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

by Reece Butler

  “Well met, Laird MacKenzie. This be my wife, Lady Meg,” said Somerled proudly.

  After clasping arms with Somerled the rogue lifted Meg’s hand to his lips in a sensual manner surely done to infuriate him. “From the look in yer eyes ye are growin’ a babe,” said MacKenzie to Meg. “Ye MacDougals are a lusty, virile lot.” He winked, flirting with her. “Just like the MacKenzies.”

  “My eyes?” asked Meg, blushing.

  “Aye, a lass glows when she’s happy with her babe.”

  “You should know, you old goat,” said Fraser, elbowing him out of the way. “You’ve got a new son the same age as Kiera’s twins.”

  “Ye can blame James and Cormac fer that. They told my young wife how to raise an old staff,” replied MacKenzie. He stroked his beard, bursting with pride.

  Cameron pushed both lairds out of the way. “’Tis a grand day for Clan MacDougal,” he said. “Your grandsires would be proud.”

  Somerled introduced the lairds to the others. MacKenzie admired Isabel’s rounding belly, making her blush until Kiera told him to go find some wood to whittle.

  “Come this way,” said Niall. “Would ye like wine, whiskey, or ale?”

  “Ye ask a question of a Highlander?” demanded MacKenzie.

  “We’ll have a wee dram of whiskey,” said Fraser.

  “Aye, watching the shore go past parches a man’s throat,” added Cameron.

  “Please, let me escort you into Duncladach,” said Meg.

  She took MacKenzie’s arm, Isabel took Cameron’s, and they walked off. Fraser followed, chuckling at the older brothers pounding the backs of the younger and scuffling with them. The crew would take turns guarding the ship and, no doubt, flirting with the young women of the village. They hadn’t seen many strangers and may be eager for a kiss, or more.

  Somerled scowled at the last man off. “Every time one of ye visits my life changes,” he complained.

  “Thank you,” replied Herald Cam smugly.

  “’Twasn’t meant as a compliment.”

  “You’re pleased with your Meg?”

  “Aye. That I am.” He gestured uphill. “I suppose ye wish to help empty my cask of whiskey?”

  “A wee dram would go down well after journeying with six of your brothers, three wives, one nursemaid, one lad, three babes, a priest and, worst of all, three cunning lairds.”

  “A priest?”

  Herald Cam raised an imperious eyebrow. “Lord Fraser of Lovat believes you’ve gone too long without confessing your sins, so he brought a priest along.”

  Somerled shuddered, ignoring the warning. “I dinna wish to have a dour corbie at my table, carping at me while eatin’ the best of the meat and drinkin’ my whiskey.”

  “Fraser wouldna allow such a priest near him. You’ll see that Father Bram’s a good man, with a keen mind. He’ll teach the wee ones their letters, as well as pray for your souls.” Cam paused, leaning forward to emphasize his words. “The king willna look on you with favor if you refuse a man of the cloth.”

  Somerled dropped his head back, gave a silent curse, then shook it off. “Ah, well, there’s many in the village needing their marriages and babes blessed.” He peered at the ship. “Where is he?”

  “On his knees, thanking God for delivering him safe. He’s no sailor. Since we reached Loch Linnhe and the sea began to roll he’s been praying to keep his belly from heaving. I dinna ken how he made it all the way from Ireland.”

  “Ireland?”

  “Aye. The woman he loved was given to another so he joined the church. When she was widowed he asked to be sent far away. The Scottish Highlands seemed the end of the earth, so he came here.”

  “Ha! ’Tis paradise!”

  They walked toward Duncladach. Halfway there Somerled stopped. “I do thank ye for bringin’ me Meg, and all the things from Duntrune. But I canna like how ye kept it all from me.”

  “Just as your clan kept this shipload of visitors from you?”

  Somerled scowled, unable to think of a reply. That was different. They’d done it for him, and were kin.

  “What would you have done if, right from the start, you’d kenned Meg was a Campbell?” asked Cam. “You’d have spurned her for her name, aye? Would ye now have a laughing wife carrying your bairn and a castle full of your clansmen and their families, eager to kneel before you as their laird?”

  His reaction to Hamish, which the herald would no doubt learn, said everything. “Are ye ever wrong?”

  Cam looked away. “Aye,” he murmured. “And I must live with the result. This time I was right.” His eyes swung back. “You are a good man, and a good laird. Your brothers have taken on the reins of greatness because they had you and Niall to follow. Dinna think ye are less than any other man.”

  “Even King James,” asked Somerled, only partly joking.

  “Especially King James. You, I can trust.”

  Trusting a king, especially one who played favorites, was never smart. It would be very difficult working for a man who could order you to do something and when you did it, accuse you of a crime and have you tortured for it.

  “If yer work with Clan MacDougal is done, Herald, I would have ye as a friend. If ye wish to have a place to wait out a task, to heal, or just to be yerself, come to Duncladach and we will let the drawbridge down for ye. And if ye wish we’ll close it up behind ye as well, to keep yer enemies out.”

  Cam took a minute to answer. Somerled waited. He’d never offered such a thing before.

  “My work with your clan willna be done until the Gathering is over, yet I thank you. A man such as myself needs a few bolt holes if he wishes to keep his skin intact.” They nodded, man to man. “You mentioned a wee dram…”

  * * * *

  Ewan waited until they were all in the hall eating before he ventured out onto the wall walk. When he sensed the pair of sparks heading his way he both dreaded and prayed his wish would come true. But Morag, Fiona’s wee babe, was whimpering.

  “Are ye up there, Ewan?” called Fiona.

  “Aye.” He ran down the steps to the bailey. “What’s the matter with wee Morag?” He stopped. He didn’t touch anyone but Torquil as he usually got a jolt of Vision when he did. They were not usually pleasant.

  “I dinna ken it,” said Fiona, shaking her head in concern. “She’s never been this fussy. She isna hungry or wet. She wishes for sommat, but I dinna ken what. She won’t go to anyone else so Torquil said ye might have a try.”

  “Me?”

  “If ye could just hold her so I could sup? I canna be in the hall with Morag fussing so, and my husbands are busy with their brothers. Will ye take her?”

  “Aye, if she will accept me. I warn ye, I dinna ken much of babes.”

  “Well, she’s reaching for ye.”

  “Truly?”

  A loud squawk, more of a demand, rang out. Morag was leaning away from her mother, reaching for him. He held out his arms. Fiona carefully handed him her babe. She was heavier than he’d thought. Eyes as blue as his own gazed back solemnly. Her mouth opened, and she…smiled at him, showing pink gums. He stared, shocked at the waves of peace and contentment she brought him. It was like a blanket had been thrown over his head, cutting off sound and vision, as soon as he held her.

  “Torquil was right, ye quieten her,” said Fiona. “Will ye keep her for a bit?”

  “Aye,” he whispered, amazed.

  “She’s just been fed and is dry.”

  “I ken it.”

  “Ye do?”

  “She just wants to be held. By me,” he said in wonderment.

  She stuck her finger and thumb in her mouth, rested her head on his chest, and closed her eyes. She heaved a deep sigh, as if pleased the adults had finally figured out what she wanted. Moving very slowly, he slid his back down the stone wall to sit.

  He was holding a wee lassie. One who wanted him to protect her. And in return, she somehow eased the unseen, unheard noises that battered him day and night.

  M
orag gave him hope. He may never have a child of his own, yet he might be able to help care for Meg’s wee ones.

  “Thank ye, lassie,” he whispered.

  Fiona had trusted him with her precious babe. That in itself was a gift. The pounding silence between his ears felt so strange. Was this quiet what normal people had all the time? Did they sense nothing but what their body could see, hear or feel? No wonder they could sleep at night. He rested, dozing. He didn’t know how long he sat there, protecting the sleeping babe, but it was glorious.

  It was Angus, two years younger, who came for her. He sat beside Ewan, keeping his distance yet still near enough to talk quietly.

  “I kenned I might have to let Morag go to a man at some point in her life,” said Angus, “but I didna think my wee lassie would choose another over her da so soon.”

  “Thank ye for this precious gift,” said Ewan. “She sleeps without dreaming.”

  “Word has gone out ye be a miracle with babes,” said Angus. “If any of them fuss they’ll be brought to their Uncle Ewan.”

  “She’s waking,” said Ewan. “And she’s hungry.”

  “Aye, but she needs her mam for that.”

  “I canna go to the hall with all them, but will ye tell the others I wish them well?”

  “Is there more ye can tell us?” asked Angus. “For the wee one, I mean. I dinna care for myself.”

  Ewan hesitated, not wanting to start the visit by telling his brother something horrific would happen to his wee babe. But he touched Angus’s hand anyway. He held his breath, releasing it when the vision cleared.

  “None of yer lives will be easy, but ’twill be better than what we had. There’s a good chance ye willna lose Morag, or Fiona, for many a year.”

  “What of the others?”

  Ewan sent his senses toward the hall. He knew they’d wish to know what they could but would not ask.

  “I see no evil in any of their futures. Ye mayna wish to tell the wives, but I see many healthy bairns.”

  “Thank ye for that,” replied Angus. “I’ll tell our brothers to take care as usual, but not to fret.” He took the waking babe from Ewan’s arms.

  Having had a respite Ewan expected an explosion in his senses when Morag left him but, though intense, it was still muted compared to before. Angus hurried with the squawking babe to the hall and Fiona while Ewan climbed the steps to the wall walk. He gazed out with a contentment he’d not thought possible.

  “Thank ye for sending her to me, brother,” he said.

  Torquil took the last step. “Well, she was fussing, and I thought of ye.” He pulled at his ear. “What was it like? Holding a babe?”

  He took his time answering. There were often long, comfortable silences between them.

  “’Twas like holding hope. A wee child like that, when she is well loved, gives it back in waves.” He paused. “Mayhaps that was why the world is not so loud with her near. Even now, ’tis bearable.”

  “Morag helps ye, like Shadow does?”

  “Nay, ’tis different. Shadow’s thoughts are fairly simple. Morag… She is love. Waves of love, covering up noise like slow waves rolling onto the shore.” Torquil grunted. “’Twas a shock to feel peace and love and hope for a future.”

  “Her future, or yers?”

  “Ours.” Ewan tried to hold on to the quiet, but the effect was fading. “I wish I was normal so ye could have a wife.”

  “Normal?” Torquil barked a sarcastic laugh. “The two of us will ne’er be normal.”

  “There must be lasses who willna care that yer body is scarred, or that I have visions.”

  “Aye, but I wish for what our brothers have. They look at their wives with a smile, and the women glow. I want that. All, or nothing. And if that means the two of us are naught but uncles, then so be it.”

  “The dog is closer this night,” said Ewan.

  “Good. I could use help with hunting. Tell me it isna one of them useless yapping lapdogs.”

  Ewan looked west. It would come from the sea, up the Firth of Lorn. “Nay, the energy is too great for a wee thing. Or mayhaps ’tis two small dogs.” He shook it off. It would come in time, or not. “The hall was quiet for a bit.”

  “The brothers were practicing their oaths. The old lairds said the hall is too small to fit all, so it must be done in the bailey. Niall will be first, and the rest of us in order of birth. Then the oldest man, and so on down. James and Malcolm say they will hold their sons. Though the lads willna be MacDougals, they will be bonded kin.”

  “And both are named Dougal,” added Ewan.

  “Aye. James said the Earl of Caithness wasna pleased, though Laird MacKenzie said Dougal was a fine name for his grandson. He were holdin’ the wee laddie at the time.”

  “Meg showed me some of what he carved for the bairns while on Laird Fraser’s ship. I canna think how he made that rattle with the handle and rings, all from one piece.”

  The noise, physical and other, of all the people and games would soon drive Ewan to their chamber. Thick stone walls helped dampen the worst of it, though nothing like holding Morag. Torquil bumped his shoulder. As always, Torquil’s touch brought him nothing but warmth and companionship.

  “Aggie said she left ye some tarts in that basket from Isabel.”

  Ewan’s belly rumbled. “For that, I will stir myself to the kitchen while it is empty.”

  The two of them descended the stairs in companionship and understanding. They had each other, and they had a family of brothers, and now sisters and babes.

  It would have to be enough.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Do you accept Lady Margaret Stewart Campbell as your wife?”

  Somerled frowned at the herald. The echoes of his demand bounced off the stone walls of the bailey. The men had all given their oaths, including Hamish and Alf, and it was time to celebrate. Yet the herald stood as if he owned Duncladach.

  “Aye,” he replied, “ye ken that I accept Meg as my wife.”

  “She was born a Campbell.”

  “As ye saw when she insisted on kneeling and giving her own oath” —he sent Meg a censuring look for doing so— “she is a MacDougal now, by her choice and mine.”

  “Do you love her, and wish to keep her in your heart all your days?”

  “’Tis nay yer business,” he growled. He felt for her hand, needing her touch. “Meg kens how I feel.”

  “Answer the question in the name of the king!”

  Somerled scowled at the herald, who gave him the same look back. He was supposed to admit such a thing in front of a bailey full of kin, clan, and guests? Meg had her head down. Her small white teeth worried at her lip. He knew she wanted him to tell her of his love, but wouldn’t ask. He’d planned to speak of it that night, when they were alone and naked. He’d also say he was proud of her and pleased she was his wife. Instead the herald wanted all in the bailey to hear of it?

  The herald would not let him wait. Yet he would not speak of his love to a herald when Meg was at his side, looking down. He nudged her. She looked up. He took her hands. His ears and cheeks burned. Meg noticed, and her face turned pink. Still, he cleared his throat and spoke as loud as his kin had when giving their oaths.

  “I love ye, wee Meggie, with all my heart. I wish none else at my side.” His voice rang out, followed by cheers. Meg’s eyes teared up. She’d been doing that a lot. Aggie said it was because of the babe and being tired. She’d be able to sleep now that the Gathering was over.

  “Niall stands at my other side, but I dinna love him that way,” he added. That brought chuckles from the room.

  “I love Lady MacDougal with all my heart as well,” said Niall. He winked at her. “Though I have other parts that are also fond of ye, Meg.”

  “Hush, you rogue!” she replied, face red.

  “All the MacDougals are like that,” said Fiona. She heaved a great sigh. “Is that nay right, ladies?”

  “Aye!” said Alana.

  Cormac must have d
one something for Alana jumped, squeaked, and then put her hand on her arse while glaring at his smug, falsely innocent face. James, holding their son Dougal, nodded approvingly. Kiera was safe as each husband held one of the twins but Isabel had to smack away a couple of hands.

  “Kneel,” ordered Herald Cam when they’d settled again.

  Somerled glowered at the much shorter man. “I am the laird here, and all but three great lairds, and yerself, have gone down on their knee to me. Why should I do as ye say?”

  Meg squeaked when Niall picked her up and moved her out of the way. Fraser and Cameron stepped to stand either side of Somerled. MacKenzie stood behind and pressed on Somerled’s shoulders.

  “What are ye—”

  “When a king’s herald tells you to kneel, laddie, ye do so,” growled the much older man. MacKenzie was built like a bull. Though he had to lift his arms to reach Somerled’s shoulders, his grip was like iron pinchers.

  “What is this?” demanded Somerled over his shoulder.

  MacKenzie bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. “Face forward and kneel,” he ordered.

  Given no choice, Somerled sank to his knees, glaring at Cam. The herald could fade into the wall if he chose. He’d done so for days. Now his tabard glowed, gold and red, in the torchlight.

  “I speak in the name of the king!” Cam’s voice sounded deep and commanding. He lifted his claymore high. Gasps echoed as sunlight flashed on the steel.

  “Nay!” Meg struggled to be free of Niall’s grasp.

  Somerled, held tight by MacKenzie’s iron grip, stayed in place.

  “Dinna fash, Lady Meg,” said Tearlach. “He willna be harmed.” He stepped into Somerled’s view. “When the herald told me to kneel I said nay, that my laird deserved to be knighted far more than me. Somerled and Niall, ye kept our clan alive. Ye brought us to what we are today. I wouldna kneel until I was told the king agreed to ye being knighted, but ye had to fully accept Lady Margaret Campbell into yer heart first.”

  He was to be knighted? He shoved the hands away and stood. MacKenzie grabbed for him.

  “Nay! I willna do it without Niall!” Somerled reached for his twin. “I would have been alone but for ye, brother. Never did ye falter or deceive me. Ye have stood beside me all my life. Will ye kneel aside me now?”