Bedding the Enemy [Highland Menage 9] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Reece Butler

  “Then you willna enjoy your life,” she replied. “I may have to feed, clean, bed, and feed you, but I dinna have to do it well.”

  Somerled’s face screwed up in his scowl. “Damn ye, herald, did ye tell the lass of Isabel?”

  “Nay laird, but ‘tis a good idea.” Cam barely turned his head. “Lady Isabel of Calltuin was not pleased with the laird, so she dosed him with a spring tonic to purge his ill humors. He was up all night in the garderobe because of it.”

  Her husband had such a look of pain and disgust that she had to laugh. The sound made all three brothers jerk in reaction. “He is obviously overdue for another dose! I saw some purgatives back on the trail. I could—”

  “Try such a thing and ye’ll be very, very sorry.” Somerled narrowed his eyes, dropping his head to stare at her from underneath bushy black eyebrows. “As ye’re my wife, I’ll be doin’ yer chastisin’, which I couldna do to Isabel. Ye willna enjoy it, but I will.”

  His low rasp made her tremble. It wasn’t truly fear. There was something more, something that frightened and aroused her in its intensity.

  “You said he wouldna beat me,” she whispered.

  “He isna speaking of beating,” replied Cam quietly. “MacDougals have other ways.”

  “Such as?”

  “Ye ken how a man peaks when he releases in a woman?”

  She nodded. Often Edgar had not been hard enough to enter her and had used his hand, erupting too early. She’d not felt pain when he finally entered her the first time, nor the few other times he’d managed to do his duty.

  “The MacDougals ken how to bring a lass so much pleasure she screams when she peaks,” murmured Cam. “To punish her they bring her almost there, and then stop. Though she begs for completion they willna let her finish her pleasure. They do this again and again, as punishment.”

  Pleasure so great she would scream? She couldn’t believe it. But then, until she saw Somerled she wouldn’t have believed she could feel anything for a man. She clenched her pussy to stop the ache. It got stronger.

  “I dinna ken what you are speaking of as I’ve not wished to be touched,” she replied.

  “All that matters is you’ll not be beaten or starved again, or made to stand like a statue for hours.” He cleared his throat. “Ah, they also spank their wives. I hear many enjoy it.”

  “Spank…?”

  “Step into the light, wife.”

  Margaret didn’t move. Her husband could do things to make her scream with pleasure? And spank her… Her mouth went dry. She looked out at him. His eyes narrowed even more. Somehow he seemed to grow wider, taller, and far more menacing without moving.

  “’Twas nay a request,” he warned softly.

  She shuddered at his tone. This man would soon touch her. He had the right to do whatever he chose to her, short of death. But though he may frighten her, she would not let it show. She lifted her chin and stepped past Cam.

  Somerled looked her up and down. His cock rose even higher to salute her. She licked dry lips, trying to swallow. She’d thought his staff was impressive a few minutes ago. It had been, compared to Edgar.

  “Cover yourself in front of the lady!”

  She jumped, turning toward the new voice. Two more men had emerged from the hall above her. The first looked just like Somerled so must be Niall. The size of him blocked the one behind. Niall nodded politely when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

  “I dinna wish ye to fear yer bedding. For all his size and noise, he willna harm ye.”

  “The lass licked her lips as she watched my cock rise, so I dinna think she fears a wee tussle,” replied Somerled, almost purring as he belted his plaid around his waist.

  “Lady Margaret is a widow,” said Cam. He nudged her to speak.

  “I am no stranger to the bedchamber, though my husband was old and, ah...”

  “And useless nay doubt. As ye see, I be a warrior in my prime,” said Somerled with arrogant confidence.

  She raised an eyebrow and gave him the same look back. “Many a man can lift a claymore yet doesna ken how to use it well.”

  “The lady’s got ye there, laird, as ye’ve never—”

  Somerled barely glanced at Dougal before he clouted him on the back of the head, as if it was automatic. Dougal shut up, though his grin was wide. Finn’s was the same.

  “Will ye introduce me to Lady MacDougal, Herald Cam?”

  She gratefully turned away from the imposing man in the bailey. Niall looked like Somerled but held himself quite differently. Her nose reached the bottom of his ribs. She tilted her head back. His welcoming smile made her buzz. She was to allow this man into her bed as well as Somerled. If they were truly twins, and everything was the same size…

  “Lady Margaret,” said Cam, “Niall MacDougal is twin to your laird husband.”

  Niall smiled warmly. “Well met, my lady. Allow me to welcome ye to Duncladach.” He reached for her.

  “Dinna touch my wife, brother!” Somerled shoved Niall aside. Though they were the same height, Somerled was far more imposing. He peered down at her. “Och, she’s just a wee thing, smaller than Fiona. Can she birth MacDougal babes and live?”

  She bristled as he was speaking to Cam and not her. She held her finger shoulder high and poked it at him. His belly was so hard he barely noticed her.

  “My mother was the same size as me and birthed nine healthy sons!”

  “’Tis well, then.” Somerled pushed her finger out of the way, grasped her elbows and lifted. She rose into the air, feet dangling. He stopped when they were eye level to each other. “Much better,” he murmured.

  His intense blue eyes crinkled with intelligence, humor, and power. His scent, fresh and clean, was unusually attractive. Once more her body surged in reaction. She fought it with words.

  “Better for who?” she demanded crossly.

  “Better for me,” he replied. “As I am yer laird, ’tis all that matters.”

  She rested her bare toe on his plaid over his balls and nudged. “Do you wish to rephrase that, husband?”

  Blue eyes darkened as if a cloud crossed the sun. “Dinna threaten me, wife,” he warned. “Ye willna like the result.”

  “I’ve been beaten enough. It doesna scare me.”

  A flash of compassion may have flit past before his eyes narrowed once more. “MacDougals dinna beat women,” he said, slowly and carefully. He bared his teeth like a wolf. “We will spank ye, and torture ye with pleasure until ye beg us to let ye peak.”

  She bared hers back at him. “Herald Cam is the first man who spoke to me as if I could think,” she informed him. “If he didna make me sigh from that, I doubt ye could make me peak by pawing me.”

  “Our wife’s old husband didna give her pleasure, Niall,” said Somerled without looking away from her. “We shall be the first to make her moan and scream for more.”

  “Moan and scream?”

  He winked. “Ye’ll understand by the morn.”

  Chapter Four

  Somerled finally understood what his married brothers had tried to tell him. He’d not thought a woman could interest, arouse, and infuriate him all at the same time. He wished to find out what was going on under that thick blonde hair. At the same time he wished to lift her skirts, put his mouth on her clit, and make her scream his name. Yet he couldn’t wait to pull her over his lap, bare her arse, and spank what he hoped was a pair of cheeks big enough for his large hand.

  She was a wee thing, all hair and fury. And breasts. Very nice breasts, not that he’d ever touched one. That led to wanting more, which led to bastards. She was close enough to kiss. Maybe he should try to—

  “I have certain expectations in a husband,” she announced forcefully. “I will be treated with respect. I am not a doll to be moved as if I dinna matter. Put me down!”

  “I ken ye are nay a doll. For they are quiet.” He brushed his lips against hers, just for a taste, and set her on her feet. “As for respect…” He paused, leaning his
head forward and dropping it until their noses were close. Her eyes were a warm brown, like well-aged whiskey. “Respect is earned, wife!”

  If she was Shadow her tail would be lashing with her ears back, teeth bared, and a low growl would be coming from her throat. She must be part feline as her teeth were bared and he might have heard a growl.

  “Aye,” she replied quietly, having hidden all sign of her agitation. “Respect is earned on all sides. You are due a certain level for being my husband and laird.” She gave a curt nod. “As I am due respect for being Lady MacDougal.” She performed a deep curtsy. “Thank you for welcoming me to Duncladach, Laird MacDougal. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, and that of your brothers.”

  “We have a Lady MacDougal!” crowed Finn.

  “We’ll get ye another bottle,” said Dougal. He and Finn raced for the cellars, elbowing each other to be first. His wife glared up at him.

  “Ye’d best not partake as I willna bed a drunk!”

  “Lady Margaret, you remember what I said?”

  The herald’s murmur was quiet, but it carried a sharp warning. She pressed her lips together and dropped her head. Her shoulders slumped. What had his wife been told that would make her act so?

  “Aye, Herald Cam, I remember well.” She brushed her skirts. Even he, who knew little of women, could tell she did it to avoid looking up. “Both the laird and I are bound by this marriage. We are yet strangers.”

  She flicked contemptuous eyes over him, though they warmed when she looked at Niall and Torquil. She surprised him by not flinching at Torquil’s scars.

  “Laird Somerled, I am not here to be a household drudge. I will work, but willna do all. So you’d best have coin to bring back the women Cam said were hired by Lady Isabel.”

  Yes, his wee wife was like Shadow. All soft and cuddly until she sank claws or teeth into him. He wanted the soft puss part. Though, perhaps the excitement of a wee scratch now and then might be pleasurable. Punishing her after she scratched certainly would be. He returned her glare. She’d drawn her line in the sand. He would cross it.

  “I’ve had but a cup of wine, wife. I jested with Dougal and Finn so they thought I was drunken. Their heads will be sore in the morn but nay mine.”

  “Good.” A sparkle appeared in her eyes. An evil grin followed. “I will enjoy banging an empty pot with my spirtle over their heads to wake them. ’Tis sommat I’ve been wishing to do.”

  That showed a peek of her true character, which included a backbone. Whatever her past, she was certainly a lady. Her bearing and language, and temper, made it obvious.

  “That may keep them from doing it again,” said Torquil.

  “One would hope,” she replied, smiling into his brother’s eyes. “I’ve heard such men dinna listen well.”

  “They may if ye ask them, Lady Margaret.”

  He did not like the way Torquil and his wife shared a smile.

  “Margaret be too big a mouthful for such a wee lass,” he told her. “Ye’ll be Meg.”

  “Excuse me?” she replied, lifting a haughty eyebrow.

  He stiffened his spine, towering over her. She bent her head back to keep her eyes on him. If she had fear it was well hidden. He could see this woman riding all day in the rain, determined to complete what must be done. He would respect her for that, and more. But he was the laird, and she would learn the reality of that.

  “I am yer husband and laird. Yer name is now Meg MacDougal.”

  All signs of arousal were gone. The corners of her lips turned down. She opened her mouth.

  “Think, Meg,” said Herald Cam. “Do you wish to be called the same by Laird Somerled, as you were by others? Would it bring memories you’d rather forget?”

  Her mouth shut abruptly. Pain flashed across her face. Whoever she’d been married to, she was well rid of him. He took her hand. Not to arouse but to hold and support. He squeezed gently. Finally, she squeezed back.

  “Ye had a rough time with the husband afore me?” he murmured.

  She nodded. She jammed her eyes shut, then exhaled. “He wished to control every part of my life. Every sip of ale or bite of food. It was…” She swallowed hard. “I dinna wish to speak of it. Herald Cam is right. I wish to forget all that happened afore I rode onto Clan MacDougal soil.” She looked up. Her chin quivered. She clamped her jaw to stop it. “Please,” she whispered, begging with her eyes.

  Whatever the man had done, it brought her pain. He would not make it worse by demanding she answer his questions. Ewan said she was no danger to the clan. They’d give her new memories, ones to make her laugh instead of cringing.

  “Aye, Meg. We will start anew. I willna ask ye, but will listen if ye wish to speak.”

  She nodded her thanks. The anguish faded to a bland look of acceptance. It was a mask, and she likely believed he could not see beyond it. But even in the evening light the vein in her neck thrummed with her rapid pulse. Her poise was impressive. He would show her it wouldn’t work with him.

  The thought of bedding this wee, golden fairy made his drooping cock rise again. While he rarely drank and was always in control perhaps he could get his new wife tipsy. He could do nothing about their marriage, but he could help ease her into their new bed. With some oil to ease the way, and wine to relax her, one day she might be able to take both of them. That would be a true triad consummation.

  Perhaps they would make their first son this very night.

  He reached for her hand. She was reluctant, but allowed it. He turned it over to expose her palm. He pressed his thumb into her mound of Venus. Her eyes dilated. He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss on the mound. He kept his lips open, letting his tongue taste her. She inhaled. He dropped his eyes. Her breasts rose and fell with her increased breathing. She was affected by his touch, and in a good way. She seemed surprised at it.

  “Ye are a wee lass,” he murmured. He caught her wide eyes, holding them with his own. “Be ye afraid of yer marriage bed?” he whispered for her ears only. Again her eyes flashed, her nostrils flaring to inhale. He held his thumb on her wrist, noting her rapid pulse. She shook her head, the movement so small only he could see. A rush of pink flowed over her face. He leaned closer, placing his lips by her ear. He moved her soft hair out of the way and kissed her throat. He tasted her with his tongue by flicking it as he would on her clit as soon as possible. She shuddered.

  “Ye’ll share yer bed with me and Niall tonight, aye?”

  Chapter Five

  Share her bed?

  Meg squeaked in surprise when Somerled’s hand cupped her bottom. He chuckled, straightening. She stared up at him for a moment, flushing. He grinned, and she dropped her eyes to the level of his chest. Her whole body hummed, blood pounding so loud she had to concentrate to understand what the giant overwhelming man had said. She was not afraid of bedding him. Far from it. She could hardly wait. Somerled’s tongue on her palm had aroused her so much she was eager to discover what it would feel like elsewhere.

  He leaned close again. His warm breath made her think of his mouth, and—

  “I asked if ye’d be sharing yer bed with Niall as well as me. Ye like my touch. Niall will give ye more of the same. Do ye wish to have a pair of tongues tastin’ ye, and more?”

  More? Would two men be twice as good, or twice as demanding? Four hands with ten digits each, two mouths…

  “Oh, aye,” she replied in a sigh. Her pussy clenched.

  “Then we will work the rest out,” he replied with a brisk nod. “Now for the marriage kiss.”

  She was still thinking what two men might be like when his huge dark head came down again. He gently, but firmly, held her face in his palms.

  “Welcome to Clan MacDougal, Meg,” he murmured.

  Moist lips caught hers. His were perfect, brushing against her own. He opened, and hers followed. The tongue that had flicked her hand was even more devastating in her mouth. She gripped his shirt, holding herself up as he teased and tasted. She heard loud noises
but was too caught up in returning his kiss to care. He pulled back. She resisted, but he easily broke away. She kept her hold of his shirt, resting her forehead on his chest as she fought to breathe.

  “Och, lassie, ye smell so good I could fair eat ye,” he murmured.

  “Angus said ye are to do that for yer wife,” said Dougal helpfully.

  She stepped back, startled into releasing Somerled. The two younger men had returned, each with a bottle.

  “He said ye lie yer wife on her back, hold her open, and use yer tongue to spell all yer letters. ’Tis a good reason to learn ’em, aye?”

  “Your letters?” she asked, confused.

  Dougal stuck the bottle under his elbow. He pressed his palms down, fingers spread, and lowered his face between them. He flicked his tongue, grinning at her. There was only one place he could mean. She pressed both hands to her chest, crossed in shock.

  “Just yer tongue and fingers, mind,” added Finn. “Ye mustn’t use teeth. The brothers said their wives grab their hair to hold ’em there. And when the wives do it back ’tis so good the man howls. We’ve heard ’em, aye, Dougal?”

  She gaped at them. Somerled would put his tongue between her legs, and it would feel good? And she would be expected to put her lips over his cock?

  Finn flicked his eyes over her head. He took a step back, face pale. “The lass didna ken what Dougal meant, laird. We was just tryin’ to help ye. Since ye havena kenned a lass afore and Meg bein’ a widow and all…”

  A man who kissed like that had not lain with a woman?

  Somerled growled. There was no other word for it. Dougal and Finn took slow steps back. Was her husband embarrassed for her to know he was a virgin? Or was that term even used for men?

  “We’ll just be puttin’ these up in the hall for ye, laird,” said Dougal. They turned and ran across the bailey and up the stairs.

  “I should’ve tossed them to that pack of starving wolves,” said Somerled in a deep growl.