Captive Bride [Highland Menage 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Reece Butler

  Eloise had grieved terribly when Menzies sent word that Morag had died giving birth to her fifth, unnamed, daughter. Cameron found out later that it hadn’t quite happened that way. Morag had not died for some weeks. She’d actually been quite well, as had the babe. Then both had suddenly been taken by a fever and been buried together.

  Or so it was said.

  He tapped his hands, folded behind him, as he thought.

  The MacDougal brothers had caught themselves a fine fish. They’d been eager for a home of their own and coin to care for it. Yet they’d fallen hard for a woman they thought a penniless bastard, one Darach insisted was a wildcat. If so, Fiona had inherited her mother’s fierceness.

  Eloise had been despondent when Morag was married off to Menzies, well known as a brute. Hugh, the previous Lord Fraser of Lovat, did not appreciate his daughter’s spirit so delighted in choosing a man who would put her in her place, with his fists if necessary. The two women had not seen each other again as Menzies would not allow it. Eloise believed it was because Morag would speak of the abuse, not that much could be done about it. A man owned his wife and his children. If her father did not care what happened to her neither would anyone else.

  Cameron had been able to do nothing to help his wife’s good friend. Because of that he would help the daughter. That it also helped his foster sons, was a boon.

  Alexander Fraser, Lord Lovat, had been fond of his sister and would wish to meet his niece. The Grants would be arriving soon for the wedding, and they were feuding with Clan Fraser again. Cameron could not have Lovat’s niece at Inverlochy Castle. He would send all three MacDougals off to meet Fiona’s family.

  He wouldn’t tell any of them the truth yet. Let them marry, have a good night of bedding and then learn of Fiona’s parentage when they broke their fast. It would have to be early as he’d received word Isabel of Grant would arrive on the morrow.

  He could also not allow Fiona to stay wedded to Gillis. A handfasting would be an insult to Clan Fraser. Eloise had already planned a feast to welcome his MacDougal foster sons. They would turn it into a wedding feast. Fiona would be married to Angus by a priest. He’d let them enjoy their wedding night before informing them of Fiona’s situation.

  Since Eloise had confirmed Fiona’s identity he’d send a message to Lovat through his heir, Rabbie. He would pen a written note thanking him for helping to guard Cameron borders during the wedding and add Credit The Bearer. This meant the most important information would be passed on verbally by Rabbie. Cook had planned strawberry tarts as they were a favorite of the MacDougal lads. He’d send some as an innocuous gift as Lovat had been camping for some time and would enjoy the fresh baking.

  As her uncle, Lovat could do as he chose with Fiona, especially as he had not given permission for her to marry. The strawberry plant was the emblem of all things Fraser. Lovat would understand by the tarts that Cameron had handed Fiona Fraser over to her uncle and would not involve himself further. He would leave it to Gillis and Angus to negotiate with Lovat if their marriage would stand.

  But that knowledge would be kept for morning.

  * * * *

  “For me?”

  Fiona gaped at the beautiful gown Auld Maggie laid on the high feather bed. It was of moss green satin edged with delicate gold lace. Fiona had to touch it. She used the backs of her fingers, afraid her calluses would catch and destroy weeks of painstaking labor.

  “Lady Eloise says ye are to wear it.”

  Fiona had washed her hair in a separate bucket before climbing into a wonderful tub of hot water. She’d been neck deep when the laird’s wife had entered the chamber. Her heart had almost stopped at the beautiful older woman. She’d felt like an urchin but Lady Eloise had smiled a welcome. As Fiona had no idea how to curtsy she was happy she was arse down in a tub of water and therefore need only smile back. She’d answered questions about her parents and had told all she knew. And now the lady had given her a dress to wear for the evening!

  “I’ve ne’er touched something so fine,” she said to Auld Maggie.

  “Ye must look yer best for yer weddin’ feast.”

  She snatched her hand back. “My what?”

  Auld Maggie had a cunning look to her. Perhaps she was that way all the time. Fiona had no way of knowing.

  “Darach said ye handfasted with that rascal Gillis. Did he gie ye a feast?”

  Her heart, which had near jumped out of her chest yet again, relaxed enough for her to breathe. She pressed her lips together to hold back a smile.

  “Nay, ‘twas rabbit broth that eve. I’d had a fever, ye ken.”

  “Then ‘tis past time. Ye are a guest of Clan Cameron, and ye shall look it.”

  Fiona marveled at the feel of the cool satin, so soft against her inner arm. She’d seen a few dresses like this when wealthy visitors came to Castle Menzies. The style of this one suggested it had been made years ago, but she didn’t care. She would feel like a princess. It was only for the evening of course, but she would keep the memories forever.

  Then she realized what the dress meant. Sitting at the head table with everyone watching her make a fool of herself.

  “I canna.” She shook her head, backing away from the dress as if it were diseased.

  “Aye, ye can, and will. Lady Eloise said so.”

  “I’ve not worn a gown afore,” she whispered, her face heating in embarrassment.

  Nor had she sat above the salt in the hall. Usually she sat with rough men who used their fingers and a dirk to shove food into their mouths. Gillis and Angus had told her about fostering at Clan Cameron, so she would know some of the people and their stories. They made them sound like wonderful people, but they’d been boys at the time. She was a woman grown and would be kept to a far different set of rules, ones she had not learned. If she ate in the Great Hall with these lordly people she would embarrass not only herself and the MacDougals, but the laird and lady who hosted her.

  “I canna,” she whispered, near tears.

  She could, and had taken beatings stoically. Yet the thought of a flick of an elegant fan combined with a sneer of disgust made her tremble in fear.

  “Did ye not have a pretty dress or two?”

  Fiona turned her attention to the woman who no doubt knew everything that happened in the castle, the village, and the county as well.

  “Never. I’ve not even worn a dress. I was raised roughly, as a lad.”

  Auld Maggie shook her head, sighing. “Ah, lassie, ‘tis a hard road ye been ridin’.”

  Fiona’s throat closed up at her concern. Tears she’d promised never to shed gathered force.

  “Aye, but ‘tis the only road I ken.”

  She barely forced the words out through her tight throat. She found herself enveloped, pressed against a soft, warm bosom. Auld Maggie hummed something soothing, rocking back and forth. Fiona knew how to fight fear and pain. She’d had little experience with caring. A few tears leaked. She sniffed them back.

  “Och, lassie, let it go. Auld Maggie will nay tell a soul.”

  A dam burst and a flood of tears washed out. She sobbed out her loneliness and pain, her rejection by all but a tomcat, and her fear that her father had discovered she cared for the wee beast and had it killed. Finally, the deluge slowed. Auld Maggie sat her on a stool and washed her face as if she was a child.

  “Better, lassie?”

  Fiona nodded, hiccupping. She exhaled, feeling empty. No, that was not the word. She’d been stuffed full of anger and pain, resentment and bitterness. It was gone, washed away by her tears. In its place was a space waiting for something better. Already a few kernels had sprouted. She realized she had fond feelings for Gillis and Angus. Of course they were the first who’d shown their caring.

  “Did ye at least see ladies eating in yer laird’s hall?” said Auld Maggie, returning to their conversation. Fiona nodded. They’d had visitors, not that she’d ever been introduced to them. “Then ye ken yer men will fill yer trencher. Ye’ll nay be
reaching for a thing. Since this is yer wedding feast, ye’ll be placed near Lady Eloise. Watch her and do the same. She’ll move slowly, so ye can follow.”

  “Thank ye. I can do that.” She’d be terrified, but she’d get through it and not shame her men, or their hosts. After all, she’d survived the Campbells, though that had been as a boy. Acting as a wife was far more difficult.

  “Darach passed the word that ye are nay used to actin’ the woman, and ‘tis nay yer fault.” She winked. “They ken the MacDougals and will expect ye to be nervous on yer weddin’ night.” Fiona, clad in only a drying cloth, felt the heat of a blush rise. Old Maggie laughed, her expression kind as well as knowing. “The lads are good to ye?”

  Fiona’s blush deepened. She nodded, staring at her bare feet. The old woman knew she’d been with both MacDougals yet did not scorn her for it. That relieved her mind as Auld Maggie held power over the servants, who were the ones who ran a castle.

  It didn’t take long to put on the beautiful gown. Her happiness dimmed when she tried walking. As she’d never worn skirts she’d had trouble with the simple gown she’d arrived in. This dress was longer, heavier, and there was far more fabric to get under control. She tripped on her first step.

  “‘Tis best to take short steps,” said Auld Maggie.

  “But I’ll not be able to walk quickly, or run.”

  “Ye willna have the need, unless ye are playin’ with yer men. Then ye can hike yer skirts up to show an ankle.”

  Another wave of heat overtook Fiona at the chuckle. She lifted her chin. “I’ve been trained with a dirk and have oft wrestled with my brother.”

  “Those two laddies will protect ye with their lives.”

  “They’ll nay be there all the time. If I must wear skirts I shall strap at least one blade to my thigh.”

  Auld Maggie shook her finger in admonishment. “Ye’ll need permission from yer husband to carry a blade.”

  Fiona bowed her head as if in agreement, but she was not going to let a husband or two hold her back. The bloody Campbells had taken her dirk but Angus had given her another from his pack. He’d taken it back when she put on the first dress. She hadn’t made a fuss because she didn’t know where to keep it. Once they started traveling without an escort she would want it at her hip. She’d trained to use a dirk as a short sword. She’d like a wee dagger or three to go along with it, but Gillis may not agree. She would work on him. She’d had to make her own life and marriage was not going to turn her into an English miss who fainted at the slightest dark look. She realized she was muttering curses under her breath. The housekeeper was looking at her strangely, so she changed the subject, adding a smile for good measure.

  “Did ye ken Angus and Gillis as lads?”

  “Aye, they was rascals. Still are, methinks.” She motioned Fiona over to have her hair brushed and put in a maidenly gold snood. “Are ye afeard of Angus?”

  “Nay, why would I?”

  “He’s big, loud, and dark. It doesna help that he scowls, says little, and doesna flatter a lass.”

  Fiona grunted her disgust. “Men use pretty words to get what they want from a woman. When they have it they turn her aside. I’d nay trust a man who spoke to make me smile, but meant none of it.”

  “His size doesna worry ye? He’s a braw warrior.”

  “Aye,” she agreed. “With a wee kitten inside him.”

  Auld Maggie’s bosom heaved as she laughed, long and hard. She finally wiped her eyes with her apron.

  “‘Tis good ye are no weak miss then. Ye’ll not tame them though mayhaps ye could smooth a few rough corners.”

  Fiona gestured at how unfamiliar she was with the beautiful gown. “Mayhaps I have a few corners needing smoothing as well.”

  “Ye ken what marryin’ a MacDougal brings ye?”

  “They said they have naught but a place at their laird brother’s fire to call their own.”

  “‘Twas their sharing a wife I meant.”

  Another flash of heat hit, though this one made her nipples pebble and her pussy tingle. Her flesh swelled in anticipation. She’d enjoyed their coupling, a lot. Auld Maggie chuckled.

  “They suit ye, the both o’ them?”

  “Aye,” whispered Fiona in reply.

  That they would share her wasn’t something she could hide. Men often shared a whore to save their coins. No one shared a wife unless they were a MacDougal. People who knew would judge her, looking at her once they heard her name, wondering. All her life she’d tried to hide in the shadows, invisible. She would be making up for that now. She would be noticed, and she would hold her head up, proud to be married to a pair of MacDougals!

  “Rest while ye can.” Auld Maggie bustled toward the door. “Ye’ll get little sleep tonight if yer men have a say in it.” She was gone far quicker than likely for a woman her size.

  Fiona’s gut said something other than a wedding feast was in the works. She rubbed her wrists against her swollen, itchy breasts. They got like that every time she thought of Angus or Gillis. It had been three days since they’d done more than brush their lips against hers. She’d had to ride a horse, her clit rubbing against the saddle while Angus and Gillis gave her pointed looks. The whole time she’d wished she was riding one of them rather than a horse.

  She was hoping Gillis, as her handfasted husband, would be allowed to share her pallet and that they’d have a tiny space to themselves for an hour here and there. She didn’t expect a bed and had never slept on a feather mattress. She was getting to the state that even a wall, with her skirt and his plaid up, would do.

  “If one of them doesn’t come to me I’ll search them out,” she vowed. “‘Tis nay just men that have needs to be met!”

  Chapter Eleven

  “We should put in a bathhouse at Duncladach,” said Gillis as they dressed in their best in the small room given them. They’d planned on waiting until Darach’s wedding to don their finest but he’d told them their first night back must be celebrated.

  “Where Fiona can scrub our backs,” replied Angus, “and more.”

  Gillis nodded his agreement. He was warm, clean, shaven, and back in the comfortable place he’d called home for over a decade. Duncladach was big but was empty and cold in comparison. He and Angus had a few outstanding “discussions” to settle with one or two of the lads they’d fostered with. They would not do so until after Darach’s wedding, but once the whiskey was poured and old stories were told things would heat up.

  “I heard Dougal Chisholm may be here,” said Gillis. He made a fist with his right hand and slapped it into his cupped left. “I’ve been wanting to put my fist in his ugly face since we left. I heard he’s still acting the lout.”

  “Ye do that. I’ll take care of Fiona.”

  “‘Twill nay take long. I’ll be—”

  The crash of a door slamming on stone had them grabbing for the claymores they’d had to leave in the hall. The laird strode in flanked by guards. He was dressed fit for a banquet, in full Cameron regalia. Gillis stood straight, hands at his sides, and nodded respectfully.

  “To what do we owe this honor, Laird Cameron?” asked Angus.

  He looked them over and then nodded approvingly. “I’ve come to escort you to Fiona’s marriage feast.”

  The pit of Gillis’s stomach dropped in dread. Cameron was a plotter. He responded to new information and acted quickly, always to the advantage of Clan Cameron of course. Had he already arranged for Fiona to marry one of his men? While he’d said earlier he would let her go without a fight, he’d been wrong. He opened his mouth to snarl. Angus’s hand stopped him.

  “‘Tis thoughtful of you to provide a feast for Fiona MacDougal,” said Angus, emphasizing her name. A sharp edge colored his sweet-sounding words. “The wee lass was too ill to eat more than broth the day she handfasted with my brother. I’m sure he looks forward to sharing a trencher with her as husband and wife.”

  Gillis ground his teeth at Cameron’s sly smile. The man had somethi
ng up his lace-trimmed sleeve. Angus was a quick thinker and had made it clear Fiona was theirs. He’d also done it without the insult Gillis would have added.

  “Your brother did nay say vows afore a priest,” said Cameron. His soft words held more than a hint of steel.

  Gillis shifted his feet. The guards had their hands on the pommels of their swords. They were men he’d fostered with, yet they’d cut him down in an instant if he threatened their laird’s life.

  “We had no priest,” said Gillis between clenched teeth.

  “‘Tis the strangest thing,” said Cameron, pretending to be surprised. “I have one in my hall, ready to take the lass’s vows.”

  The threat was strong, but Gillis was unsure what Cameron was saying. He toyed with them like a cat would a mouse. Had he arranged a Cameron bridegroom as well as the priest or was he suggesting something else? The lass had made it clear she wished nothing permanent. Was she as much a chess piece as they, being moved around the board by a master with the power to do so?

  “The lass wished to be handfasted, not stuck with us forever,” blurted Gillis, unable to keep silent a moment longer.

  “That lass is a daughter of a laird whose clan borders mine.” Cameron had lost any hint of humor. “She needs more than a handfasting to make a wedding stand.”

  Gillis wanted to tell Cameron a few things Fiona had said about her father, but he’d not be able to speak in a civil manner. He ground his teeth instead.

  “I’m nay asking you to say vows, Gillis MacDougal,” chided Cameron.

  “There’s nay need for vows, Laird Cameron. Fiona is my wife for the next year.”

  “So you say,” replied Cameron softly.

  Gillis did not lie, ever. Angus elbowed him, hard, before he could reply to the slur. He wanted Fiona tied to him with more than a one-year promise, but she didn’t wish it. He would never force her into something permanent against her will. Cameron would, if it suited his purpose. His jaw hurt from clenching, so he opened his mouth.

  “Are ye forcing Lady Fiona to kneel afore a priest tonight?” he demanded.