grab her.”

  “Who tried to grab the lady?” Tearlach sounded even harder and colder. The horses, feeling his tension, shifted their feet.

  “What did Lady Isabel do?” asked Rory.

  “’Twas Roderick Graham, son of Isabel’s guardian.” Janet made a sound of disgust. “He fancies he’ll be chosen to marry her and wished to anticipate his wedding night.”

  A low growl reached her ears. Tommy was purring, so it was not from him. Was it Tearlach?

  “Isabel bashed him with her rolling pin,” said Janet. “Twice!”

  Tearlach’s shoulders sank down again. He patted the lead horse, calming it.

  “Wish I’d seen it, or done it myself,” continued Janet. “Duchray’s been a thorn in our sides since the lass first met him, and this son’s no better.”

  “Serves him right,” said Rory, now scratching Tommy’s whole head. “Ye are a bonny wee cat to protect yer lady so.” His brother grunted in agreement.

  “We will protect Lady Isabel,” said Tearlach. “At least until Stirling,” he added.

  These men were nothing like Roderick and father. The other men she’d seen, in the village and the few times she’d made it to Callander, thought women had their place and should stay in it. And that, of course, was far beneath men, silent servants for all their appetites. Yet these two supported her defending herself. Tommy’s acceptance of Rory proved her instincts were right. Were they hoping to find a wife?

  She took a step into the light.

  Chapter Seven

  “Good morn to ye, sirs.”

  Two identical handsome faces turned her way. Their intense blue eyes caught and held her. It was as if everything stopped. No sound touched her ears. Though there’d been a breeze, nothing stirred her hair.

  These must be Highlanders. Every solid inch of them screamed they were men. Her body knew it, flooding her with new sensations. Her nostrils flared, seeking their scent. They were too far…

  The moment broke. Birds called, loose hair drifted about her face, and the warm sun touched her skin. They looked at her thoroughly, starting at her bare dirty toes, over her worn work gown and apron, up to her hair. She held herself as tall as she could, showing she was a woman to be reckoned with. They turned to each other with a nod of silent communication. Rory winked at her over a purring Tommy.

  “Isabel, these be Tearlach and Rory MacDougal,” said Janet. “They have a message for ye, and will bring ye to Stirling Castle and King James.”

  She wanted desperately to hear their message, but courtesy and hospitality came first. So did ensuring they stayed for at least a meal. How did a lass ask a man if he was free, and interested in marriage? If not them, did they have brothers?

  “Would ye care for porridge with honey and cream?”

  “Cream?” Rory’s eyes widened.

  Tommy, knowing the word, scrambled to escape. He climbed to Rory’s shoulder, set his back claws, and made a flying leap toward her. Though Rory winced he said nothing as Tommy wound between her legs, demanding the treat. Roderick, not that he’d let any animal get close, would have killed Tommy for a scratch. Considering what her cat had done to his face he’d beat Tommy to death if he caught him. And, perhaps, her as well.

  “Now that my arms are free,” said Rory, “I shall great ye properly.” He placed his hand over his heart and bowed, smiling widely. “I be Rory MacDougal, Lady Isabel. And in case ye dinna notice, I be the handsome one.”

  “Ye’ll be the one I’ll thump and toss into the duck pond,” replied Tearlach as if the threats and boasts were part of their usual conversation. He turned to her. “Good morn, my lady.”

  “I be no lady.” She looked down, spreading her rough skirts. “As ye can see, I dinna sit in a solar and sew pretty pillows for lairds to put their arses on.”

  “Isabel, dinna use that word in front of men!”

  “Pardon,” she replied, not meaning it. “Do ye have brothers?”

  “Aye. Fourteen other than us.” Rory winked. “Dinna worry, lass, ye have the best two right here. And may I say ye are a beautiful sight, my lady.”

  They were the best-looking men she’d ever seen. They had manners and wit. And they looked at her as if she was a sweet treat and they weren’t sure where to lick first!

  Roderick had never looked at her like that. He had, however, started out with the same false praise. That had changed the first
time she refused him. He’d then told her, in detail, about all her faults. Sudden fury hit at the thought these arousing men might be the same.

  “I be no beauty,” she snapped. “I’m a wee, scrawny twig. I’ve got plain brown hair and eyes, and my clothes are the same.” She held up her hands and stuck a foot out. “My skin turns brown where the sun touches it, and I have calluses from working. And”—she drew a breath as deeply as she could, which wasn’t much—“I am ugly as a wren.”

  “Says Roderick Graham who parades around in velvet and fur while his father gives ye but one new gown a year, and ’tis always brown or gray homespun,” said Janet. Her lips curled down. She disliked it when Isabel listened to what Roderick spewed at her. “Aye, yer eyes are brown, like a well-aged whiskey. Yer skin shows that ye’ve worked for what ye have.”

  “There are other forms of beauty,” said Tearlach before Isabel could respond. “These horses are fine animals, but they are the king’s. What we wear is as well used as yer gown. We have also worked for all we have. Ye should be proud of what ye have done.” He put his free hand over his heart and bowed to her. It was the same gesture used by his brother, but somehow it held far more significance. “I be Tearlach, the third MacDougal.” His eyes flicked to his brother. “Older, wiser, and more responsible than the fourth.”

  “And more stodgy, like porridge that has sat too long and gotten sticky and lumpy,” said Rory, giving his brother a scornful look. He turned to her. Without the wide smile he looked older, more caring, and trustworthy. “Lass, I canna see yer eyes from here, but the sun touches the red and gold in yer hair. Ye are slender but ye have a woman’s curves.”

  The smile he now gave her was real, making lines crinkle around his brilliant blue eyes. She’d love to find a dye that color. Wee Jenny would look beautiful in such a dress.