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

by Reece Butler

  “They’ll cry ye plain at Stirling Castle if ye dinna have fine gowns and jewels,” said Tearlach. “What ye do have, and it adds to yer natural beauty, is yer wit, yer laugh, and yer temper.”

  “My temper?”

  “Aye, for the passion that rises with it will also keep yer bed warm.”

  Her face, neck, and chest flashed with heat. So did the place between her thighs. It was most unusual. She cursed the bindings she’d wrapped even tighter after Roderick’s last visit. She could barely breathe!

  “Ye may be wee and brown like a wren, but ’tis nay a bad thing,” said Tearlach. One corner of his lip twitched. On such a serious man was it as close as he got to a smile? “Wrens have a good song. And”—he leaned toward her and dropped his voice—“they sing it very loud.”

  Janet snickered, making Isabel blush though she wasn’t sure what Tearlach meant.

  “We’d best get a piece of leather, brother, like Cormac and James use to hush Alana.” Rory made a face as if concentrating hard. “Or was it Malcolm and Duff who needed it for Kiera on that ship?” His eyebrows went up and he chuckled. “Nay, ’twas Gillis and Angus with Fiona. The lass be no bigger than a minute, but when she screamed the birds startled for miles around.”

  Isabel stared at them in horror. “Were they beaten?”

  “Nay! MacDougals dinna beat women or bairns.” Rory shook himself as if to remove the thought from his person. “When they scream ’tis with a woman’s joy.”

  “A woman’s joy?” She looked at Janet. Pink flushed the older woman’s cheeks.

  “Hush, Rory,” ordered Tearlach. “Isabel’s a virgin. She doesna ken the pleasure of a good man’s bedding.”

  “There can be pleasure in a man’s bed?”

  “Aye,” replied Janet, even pinker. “I said naught to ye as we thought ye’d be forced to marry a Graham. Bad enough that Roderick would beat ye and rut with ye so hard he’d bring pain. I thought ’twould be cruel if ye kenned there could be pleasure and never get to feel it.”

  Isabel shook her head, confused. She’d watched animals rut, and men and women lie in the fields to improve the harvest. “How could ye wish to have a cock thrust inside ye, like a sword jammed into a scabbard that’s too tight to fit?”

  Janet gasped. Isabel realized what she’d said, and who’d heard. She slapped her hand over her mouth. The men shared another look, one that had the corner of Rory’s mouth twitching.

  “Please excuse my words,” she said, barely over a whisper. “’Tis only been me and Janet here. I forget…”

  “Ye’d best learn to guard yer words afore ye get to court,” said Janet. “’Twill be good practice. A husband willna wish his wife to speak without thinking. Or at all,” she added with a scowl.

  “I like a lass who is honest. And to answer yer question, if a lass is warmed with a man’s fingers and lips,” murmured Rory into the silence, “and he kisses her, touching the spots that make her sigh, her body opens for him.” He strolled closer, seeming to get taller with every step. Her heart pounded. She licked dry lips. “Ye ken how a tight wool stocking will, when wet, easily stretch over yer leg?”

  “Wet?” she whispered.

  He slowly reached out. His finger trailed from behind her ear down her neck. It was as if lightning touched her. She couldn’t move. All she could see was his broad chest. He smelled slightly of horse and leather and something else that made her want to grasp him and pull him closer.

  “Aye, wet with wanting. Close yer eyes,” he whispered, “and lift yer chin.”

  She obeyed. He made a sound like a deep groan. Lips brushed hers. Lightly, teasing rather than possessing. He drew back. She opened her mouth to ask for more. His lips pressed just a bit harder, and then his tongue slipped inside her mouth, along her teeth. She tightened her hold on his shirt. Her toes curled into the dirt as she tilted her upper body closer. She whimpered when he released her. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in. Her head fit under his chin. His heart pounded against her chest.

  “That was yer first kiss, aye?” he murmured.

  Unable to speak, she nodded, her forehead rasping on his chest.

  “I’d like it not to be our last.” A loud swat made him jerk.

  “Ow!” cried Janet.

  Rory released Isabel, just enough to put a space between them. She peeked around him. Janet winced, shaking the hand that must have swatted him.

  “Ye had yer kiss. Let the lass breathe,” demanded Janet.

  She’d been kissed! Right in front of Janet and his twin and the horses! And what a kiss! She’d heard village girls talk of swooning. She’d thought them silly. Now she understood why they swooned. She also understood she could never, ever marry Roderick Graham. If this kiss was a hint of pleasure, she would not live without it. She wanted more.

  “Mayhaps ye have a wee bit of an idea about pleasure and a man’s bed now,” said Janet with too much satisfaction.

  Janet had known Rory would kiss her and had not stopped it. But even if she wished to marry Rory instead of Roderick, and she would do so in a heartbeat, it was all up to King James.

  The grumble of his empty stomach made Rory laugh.

  “We had an oatcake at dawn. But ’tisn’t much for men our size.” Rory gave them a hungry mournful look that would work in many a kitchen.

  Janet chuckled. “Aye, ye are the size of my brothers. My mother couldna keep them full either, though there was but eight of them.” She waved her hand at Isabel. “Whisht, inside with ye lass. Wee Jenny should be finished her chores and be down to help.”

  “Are there chores ye need done?” asked Tearlach abruptly.

  “Aye, but they’ll keep ’till after yer message.” Janet set both hands on her hips. “We may wish to speed ye on yer way if we dinna like it.”

  Isabel could not wait another moment. “Please, I beg ye, is yer message from King James to say I must marry Roderick Graham?”

  “There’s no way in—”

  “Rory!”

  He jammed his jaw shut at his brother’s command. Both men’s muscles were taut, eyes narrow and glaring as they shared a silent message. She stiffened her back to stop herself from stepping back at the menace. A moment, and they nodded. Both faces cleared, facing her.

  “Nay lass,” said Tearlach, his gentle voice at odds from his earlier posture. “We have naught from the king for ye. As we said, he commanded us to Stirling Castle. As ye have no menfolk, we were asked by his herald to escort ye there. We will do so.”

  “I can’t go to Stirling Castle!” She shook her head, dropping her eyes in embarrassment. “I have naught but this to wear today, and my day dress isna much better.” She bit her lip. “I’ve got naught that can be worn past Callander without shame.”

  “Dinna fash, lass. The herald is havin’ a few gowns and such made for ye in Callander. All will be put on the account of yer guardian.”

  Laird Graham was paying for her new clothes? When he found out about it he would rage. But then, if she married someone other than his son, he would rage anyway.

  Rory looked around with obvious interest. “’Tis a bonny place, but isna easy to defend.”

  “’Tis a home for a family to live in, nay a place to hide within,” replied Janet stoutly. “We are many miles from Clan Graham borders, with hills around.”

  “Aye, they guard ye from others kenning the fertile land ye hide here,” said Tearlach. “We’ll do yer chores, and hunt to fill yer larder.”

  “I’ve no doubt there’s a few things ye wee laddies could do around here.” Janet eyed the men up and down, making Isabel think she did not mean chopping wood or hauling water.

  Isabel blushed when Rory’s soft chuckle proved it.

  “As we dinna plan to feed a pair of hungry lads for days, a wee bit of meat or fish would go well. Mayhaps the eel trap Isabel made will have sommat in it.”

  “We were told ye have good bread made with hazelnut flour,” said Rory. He rubbed his stomach. “’Twould go w
ell after a long ride.”

  They never sold their ground hazelnut flour as they didn’t want Graham to find out about it. Only one person had visited in months.

  “Did ye meet a peddler?”

  “Aye, and nay.” Rory looked to his brother, who cleared his throat.

  “Lass,” said Tearlach gently, “he was no peddler. He wore a disguise.”

  “What?” Her stomach tightened. Her mouth went dry. “He told wee Jenny he’d try to send a message to the king.”

  “Herald Murray stopped here, dressed as a peddlar, on his way to get us from Duncladach,” said Tearlach. “He wished to see ye, and Calltuin, to ken what would be needed to bring ye to Stirling.” He raised an eyebrow. “He kens what ye think of this Roderick. And will speak of it for ye.”

  “He willna tell the king what he saw here?” asked Isabel.

  “Aye, he would,” said Rory. “Murray said the king would laugh at ye hitting a Graham with a rolling pin for threatening ye.” He winked. “He said ye had a good aim, and that I’d best be wary of yer wee Tommy as he thinks he’s a lion.” He put his hand on his injured shoulder, wincing as if in great pain. “I can believe that.”

  Horror and shame at her unseemly behavior made her step back. She stumbled, grabbing the doorframe to keep herself from collapsing. No one would want a woman who behaved in such a way. No, that wasn’t right. They would want her for her dowry and then wish to change everything about her. She had never lived as a lady, and knew little about it other than they sat indoors all day, looking pretty.

  She would go mad at that.

  “Apologize to Lady Isabel,” ordered Tearlach.

  “For what?” demanded Rory.

  “For whatever made her turn white and back away.”

  “Roderick says Isabel must marry him,” said Janet coldly. “If the king kens how she hit him and made him run, and he laughs, the man will beat her to death soon after they wed.”

  “Murray said naught about Isabel marrying that gowt, other than he’ll tell the king what he heard and saw.”

  Rory was even better looking when serious. He walked toward her, moving slowly as if she was a skittish horse. He took her hand. She’d thought hers were callused and dark. Compared to Rory, she had fine skin.

  “Look at me, lass.” She followed his order without thinking. “Murray was proud of what ye did. He kens ye could’ve been badly hurt if he wasna there to stop Graham. He will tell the king that gowt wouldna be good for ye, and to find another.”

  “None will wish a wife like me.” She pulled her hand away. Immediately she felt cold. She wrapped her arms around herself.

  “There’s two men here who do.” Rory whispered the words, so quietly she wasn’t sure she’d heard them.

  “Rory, help with the horses,” ordered Tearlach.

  He hesitated. “We like ye just the way ye are. And we’d enjoy ye as our wife.”

  Her body seemed to sway toward him when he turned and walked away.

  They were handsome men, had a sense of humor, and at least one of them liked cats. They also didn’t like Roderick. Janet accepted them and she was a good judge of character. And Rory could kiss like… She didn’t know what it was like, but she wanted more. She had to marry someone. Why not one of them? But which?

  Only now, when she might be safe from Roderick Graham, could she allow herself to think on how much he terrified her. A few silent sobs erupted before she was pressed against Janet’s soft bosom.

  “Shh, lass, dinna fret. Surely King James will find ye another man.” She rubbed Isabel’s back. “One like these two, aye?”

  “I canna breathe,” she whispered.

  “Then mayhaps ’tis time to take off that binding.”

  “But I’ve naught that will fit without it.”

  “I have a gown saved for ye.” Janet pulled back. Her pale blue eyes smiled. “I’ve been waiting for years to see ye dressed like the lady ye are. Come.” She turned Isabel and pushed her into the passage.

  “But our guests—”

  “Are gentlemen and will wait for ye.”

  “But they’re hungry.”

  “Wash yerself in the kitchen while they’re in the stables, then hie yerself up the stairs. I’ll take care of the lads then come to ye.”

  Where had Janet found a lady’s gown? Could she wear one, unbound, in front of two men who made her blood pound and heart beat faster than a hummingbird’s wings? She stumbled down the passage to the kitchen.

  “Lads, when ye’re done with yer horses there’s porridge in the pot, milk fresh this morn, ale, and some of that bread ye wish to taste. Honey’s there as well. I’ll send wee Jenny down to help ye.”

  Chapter Eight

  Tearlach worked on the Campbell horses, brushing them well. The beasts were strong, healthy, and well trained. He could admire them while regretting he’d never own so fine an animal. Isabel had two horses, older ones that had received basic care but needed a man’s strength to brush out their winter coats. There was likely a few other things they could do to make things easier for Isabel. He’d cared for his younger brothers all his life yet had never felt such a need to protect. He wanted to brandish his claymore and dare Graham, or any other, to come forward and be vanquished. He wanted to hold Isabel and tell her she was safe in his arms.

  Isabel.

  “I want her, Tearlach.” Rory looked over his horse’s back. “If Murray didna show up when he did Roderick might have forced her, and would have beat her. I’d have to kill him for that.”

  “The lass is an innocent virgin who is to be given to a lucky man chosen by the king. We canna touch her.” Even to his own ears it sounded weak. He wanted her, and not just for a few days.

  “Even if she begs us?”

  Tearlach thought of Isabel on her knees, naked, offering herself to them. His cock reared to life. She’d be the perfect height to open her mouth and—

  “Damn!” He said the words through clenched teeth so not to upset the horses.

  “Murray said Isabel’s been worried about Roderick for some time. The gowt thinks he already owns her.”

  “Do ye ken why she cried?” he asked.

  Rory went back to brushing the horse, though it needed no more. It didn’t object to the treatment, enjoying the attention. As would Isabel when he set his hands on her.

  “She was alone and unprotected for years,” said Rory. “We showed we cared about her. I made her near swoon with my kiss, her first. And we said we’d take her to the king.” He gave Tearlach an insolent shrug. “Mayhaps she cried from relief she’d be alone no more.”

  “What did ye tell her when she said that claptrap about none wishing a wife like her?” asked Tearlach.

  “I told her there were two men who liked her the way she was, and wanted her as a wife. She’s terrified of Roderick.”

  “I’ll die afore I let him touch her!”

  “Then we are in agreement.” He set the horses free in the paddock. They immediately ambled over to Isabel’s pair, royalty compared to her ugly nags. “Ye think there’s salmon in that river?”

  “Aye, and deer in the forest, and more. The king must have men far more deserving than us to gift Calltuin to.” Tearlach turned to his brother. “We dinna compare to Roderick.”

  “Aye, as he is the third son of Laird Gordon Graham of Duchray, who bows to Sir William, the Earl of Menteith. Ye are the third son of Laird MacDougal of MacDougal, chief of all the clan, who bows to none but the king.”

  “A clan of but sixteen brothers and whatever villagers survived the winter.” Tearlach spoke the truth, though it was bitter. “Duchray has more wealth than we’ll ever see.”

  “Aye, but we have honor.”

  “Honor and pride didna keep us from near starving, or freezing to death as we huddled near the lone fire,” said Tearlach bitterly.

  He remembered those nights far too well. He and Rory were thirteen the winter Somerled took over as laird. They were glad their father was with another of h
is many women as he was just another mouth to feed. One who didn’t work to eat.

  When Zander, only four, stopped crying because he knew there was no hope, he and Rory had to do something. The wind was just starting to howl in a winter storm they knew would last for days. Somerled would have stopped them so they snuck out to find food, or die trying. They discovered a pack of wolves that had brought down an elk. They used their bows to kill the half-starved animals, taking the time to skin them before rolling up the pelts. They hauled them home along with the elk meat, dragging their loads behind them on feet frozen like tree stumps.

  If Ewan hadn’t had a vision and gone out with Torquil to find them they’d have died. They were lucky they’d not lost fingers or toes to frostbite. When feeling returned it was like red-hot pincers jabbing their flesh. But it passed, and their brothers had been fed. It had been worth every agonizing step.

  Somerled had raged at them for going out without permission. Niall, his twin, later told them their laird was both proud at what they’d done and shamed at the need for it. He also said Somerled’s rage was more from fear of them being harmed, than disobeying.

  “If we lived here our sons would never starve,” said Rory. “We’d have to send them out to foster so they wouldna become soft, but we have many brothers who would be eager for them."

  Tearlach did not want that life, yet Rory’s eyes begged him to consider it. If the king ordered him to live at Calltuin he would do so, though he'd have to find something to keep him strong. He was a warrior, and would never be a farmer. It would kill him, slower and with more agony than a clean thrust from a sword.

  “As Somerled never leaves Duncladach he willna find a wife or have bairns, so will welcome a few lads to train. Mayhaps I could help him while ye farm with Isabel.” Tearlach rolled out his neck and shoulders. “Do ye think we have a chance?”

  “With the Lady Isabel, or with King James?”

  “’Tis the same thing.”

  “Ah, ye didna hear Herald Murray suggest we let the lass choose us afore she speaks to the king,” said Rory.