by Reece Butler
“Ye are so beautiful,” he murmured. “Dinna say nay,” he admonished before she could speak. “Yer men believe it, so ye must as well.”
Tearlach and Rory kissed and fondled every part of their woman. The sounds she made, the quick gasp when they hit a spot, a moan, and that sound she made in the back of her throat, showed they pleased her. It certainly pleased them. She was perfect for them, right down to the curve of her ear, her scent, and all those spots no man had even seen or tasted. His tongue explored the back of her knee, the inside of her elbow, the skin under her arm…
Her whimpers and pleas, the way she shivered and gasped, all of it proved how much she meant to them. How much she wanted, and trusted, them. With the blindfold she didn’t know who touched and tasted and nipped and sucked and kissed her.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice shaking as much as her body. “I need ye inside me.”
Rory sat on his plaid. His cock stood, tall and proud, ready for her. Both of them were covered in a sheen of sweat from arousing the woman they wished to spend the rest of their lives with. Rory nodded to say he was ready. Tearlach set his hands on Isabel’s waist. He lifted her, such a light weight for one who meant so much to them.
“Ye’ll be kneeling on the table, over Rory’s thighs,” he instructed her.
“He’s sitting on the table?”
“On my plaid,” corrected Rory. “Did ye think I’d sit my bare arse on yer kitchen table?” He held his cock with one hand and guided her with the other.
“I dinna ken ye well enough to know what the two of ye would do, other than making me near faint with the need of ye.”
She grabbed blindly for Rory’s head. It pressed his face between her breasts. He must’ve done something for she squeaked and leaned back, laughing. Rory’s chuckle broke off when Tearlach whacked him on the side of the head.
“Ye dinna wish Isabel to fall off, do ye?” he demanded.
“Here, lass, set yerself down on this. ’Twill keep ye in place.” Rory eased his cock into her.
She sighed, sinking down. “Ah, much better.” Her lips curled up in satisfaction.
“Dinna clamp down on me like that or I willna last!”
Rory held Isabel’s forearms and lay back. It pulled her forward until she crouched on him like a pink frog. She had a starburst of freckles on her left arsecheek. He’d have to figure out the pattern when his brain could think past his need for her.
Rory’s cock had filled her pussy, which left one spot for him.
“The oil?”
Rory pointed. Tearlach dipped his fingers, making them slippery. He drew his finger over her brown rosette. It tightened. Rory choked.
“Lass, I asked ye to nay do that.”
“Blame Tearlach,” she pertly replied. “He’s playing with my other end.”
“Playing? I be very serious, lass.”
He watched his smallest finger slide into her. His cock bobbed, eager to take its turn. Rory distracted Isabel by paying attention to her breasts while Tearlach teased her, adding fingers to stretch her until she was wide enough to take him. He covered his cock with oil before washing his hands.
“Lift yerself off Rory,” he said. He put his hands on her hips to guide her. The head of his cock strained against her tight hole. He nodded at Rory. His twin played with Isabel’s nipples and her clit to distract her so he could get past her tight ring.
He groaned at the incredible pressure of her anal sheath clamping down on him. The sight of his cock impaling her, cleaving her glistening flesh, was almost more than he could bear. This was where he needed to be. Where he and Rory both needed to be.
Cocks deep in their woman.
He dribbled more oil over his shaft as he rocked his hips back and forth, sliding in and out of her. When he pulled out she showed a ring of pink around him. That alone was almost enough to make him come.
“How are ye?” he asked, grimacing as he held back.
“I want more!”
He choked a laugh. She was a wee thing yet so determined to grab all of life. She suddenly pushed back against him, sliding herself all the way to his balls. He hissed, fighting to keep back his orgasm.
“Oh yes! This is what I want!”
He eased his cock almost out and helped her slide down Rory’s cock.
“Ye are in charge, lass. Take what ye wish.”
She caught on quickly. Up and down, back and forth, she filled herself with them. Her breathing grew fast and faint as she moved faster, her movements jerky.
“Damn, I canna last!” said Rory.
“Oh! I’m almost there!”
“Pinch her clit,” ordered Tearlach, his voice tight with strain.
Rory’s elbow moved. Isabel gasped. He had to hold her as she shuddered. Though her body was still, inside she clamped down on him. Once he knew she was coming hard he released the wire holding him back. A bolt of lightning seemed to shoot from his arse, around to his cock and into her before exploding.
He grabbed his cock at the base to keep from going too deep and harming her. He held her in place as he thrusted. Her pussy clenched every part of him in her own release. He groaned in relief and filled her.
When he could move again he pulled out, staggering like a spent stallion. Rory took over. He grabbed her hips and dropped her on his cock again and again. She shook her head, muttering about no more. Then she screamed. Rory’s bellow was right behind.
Chapter Eighteen
Isabel would far rather ride than sit in a lumbering cart, but her companions said it wasn’t proper. Luckily Tearlach or Rory were never far. Both men took their role as protectors very seriously. She’d been worried about Laird Graham going after them but either he didn’t know what was happening or had decided to wait.
She could see her breath in the crisp morning air, yet her nervousness and her new cloak kept her warm. She’d been shocked at everything the herald had arranged for her with the bill paid by Laird Graham. That alone would have him coming after her.
She’d spent the first night in a tiny room at the inn while the MacDougals slept, rolled in their plaids, in front of her door. Early the next morning the innkeeper informed them a couple named Watson had a cart and were taking their daughter to Stirling to be married. She would share their cart while the MacDougals provided armed escort.
That stopped any hope of playing with Tearlach and Rory along the way. Instead she’d been forced to ride with a woman who criticized everything about her unless Rory or Tearlach were near. According to her, Isabel should be ashamed of all the things she’d been so proud of and that the MacDougals valued. Her independence, determination, and ability to do so many things would shame a husband. Her laugh was too loud, her speech too bold, and she looked men in the eye rather than demurely dropping her own. She’d received an hour-long lecture after Mistress Watson heard her disagreeing with Rory. He’d made a suggestion about planting at Calltuin and she’d explained why he was wrong.
She’d had no idea how disgraceful it was that she’d grown to her advanced age without learning one did not disagree with a man no matter how wrong he was. Mistress Watson and her wan-faced daughter showed Isabel how lucky she was that Laird Graham had abandoned her at Calltuin. Isabel had also learned what she’d be facing at court due to her lack of proper behavior. New clothes or not, she’d be shunned and insulted. As the crowded streets in Doune had made her nervous, she’d be better off staying in her room at Stirling anyway.
They topped a rise and there before them, rising in splendor on a high crag of rock, was Stirling Castle. Isabel scrambled from her half-lying position in the cart, shading her eyes from the morning sun.
“’Tis a sight to take yer breath away,” said Rory. “I wager there’ll be more alehouses in Stirling than people in Callander.”
“And I wager he’d visit them all if he had coin,” murmured Mistress Watson under her breath.
Isabel turned to Rory, by chance elbowing the woman. A twitch of Rory’s lips said h
e’d heard the comment and knew her blow was no accident.
“Stirling Castle is so big I will never find my way around,” said Isabel. “I will be lost without the two of ye protecting me. Do ye think a page will be sent to bring me to supper and back?”
“Ye willna be staying there,” scoffed Mistress Watson. She gave a sniff Isabel was supposed to take as censure. “Ye’ll need to find a place at an inn. My husband made arrangements for rooms long ago. With the king in town ye willna find a wee bit of floor to roll up on.”
“As a guest of King James, Lady Isabel Graham will be staying in the Royal Palace,” said Rory formally.
Mistress Graham heaved herself around to stare at Rory. “She be no guest, but a ward of His Majesty.” She aimed her sneer at Isabel. “I ken who ye are. A penniless orphan, lucky to be cared for by Laird Graham. He paid for the clothes ye wear, and all else.” She looked down her nose at Rory though he was on his horse above her. “I dinna ken why he spent the coin. Ye can dress up a duck and call it a swan, but it doesna change the quack.”
Rory lifted an eyebrow. His expression was so like Tearlach’s at that moment it would be difficult to tell them apart. He ran a dismissive eye over her daughter Mary, dressed in the height of fashion between her mother and Isabel.
“Aye,” he replied, “and ye can add silk and velvet to a pig. But when ye pinch it, the wee piggy still squeals.”
Mary had made such sounds whenever the cart hit a hole or went over a rock, which was often. Isabel pulled her lips over her teeth to stop a smile. Rory winked at her.
“And sometimes ye have a wee filly who’s been ignored,” he continued. “Her coat is all rough, but her eyes are sharp, her form pleasing, and she has the heart of a warrior. ’Tis easy to brush her well, feed and praise her, and watch her splendor shine.” His eyes said he spoke of her, and meant every word. He leaned closer, addressing Mistress Watson directly. “The pig, however, will always be a pig.”
A pair of outraged gasps erupted. Isabel covered her betraying smile. Mistress Watson did have small eyes and her nose went up at the top, revealing her nostrils. She also had a habit of jerking her head up, as a pig would when foraging.
“Mother, did that foul cretin call me a pig?” The cart hit a bump, and once more Mary let loose.
“If the squeal fits…” Rory, grinning, nudged his horse forward.
Right then and there, Isabel knew she loved Rory MacDougal. She laughed out loud at his humor, his caring, and what she’d been able to share with them for a short time. Far too short a time.
“Hush, Mary,” replied Mistress Watson. “He’s just a rough Highlander from a clan with naught. We’ll soon be free of him and his equally loathsome brother.”
“Aye, they be rough,” said Isabel. “But ye were glad of their swords when we rode into Doune last eve. Ye saw those ruffians eyeing our cart until Rory and Tearlach rode up to flank us.” The reminder she wasn’t the penniless orphan she’d believed herself made her add a comment. “And they do have very fine, long swords.”
“Aye, they have their uses, as do oxen,” replied Mistress Watson, beady eyes narrowed. “Big and stupid they be, good for naught but hard labor.”
“I think of them more as stallions,” replied Isabel. She let her smile show she was no innocent virgin but a woman who welcomed a man in her bed. “The MacDougal brothers are strong, fierce, and proud, and always ready to protect those they claim.”
* * * *
“These be the MacDougals with Lady Isabel Graham.”
Tearlach kept his eye on the palace guard as their escort presented them at the first gate. He’d appeared, wearing the blazing tabard of Scotland, on the road from Doune. When he asked for Lady Isabel Graham the harpy who’d pecked at her all the way from Callander, thinking she was no one important, had fainted. Her husband had apologized, too late, for his wife’s behavior.
When they got near where the Watsons were staying, at the bottom of the hill, Rory had lifted an eager Isabel from the cart. Tearlach enjoyed having her sitting across his lap, her thighs warm on his, her pussy so close to his cock. They’d both known it could be their last time to touch. Isabel had leaned into him as if for protection. His arm had held her close for the same reason. His thumb did stray now and then to her breast, due to the jolting of the road, of course. Each time a pink flush, a pale imitation of what he saw when she came, flowed up her chest to her face.
Having a herald sent to meet Isabel meant she’d be taken care of. He didn’t know where he and Rory would sleep. The streets were so narrow and packed that a slow single file was all they could manage. Isabel looked everywhere, eyes wide to take in the sights. Rory rode behind with the pack horse. Once they passed through the outer wall the noise dropped drastically. They had to dismount, but as they’d been riding for days he was glad to stretch his legs. He was less happy to release Isabel.
“Guards will show you the way,” said their herald escort.
Tearlach thanked him, unsure of whether to offer a coin and if so, how much. He reached for his sporran. The man shook his head.
“Thank you, but Lord and Lady Fraser took care of all. You’ll be staying with them,” he said. “Your bags will be brought, but you must leave your claymores at the gate.”
“All three of us are staying with the Frasers?” asked Rory.
“They’re your kin, aye?” He waited for Tearlach to nod. “Lord Lovat offered to host Lady Isabel, and your brothers Angus and Gillis are his men.”
They bowed their thanks and then Tearlach offered his elbow to Isabel. Rory did the same on her other side. When they approached the barbican gate a red-headed man their age stepped forward.
“Well met, Lady Isabel and MacDougals.” He nodded at each of them. “I am Hugh, Master of Lovat.”
When he turned his smile on Isabel Tearlach found himself growling under his breath. She curtsied, returning the smile.
“You have the look of your brother Angus,” said Hugh, keeping his eye on Isabel. He turned to Tearlach and shook his head, still grinning. “Dinna fash, laddies, I be well married.”
“’Tis that obvious?” asked Tearlach quietly.
“Aye, and that the lady wishes it.”
Tearlach winced. “Mayhaps we shouldna stay with ye—”
“Herald Murray spoke to my father. We’ll speak when ’tis safe.” He gestured for Isabel to take his arm. Tearlach noted he acted more like a brother than a potential lover, and relaxed.
“This is the Outer Close,” said Hugh. “To our left is the Royal Palace. Straight ahead is the Great Hall. Beyond that is the Inner Close, with the Royal Chapel. ’Twould be the Royal Palace that you saw from the heights to the north.”
“I’m just a lass from a wee place,” said Isabel. She ducked her head, face flaming. “They’re staring. Is there sommat wrong with my gown?”
“Nay, lass, you are perfect. Gossip rules the palace, and they wish to ken who you are. They see I met you and call you cousin, so you are under Clan Fraser protection. The two braw laddies growling behind us are catching a few eyes from the women.” He turned. “They are like corbies, eager for the tender flesh of innocent lads. Best to wear braes if you dinna wish to be grabbed under your plaid.”
“What!” Isabel stopped. She turned to Hugh, pulling her arm free. “They’d not—”
“Ah, lass, you are innocent.” Hugh laughed, taking her arm again and moving her forward. “You canna show you care for the lads,” he whispered through his smile. “’Twill only make the women more determined to bed them, just to spite you.”
She followed his cue. Tearlach knew her well enough to recognize her smile was false.
“But, they dinna ken who I am. Why would they do that?”
“Because they are vicious corbies with naught else to do,” replied Hugh from the side of his mouth. “And because the MacDougal clan is said to have a certain touch to make women cry their pleasure. Now you will see some wondrous things,” he said loudly. He gestured for
them to enter the palace.
Tearlach caught his brother’s eye. They were both nervous, irritated, and aware of danger they could do nothing about.
* * * *
Isabel had never been treated so well. Lady Janet and Laird Alexander Fraser, Lord Lovat by title, obviously loved each other and had more to share. She was welcomed with open arms. When prodded, Isabel explained how she’d been raised. She wished to be seen in a good light so Lady Janet kindly spent a lot of time with her, improving her speech, posture, and manners. No matter what happened next she would have this knowledge to draw on.
The first day Hugh showed Tearlach and Rory around, introducing them to those he thought might be useful. The first night Rory and Tearlach’s claymores were delivered to the rooms with the instructions that they should practice as the king wished a demonstration. She didn’t see much of them after that.
She was told she must go nowhere unless she had a trusted escort. She couldn’t dance and knew nothing of fashion or court intrigue. Nor did she have any interest in it. When she asked Lady Janet how long it might take for the king to notice her, she was told she’d be married before her birthday, which was far too soon.
Lady Janet had also told her she was a very well-dowered young woman. Calltuin House was one of her smaller properties, many of which were along the border with England. Though she’d been happy at Calltuin, Laird Graham had told her that her parents had lost everything. Her fury had turned to grief when Lady Janet suggested there was a possibility he’d even ordered her parents killed.
She’d kept her composure until Tearlach walked in. She’d cried out and thrown herself at him like a child. He’d held her while she sobbed out her grief. She’d sworn she’d never cry, but this was different. After she’d recovered he encouraged her to remember good things about her mother and father. Rory came in partway through and joined them, sitting on the floor by her feet, just being there for her.
Of course Lady Janet had wanted to know what she thought of the MacDougals. Isabel found it hard to say anything other than she felt whole with them. They showed they cared for her but said nothing. But then, how could they speak of it when the king could order her to turn her affections to another?
