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

by Reece Butler

  Lady Fraser brought her along on some of her visits. Isabel knew she looked like a country bumpkin, eyeing everything, but she didn’t care. The palace was full of amazing paintings, tapestries, flowers, and more. She’d done a few paintings in out-of-the-way areas on wet plaster at Calltuin. If she returned there, and her husband allowed her to paint, she wished to do more. Every room gave her ideas though she’d need coins for brushes and paint.

  She always had company, for her protection and reputation. She saw many men when she was out with Lady Janet, who was very popular. Many looked at her, but she didn’t look back. None of them was a MacDougal. None stirred her heart, or her body.

  A few days before her birthday Lady Janet had her wear her best gown, one of primrose yellow. She’d brought the ribbon Herald Murray had given her. It matched her dress well enough that she wore it in her hair. When she was ready, Lady Janet said the king had invited them to watch the MacDougals swing their claymores against anyone who wished to fight.

  The unspoken question was would he give her to the winner?

  Chapter Nineteen

  “How did we get into this again?” asked Rory.

  Tearlach, stretching beside his twin, didn’t answer. King James had so enjoyed watching him and Laird Fraser spar that he wished to see a greater display of it. Tearlach leaned back, hands on hips, and looked up. The three-story hammerbeam ceiling of the Great Hall contrasted with the light walls. A dais at one end held tall-backed chairs for the king and queen. Above was a massive crest held by man-size unicorns. Six tall windows, two each side of the crest and two more above, plus others along the walls, provided enough light. As it was cloudy they’d not have to worry about sun in their eyes.

  Practicing with their blades had given them something to do and allowed them to avoid the courtiers or worse, the women. Hugh had been right. They had to wear braes to stop being fondled. Murray had been home to get the surprise news of his wife giving him a babe before Michaelmas. He said she was very appreciative of what he’d learned from the MacDougals. He was planning to stay close to his wife and enjoy his life from now on.

  They were tolerated, though barely. Their lack of polished manners and what was seen as uncouth language caused many whispers. They hoped this demonstration would prove they were warriors, unlike the dandies that paraded past.

  The rules were simple: fight all who came at them, one at a time, without spilling blood. Murray said they’d not face any Campbells as the king did not want a feud to be ignited, or rather, re-ignited. They would fight alone, each in a circle drawn on the floor of the Great Hall in chalk. Once a man entered their circle whoever left it first was the loser.

  They went to one knee when King James and his favorites paraded in. A lovely woman in a yellow gown caught his attention. Isabel! He went to jab his brother, but Rory was already staring at her.

  “She’s absolutely beautiful,” he murmured.

  The gown was bright for an unmarried lass, yet it suited her. She wore a simple matching ribbon in her brown hair, allowing it to cascade down her back. It was the mark of a maiden and would have been done deliberately. While her eyes caught and held them for a moment, she looked away, as was proper.

  She’d practiced social graces with Lady Fraser, now beside her. Isabel now spoke quietly, slowly, and clearly unless they got her furious. Then she became herself. They preferred her furious to proper so teased her whenever they could. He hadn’t seen her all day so drank in the sight.

  As senior herald Sir Parlan Murray introduced the king’s guests. As the least important, she was last.

  “Lady Isabel Graham, daughter of Lady Elizabeth and Laird David Graham, a ward of King James. His Majesty will honor her by choosing her husband this day.”

  “What?”

  Tearlach elbowed Rory. “Ye are kneeling to the king so keep yer mouth shut,” he ordered though he was equally startled. Luckily the announcement had caused others to comment so his words weren’t heard.

  Isabel’s face went white. She dropped her head, clasping her hands tightly. Lady Janet Fraser put her arm around her in support and whispered something. Isobel nodded and raised her head, keeping her eyes down as a maiden should.

  “Do ye think the king will gift Isabel to the winner?” murmured Rory.

  He held back a curse. It was possible. No, likely. “We’d best beat them all, then, and quickly.”

  This was no longer a game, a chance to show off Clan MacDougal’s pride. If the king would give Isabel away on a whim, which he might as her estate was so small and she was not up to court standards, they had to do everything to win.

  “Your Majesty, do you have someone in mind for Lady Isabel?”

  Laird Fraser, as one of the king’s favorites, could ask the question. The king motioned at Tearlach and Rory, still on one knee before him.

  “These MacDougals have asked for her hand. Graham of Duchray wishes her for one of his sons.” Though he smiled they saw the steel behind his eyes. He turned to Isabel. “Which would you prefer?”

  “Tearlach MacDougal, Your Majesty, as he is the older twin. Though Rory would be equally acceptable, should it please Your Majesty.”

  “What of Graham?”

  She peered around the room, making it obvious she was looking for him among the men waiting to battle. Tearlach tensed. King James had a sharp wit, an excellent memory, and could have a sweet nature when in a good mood. He also had no qualms in watching the torture of women accused of witchcraft. Those freckles on Isabel’s arse could be seen as a sign of the devil, as could her impertinence.

  “I wish to marry a man, Your Majesty. I see many in this great chamber. Roderick Graham is not one of them, so he canna show his prowess with his wee sword.”

  She’d hit Graham twice. The implication was that he was not a man, yet she’d not said so directly. The word “wee” often meant the opposite but not when speaking of a man’s sword, either his claymore or the one under his plaid. The king threw back his head in laughter, quickly followed by his courtiers.

  “Graham will beat her to death for that,” murmured Rory.

  “Nay, he will keep her alive, in pain, while threatening more. He would control her by threatening to do the same to a babe, were she to have one.”

  Tearlach jerked his head, just enough to agree. Roderick Graham was not only selfish and cruel, he was twisted. While his father could plan, as with Isabel, Roderick couldn’t see beyond the moment. When furious he acted like a bairn, flailing out in a temper tantrum.

  The king motioned for them to rise and the first two opponents to approach their circles. Tearlach turned all his attention toward the threat in front of him.

  Hours later the last man staggered from his circle. Tearlach bent over, lungs heaving as he hauled air. He was drained, arms and legs shaking with fatigue, but he’d beaten every opponent. He stood, covered in sweat, grinning. Surely Isabel would be his? Laird Fraser came over to congratulate him, staying outside the circle.

  The hiss of whispers broke out. All eyes went to the door. He turned. The sight made him curse. Roderick Graham. Had King James set this up? It didn’t matter. Buaidh no Bas. He would conquer or die.

  Fraser tossed them each a cloth to wipe their faces and naked chests. “He’s fresh while you have fought many battles.”

  “He’s mine,” said Tearlach to Rory.

  “Watch him,” warned Fraser under his breath. “He has nothing to lose and everything to gain by injuring you. Permanently.”

  “He would cheat in front of the king?”

  “No doubt ’twould be an accident for which he would be terribly sorry,” replied Fraser softly. Tearlach heard the veiled sarcasm.

  “Yet yer sword arm or worse, would still be harmed,” added Rory. He handed his claymore to Herald Murray and moved past the crowd to stand between Roderick and the door. A few chuckled as if he was making sure the coward didn’t run off.

  Roderick wore black silk breeches with a velvet doublet, bonnet, and ca
pe in Graham green. He preened as he threw off his cape and bonnet with a flourish. He left his doublet on. Rory, behind him, pretended to do the same, aping him but to excess. Roderick didn’t see him. Though he must have heard the snickers behind him, he couldn’t turn away from the king.

  Isabel ignored Roderick, smiling at Tearlach.

  “I believe you ken this man,” said the king to Isabel.

  “I have met him, Your Majesty,” she admitted with a sour look at Roderick, “though I had hoped not to again.”

  “You don’t favor Graham?”

  “Nay, Your Majesty, I dinna favor him at all.”

  “And why is that? Is he not rich and handsome?”

  “Aye, his father’s wealth allows him to have pretty clothes, Your Majesty.” She peered at him. “He might have been handsome once, but his cheek is marred by scars.”

  Roderick’s face went red. The scars were from Tommy, slashing him to protect Isabel. Tearlach silently encouraged her. A furious man did not fight well.

  “Did you not throw something at him?”

  It was Isabel’s turn to turn red. “Aye, Your Majesty,” she admitted, ducking her head. “I’m afraid I lost my temper when he insisted he would marry me no matter what Your Majesty said. I threw my rolling pin at him. It hit the back of his head, making a sound as if bouncing off something hollow. Luckily it wasn’t harmed.” She paused. “It still rolls pastry well.”

  After the laughter died off the king assessed Tearlach.

  “Do you wish to marry a woman with a biting tongue and a good aim?”

  He dropped to his knee again. Rory followed. “Aye, Yer Majesty.” He narrowed his eyes on Isabel, who raised her chin defiantly. “We’ve had a wee discussion about that, and how I shall train her to be a good wife, if Yer Majesty gifts me with her.”

  “And how will you train her?” asked King James. He looked at Isabel’s furious yet blushing face.

  Tearlach’s own face burned as well. “If it please Yer Majesty, may I speak on it to yer ears only? ’Twouldn’t be wise to give the secret MacDougal key to all here.”

  “A secret key?”

  “Aye, ’tis invisible yet it unlocks thighs and helps control feisty wives.” He aimed at Isabel the look he knew made her pussy swell in anticipation. She shifted her feet, face even redder. They were very lucky the king was in a good mood.

  “How many women did your father make his sixteen sons from?”

  His fingers twitched at his side. It was the shame of their generation. “Eight, Yer Majesty. Two, including my mother, were wives.”

  “And the others?”

  Tearlach hesitated, unsure how to answer. His father had been an old goat thinking he was a stallion, spreading his seed far and wide.

  “The others enjoyed the MacDougal secret key a wee bit too much,” said Rory.

  Tearlach turned to give his twin a blast and found him winking at the king. Thank God the king laughed! Rory smirked at him. He would have his brother explain all to the king while he used the key on Isabel.

  “Step into the circle, lad.”

  All the other men had stripped to the waist and been patted down by a marshal to ensure they held no other weapons. When the king waved for Roderick to enter Tearlach’s circle none could stop him.

  “I will kill ye,” said Roderick. He spoke between his teeth, in barely more than a whisper.

  Tearlach gave him a berserker’s grin, teeth and eyes wide in eager lust for blood.

  “Ye can try, laddie,” he said, not trying to keep his voice down. “I be a man, not a weakling who beats on women.”

  Tearlach was exhausted, but he had a warrior’s reserve to keep fighting until death. Roderick held his hands too close together, needing a double grip to lift the blade. Tearlach’s strong hands could grasp the hilt with a gap between them. It allowed for more leverage and control compared to Roderick’s wild hacking.

  Seeing how badly Roderick fought, Tearlach made a show of tossing his claymore to his left hand. He grasped his belt at the small of his back with his sword hand and proceeded to instruct Roderick, pointing out all his errors as if he was a stripling. That brought laughter and infuriated Roderick. Weakening after only a few minutes, he thrust his claymore at Tearlach’s chest. Tearlach caught it with the blunt side of his blade, let it slide, and then flipped it up and away. It crashed to the stone floor near Rory, who set his foot on it.

  He’d won!

  Tearlach bent and set his own claymore between his feet. His chest heaved with the lust of battle and the glory of victory. Isabel would be his!

  He turned to his king and bowed, expecting Roderick to do the same as he admitted defeat. He felt Rory’s warning before he heard his voice or saw a flash of movement. His right hand shot out and caught Roderick’s wrist but not before a line of fire sliced his shoulder. He twisted, hard. A scream almost covered the sound of the dirk hitting the floor.

  Chapter Twenty

  Isabel wished she was armed with her rolling pin. She would throw it at Roderick’s empty head. After being beaten in front of all the idiot had pulled a dirk from his doublet and attacked Tearlach, drawing blood!

  Many in the room would have been slow to react and would now be dead, stabbed in the heart. Others would have killed Roderick for attacking. Tearlach had merely made Roderick drop the weapon. He’d then chastised him as if he was a naughty lad, humiliating him further.

  Tearlach’s control, ability, and strength under such provocation proved the man she loved would never harm her, or their bairns. Yes, she loved him, and Rory. She hugged the knowledge to herself. Soon, she hoped, she would say it for better or worse. Surely after that display King James would give her to Tearlach in marriage?

  No, there was nothing sure with a king. Lady Janet said she must accept that she was a pawn on the king’s chessboard with little power over her life. Expendable, she could be sent anywhere the king wished. Any bishop or knight could easily kick her out of the game on his orders.

  She’d never seen a bishop. The knights she’d met at Stirling Castle were the king’s men and would do as ordered. Would she ever be more than a pawn? She meekly followed Lady Janet, who followed the courtiers trailing after the king, into a smaller chamber. Lady Janet motioned for her to look up. She gasped, the sound covered by other voices. Intricate carvings of faces painted as if they were alive, stared down at her. A squatting jester in red, yellow, and green caught her eye. He had ass ears attached to his bright red hood, which spread out over his shoulders to end in points, each tipped with a large golden jingle ball. Each face was in a circle, outlined in a square. She committed the details to memory to tell Jenny when she returned to Calltuin.

  Lady Janet’s nudge brought her attention back to the events in front of her. Tearlach and Rory were on one knee before the king, heads bowed.

  “Do you not wish to have that seen to?” asked King James, pointing at the blood seeping down Tearlach’s chest.

  “’Tis just a scratch from a coward, Yer Majesty,” replied Tearlach. “Such things need no stitches.” He turned his head, startling her with his piercing blue eyes. “Unless my lady wishes to wield her needle?” He winked at her.

  “Lady Isabel?”

  She was already flustered. Having to speak made it worse. She blurted without speaking.

  “My stitches would give Tearlach a greater scar than from No-dick.”

  “Who?”

  She pressed her hands over her boiling face. The king burst into laughter. Titters spread through the room, changing to guffaws as the men heard what the women whispered.

  “Of whom do you speak?” asked the king.

  She dropped into a low curtsy. “Roderick Graham, Your Majesty. The wee lassie I took in canna say Roderick, so she called him Ro-dick. Rory changed it from a rumor he’d heard and, well, the name fell from my mouth just now. I apologize to Your Majesty.”

  “You have no personal knowledge of it?”

  “Knowledge of what?” Confused,
she looked up. The king’s amused glance and Rory’s snicker made her understand. “Nay, Your Majesty!” She shuddered. “And I dinna wish to, either!” When the king laughed again she glared at Rory, who grinned back. “’Tis all yer fault!”

  “Lady Isabel is innocent?” asked King James of Tearlach.

  “Nay, Yer Majesty. When Herald Murray told us what the Grahams had done to Lady Isabel, and what he’d heard Roderick threaten, Rory and I said we’d do what we could to help the lass no matter what. When we saw her, and found she had a quick mind and a saucy mouth, we had to do sommat to help her avoid marriage to Graham.”

  They had touched her person without the king’s permission. He frowned at the MacDougals.

  “’Twas I who seduced them, Your Majesty,” she blurted.

  “Hush,” ordered Tearlach.

  “Nay!” She bristled, taking her fury at the game out on one she knew wouldn’t harm her. “I am nay yer wife, Tearlach MacDougal, and I dinna have to listen to ye!”

  He raised an eyebrow, spearing her with his intense eyes. “Ye ken what I’ll do to that arse of yers if our liege gives ye to me?”

  She raised her chin. “I canna be punished for sommat I did afore I was yer wife.”

  “Aye, ye can,” said Rory with a chuckle. “We’ll make ye screech loud enough to bring the walls down.”

  He slapped his fingers onto his palm, his meaning plain. A mixture of fury, arousal, and anticipation made her blaze with heat.

  “Are you willing to take on such a willful woman?”

  Tearlach nodded without a thought. “Aye, Yer Majesty. I’d take her as she is right now, with naught else but her tomcat, if ye give me leave.”

  “Tomcat?”

  “Aye, the wee beast protected Isabel and gave Graham those scars on his cheek, so I’m partial to him, Yer Majesty.”