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

by Reece Butler

  “Aye, he will,” said Torquil. “And he willna hold back on Ewan for kenning Hamish was with ye, yet saying naught, again.” He grimaced. “I hope Somerled doesna refuse Ewan that dog he says will be turning up.” He mounted his horse. “If he does, Ewan may choose to take the dog and live in the caves for the summer.”

  “Caves?” she asked. She and Hamish had hidden in caves, sometimes for days, when some of their worst kin visited.

  “Aye, there’s some at Camas Bàn, along the coast to the south afore Dunollie. Big they are, and dry.”

  She’d heard about Dunollie Castle. It wasn’t used as it was so much smaller and less protected than Duncladach, which had sixty-foot high walls. She’d thought of Dunollie as a potential refuge if Somerled raged at her. A cave might be better than the castle as he’d not think of looking for her there. If she could find them and they weren’t dark holes in the ground.

  “Best sit sideways on my lap, lass,” said Torquil.

  She gave Hamish a hug to last until they could touch again. He easily lifted her onto Torquil’s lap. “Once I would lift you the same to get you on that old pony,” she said fondly.

  “’Tis my turn to protect ye, sister,” replied Hamish. He winked and mounted up.

  “Tell me of Dunollie,” she said to Torquil. “I wish to distract myself from what’s ahead.” And to distract them from thinking of her interest in the caves. A sharp flash of light made Torquil curse. “What is that?” she asked, looking toward Duncladach.

  “The spyglass, reflecting the sun back at us. Methinks Somerled saw yer hugs. He willna be pleased.”

  “Well, as he willna stray beyond the stables for fear of attack by marauding Campbells, we are safe until we get there,” she replied grimly.

  “Though not a moment more,” said Torquil.

  Chapter Five

  Somerled kept the spyglass to his eye. “Ewan!” he roared for the fourth time.

  The left side of his chest ached with a pain far worse than any wound from a sword. Was this what Laird Fingal had felt when Grizel poisoned his brothers and let in the enemy?

  He’d begun to care for Meg but she’d lied to him, about many things, from the beginning. Not in words. No, she’d smiled and laughed, letting him believe a life of joy was possible. But he’d known all along he was cursed to a barren life of duty. When he gave his word it was as binding as an oath. Meg was his wife, a gift of their king. He would continue to bed her, forsaking all others, as it was his duty.

  Blinded by her smiles he’d allowed himself to care for Meg, thinking the smiles were only for him and Niall. But it was a lie, a woman’s trick. Her traitorous ways stabbed deep. He would harden his heart to her.

  “Aye, laird?”

  The softly spoken voice came from right behind. He startled, losing sight of his three brothers, faithless wife, and her lover. He jammed the spyglass back to his eye. They were still riding, Meg across Torquil’s lap. He’d noted Artair and Zander had grown but kept his eye on the stranger. Young, perhaps Meg’s age. He towed packhorses. Was he a servant who Meg had met and bedded while living with Edgar Campbell at Duntrune? Or had she met him elsewhere? And how were his brothers involved? Had her lover discovered where Meg lived so offered himself as servant to Artair and Zander to get close to her?

  He was Meg’s second husband and, as such, had been the only virgin in their bed the night they met. He had no way to know if Meg’s eager acceptance of both him and Niall had to do with the wine, or if it was a plot to bind them to her. Her first husband had been crippled for years, unable even to speak, while Meg ruled Duntrune Castle. She’d had plenty of time to stray and could have had any number of lovers.

  Aggie would know, having been at Duntrune with Meg, but would she tell?

  “My wife just threw herself into the arms of a stranger,” he snarled. “Ye say ye can See all who touch MacDougal land. Yet there’s a stranger riding up, one ye didna tell me about!” He hauled his eye away from the spyglass to glare. “And ’tis nay the first time ye didna tell yer laird what I need to ken!”

  Ewan looked back blandly. “I told ye the lads were ridin’ up. Aye, there’s three of ’em, but the other doesna bring danger to our clan.”

  “Ye said that of Meg. I tried to believe ye, but I canna now.”

  He looked again. They were closer. He’d have to get down to the stables soon. If he was more of a man he would have ridden out to meet them. He could’ve stopped them, sending the stranger away before the man ever caught sight of Meg.

  And who had sent Meg to meet them? She was riding with Torquil, which meant Ewan must have had something to do with it.

  “What ye may think ’tisn’t a danger to the clan may be a danger to yer laird,” he snarled in reply. “I kenned my wife was a widow but she didna tell me she’d married a vile Campbell. I accepted it as she’d had nay choice. But I told ye I kenned there was more, that she kept a secret from me. I never thought she may have a lover, or would bring him here!”

  “A lover? When would Meg find a lover?”

  “While Edgar Campbell lay in his bed, unable to move!” He pointed toward the group. “There he is. She threw herself at him just now, thinkin’ I wouldna see.”

  “She kissed him, as she does her two husbands?”

  He shifted uneasily. “Well, nay. But she smiled wide and hugged him. And he kissed her!”

  “Where, laird?”

  “On the cheek.”

  It sounded nothing like a lover now that he spoke of it. But why else would she run to a stranger with such joy? She’d said, again and again, that her kin had harmed her. It had to be someone she’d met at Duntrune. And that meant he was a bloody Campbell!

  “Lady Meg is nay a danger to yer person, laird. She wilna harm ye, nor will the lad.” Ewan paused. “Unless ye do sommat to her. The lad would die afore letting ye harm her.”

  Until this moment, Somerled would have said the same thing, that he would die to protect Meg because he cared for her. No longer. She was a snake hiding in the grass, waiting to coil and strike him. A very arousing snake. They’d done little but sleep for too many nights. He’d gotten used to holding her, sliding into her eager heat…

  He gritted his teeth. She was just a woman. The first since Mary to care for him, but still, just a woman.

  “MacDougals dinna beat women,” he said to the least likely of his brothers to harm anything living. “And I keep my oaths, be they said by me or my king for me. I willna harm her, yet I can lock her away where she’ll do nay harm to me, or another.” Even though it would hurt to push her away.

  Ewan sighed heavily. “Aye, as laird ye can do that. But what of the Gathering? Lady Meg is needed if ye wish it done. Or will ye take over the food and beds and—”

  “I’ll cancel it.”

  “’Tis too late, laird. The word has gone out. The last Gathering was held by our grandsire. Every clansman who can get here will pledge to ye, even if he must crawl. Those wishin’ to join with the MacDougals, such as Aggie’s husband Alf, are eager to swear fealty to ye and gain a home by it. Ye canna cancel a Gathering because ye got all fashed for nay reason.”

  “Nay reason?”

  He whirled around, glaring down at Ewan. This brother had never given him such a look of disgust before. He faltered for a moment. No. Ewan knew nothing of women. Nor was he likely to. It was just as well. The joy of sliding into Meg’s welcoming heat, of having her cry his name as she shattered around him, could not make up for the pain of her turning against him. She’d let him think she cared for him, yet the whole time she’d loved another.

  Of course she did not love him. No one could. He was not worthy of it. His own mother told him that, again and again, while she lived. She said he’d be like his father, a wastrel uncaring of others. He’d cried out that she was wrong, that he’d be a good laird. But she said he came from the seed of his father and could do nothing about it. None would love him because he, like his father, was undeserving. Then Maeve had turned h
er vicious tongue on him as she could not use it against her husband as he was absent so much.

  If both his mothers said he was unworthy of love, why would he think they were wrong? Mary loved them all, but he’d grown wary of women by then. Plus, the little ones needed her, and he was a big lad of ten summers.

  “Why are ye turnin’ on the lass?” asked Ewan softly. “She did as her king ordered, as have ye. All can see the two of ye care for each other, and—”

  “’Twas false, an act of smiles to gain what she wished. And now she brings her lover here and holds a dagger to me throat!”

  Ewan crossed his arms, leaned back and tilted his head to the side. “Yer throat, Laird Somerled? Methinks yer problem is a wee bit lower.”

  He fisted his hands, gripping hard to keep from pounding his brother. Yes, he lusted after Meg, but that was right when you were married. The wanting was a weakness, one she’d used against him. He would no longer allow his lust to sway him. As Meg also lusted after him and Niall, he would use that against her. He could get his own needs met without meeting hers.

  “Aye, I wish to bed her, and ’tis my right to get heirs off my wife. She doesna need to find pleasure in it.”

  “Ye would force her?”

  “Nay. But I dinna need to give her a reward for doin’ her duty.”

  Ewan’s jaw clenched. “Niall would give her release.”

  “He wouldna if I ordered him otherwise. She is a traitor to the clan and will be shunned. She will work all her days as now, but none will speak with her.”

  “Laird, I ken ye are jealous Meg hugged a lad. Ye are angry she didna tell all of her life to ye. But ye dinna ken why. Ye’ve turned against her for naught.”

  “Naught? She lied to me, just as our father lied to my mother and Maeve! Just as Grizel lied to Fingal!”

  “Meg is nay Grizel!”

  Somerled jammed his teeth together, lifting his jaw to look down on Ewan with more than the four-inch difference in their height.

  “I swore I wouldna be like my father. I’d never smile at a lass and lie to get what I wanted, or make false promises that meant little to me though much to her.” He hardened his voice. “I willna have a wife do to me what our father did to our mothers.” A lance of pain hit. He rubbed his knuckles over his left chest. “She wronged me, and our clan. She must pay!”

  Ewan stared back with what looked like pity. “Ye are wishin’ to punish Meg for what our father did to ye.”

  “Nay!”

  “He told his wives he’d be true and lied through his teeth. He told other women what they wished to hear so they’d open their legs to him.” Ewan pointed his finger at Somerled. “This is about yer father telling ye that he cared for ye, that ye mattered to him, and then walkin’ away. By his neglect he forced ye, while still a lad, to take over his duties so he could play. Ye are still hurtin’ from that.” Ewan nodded. “Aye, ye canna punish our father, so ye will do it to Meg.”

  It still hurt, seeing his father ride away, giving promises he had no intention to fulfill. Somerled remembered well the dirk his father promised to buy him at the fair, a sharp one for his oldest son and heir. His chest had puffed up with pride as he’d seen his father put the coins for it in his sporran. He’d never had a gift nor gone to the fair and begged to go along. He’d been told as the future laird he had a duty to his clan and must stay at Duncladach and care for them. Then his father had winked and said the dirk was their secret so not to speak of it.

  So he’d waited, working even harder to prove he was worthy of such a reward.

  Weeks later his father returned, laughing and smiling, demanding food and attention. Nothing was said about the present. When Somerled asked about the promised dirk his father had raged, demanding he apologize for lying. He’d accusing Somerled of being selfish and said his lies proved he didn’t deserve anything.

  As an adult he realized his father had planned the whole thing, wishing to rut with someone new and so using the excuse of going to a fair to purchase things for his wife and sons. But the child in him still couldn’t understand.

  He’d silently swallowed the hurt and rejection, wondering what his father had done with his time and the money. That was answered much later, after Maeve’s death, when a pair of sisters dropped off their recently weaned babes. All along his father had planned to seek their beds as Maeve had turned him from hers, having birthed twins Malcolm and Duff. Instead of a dirk he could use for the rest of his life, a gift of honor, Somerled had gotten Finn and Dougal, two more brothers to care for.

  By the time they arrived he was twelve, and a man. He’d promised himself he’d never believe someone cared for him, other than his brothers. And now he’d let a smiling, eager wife help him break that promise. Once more it was all lies, this time said by a selfish woman. It hurt even more as an adult.

  “Aye, our father wasna fit to be a laird,” said Somerled. “But this is about Meg makin’ promises and smiling through her lies. That is what she must be punished for.”

  “Aye, ’tis true she didna tell ye of her past. But Meg wishes naught to do with the clan she was born into. They dinna deserve her, and we need her. Does the name of her clan matter to ye so much that ye’d turn her away from ye, and us?”

  “Do ye ken her clan?” he demanded.

  “Aye. I have from the first,” admitted Ewan, unashamed.

  The words struck deep with another betrayal. Ewan’s eyes unfocussed as if he looked through him, seeing things Somerled could never understand. He realized he didn’t wish to, either. There were enough real dangers to worry about, things he could touch.

  “I ken many things, laird,” said Ewan softly. “I dinna speak of them as they matter not. Aye, Meg has secrets.” He looked toward the stables, not quite turning his back on his laird. “How much truth is enough for ye? Will ye shame yer lady wife by forcing her to tell ye what Edgar Campbell did to her wee body? Or what her brother’s friends and even her cousins did to her?”

  “Did they—”

  “Rape her?” Ewan shook his head. “Nay. They wished to, but her value to her clan as a virgin kept them from it.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  Ewan raised an eyebrow. “They didna rape her but they said what they wished to do to her. They ripped her clothes, terrifying her, so they could see her body.”

  He winced, imagining it. “She didna tell me that.”

  “Nor did she tell ye that Edgar’s heir, John Campbell, would have kept her at Duntrune as his leman, forcing her to share his bed. Nor did she say what Edgar did to force her to his will. Do ye wish to shame the lass by making her speak of such things?”

  Somerled faced the sea though he saw little. He imagined Meg as a wee lass, being lusted over by much bigger lads. Having them say vile things, pawing her, and understanding the only reason she was not raped was because of her value as a virgin. From what she’d said of her brothers near drowning her, they would have laughed at her terror, stopping just short of the act.

  He didn’t like to think of such things happening to his Meg. Even knowing she’d lied to him, he couldn’t help care for her. He would have to hide it. He’d stay away from her except to lecture her, quickly bed her, and give orders.

  “You kenned all this and said naught?” he asked quietly.

  Ewan leaned on the parapet. He dropped his head, all his weight on his hands as if it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing.

  “Aye,” he whispered, “The herald said much of it, but I ken evil that I can do naught about. Meg called it a gift.” He barked a sarcastic laugh. “’Tis a curse, and a nightmare. ’Tis why I walk here most nights. I canna sleep without Seein’ things.”

  Somerled winced. He’d taken Ewan’s abilities for granted, had been so focused on other things that he hadn’t thought what it must be like. “I dinna wish ye pain, brother,” he murmured. “Is there ought ye can do to shield yerself from it?”

  “Shadow helps when he sleeps near. If I hold him close I
dream of catching mice. ’Tis far better than seeing what could happen to people I care for. But a cat doesna wish to tarry with ye. ’Tis why I wish for the dog comin’ our way.” He turned his head to Somerled. Pain, of a sort Somerled had never imagined, creased his features. “Ye must let me have this dog, laird. ’Tis one of the few things I’ve asked of ye. I canna stand to think of livin’ like this for years and years.”

  “Aye. I canna deny that to ye.” He straightened. He would put his anger where it was due, on Meg and her lover. “Ye said Meg willna harm the clan. What will she do?”

  “I canna tell ye. ’Tis too close to See.”

  Somerled turned to the approaching figures. He didn’t need the spyglass anymore. “What can ye tell me, then?”

  “That I will have the company of a dog by winter, and I will feel blessed by it. That, laird, I truly wish to happen. But again, ’tis only a possibility. So I hope and do all I can to make it so.”

  “What can ye do?”

  “Tell my laird that his wife keeps secrets, but they willna harm Clan MacDougal.”

  He ground his teeth. “Can ye say why she willna tell me the truth?”

  “What is truth? It changes by what ye choose to understand. Mayhaps Meg said something, and ye didna listen well, thinkin’ on gettin’ her naked instead.”

  Somerled thumped his hand on the stone.

  “What. Can. Ye. Tell. Me!”

  Ewan lifted an eyebrow. “Ask yerself who would marry their only daughter to an old, controlling Campbell to gain coin? And why would King James then marry Edgar Campbell’s widow to ye?”

  “The herald said I was gifted with a wife as a reward for the MacDougal clan’s loyalty to King James. The fathers of the men our brothers married, two lords and an earl, told the king we had braw warriors with honor and courage, though little else.”

  “The king does little for others ’less it also does what he wishes. What does yer marriage to Meg do for the king?”