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

by Reece Butler

  “’Tis soft, like yer skin,” he murmured. He laid his hand on her knee. Her needle jerked, stilled, and then went into the fabric. Her scent, which he’d absently noticed when he crouched, strengthened.

  “Remember that we didna ken women as lads, needin’ to survive. We still dinna think much beyond having what we need.”

  “I dinna need a gown,” she replied. “I ken how things are, and I wouldna ask for one.”

  “Aye ye wouldna ask. Mayhaps you dinna need a ribband for yer hair, either, but mayhaps I need to give ye sommat pretty.”

  His chest tightened. He had no idea why, only that he wanted to give her things to make her smile. The thought of taking care of her eased his heart. Was there a ribbon in the goods Isabel had sent?

  “Why?” she asked softly.

  “Ye may have two husbands, Meg, but I have but one wife. Ye have food, clothes to keep ye warm, and a place to lay yer head.” He had her full attention, the needle poised over the cloth. “I wish to give ye sommat to make ye think of me alone.”

  He dropped his forehead, resting it on her knee.

  “I care for ye, wee Meggie,” he whispered, his voice rough. “I dinna like what Somerled is doing, but he is my laird.” He looked up. Her brown eyes were wide, her brow furrowed. “He is throwing himself into long hours of work as he misses ye.”

  A small hand rested on the back of his head. He screwed his eyes tight. A man should not cry. He should not feel this weakness. A memory stirred, that of another hand resting just so, as he crouched before Mary. The weakness and tears were for the young lad who’d had no chance to grieve at her death. She was the only one who’d touched him in love, and he’d loved her in return. Just as he loved…

  He loved Meg, with all his heart!

  A burst of joy exploded in his chest. The weight of dozens of empty years fell away. He inhaled, a new man. They’d spoken of love before Meg and Somerled jumped a broom, but this was far deeper. He wouldn’t tell her now. His twin needed to realize the reason he was acting this way was because he loved her as well. Yes, Meg said she loved Hamish but he was her brother, so it was a different kind of love. Now that Niall understood it, he could help Somerled see the truth.

  He looked up. Meg seemed to glow. Perhaps it was the sun catching her golden hair. It didn’t matter. He loved her, and thought she might love him back.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Ye are beautiful. Just as ye are, or in a new gown, or in naught.” He winked. “I wish to see you in naught again but will have to wait until my stubborn brother opens his eyes.” He took her hand and pressed his lips against her palm. He lingered, inhaling her scent before rolled her fingers into a fist. “Hold my kiss until I can give ye more of this, in many other places.”

  He stood, for if he didn’t she would find herself in his arms. His oath to his laird must come before his own needs. But if Somerled didn’t see the truth soon, he might have to do as Herald Cam said before, and take over as laird.

  “I look forward to seein’ ye in that dress, Meg. Ye have a fine hand with a needle. I shall remember that if I need stitchin’ up.”

  “Dinna tell Somerled,” she said, turning back to her work. Her lip twitched. “I am that angry with the lout I would give him fifty stitches when he needs but five.”

  “Then he willna scar as much.”

  She raised one eyebrow and gave him that saucy, sparkling, feisty smirk that hit him straight in the chest.

  “I didna say where I’d put the extra stitches, aye?”

  They shared a chuckle. This was what marriage was about. The sharing of joy, of laughter, and of circumstances, some of them harsh. Would Somerled ever understand?

  “Should I do summat to my clothes?” He picked a piece of straw from his plaid. He went to toss it away, then remembered where he was. He dropped it out the window instead.

  “You could change your shirt and polish your boots.” She frowned, looking to the corner as she thought. “Somerled will wear the Brooch of Lorn, but I saw a few smaller ones to keep your plaid from falling off your shoulder. I remember one with a Cairngorm.”

  “Me? Wear a jeweled brooch?”

  “You are second to the laird and must dress and act the part.” She held up her finger and shook it at him. “You are important to your brothers and to your clan, as well as to me. You will be the first to give Somerled your oath. Then you will move to stand at his side, one step behind to protect his back. Should something happen to him, you will be laird.” Meg’s eyes glistened. “And I am Lady MacDougal. If I am dressed to shine, so should you. Or at least glow a wee bit.”

  All that was true, but no one had said it out loud. Nor had he put it together that way. He hadn’t really thought what the Gathering would mean, other than bringing his brothers and the clan together to say their oaths.

  “We have two new dress plaids. Tearlach and Rory brought them back from Calltuin.”

  “Then you and Somerled will wear them. There are a few shirts that have little mending. If Isabel sent this” —she motioned to her lap— “then her husbands may bring sommat for you. And your other brothers will bring gifts. If they dinna ken what you will need for a Gathering, their wives will.”

  He hadn’t thought about his brothers bringing things with them. Duff and Malcolm lived in a fine MacKenzie castle far past Inverness so couldn’t attend, though Gillis and Angus had a tower far closer. Likely the Earl of Caithness wouldn’t allow James and Cormac to come from Wick. He was too eager for more grandsons.

  “Ye ken all this more than us brothers,” he said. “’Tis one reason why we need ye out of this room and back working.”

  “Somerled doesna think I am needed. He has bound me to stay here, silent.”

  “Ye are nay silent, lass,” he said with a hint of a smile. “Ye are talking with me.”

  “Ah, but we be talking clan business, aye?”

  “Like the business that had all those women traipsing up here, leaving their bairns in the bailey to annoy Somerled and the lads building places for all to sleep?”

  Her lips twitched. She dropped her eyes once more to her lap and began stitching. “’Twasn’t my doing.”

  “Nay, ’twas Aggie’s. And methinks she has a few more ideas that will bedevil our laird.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  Niall loved watching her work. His hands were big, his fingers long while hers were dainty. “’Tis like magic what ye do, lass. Yer tiny stitches are so different from what a man does with a claymore or a dirk.”

  “Aye. Women create life and comfort.” She put her sewing down. “Time for me to sleep.”

  He stood at her abrupt tone. “Ye sleep in the day?”

  “I sleep when I am tired, for I’ve been tired for a long, long time. Fear does that, and now I am free of secrets and worry. I dinna ken when Somerled will release me, but when he does I willna have time to rest.”

  “Is there sommat I can do for ye?”

  “Other than drive some sense into that twin of yours?”

  That made him smile. “Hamish is well. I told the laird we need every hand we had, and why have him sitting in a room eating our food when he could be working?”

  “And?” She looked at him eagerly.

  “He’s a hard worker. He’s getting the respect of the men.”

  “Do they think of him as my lover?”

  “They all ken how much he looks like ye. The way he speaks and his laugh is the same. Methinks Somerled kens it as well, but he canna think how to get ye out of here without being less of a laird. I canna help snickering sometimes.”

  She crossed her arms, tilted her head, and gave him the mischievous look he enjoyed as long as it wasn’t directed at him.

  “Then mayhaps ’tis up to me to get myself out.”

  “So he can bluster at ye without having to change his order, so ’tis yer fault for leaving, and he will order ye to work, since ye are out anyway?”

  “Ye have a fine mind, Nial
l MacDougal. Leave it to me so you dinna get blamed.”

  Chapter Ten

  Somerled dug into his bowl with relish. Aggie had added salt and garlic to the boiled fish, making it taste far better. The preparations for the Gathering were coming along well. He had seven brothers working with him and another four were likely to arrive soon. He was confident Angus and Gillis would make it, and hoped they’d bring Fiona and wee Morag. Duff and Malcolm’s castle was too far for them to ride and he’d likely never see James and Cormac again.

  His brothers had done well. Two daughters and the return of the Brooch of Lorn proved the clan was no longer cursed, if it ever had been. They now had seats for all at the table and beeswax candles that did not smoke and burn the eyes the way tallow did. If the summer went well they’d have enough food stored to get through the winter without worrying about starving.

  The only thing wrong was Meg.

  He didn’t know how to back away from his order that she stay in her chamber. He hadn’t gone near as he would not be able to see her and not tumble her. His cock, unused to going without Meg’s attention, surged to life. He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and holding his bowl between them to hide the evidence.

  Concentrate on work!

  They were making a set of barracks and a latrine along the inside wall to hold clan members during the Gathering. The space could then be used for storage or to house others who may wish to move to the castle for the winter. Hamish was a good worker, a cheerful lad who smiled no matter what Somerled ordered him to do. He would be shoveling out the garderobe if Tearlach and Rory hadn’t just done it.

  It took only a day or so before he realized Hamish wasn’t Meg’s lover. Once he heard the lad speak, and then laugh, he knew he was Meg’s brother. That confirmed his wife had been born a Campbell. Now that he’d been away from her for days and nights, and having seen the way Hamish worked so well with his brothers, it didn’t rankle as much as it had. Both of them fit so well at Duncladach that he couldn’t see them surviving long with the Campbells.

  He’d been a fool, exploding in anger and jealousy, and was now stuck. His punishment of Meg had not upset her. His brothers all visited her and spoke of it when they thought he couldn’t hear. Or maybe they did it knowing he could hear. She was sewing a dress for the Gathering and answering questions from the village women with nods and head shakes.

  And wasn’t that a damn nuisance! The women tromped through his bailey and up the stairs, leaving their bairns to be entertained. Since his father died he’d not gone to the village but once, so the bairns didn’t know him. At first they sat quietly and watched the men work. Eventually one lad got up his nerve and asked Artair about the Gathering and why it was being held. As laird he’d had to answer the lad, and that started other questions.

  The women gave him dark looks as they left that first day. On the second day they brought even more bairns. As soon as the women were in the lower hall a wee lass had tugged at his plaid and asked if he’d tell her a story. A bailey full of eagerly pleading eyes soon had him surrounded by bairns as he told of the building of Duncladach and the history of the once-great MacDougal clan.

  The wee lass had plunked herself down in his lap, stuck her finger in her mouth, and fell asleep against his chest. He only needed to rest his palm on her to keep her upright. Her warm body felt so right there, trusting that he’d care for her and protect her. It made him even more eager for Meg to give him a babe.

  They wouldn’t be starting one with her sleeping in their bed with Aggie while he and Niall shared the upper hall with snoring, farting men.

  He’d been disappointed that morning when no chattering women arrived. He’d already planned what legends to tell the bairns. It made him wonder if part of the reason the women were asking questions was to be a nuisance to him, and since he enjoyed the young ones, they let him be.

  It gave him an idea for the Gathering, something to do in the evenings beforehand, while clan members started arriving. He hadn’t thought on it, but his brothers might not know the legends either. Hamish said Meg told him stories that she made up in her head. There were old men and women in the village with long memories who could tell tales. Perhaps some of the women would sing. He’d overheard Meg singing a time or two, or humming under her breath. She might know a few ballads. The clan would enjoy hearing their laird speaking of past glories and their lady singing of them. He’d have to get her to practice. Maybe Niall could speak with her and—

  “Where did ye send Lady Meg?”

  He looked up. Aggie, hands on hips, lips pursed like an old hag, glared at him.

  “What are ye on about, wench?” Aggie narrowed her eyes at him. He’d used the term on purpose, knowing she disliked it.

  “My lady wasna in bed when I got up, so I thought she were in the garderobe. But I went to take her food up to that dark chamber” —she curled her lip— “and she wasna there. And aye, I checked the garderobe this time.”

  “Did she take anything?” asked Niall, looking up.

  “Aye, her cloak and boots are gone, and a blanket. And now that I think on it, there was a few loaves of bread and some cheese gone from the kitchen. And a basket.”

  Meg was gone? “And ye said nowt until now?” he demanded, standing.

  “I thought ’twas one of the lads with empty stommachs what took it.” She transferred her glare to the younger brothers, still eating. “’Twas one of ye what ate the last of that rabbit pie, aye?”

  They shook their heads. “Nay, Aggie,” said Finn. “We dinna go in the kitchen ’less ye send us for sommat. Meg said she’d have us washing our clothes again if we bothered ye.”

  Aggie raised an eyebrow and surveyed his brothers.

  “’Twas me,” admitted Somerled. “I couldna sleep and got up to stretch my legs, and since my belly was empty…” He cleared his throat. “But I am the laird, and—”

  “And should show an example to the others!”

  “But Aggie, ye ken—”

  “Where is my sister?” demanded Hamish. He was skinny and short but had a look of murder. “Ye locked her up out of the sun, just as did that whoreson she was forced to marry. Ye are the same!”

  “We was forced to marry each other, laddie. And I’ll remind ye who’s food ye be eatin’.”

  Hamish had finished his bowl. He came to his feet. “Aye, and where did it come from? I hear ye willna go far enough from yer lair to hunt nor fish.”

  “He’s good with a bow, laird,” said Zander. He ducked his head sheepishly. “And he could give lessons to Angus on ticklin’ a trout. ’Twas the lad what caught the fish ye be eatin’.”

  “Who kens where my sister might’ve gone to escape this man?” demanded Hamish, looking around.

  “Escape?” snarled Somerled. “Meg doesna wish to escape. Mayhaps she’s left her chamber for a wee bit of sun, but she wouldna go past the village. Mayhaps she’s at the beach, swimmin’.”

  “Swimming? Are ye daft?” demanded Hamish. “Meg’s terrified of the water since our brothers near drowned her!”

  “Nay more,” replied Somerled smugly. “The lass trusted me to learn her how to float. She done the swimmin’ by herself, with me standin’ near.”

  “Did she wear heavy skirts while doing it?”

  “Nay.” He felt a touch of heat on his cheeks and ears. Meg had been naked, but he wasn’t going to admit it to her brother.

  “Well, she is wearing them now, so I hope she isna trying to float. If she took a boat out and fell in she could drown wearing heavy skirts. ’Twould be an accident as she’d never kill herself. That would be too easy for ye,” added Hamish in a snarl.

  The others got up, arguing as to where to look. Somerled was concerned, but not worried. There was a reason for Meg to disobey him, he just had to find it. And that was what she’d done, leaving her chamber.

  “Dinna fash,” he said, holding his hands up to calm them. “Ewan was guarding up on the wall walk this morn.”

 
; Ewan grimaced, head down as he curled his toes into the dirt, saying nothing.

  “Did ye see Meg outside her chamber this morn?” demanded Somerled.

  “Well, laird, the sun wasna up, so my eyes couldna see clear.” Ewan still didn’t look up. Nor did he say more.

  “What did ye see, Ewan, and when?” It was a direct order, one that must be obeyed.

  “I watched a lass walkin’ southwest this morn, followin’ the shore. She kept stoppin’, goin’ to her knees as if lookin’ for sommat.”

  “Mayhaps she were prayin’,” added Dougal. “For ye to find her and accept her back,” he hastily added when Somerled glared.

  “Was she past the village?”

  “Aye.”

  “Ye watched her leave, and ye said naught?”

  “Could have been a lass pickin’ greens or berries. It couldna be Meg when ye told her to stay in her chamber, aye? She hasna disobeyed ye afore.”

  Meg hadn’t disobeyed him? She’d lied from the moment they met!

  “Aye, she disobeyed. ’Tis why I ordered her to stay in her chamber. She didna tell me—”

  “I ken where she’s gone,” said Torquil, quiet and cold.

  Another one who hadn’t spoken up when he should. Who’s side were they on, his, or Meg’s? From their expressions he’d best not ask.

  “And where would that be?”

  “Dunollie.”

  He blinked. He’d find out later why Torquil knew and not Ewan. Unless Ewan did know and chose not to tell him. He thought back on Ewan’s words and cursed. He should have asked Ewan if he’d Seen Meg’s life spark.

  “Right, lads,” said Somerled. “We’ll do it this way. Finn and Dougal will—”

  “Nay.”

  Niall’s fists clenched, but there was nothing in them. His eyes, however, held much that he wasn’t speaking, none of it good.