by Reece Butler
“That is big as well. Too big.”
He kissed it. “Nay, ’tis strong, like yer chin.”
“Do ye mind that I am no pretty lady waiting in her solar?”
Had none praised her beauty? Or maybe they had but wished something from her in return as had Roderick.
“I like a strong woman. Ye canna survive at Duncladach if ye are weak.”
“But I am not at Duncladach. I am here at Calltuin where the winters are mild and the crops grow tall.”
“For now.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Do ye think King James willna allow us to live here? Calltuin is my home. I dinna wish to leave.”
The decision would be made by the king. What he said to his liege privately would, he hoped, bring the king to his way of thinking that Duncladach would be best. He’d say nothing now about his distaste of living the life of a farmer.
“’Tis up the king. Let us talk of more pleasant things.” He squeezed her breast. A tight nipple popped up under his hand. “Aye,” he said, smiling. “Yer body kens what ye wish.” A pink flush rose from her chest to agree with him.
“The feeling was so wondrous and passed so quickly. Mayhaps ’twas naught but a dream?”
A teasing smile twitched her lips. He narrowed his eyes, playing along. Perhaps she needed a spanking to show who she belonged to.
“Naught but a dream?” He leaned closer, skimming his lips over hers. “Well then,” he whispered, “I’d best prove ye are awake. And when I allow ye to come for me I will make very sure ye are awake.”
“I’ll need a fair bit of convincing,” she warned him. She licked her lips, nostrils flaring.
“I will keep goin’ until ye are very, very sure,” he promised.
“Can ye last that long?”
“I’m up for the challenge, lass, and ye have just stirred the beast in me.”
* * * *
Isabel’s head and half her chest lay on Tearlach’s warm chest. He’d given her another amazing orgasm. In a few short hours she had experienced more tenderness and caring than anyone but Janet had given her. As for pleasure, she’d had no true knowledge of the word until now. This must be why Janet had said nothing to her. If she’d known this was possible she might have looked for it. Pleasure was like Pandora’s box. Once the lid was opened, once an orgasm ripped through her to change her understanding of the world, she would always crave it.
It wasn’t just the physical, which was enough by itself. It was the way his hands caressed her after, and between. He was interested in her life at Calltuin, and before it. He’d asked about her hopes for the future if she could stay here.
She did not want to have a life without this sharing, of body and mind, in it. Was Janet doing without this wonderful feeling because she lived at Calltuin instead of with her husband? If so, she deserved a reward.
It was so frustrating to realize she was the mistress of Calltuin yet could do naught. King James held ownership of it for her and would pass it on to her husband when she married. If she’d known, she would have done things quite differently! She would have kept most of her goods to sell, would have added a padded chair for Janet’s old bones to sit in the sun while she stripped beans and peas or mended… There was so much she would have done. If she could get her hands on her guardian she would kick him in his arse! He’d had a duty to her and hadn’t allowed her to keep much of what was hers.
Did Laird Graham even know she’d be going to Stirling Castle to see the king? For the MacDougal’s sake, as well as her own, she hoped not. Graham would arrange an accident along the way. If she was dead she couldn’t speak of what he’d done.
Tearlach shifted under her. “Ye are thinking too hard, lass.”
One bright blue eye looked down his cheek at her. When he saw he had her attention he closed it again. His hand tightened on her bottom.
“Ye might as well stop stewin’. Ye canna change the past. Fretting willna bring back yer Mam and Da, or change what was done to ye. All ye can do is make today the best ye can and do what ye can so the morrow will be better.”
“If my guardian finds out I’ll be speaking to King James he will send men to attack us ere we get to Stirling Castle.”
His broad hand patted her bottom the way the villagers did their dog’s haunch. It was possessive, brisk, and with enough of a slap to be well felt.
“Lass, did ye see the claymores Rory and I carry on our backs? They are nay there to look manly. We practice daily with them. Ye dinna choose a pair of fools. We ken well what Laird Graham may do to keep what isna his.”
“But if they—”
“Ye are on my left side, aye?
She nodded, wondering why it was important.
“’Tis so I can roll over ye to put ye safe under me and grab my claymore with my right. ’Tis on the far side of ye, unsheathed.”
“Are ye always ready to fight?”
“Aye, ’tis why I’m still breathin’.” He kissed the top of her head. “Now that I have ye to fight for, ’tis all the more important. Now hush and let me sleep.”
His cock stirred. She watched, fascinated, as it rolled and expanded. He sighed, deeply.
“Well then, ye’ve gone and woke the beast again. What will ye do about it?”
Tearlach was teasing, yet also serious. Though her pussy throbbed, she had aches in places she’d not been aware of that morning.
“What do ye wish me to do? I’m a wee bit sore.”
“Well, ye can put yer hand on it. Or yer mouth.”
At the word “mouth” his cock jerked and suddenly grew. That meant he liked the idea. He’d pleasured her, and it was her turn to return the gift.
“How would I do that?”
He closed his eyes and settled back. The corners of his lips turned up in a satisfied smile.
“Ye are a smart lass. Figure it out yerself.” He lifted his head to give her a warning. “Nay teeth, mind.”
She hadn’t thought of using her teeth. She hadn’t thought of doing anything. She’d not let him know that, however. She pouted as if it were a great hardship. He laughed and relaxed again.
Isabel slid her hand down his belly to grasp his thick cock. A drop of liquid appeared on its tip. Rory had swirled his tongue around her pussy. Would the same thing work on his cock? She adjusted her position, gripped him tightly, and licked. His deep groan proved she had the right idea. She was the one in control of the beast.
For now.
Chapter Fourteen
Rory listened to the trees rustling around him in the gentle breeze. Green hills led to a blue sky with fluffy white clouds. Good growing fields ran down to a river snaking between a pair of lochs filled with fresh water. The deep drone of a bumblebee passed him on his way to the rose and bramble flowers that would provide a bounty when ripe. It was far different from what waited for him back at Duncladach. There he’d share a cold floor with his brothers, food thrown together at the end of the day by whoever’s turn it was, and cold, damp winds sweeping off the ocean and under his plaid to freeze his cock.
“This is where I was born to be.”
It was a declaration of a homecoming to a place he’d never been.
Calltuin was fertile. All around was bounty, with plants and crops, animals wild and domestic. If he lived here with Isabel and Tearlach their sons would not whimper in the long, dark nights from bellies given too little food for far too long.
God, he’d hated that! He and Tearlach had given most of their food to the littler ones, pretending otherwise so Somerled wouldn’t notice. All went without, but the laird had to be strong to keep the clan alive. He and Tearlach were the second set of twins, backup if the first died. As the youngest of the pair he’d always felt he was adding to their burdens rather than lifting it off their shoulders.
Here, he’d be needed. He, Rory MacDougal, would be someone. He’d not be one of too many MacDougal warriors who lived and fought and worked and starved together in a castle that hadn’t bustled with life in over a
century. The first Somerled’s son Dougal became Lord of Lorn long ago. His son, Duncan MacDougal, completed Duncladach Castle in 1220. They’d never be lords again but he could help the clan by sending food to his laird and brothers.
The challenge of protecting and providing for his family and those of Calltuin would be nothing like at Duncladach, where the sea ruled everything. Here a man could put down roots, feed and water them, protect them with his sword, and then reap the harvest. Calltuin House was made for a big family. Sixteen sons were too many but eight? Yes. He could see having eight bairns. Perhaps Isabel might have a daughter. Fiona had surprised them all with Morag and then Kiera had Elizabeth as well as wee Dougal.
Two wee lassies must mean the curse was broken. None knew where it had come from, or why, but it stated that the MacDougals would be cursed with misfortune until a MacDougal lass was born live. When Somerled took over as laird he’d made them all swear to uphold the honor of the MacDougal clan and break the curse. He insisted if they were all honest and true, helping their clan survive rather than rutting like their father, they would be blessed.
Clan MacDougal’s fortunes had changed when his brothers married into wealthy, powerful clans. He didn’t much care if the events were related. What mattered was that his people were less likely to starve. He wiped his eyes, telling himself it was dust. Six of his younger brothers now lived far from Duncladach. They’d found good wives and were doing well. Somerled said they’d found their wives thanks to Fortune rewarding them for surviving the long years of hunger and pain.
Was Isabel their reward? He could think of no other reason why a herald would have them escort an enticing woman who needed rescue from marriage to a brutal man. A month ago they’d not thought of ever leaving Duncladach. Never thought they’d have the chance. Maybe that’s why he’d never understood the discontent he’d felt. Something had been missing but he hadn’t known what.
Now he did. Isabel, and a home where he could raise their bairns in safety.
He knelt and placed his palms on the ground. Warmth flowed through his hands and knees like a river, filling him with peace. This was what he’d missed, a connection to the land, to growing things. To hope. It filled the empty places inside him. He shuddered, as if to shake off the old and accept the new.
“If we have a lass, we’ll name her Mary, the only one who was our mother,” he promised.
A thrum of approval shimmered the air around him. Or perhaps it was a bumblebee and golden dust motes dancing in the sun. He inhaled, breathing in the promise of new life. He savored the feeling until he grew cool.
Rory picked up the two fat rabbits he’d caught and headed home. Rabbits were fine but he’d like some freshwater fish. He’d stop by the village to see if someone would trade him fish for rabbit. He needed to meet the villagers as he planned to spend the rest of his life near them.
* * * *
“Janet said she’d be taking Jenny with her to stay with her blacksmith,” said Tearlach to Isabel. He’d not spent a day lying about before. Certainly not one lying with a woman he intended to marry.
“Oh!” Isabel blushed, though she also smiled. “Do we share a pallet, then?”
“Calltuin is yers so ye can move out of the garret, mayhaps to the chamber above the kitchen. ’Tis on the south so would be sunny, and warm in winter from the oven.”
She walked for a bit, head down, before answering. His fingers twitched, brushing his thigh as he waited.
“Or do ye wish us to sleep in the stables?”
Her head came up. “Oh, no! I wish ye to be with me. I was just thinking how I can carry the pallet down those stairs.”
“Isabel, ’tisn’t sommat ye need think on.”
She stopped, frowning. “Why not?”
“Lass, ye have me and Rory to do for ye now.” He smoothed the wrinkles from her brow with his fingers. “Ye arena alone,” he said gently. “If ye think on what ye might do with what Rory caught for supper, we’ll take care of the pallet for ye.”
“But—”
“’Twill help Janet when we leave for Stirling to have it brought down. Wee Jenny said Janet’s knees are bad.”
She gave him a knowing look. “Oh, so ye are doin’ it for Janet? Not so that ye must only climb a few stairs to tumble me?”
He moved his hand from her brow to her nipple. Her breath caught as it tightened. “There’s a sturdy table in the kitchen to lie ye on, or bend ye over. Calltuin has many walls to lean ye against, and there’s lots of hay in the stable. I dinna need a pallet to tumble ye in.” He winked. “Nor do ye need one to tumble me.”
She stared at him, then laughed. “Ye are shameless, Tearlach MacDougal.”
“Aye, and ye like it,” he said smugly.
“I do.” She tilted her head up and opened her mouth for a kiss.
“Mistress Graham!”
She groaned, dropping her forehead on Tearlach’s chest. “We have a wee visitor,” she said. “Willy.”
A small boy waved from the doorway. “Mam made ye an eel pie!”
She waved before tilting her head back. Though her smile was sweet innocence her eyes held promises he’d investigate later.
“That answers what ye’ll be having for yer supper,” she said. “And that ye willna be touching me where the lad can see.”
They strolled up together. The boy didn’t seem surprised to see Tearlach.
“Did the new eel trap work, then?” she asked.
“Aye, so well that Master Rory had to carry them home for me.” He’d been taking quick glances at Tearlach the whole time. “Will ye be marrying Master Tearlach and not that bastard Graham?”
“William!” She set her fists on her hips, leaning over to give him a look.
“My brother talks a lot,” drawled Tearlach. The boy didn’t look at all concerned with Isabel’s censure. “Aye, if King James will allow it, I will marry Lady Isabel Graham.” He looked around. “Where’s Rory?”
“We was goin’ to move yer pallet down so Janet willna have to climb, but Master Rory’s crook.”
“Rory’s hurt?”
“Nay,” replied Willy, waving away any concern. “He’ll toughen up, in time. He done a good job,” the boy added, nodding encouragingly. “He said a plow is much harder work than slaying Campbells as a fight lasts a wee time but plowing goes for days.”
“He was plowing?” demanded Isabel. “With the oxen?”
“Aye. Graham ran over Da with his horse and near broke his leg, so Master Rory, he took Da’s place on the team. Said he should ken how if King James asks him if he’s suited to Calltuin.”
“Keep yer paws off my pie, ye dratted cat! Ye scratched me once so I owe ye!”
The bellow came out the kitchen windows. Willy’s eyes went wide. He dashed back inside. Tearlach followed Isabel. They found Rory in the kitchen, Tommy purring in his arms.
“Ye didna hurt him?” demanded Willy.
“What, hurt Tommy when the wee kitten attacked Ro-dick Graham?” asked Rory mildly. He shook his head at the boy. “He were on the bench eyeing my pie with one paw raised when I hobbled down the stairs.” He switched to Tearlach. “Farming is hard work.”
“Aye,” replied Isabel. She bustled behind Rory, kneeling to feed the fire.
Tearlach admired the curve of her arse. Then he realized what she wore. He put a hand under her elbow to lift her.
“Ye’ll not do that wearin’ yer fine dress. Have a seat with the lads.” He nudged her away, taking over the task. She and Willy shared astonished looks.
“A gentleman takes care of his lady,” said Rory to Willy.
“I told ye, I be no lady.”
“Aye, ye are. My lady,” said Tearlach. “And when ye are wearing such a gown, ye’ll not be on yer knees.” He waited a beat. “Tending the fire,” he added. She blushed.
He turned to work the coals, hiding his broad smile from Willy. It felt good to have a woman to tease, knowing she wished to spend the night with him, and the next as well.
After that they’d have to leave.
“Mam will skin me if I’m late,” said Willy. “Thank ye for yer help, Master Rory.” He nodded at Tearlach when he turned to wave. “We’d be pleased to have ye marry Mistress Graham, sir. Ye think of us more than our laird.” He dropped his head. “Is that wicked to say?”
“’Tis the truth, lad,” said Rory. “And ’tis sad that it be so. Did yer da bend his knee to Laird Graham?”
Willy shook his head. “My grandad did to the old laird. He were a good ’un. Came every year. This’n has done naught but send Mistress Graham to keep Calltuin House, and his son to plague us.”
“A man must do what he can to keep his family safe,” said Tearlach. As he was on one knee their heads were level. “Best keep yer head down and say naught in case King James gives Lady Isabel to another.”
“I pray he doesna,” said Isabel with distaste.
“I be prayin’, too.” Willy nodded solemnly.
Tearlach held out his arm. The boy grasped as far up Tearlach’s arm as he could. They shook, as men. Rory repeated the gesture. Willy gave Isabel a nod and ran out. They could hear his feet pelting away.
“He’s a good lad,” said Rory. “Ye have good people. Hardworking, but they can laugh.”
“They tested ye and laughed at what ye did?” Isabel sat on the bench, arranging her wide skirts as if she did it daily. Was it something that came naturally to females?
Rory rolled his eyes as he groaned. “I think the whole village turned out to watch.” He slid his glance to Isabel. “Wee Jenny was there, but not Janet or her Jamie. Methinks they were doin’ at the smithy the same thing ye and Tearlach were, up the hill.”
“Hush with ye!” Isabel punched him in the shoulder. He groaned, faking the harm she’d done to such an extent that she laughed. The sound brightened the low kitchen, dim now that the light was fading.
“Did ye give them a show?” he asked Rory.
“One said sommat about me doin’ it badly, thinkin’ I’d not hear, so I answered back, smart-like. There was silence until someone, I think ’twas Willy’s mam, snickered. When I laughed back, they all did. I had Willy’s da hold my claymore and dirk. He were proud of that, and not feeling unmanly for being unable to do his part.”
