by Reece Butler
The guards pulled their swords two inches, the sound echoing through the chamber. Cameron lifted his hand. They stopped but did not slide the steel back.
“The lady will not be forced,” said Cameron mildly. His lips twitched in amusement. “Though she may need a wee bit of encouragement.”
Gillis realized he didn’t care that the guards were eager to pull their swords on him. If he couldn’t have Fiona, if Cameron was going to give her to another man, his life would be as dark as the bottom of the Campbell pit.
He’d been a fool, thinking he wanted wealth and land of his own. He was so wrong. It was a small, feisty, red-haired wildcat with flashing eyes that he wanted. He took a step forward to say so. The swords came out halfway. Cameron didn’t as much as blink. Gillis stared deep into the man’s eyes. They were as hard as steel.
“I said I wished what was best for the lass,” stated Gillis coldly. “I thought I could let her go to another.” He slowly shook his head. “It will not happen without a fight to the death.”
“Gillis, ye fool!”
He shook off Angus’s hands. Cameron raised his eyebrow as if amused at a child’s boast.
“Do you not wish to ken who I’ve chosen for Fiona’s husband afore you decide to kill him?”
“It doesna matter. He is a dead man.” Gillis swallowed. “Or I am. One or the other, it matters not.”
“Do you love her?”
Gillis shook his head as if to clear his ears. “What?”
“You say you want the woman. Do you love her?”
Love? That was a word lusty men said to pretty women they wanted to bed. All knew Cameron was fond of his wife. The two of them laughed often and had produced many children together. Gillis was fond of Fiona, had a deep need for her body, and wished her to feel the same. Love was just a word, one he had not experienced and did not understand. He’d promised Fiona he would always speak true. As the word itself was false he would therefore never speak it to her.
“Fiona is mine. That is all that matters.”
Cameron sighed. He shook his head as if Gillis was a lad who’d added a simple column of numbers incorrectly.
“Wrong answer, Gillis MacDougal. You will not be saying ‘aye’ to the priest this night.”
A pain as sharp as a sword stabbed his heart. He closed his eyes, fighting to remain erect. Someone pounded his back. He opened his eyes, surprised there was no blade protruding from his chest. He blinked, clearing what must be sweat from his eyes. The guards had stopped just shy of pulling their blades out.
“Tell me the name of the man whose blood I will spill,” he demanded. Weaponless, he stabbed Cameron with his eyes.
Laird Cameron looked back with pity. He inhaled to speak. Gillis, too furious to think, waited for what seemed like minutes to hear who he must kill. Cameron’s eyes shifted to the side.
“Are you ready to say vows afore a priest, Angus MacDougal?”
* * * *
Cameron’s mouth was moving, but nothing penetrated the roaring in Angus’s ears. Lose Fiona? Nay! He wrestled with the demon urging him to strike down the man before him, foster father or not. If Gillis was killed fighting for the right to keep Fiona, Angus would step into the breach. He couldn’t lose his brother as well as the woman who could make him smile, curse, and feel tenderness all at once.
His foster father raised his bushy eyebrows. He jabbed his finger toward Angus and said one word. Was that his name? He shook his head, breaking the fugue that had captured his wits and his ears.
“What did ye say?” he demanded roughly.
“I asked if you were ready to say vows afore a priest, with Fiona.”
He choked, and then smashed his left fist onto his chest to help him breathe.
“Ye chose me?”
Cameron nodded. He turned to Gillis. “You’ll not be killing your brother, aye? The church frowns on fratricide.”
“Nay,” snarled Gillis, “but—”
“The woman deserves security.” Cameron adjusted the fall of lace at his sleeve. “Though Laird Menzies denied his daughter all her life and should be horsewhipped for it, his lands border mine,” he said with distaste. “I suggest no mention be made of her father. If he has denied her existence it would be best if she states her name as that of her mother. Fraser, was she? A servant, you said?”
Angus nodded. “Her mother came to Menzies Castle with the laird’s first wife.”
“I canna let Fiona leave Cameron land without saying vows.”
“Why not say them to me?” demanded Gillis.
“Did you not say should a wedding come about with a priest, it would be Angus who said the vows?”
Gillis puffed up like a bullfrog. “‘Twas to be next year!”
“You are bond brothers, the two as if one?” Cameron did not wait for them to answer the obvious question. “You have a hot temper, Gillis. You will bristle at a man glancing toward your wife and fall into a rage if another insults her. Your brother can keep his head, seeing all before acting. Though Angus wished to strike out in his rage just now, he did not.”
Angus had wondered why Cameron had provoked Gillis into a rage, yet had accepted himself without question. What men called a clear head, women said was cold and calculating. They turned away, preferring a smiling rogue such as Gillis. Not Fiona. She accepted both of them as they were.
“‘Twas close,” he admitted.
“Fiona has a spark of wit and may not hesitate to speak her mind. Her husband needs a calm head. He cannot jump at rumors or words said to provoke. Can you do that, Gillis MacDougal?”
Beside him, Gillis gnashed his teeth. He clenched and spread his hands, repeatedly. Finally he grunted what could be taken as a nay. He shuffled his feet, and then lifted red-rimmed eyes to Angus.
“Laird Cameron is right, damn his eyes,” he muttered. “And ye are the older brother,” he added reluctantly.
A weight the size of a castle rock lifted from Angus’s shoulders. Fiona was to be his lawful wife until death parted them, and Gillis would accept it. Grudgingly at first, but it would happen. Cameron had not asked if Angus felt love for Fiona. It was not a question he could answer in the positive. Not now, and likely not ever. He cared for Fiona and truly wished what was best for her. He was also selfish and wanted her for himself and Gillis. Would he have lied to Cameron knowing he would lose Fiona if he said no to love?
He pushed the question away. It did not matter as it had not happened and was now in the past. He was a practical man and would do what he did best, which was take a calm, rational approach to the facts at hand. He cleared his throat, gaining Cameron’s attention.
“Laird Cameron, we have no ring. I dinna wish to shame the lass. We shall repay—”
Cameron lifted a hand, motioning him to be quiet, and dipped into his sporran. He held out his palm. A plain gold band rested on it.
“You have no other father living. I would have you accept this gift from me in his stead ‘Twas my great-grandmother’s. She was a MacDougal lass, one of the very few, and a feisty one at that.” His eyes showed a touch of humor. “She would be pleased to have it worn by a MacDougal wife.”
Angus took it, nodding his thanks as he was too choked up to speak. He looked at it, realizing it was not plain after all. A pattern of leaves had been carved into it, though it was worn from use. He blinked to clear the prickling in his eyes. He held the ring out to Gillis. His brother rubbed the corner of his eye as if a speck of dirt was caught in it. The telltale sniff was not remarked on.
“If ye weren’t the closest thing to a father, I’d want to crack my fist on yer jaw for what ye did the last wee while,” muttered Gillis in a low rumble.
“You don’t think my men would stop you?” asked Cameron softly.
Angus saw the laird’s lips twitch though Gillis missed it while concentrating on sliding the ring onto his smallest finger. It stopped before the first knuckle.
“If I went into a berserker rage they wouldna stop me,” declar
ed Gillis.
“Another reason ‘tis best the lady marry a man with a cool head,” said Cameron. “As you are bonded brothers, she’ll also have Gillis’s hot blood to keep her warm.”
Gillis suddenly grinned. Though he kept his head down, he raised his eyes to their foster father. “And who’s to say the wee woman has no hot blood of her own?”
The thought of Fiona’s eagerness, and the realization she would always be his, made Angus’s cock twitch in spite of the company. Gillis handed the ring back. Angus put it safely in his sporran. He was touched that Cameron had thought of it.
Wait! Cameron would not have brought the ring to this meeting if he intended on giving Fiona to someone else.
The blasted man had played them, and well! The whole scene was necessary for Gillis to truly understand why Angus should be Fiona’s legal husband. There were lessons to be learned here, ones that Angus would think on later. Now was not the time for plotting. He had a wife to wed, and bed. Perhaps this meant they’d be lent a chamber with a real bed!
“Thank ye, Laird,” he said, bowing his head in respect.
“‘Tis the least I could do,” replied Cameron.
“I’d be happy if ye’d done less,” muttered Gillis.
The guards fought to keep stern faces at his brother’s reaction, one they all recognized. Gillis would soon get over his grump. Angus knew Cameron’s armsmen well and respected them. He met their eyes, one, then the other.
“Would ye walk at my side and that of my brother?” he asked. Gillis still scowled, his face as red as his hair. “If this one gets over his tantrum, that is.”
“Tantrum? I’ll give ye—”
Cameron made a small hand movement. Gillis shut up, still furious. He would get over it though it may take time. It all depended on Fiona. If she accepted she had two husbands, Gillis from handfasting and Angus blessed by a priest, then all could be well.
They followed Laird Cameron into his hall. A beautiful woman with hair of flame picked up her green skirts and hurried toward them, her smile wide and eager.
Fiona?
Angus had always expected his wife, should he have one, to have hair long enough to sit on. He rather liked the idea of gripping it as he guided her mouth to his cock, or tugged her head back as he entered her from behind. His cock went hard behind the weight of his sporran. He groaned, knowing it would be hours before he could be alone with her.
Fiona’s gown was well chosen, suiting her skin and hair. A powerful surge swept through him, of lust, pride, and a touch of something more. Something he couldn’t identify but made him feel complete.
She suddenly dropped her skirts and came to a halt. An attractive blush spread from her cleavage. Knowing all the other men saw it as well made him growl possessively.
“Fiona?” said Gillis, gaping as she continued forward with dainty steps.
“Laird and Lady Cameron made us a wedding feast, as we didna have one afore,” she replied, her voice sweet. “They lent me this gown.” Her smile was contained, but her eyes glowed an eager welcome. She swirled in a circle, a little girl delighted with her first pretty gown.
“You will have more than a feast this night,” said Cameron. Her eyes jumped to his, as if suddenly noticing him. “You shall be wed by yon priest, to Angus.”
“Wed?” Her eyes widened. “I did nay wish to force—”
“There’s nay force needed,” said Angus quietly. “I want ye as my wife, Fiona. Truly. Laird Cameron thought it best we take vows with a priest. It means no other clan will have a claim to ye.”
“What of Gillis?” she asked.
He stepped forward at his name. His eyes shone with desire, as did Fiona’s. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. Those watching would see the kiss as from a brother rather than a promise for later that night.
Fiona inhaled, her breasts swelling above her bodice. Gillis choked though Angus managed to hold back a moan. He took her hands in his. She looked up, calm and sure in his presence though her life had been turned upside down, and was about to take another flip.
“Fiona, will ye say yer vows with me this eve?”
“Aye,” she whispered.
Angus shuddered, finally believing his dreams of a wife and partner might come true. He raised his voice so it rang through the hall. “Fiona, will ye do me the honor of being my wife, of bearing and raising our children with love and honor, at my side?”
“Aye!”
Angus captured her mouth with his lips. Her arms wrapped around his neck. He wanted her, mind, body, and soul. He inhaled. She’d bathed with rose-scented soap. Even her hair was fragrant.
“Nay, nay, nay!”
Hands pulled them apart. He looked down, finding a furious priest. “There willna be kissing afore the vows!” The priest pointed to the exit door. “To the chapel with ye!”
That was an order he could easily obey. Angus interlaced their fingers. Fiona would soon become his, before God and Cameron. The latter had a lot more power as far as he was concerned. A short service followed by supper and he would have Fiona to himself.
If the laird had thought of the ring, surely he’d planned for a decent chamber where Angus could bed his new wife? And this time in a bed, not on the hard ground!
Chapter Twelve
Fiona let Angus’s strength seep into her through their locked fingers as they walked across the hall following Laird Cameron’s priest. Gillis was a solid presence on her other side. She didn’t know what had caused this change of husbands and could not ask. She felt so small, almost like a child between them. The sight of Angus and Gillis in their fine clothes caused a surge of lust. If they were alone her hands would be under their plaids, seeking their cocks.
She’d agreed to handfasting with Gillis as a temporary, very enjoyable, solution to a problem. Wedding Angus was entirely different. She would be bound to him until one of them died. That could be many, many years in the future, or in only a few days. Life was short, and she intended to enjoy it from now on. Would the man she’d married just days before join them?
“Aye, Gillis as well,” murmured Angus before she could ask. “Not right away,” he added. “This eve you’ll be mine alone.” He raised their joined fingers to kiss her hand. “Gillis will join us before morning, unless he passes out from drink.”
“He’d best not,” she replied tartly. “I’ve gone without as long as the two of ye. If I’m to be well married I want both of ye to prove it. Again and again!”
The look of heat he shot her suggested he had the same thing in mind.
“There’ll be sweet oil for the virgin bride,” he murmured.
“All know I was handfasted, and am no virgin.”
His eyes crinkled. “There is a part of ye that has nay been breached. Aye?”
She gasped, her feet faltering when she understood his meaning. Angus held her from tripping until she got her feet in control again. Heat dampened her thighs at the thought of something more than fingers entering her there. Could she take both men inside her at once? With sweet oil to ease the way, and wine to relax her, she would not only do it, she would enjoy every minute!
The brothers were opposites in many ways. Angus had dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin, and usually a dark expression. Tonight his eyes were warm. His lips curled up in welcome for her alone. Did everyone in the hall know they both wanted, and would have, her? Angus and Gillis had fostered here, and the MacDougals were allies of the Camerons.
Well-born women were raised to follow the desire of their family to help the clan prosper. Some were allowed to refuse a suit. Many wouldn’t even consider saying no. Because she was a bastard and now dead to her father the only person she had to please was herself. Of course, if she said no to the wedding encouraged by the Camerons she would be sent on her way.
On her own she had nowhere to go, nothing to carry her there, and no one to care whether she arrived or not. The MacDougal brothers would keep her safe. Was that the only reason she wanted them, other th
an they made her burn? In return, did they want her only because she slaked their lusts and gave them someone to protect, therefore making them men in the eyes of their laird?
Angus ran his knuckles over her cheek, distracting her. The gesture was small yet showed more caring than she’d received before. They shared affection for each other which was more than many wives ever did with the men chosen for them.
“Do you truly wish to have me as yer wife?” she asked quietly. “Or are ye being forced by the laird? I know it doesna matter, that this will go forward, but I would like to know the truth.”
Angus stopped. He took her hands in his much warmer ones. She felt a tremor in them, or was it her own fingers that shook?
“Aye, I want ye, wee Fiona.” He spoke just loud enough for those nearby to hear. “I want yer wise words, and I want yer laughter.” His eyes warmed further, the corners crinkling. “I even want yer complaints. Now and then, in private,” he added, raising an admonishing eyebrow.
“Will ye listen to them?” She challenged him, her back straight and jaw set. “I am no meek maid, Angus MacDougal. I have been alone for too long to keep quiet. I will speak my mind to my husband, in private,” she added as a concession.
He drew himself up, towering over her. His strength was such that he could snap her neck with one hand. An angry backhand would have her flying into the wall. She’d seen both, and knew what the backhand felt like. Angus was powerful, in body and mind, yet she sensed no danger from him.
“I will hear your wishes and will take them seriously,” he said gravely, his voice low and sure. He leaned down until his eyes were mere inches from hers. “But know this, wife. As yer husband I will have the last say in all matters, and ye will obey.”
His demand made her pussy clench. She wasn’t afraid yet something about his ferocity made her wish to challenge him, to run, and have him chase and then catch her. What he might do then had her trembling in need.
A woman vowed to obey her husband as part of marriage vows. He would own her body and could do whatever he wished to her. Everyone obeyed the laird or was expelled from the clan. That usually meant death for a man and abuse followed by death for a woman. That Angus would allow her to speak, and would listen, was quite a boon.
