King's Pawn [Highland Menage 7] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Reece Butler

  “I was just thinking ’twas best we eat what we can in case Roderick ends up with Calltuin.”

  She would not want Tearlach’s menacing scowl directed at her.

  “’Twould be best if ye didna say that name afore we break our fast. Or after,” he added.

  How could a man stir a pot of porridge, slightly hunched due to the ceiling, and look so manly? No matter whether he was cooking, kissing her senseless, or sitting quietly while Tommy purred on his lap, Tearlach was all man. The same with Rory, though he was not as intense. Roderick Graham could ride his big horse, making it rear to paw the air and dash away, yet he’d never be more than a boy in comparison. And there were eight more MacDougals at Duncladach? No wonder King James wanted to meet with a pair of them.

  Perhaps if she was forced to marry Roderick his horse might rear and knock him off, breaking his neck and killing him instantly. Widows could often choose their next husband. She’d send a messenger to Laird Somerled and ask for her pair of men to help her keep Calltuin. And as soon as her forced period of mourning was over, she’d marry them.

  “Whatever ye’re thinkin’, lass, I hope ’tisna of me.”

  She looked up, caught. “’Twas a plan if I was forced to marry Roderick. That I’d hope he fell off his horse and broke his neck, freeing me to marry whoever I chose.”

  The spirtle stopped. “And who would ye choose?” he asked, dangerously quiet.

  “The man in front of me, of course!”

  He checked the pot, stirring quickly to make up for his inattention before swinging it off the heat. “Ye might meet a man at Stirling Castle ye’d wish to marry instead. One who’ll treat ye like a princess.”

  When she entered the kitchen, his presence seemed to overwhelm her. It was as if invisible arms reached out and wrapped their protection around her. It felt like a hug of support and encouragement, not a holding to limit her.

  “I dinna wish to be a princess.”

  “What do ye wish for?”

  “To belong, and to matter.” He silently encouraged her to continue. “I wish for a family and a home, a husband and bairns, and a cat to protect my cellars and keep me company. I want to make Calltuin prosper, so my family will always have food and shelter. Then my life will matter to someone.”

  “And if ye get sent away from here?”

  “I dinna wish to think on that.” She drew a finger along the edge of the table, tracing old marks. “I believe ’tis best to be busy. With Janet’s help I have made Calltuin pay for itself. I can do the same where’er I be.”

  She glanced up. She didn’t like the way he looked at her. What secrets was he keeping from her? She didn’t think he’d lie outright, but had he held something back, something the herald had told him? Part of her wished to back away from him, forcing herself not to care about him to keep herself safe. Another, larger part wanted to hurl herself into the safety of his arms.

  Instead she pretended Tearlach had come by to ask about buying some of her hazelwood creations. She was always precise and distant with those men, far more forceful than they expected an unmarried lass to be. Tearlach’s eyes narrowed. He set his feet wide and crossed his massive arms. She swallowed at the implied threat but kept herself strong.

  “Somerled took over as laird when he was sixteen. We’re three years younger. While he and Niall led the clan Rory and I raised the seven youngest. They were wild lads and needed strict discipline.”

  He crooked a menacing eyebrow at her. She shivered though her nipples crinkled and pussy spasmed. He tilted his head down, those intense blue eyes seeming to see into her.

  “Lass, I am used to giving an order and having it instantly obeyed.”

  It was a declaration, a line in the sand. She might be forced to marry another, but if she ended up with Tearlach and Rory, she would be who she was. And that was not a meek female, whimpering at the sight of a huge scowling husband.

  “I was sixteen when the old man who was supposed to manage Calltuin got sick,” she countered. “He hadn’t done much for years, and Janet and I liked our lives. As Laird Graham never visited, we managed to avoid telling him.” She tried to get as much height as she could without rising to her toes. “So I, also, am also used to giving orders and having them obeyed.”

  Often it took a while for the men to agree to her decisions. Patrick, John, James, and Henry, her plowmen, always talked her orders over and decided she’d made the correct decision before acting. She rarely spoke with Gavin Duncan, her shepherd. He preferred to avoid those with two legs, especially when they wore skirts.

  Strangely, Tearlach’s menace faded at her words. His face relaxed, eyes crinkling. He bared his teeth in an eager smile. Too eager.

  “Then we may have a few wee battles over who gives the orders, and who obeys.”

  He held his left palm out flat and patted it with the fingers of his right hand. She knew what that meant. And she did not like the way her body surged in response. She crossed her arms and scowled. A woman vowed to obey her husband, and Isabel took vows seriously. Janet had fought her father’s domination, escaping when she eloped with an unsuitable man, one who’d loved her dearly. She might have a few ideas to make a wife’s vows manageable.

  “Dinna try tears on me,” he warned. “I am nay swayed by such ploys.”

  Use tears, as if she were a wee child begging for a sweet from an indulgent papa? How dare he think she’d do such a thing! She stomped forward, feet slapping the stone, and jabbed her finger into his belly, glaring up at him.

  “Ye’d best ken this, Tearlach MacDougal. I never cry!” He caught her finger, or actually her whole hand, in his warm one. She didn’t pull away though he gave her a condescending look of amusement. “I screamed when Laird Graham beat me the day after I came to Duchray Castle. I screamed so hard, and for so long that I had no voice left. He was disgusted and sent us here, and for that I am grateful.” His hold had relaxed, so she yanked free. “I would never give a man the satisfaction of seeing me cry!”

  “Nay? Ye were sobbing on Janet’s bosom.”

  “That was Janet, who’s cared for me all my life,” she shot back, furious that he’d think it was anything the same. “And if ye were lookin’ so close ye should have seen not one tear fell!”

  She wasn’t ready for the arms that pulled her against his warm chest. His familiar scent, having none of the stink of old sweat like the villagers nor Roderick’s perfume, soothed her as much as his warmth. She relaxed into him, palms flat on his chest. His heart pounded as much as her own, surprising her. He exhaled, heavily, and planted a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

  “Aye, ye dinna,” he murmured. “And if ye had they’d not be a woman’s false tears.” He tightened his hold on her. “Ye are honest and speak true, Isabel. ’Tis another reason I’m pleased ye werena raised as a lady. Some of my brothers who fostered out ran into ladies who used their whiles to get what they wanted, uncaring if they twisted a man inside out with their lies.”

  One hand rose up her back, then down again. Janet had held her in this position many times over the years. Never had she felt so safe. His size and strength meant much to her. What eased her heart was his caring and thoughtfulness. It fed a need she’d not known she possessed.

  “I dinna lie,” she replied stoutly. “I’ve told Roderick part truths and said things I kenned he’d take wrong, but I had nay choice. I’m a wee lass with naught to my name. He’s the son of a laird and could kill me with one blow of his fist.” She hesitated, but it was the truth. “So could ye, and Rory.”

  Tearlach’s body tensed. His hands dropped to her waist. He leaned back, holding her in position, and looked down at her. He was not happy.

  “Dinna think on me and Rory as ye do that piece of filth.” He closed his eyes and inhaled, then forced it out as if to banish his anger. “Aye, one blow from my fist could kill a lass yer size, but I’d not harm ye.” He bared his teeth. “I’d kill Roderick with my bare hands if he touched ye.”

  Is
abel cocked her head. “Are ye not doin’ the same, sayin’ ye’d not harm me, when ye’ve just threatened to spank me for disobeying one of yer orders?”

  His tenseness faded, replaced by an intensity that made her totally aware of every inch of her body touching him. As he was leaning away to look down at her, and as she was so much shorter, his hips rested against her belly. And not just his hips. He was eager to do more of what had made her so deliciously sore. He knew that she knew it, too. His eyes half closed, lazy. His nostrils flared. He’d looked like that yesterday in the sun when he did wicked things to make her cry out. Her breath caught.

  “A good spanking will sting,” he admitted, “and ye mayna wish to sit after. But ’twill n’er be done in anger, and only when ye disobey and ken ye did wrong. ’Tis for helpin’ ye learn, nay to harm ye.”

  She dropped her eyes to hide her thoughts. Why did her pussy flood at the thought? Did it mean he cared enough about her to wish her to learn at his hand? No man had cared for her before. Thinking back, she realized that, while her father had indulged her, she was only brought to him on occasion. Otherwise she was kept in the nursery. Her mother was the same, called when he wished her presence. Only his dogs had been his constant companions. They lay at his feet, eager for the slightest bit of attention.

  She would not be a dog to Tearlach and Rory. She would have value for more than bedding and producing sons. He tapped her on the nose to get her attention.

  “I’m nay speakin’ of a wee spank. That ye’ll get when I wish to give it to ye.” His hands dropped to grasp both cheeks. He squeezed. “Mayhaps ’twould be best if ye have one this day so ye ken what ‘tis like.”

  Her mouth was so dry she had to duck her head and stretch her neck to swallow. “Mayhaps ’twould be best not,” she croaked.

  His eyes flared. “I ken ye must ride on the morrow. ’Twill be just a wee spank to make yer pussy hot.”

  She didn’t miss that he’d gone from would to will. Time to change the subject. She pushed away, stepping back. He released her, though his wink said he’d let her go, for now.

  “Where’s Rory? I should ask him to come and eat.”

  His low, knowing chuckle sent waves of need crashing through her.

  “If ye say it that way Rory may toss ye on yer back, throw up yer skirts, and lick yer wee puss to break his fast. He’ll eat and ye’ll be the one to come.”

  Just like that she was wet. Soaking. Her breasts ached for release.

  “Ye like that thought,” he murmured, nodding. “Good. There’ll be a fair bit of it this day.”

  She tamped down her arousal, needing control. “I’ll find him myself.”

  He sighed, smirking. “He’s fixing the hog pen, so it willna give way when the sow leans on it. She’s that big she’d eat wee Jenny if she could.”

  This was something she could handle. “Aye, ’tis one of the things I asked the men to do when the plowing’s done.”

  “’Twill be done afore we leave.”

  She slumped at the thought. She wanted to pretend her life would stay this way forever. But nothing lasted. She’d had hopes in the past that her life would improve, but they’d been faint hopes. She couldn’t relax unless she married someone she cared for, and who cared about her in return. Until then, she had to keep her wits about her.

  “And we leave when?”

  “At dawn, as we need to get to Callander in time to get yer gowns and such. The herald gave us coin for an inn. The next night we’ll spend in Doune, then ’tis five miles to Stirling Castle.”

  “I dinna wish to think beyond this day,” she admitted. “To have these few hours of happiness afore all changes.”

  He nodded. “We’ll make this a day ye remember,” he softly promised.

  “Thank ye.” She blinked rapidly as she left. Perhaps a tear fell but her back was to Tearlach, and he’d not know it.

  “For all of us to remember.” Tearlach’s whispered words found their way down the passage to her ears.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “We’ve worked all morn, and now we rest.”

  Tearlach had barely managed to keep from reaching for Isabel the whole time. When she’d come into the kitchen that morn with her breasts pillowing out he’d damn near bit his tongue in half. And when she’d licked the honey stick after putting some on her porridge…

  Luckily they’d sat across the table from her. Both of them had to spread their knees as their cocks rose to demand satisfaction. They’d winced and continued eating without saying a word. Rory had cleaned up the kitchen while he went out in the yard. Isabel knew exactly what she wanted done, and how. He allowed her to instruct him as the place, and some of the chores, were new to him. If they returned as husband and wife it would be different. He wasn’t quite sure how, only that he would make very sure she knew who was the master of Calltuin.

  He hoped she never learned to hide her thoughts as they were so easy to follow. Upraised eyebrows showed her concern. No, not concern. Not with that slight curling of her lip.

  “I ken ye let me sleep in, but are ye that tired ye need to sleep the day away?”

  “I might sleep after,” replied Rory.

  “After?” she repeated.

  Tearlach grinned at Rory’s long-suffering look.

  “Aye, after we finished what we promised we’d do to ye.”

  A blush crept over her bountiful breasts.

  “Do ye ken what I mean?”

  She shifted from one foot to the other. She wasn’t getting ready to run as her muscles had not tensed. It was uncertainty that now had her frowning. How long would it take for her to learn their ways and keep from drawing her brow down?

  “Did ye find sweet oil?” asked Tearlach.

  Rory nodded. “When I cleaned the kitchen.”

  She was biting her lip now. “What are ye up to?”

  “Best to find out yerself,” replied Rory. He motioned for her to head inside.

  She whirled around. “Men!” she huffed under her breath as she stomped away.

  He’d chastise her for that comment another time. Right now he was enjoying the way her hips twitched from side to side as she stomped her bare feet across the yard.

  “They’d better have cleaned up their mess,” she said, perhaps to herself but loud enough for them to hear. “It’s still my kitchen until I say ‘I do’. Or the king says it for me,” she added, pouting.

  “She must be so eager that she’s begging for us before we enter her together,” said Tearlach. “And then no matter what happens, we will have made her ours. I wish to give her joy for many years.”

  “As do I, brother. But the king—”

  “Dinna think on it. We have today and will make the lass smile.”

  “Smile?” Rory snorted. “She’ll do a lot more than smile by the time we finish with her.”

  Their long strides took them across the yard and through the door right behind her.

  “Well, ye did a good cleaning,” she nodded with satisfaction.

  “Where’s the rolling pin?” asked Tearlach. Rory laughed while Isabel glowered.

  “Where the wee lady canna find it,” replied Rory. “Enough of this.”

  Taking advantage of her hands being on her hips, he tugged her bodice down. Her breasts spilled out. They both groaned while Isabel sputtered.

  “I’ve been wishing to do that all morn,” said Rory.

  So had Tearlach. Rory took a nipple into his mouth while massaging the other, so Tearlach went for her laces.

  “’Tis the kitchen, and in the day!” she complained.

  “So ’tis,” he replied, continuing to loosen the laces. She didn’t pull away.

  “Anyone could see!”

  “Aye.” One lace needed a closer look. Her scent was more powerful this close.

  “Do ye nay care they’ll see?”

  “If yer wee body’s under us, none will see.” He had no intention of anyone seeing Isabel naked but him and Rory. He did like the way her breast
s heaved when she got flustered, though.

  “But they’ll ken what we’re doin’!”

  He rested his hands on her shoulders. “Aye, and that ye belong to us.”

  “And that we belong to ye as well,” added Rory, coming up for air.

  “Ye belong to me?” she asked, hesitant.

  He couldn’t see her face yet her hunched shoulders told him all he needed to know. He kissed the closest one, dragging his lips to it from under her ear.

  “It works both ways,” he murmured to her. “When a MacDougal marries he ne'er touches another woman.” He nipped the tendon in her neck, then kissed it better. “A wife belongs to her husband under the law. ’Tis only right he only cares for the woman he protects.” He put one arm around her waist and brought his chest against her back. “When we claim ye, the two of us at once, ye’ll be ours. We’ll have the right to protect, and to provide for ye.”

  “A husband owns his wife,” she said bitterly, “as he does his horse and cow and his dog. Many think more of those with four legs than they do their own wife.”

  “Aye, but we are MacDougals. We ken a woman is to be cherished,” said Rory.

  “I must go where my husband orders,” she said. “’Tis the law, and I have no choice.” She looked up at him, twisting her lovely neck. “But if ye were my husband, Tearlach, I would go with ye by choice. Aye, even if it meant leaving Calltuin.”

  A sharp pain hit Tearlach’s chest at Isabel’s words. It was if he’d had a wound, scabbed over but still festering, and she’d lanced it with her words. The hole had disappeared and he now felt complete.

  “Thank ye,” he murmured.

  He needed to make her belong to him. Belong to both of them. He found a clean cloth and used it to cover her eyes. “’Twill help ye enjoy what yer body feels,” he explained.

  He stripped down, folding his plaid and setting it on the table. Rory had Isabel naked. Amazing breasts jutted out from her tiny body. The curve of her hips, the way her arse swelled out and then in against her waist, and her hair…