Loving the Enemy [Highland Menage 10] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Reece Butler

  Until Aggie brought them back with her question.

  “I can’t tell him, Aggie. If he kenned who my father was, he’d…”

  What would he do? The king had married her to Somerled to end an ancient feud between their clans. She’d agreed to make the marriage work to protect her younger brother, Hamish. Now she wanted to make the marriage work because she cared so much for Somerled and Niall, and for all the others in her new clan. Only Aggie and Ewan knew Laird MacDougal had married a Campbell. Herald Cam said she must keep the secret as long as possible.

  “Would he kick ye from his bed?”

  Meg sat back on her knees. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Ah, but ’tis my bed. Lady Isabel sent it to Lady MacDougal. So if Somerled gets fashed with me he’ll be the one sleeping elsewhere.”

  “But he’s the laird!”

  “Aye, and I’m the lady.” She stood to get a grip on a tall weed with a stubborn tap root. She yanked hard. The plant gave way, dirt flew, and she landed on her arse. She laughed at Aggie’s shocked expression, holding up the weed. “I won that battle. If only husbands were as easy to tame!”

  “Ah, Meg, ye are a right mess, but ’tis good to hear ye laugh.”

  She shaded her eyes to find the source of the deep voice. The brothers were all tall and handsome and, other than blond Finn, dark. They also sounded eerily like one another. It was easy to tell she looked at Torquil as he was well scarred. One corner of his mouth turned up, the closest thing to a smile she’d seen on him.

  “You, sir, are laughing at me,” she said, acting pompous and indignant. She stood and brushed her hands and arse. “Dirt is what happens when you work.”

  “Aye, but whene’er I thought of having a lady at Duncladach I didna think she’d be sweatin’ for an old woman’s garden.” He shook his head and sighed, though his eyes twinkled. “’Tis good the men riding in are my brothers. They ken Somerled wouldna marry a lady afeard to get her hands dirty.”

  She looked up eagerly. “Your brothers? Which ones?”

  “Ewan said ’tis the young lads, Artair and Zander. They’ve been helpin’ Tearlach and Rory train lads for the king. Ewan says ye must ride out to greet ’em as ye are Lady MacDougal. ’Twill be good practice for the Gathering, aye?”

  Meg groaned. “Dinna remind me. I was taking a few hours off from thinking on it. I dinna think our laird kens a quarter of what must be done to get ready.”

  She rinsed her hands off in a leather water bucket. Aggie pointed to her face so Meg yanked off her kerch, dampened it, and wiped the sweat and dirt from her face, neck, and chest. She left her bare feet as they were. As soon as she took three steps they’d be dirty again.

  Somerled had decided because he had married and their clan’s prospects were so much better, it was time for a Clan Gathering. Every male of age would kneel to Laird MacDougal and give their oath. The last time this happened it was Somerled’s grandfather they’d kneeled to.

  Of course, feeding untold numbers of people, and finding places for them to sleep, was part of her responsibility. She was pleased to have been given the honor but at the same time unsure what was expected. Since none of them had been to a clan gathering she’d spoken with the old people in the village. She learned many things, some of it contradictory. Whatever she did, someone would think she had slighted them.

  She would worry about that later. Much later.

  Torquil stuck out his left foot and bent over to extend his hand. With a boost from Aggie, as Meg was so short, she landed in front of Torquil. He held her waist, lifting her so she could adjust her skirts, before setting her down. Even then her bare legs stuck out from her dress, almost to her knees.

  “I willna be riding out to greet guests for the Gathering like this. Even though ’tis your younger brothers, Somerled wouldna be pleased that I show my legs.”

  “’Tis the way ye are, my lady. The laird best accept it.”

  She tilted her head to look him in the eye. “I thought you’d be shocked.”

  “Yer legs are the same as mine, though smaller and less hairy.” He winked. “’Tis what’s atween ’em that’s different.”

  She gaped at him, pretending shock. “Torquil MacDougal! You jested with me, almost smiled, and you winked!”

  “Ye are good for us, my lady.” He looked ahead, serious now. “I wish to hear what my wee brothers have seen, heard, and done. I’ve not put a foot off MacDougal land so ken only what others tell me.”

  “I would tell you of things if you wished. Much isna pleasant, but I’ll think on it and find something good. I used to tell stories…” She broke off. She’d told them to Hamish, who she might never see again. “One day I’ll tell them to my bairns.”

  “Dinna wait that long. ’Twill be good to hear tales on long winter nights. Do ye sing, and ken a few ballads?”

  “My voice isna good—”

  He made a sound in the back of his throat. “Meg, ye are a woman, and yer smile makes us feel good. We dinna care if yer voice isna lovely as long as ye dinna sound like a cat in heat.”

  “You are in a good mood!”

  “My wee brothers are comin’ home. They’re eight and ten years younger, so I used to help ’em. It took my mind off my scars. They itched for the longest time, once the pain faded.”

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that, though I’d rather you be alive and scarred, than dead. I’ll apologize if you dinna wish me to speak of them.”

  He was silent for a while. She wondered if she’d embarrassed him so much he’d turn away again.

  “Nay,” he said. “They are part of who I am, as visions are part of Ewan. Just as the sounds ye make with Somerled and Niall is a part of who ye are.” He cleared his throat. “If ye can scream like that, my lady, ye must be able to sing.”

  Heat flashed up her face. He noticed, of course, and chuckled so she elbowed him in the gut, which made him almost laugh.

  “Ah, Meg, ye are good for us all.”

  There wasn’t much she could do about the noises they made, other than bite down on a leather strap. All three of them would have to do so as Somerled and Niall had deep bellows. It would get better when they moved from their stone tower chamber with open arrow-slit windows, to the upper hall. Carpets and wall hangings not only kept out the drafts, they muffled sound. So would the wooden floors and shutters on the windows.

  “What can you tell me of these brothers? I ken they’re the youngest, and their mother, Mary, cared for you all.”

  “Aye, though Mary lived with us only five years. She came to us when her parents exposed her babe to hide her shame. She had milk, and she kenned the Lady MacDougal had hungry twins. That would be Malcolm and Duff,” he added.

  “Why would her parents kill their grandchild?”

  “Mary got with child from rape, though her parents didna believe her. They hid her so none kenned it when her belly swelled. Though she had a bonnie wee lass her da said ’twas a child of sin and they couldna allow it to stain their honor. He said naught of this to her until the morning after he’d done it, when Mary couldna find her babe. She walked out, all the way to Duncladach, and ne’er looked back. Maeve had birthed Duff and Malcolm, and didna like bairns. Mary took over as our mam even afore Maeve died.” He paused. “Mary used to laugh, like ye do. Niall got her a kitten, and that made her laugh even more.”

  “Is that why Somerled went to the village with me to get Fearchar? He remembered Mary laughing?”

  Torquil’s brow furrowed as he thought. “Ye may be right. He and Niall were about ten, and already doing what our laird father should have. After Maeve died Father took Mary to his bed and made Artair. He’d just been with a pair of sisters who gave us Finn and Dougal, though the lads stayed with their mams until they were weaned. Mary cared for fifteen of us, eleven under eight, afore Zander was born. Five of ’em weren’t even walking yet. A couple of widows came from the village to help when they could. If Father wasn’t there some of the unmarried lasses woul
d help as well.”

  The amount of work required to keep grown men fed, their clothes mended, and the main rooms clean exhausted her, even with Aggie’s help. She could not imagine one woman coping with all those children, even with help. She would ask Nessa about it. The old woman delighted in telling tales of when the “wee laddies” were small.

  Meg gripped the horse’s mane as they went over a burn. It was a hot day and she would have enjoyed splashing in it with Somerled and Niall. But the laird refused to even return to the village with her. He’d refused to tell her why and, when she asked Niall, he said it was Somerled’s story to tell.

  “What was Mary like?” she asked. Torquil rode for a while before answering. Was it a painful subject?

  “She were good to us all. Saved my life. When she died of a fever we all wished we’d buried Father instead. Zander was two and Artair, Dougal, and Finn were four. There were a lot of us and no mam or da.”

  “There was no other help?”

  “Because of Father’s reputation the women wouldn’t come without Mary there. A crotchety old gran came in to cook and wash for a while. Then she died and ’twas just us.”

  They’d been children, raising babes alone. At least she’d had her mother for ten years, learning by working with her. Meg had heard bits and pieces about their early years but nothing said so bluntly. It gave her a different view of Somerled. No wonder he rarely smiled, and ground his teeth while sleeping. He’d even started having nightmares. Had he ever had a chance to be a child? Had any of them?

  “They’re good lads, Artair and Zander,” said Torquil. “Be even better now they’ve seen a bit of the world on their own.”

  Torquil sounded both envious and resigned. He believed his scars made him hideous. Because of that belief he kept away from any who would help prove it different. There had been no mirrors at Duncladach until Aggie had brought one from Duntrune in the carts laden with treasures. If he looked at himself would he see his face was nowhere near as bad as he thought?

  The horse slowed. Torquil grunted. “Now I see why Ewan had that look. He didna wish to tell the laird we have a guest. And ’tisn’t the herald, either.”

  His words pulled Meg from her thoughts. She looked up. Three men rode toward them, two dark-haired young men and one slender blond youth. A line of laden packhorses followed, held by the last rider.

  “Somerled will be gettin’ a wee surprise,” added Torquil. He straightened. “Mayhaps ’tis one of the lads from that training Tearlach was doin’ for the king.”

  As Lady MacDougal of Duncladach, Meg must present herself as best as possible. She’d not be seen by a stranger with bare legs sticking out, riding the lap of a man who was not her husband.

  “Let me down, Torquil. I wish to appear less of a hoyden.”

  “Aye, and I’d like to have my hands free in case I need to defend ye from yon stranger.”

  He immediately swung her down and rode forward. She tidied her skirts and hair, wishing she at least wore a clean apron. When she’d done her best she looked up. The blond stared at her. He was familiar, but far too tall. Her heart and chest tightened. Tears sprang into her eyes. It couldn’t be…

  “Margaret?”

  “Hamish?”

  At his roar and grin she picked up her skirts and ran, tears blurring her eyes. She stepped on things that hurt but didn’t care. Hamish, the little brother she’d married Somerled to protect, leaped off his horse and ran toward her. He picked her up and swirled her around.

  “I didna think I’d ever see you again!” she cried. “And you’ve grown so much!” Hamish kissed her cheek, still holding her tight.

  “Who’s the lad kissin’ Lady MacDougal?” demanded Torquil.

  Hamish set her down, still holding her close. Meg’s blood went cold, her joy gone. Moments after they rode into the Duncladach stables Somerled would know she was a Campbell.

  “Father let ye marry a MacDougal?”

  Hamish was as white as she must be. She shook her head.

  “Nay, he wished to use me to pay a gambling debt to a vicious old goat, but the king had already married me to Laird Somerled MacDougal by proxy, to end the feud atween our clans. The herald said the king insisted I couldna tell anyone or you’d be harmed. He told them I was Lady Margaret Stewart.”

  “Well ’tis most of yer name,” murmured Hamish.

  “Tell anyone what?” Torquil’s scars stood out white in his red face.

  “Aw, shite,” muttered Artair, wincing. He cleared his throat. “Torquil, Hamish saved the life of Lady Isabel’s wee daughter, Jenny. Herald Cam said to take him with us for more training at Duncladach, and to kneel—”

  “Hamish who?” Torquil sounded as cold as Somerled.

  Her little brother, now much taller though still slight with youth, pushed her behind him to protect her. She peeked around his shoulder.

  “I was born Hamish of the Glen Lyon Campbells. Margaret is my sister. She raised me after our mother died. She kept our kin from killing me.”

  “This is the secret ye’ve been keepin’ from yer husbands and clan?” asked Torquil. “Ye are a Campbell, by birth as well as by marriage?”

  The pain in his voice stabbed Meg’s heart. She stepped around Hamish and nodded.

  “Herald Cam said I must make my marriage with Somerled work to spare Hamish’s life. If I let any ken my clan Somerled would…” She sagged. “I didna ken what he’d do. But Hamish would go back to the Lyon’s Den.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “He was a wee lad the last time I saw him, and our father and brothers…” Her throat shut.

  Torquil’s hard blue eyes stabbed Meg. “So that’s what Ewan was fussin’ about.” He ran a hand over his face. “Shite, indeed.” He exhaled, blowing hard. “Ye’ll have to choose atween yer brother and yer husband, lass. Campbell or MacDougal. Ye canna be both.”

  “Nay.” Hamish’s voice broke with strain, but he stood tall. He had to tilt his face back as Torquil was still in the saddle. “I chose to kneel to Sir Tearlach MacDougal afore I left Calltuin. I pledged my fealty to him, and to the MacDougal clan. ’Tis why I am coming to the Gathering, to kneel afore Laird Somerled, if he will accept me. I didna ken my sister would be here.”

  Torquil dismounted. He walked up to Hamish, far taller, older, and far more battle scarred. Hamish blanched but held firm.

  “Ye look enough like each other so we canna hide it. But for yer own sake, dinna touch Meg. Ye dinna ken it, but Somerled wasna pleased to discover Meg had married Edgar Campbell. Learnin’ she was born a Campbell and said naught…” He shook his head, sighing. “If ye give him an excuse, such as touchin’ her, he’ll take yer head off.”

  Meg wasn’t sure if Torquil meant Somerled would roar and bluster or actually use his claymore to remove Hamish’s head from his shoulders. She couldn’t chance it.

  “If he harms my brother, then he harms me, Torquil. You heard what Hamish said about him kneeling and becoming a MacDougal. Somerled would believe that Artair and Zander tell the truth, aye?” Torquil winced but didn’t deny it. “We didna choose our father, the same as you. We were beaten, and worse, by our kin. We survived, and now choose to be MacDougals. If you’ll have us.”

  “Ye canna change yer clan like that,” said Torquil.

  “I would give my life for Clan MacDougal, and—”

  “Och, nay, woman! Ye dinna battle, so ’tis just words ye be sayin’.”

  “Words?” She puffed up in outrage. “Have you seen a woman screaming in childbirth, trying to push out her laird’s big-headed heir? Nay? ’Tis more painful than battle, and oft kills the mother. We do it to give life, not take it, but ’tis no less a battle!”

  “Aye, I’ve seen it. I were eight when Zander was born.” Torquil exhaled, shaking his head. “Mary screamed, for hours.” He turned to Zander, who’d gone white. “Dinna fash, lad. Not long after she was all smiles, showing us our new brother. Meg, ye ken ’tis a woman’s lot to birth bairns for her husband and clan.”
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  “Aye, and I accept it.” She lifted her chin and stared him in the eye. “But dinna tell me that a lass, especially a wee one such as me, doesna face death with her first babe, not kenning if her body will release it and let her live, or kill both. Birthing is a battle, but for life.”

  “Ye said yer mother was the same size as ye, and she had lots of sons.”

  “Aye. But my father wasna the size of Somerled and Niall,” she quietly replied. “And if the babe turns and comes out feet first, or there be twins, or a hundred other things…” She paused to swallow, ducking her head to force her throat. “A woman doesna wish to think on dying that way, but ’tis there, in the back of her mind, all her days.”

  Hamish put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, as he used to lean on her. It was a bittersweet moment. They’d found each other, but it could destroy the love that was growing between her and her husbands.

  “If Laird Somerled MacDougal canna accept who I am, then he will lose me,” she said quietly.

  “Ye will leave him?” asked Hamish.

  “Nay. King James married us but I held hands with Somerled and jumped the broom that Niall held. My husband may go back on his word, but I willna do it.”

  “Our laird wouldna break a vow.”

  She gave Torquil a bitter smile. “We shall see, aye?” She turned to Artair and Zander, silently watching. “I welcome you home to Duncladach. I be Lady Meg MacDougal, wife to your laird Somerled and Niall. I bid you welcome.” She sank into a low curtsy of respect.

  “Ride on ahead, and tell the laird we have a guest,” said Torquil to his younger brothers.

  They shared a glance, and then both shook their heads.

  “We kenned our laird wouldna be happy with Hamish, though he bent his knee to Sir Tearlach,” said Artair. “We didna ken that Somerled had bedded a Campbell wife, or that she was Hamish’s sister. If he didna ken it either, and the lady’s been hiding it from our laird, then I dinna wish to tell him. Ye are the older brother, so I will let ye tell it. The laird willna take out his rage on ye.”