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

by Reece Butler

  “I say what my clan needs.”

  Somerled’s growl was a warning. She stiffened her spine and pressed on. “I will say what our clan needs in my realm. ’Tis up to you to decide if you will pay for it. If not, I will find a way.”

  “Nay.”

  She narrowed her eyes and grimaced back at him. “Aye!”

  His fist slammed down on the table. He stomped his feet and stood. She jumped, heart in her mouth, ready to run. He roared but stayed by his chair. “Ye are my wife! Ye got on yer knees and vowed to obey me!”

  “Nay, husband, we were married by proxy. I gave my vows to the king.”

  He crossed his arms, leaning back on his heels to stare at her. This man was far more cunning than her father or Edgar. She could almost see him thinking, calculating how to respond. It excited her that he was fighting with his brain and words, and not his fists.

  “Ye must obey yer laird,” he said finally. He nodded, sure of himself. “As I am both yer husband and laird, ye will obey me, aye?”

  She dropped her eyes. The man was smart, all right. There were boundaries she would not cross unless they were alone. One of them was disagreeing with him in public. That was their agreement last night, one of those he did not remember. He’d also said his brothers could know everything, but she decided he needed to have her bow to him. He was correct, after all.

  “Aye, ye are my husband and my laird,” she said quietly. “For the safety and defense of Clan MacDougal, I will obey you…in this.”

  “Good!” He’d jumped in without waiting for her last two words. He nodded abruptly as if the question was solved forever. Niall and Torquil had heard but did not interrupt.

  “I willna shame you, Laird Somerled. Yet as Lady MacDougal I am responsible for certain things. You canna have it both ways.”

  “Both ways?”

  “If you wish me to be a wife who sits in her solar while the servants work quietly so not to disturb you, then you’d best get some servants. If you wish me to make your life more comfortable, you’d best give me some respect for the work I will do.”

  “As Laird Fraser does his Lady Janet,” said Niall.

  She knew of them of course. Clan Fraser held much power.

  “Lady Janet is a very well educated woman and deserves respect,” said Somerled. Unlike you, was the unspoken second sentence.

  “You ken little of me laird,” she said quietly.

  “Then tell me.” It was a dare, and a challenge.

  Herald Cam had warned her Somerled was intelligent but had had no time for much learning. His life had been all about survival. Would he be furious that his wife could do so much more? Or would he see her value?

  “I read, write, and cipher well, my laird husband. I have learned much history and some philosophy. Clan MacDougal has nay need for a tutor.” She carefully didn’t say whether the tutor would be for children or adults. “I can cook well enough, have been trained in basic healing, and can manage a castle full of servants. When my first husband was ill I managed his estates, for years.” She met him eye to eye. “I can easily manage a castle with four brothers and two husbands.” She held up her hand to stop him from speaking. “Note, Laird MacDougal, I said manage. Not do all the work.”

  “So you say,” he growled.

  “I have already cooked your porridge, which waits for you in the kitchen. Mayhaps you dinna trust one who can do such things as well as sew fine stitches, prepare herbal draughts, or do other things ladies learn?”

  “You write?”

  She said all that and he only picked up on that? Maybe he could not do it himself. “Do you wish me to write sommat to prove I can?” She could write gibberish and see if he caught it. Writing came easy to her, unlike stitching. Unfortunately the woman who taught stitchery enjoyed creating stripes with her switch.

  “I will have ye write in the sand to prove this,” said Somerled. “To save ink,” he added.

  She gave an abrupt nod, turned on her heel and headed out carrying her pot and spirtle. She would use the straight wooden stir stick instead of her finger in the sand.

  “Where are ye goin’, wife?” he bellowed.

  Meg stopped. Without turning her body she looked over her shoulder at him. “Why, I am off to the sand to write you a wee note.” She widened her eyes in false surprise. “Oh, dear. I forgot ye canna walk that far with yer drunken head. I shall gather sand in my pot and bring it to show you what I can write.”

  He heaved his bulk out of the chair. “Nay, I wish to have a swim to clear my head, so we can do both.” His eyes flicked to her feet and back up again, lingering at her hips and breasts. She had a good idea his cock was thickening. “I can walk that far. And to keep yer gown dry ye’ll do yer writing without it.” His eyes blazed in triumph. “Niall, keep my brothers from the wall walk. Their lady will soon be naked on the shore.”

  Both horror and eagerness made her heart race. Such things were sinful. Any less sinful than sharing a pair of brothers in a marriage?

  “A lady doesna show her body to the sun!”

  “I do remember tellin’ ye one thing, wife.”

  “Aye?” she licked dry lips. She couldn’t get enough air.

  “Ye are my wife. As such, I will do with ye what I wish. This morn I wish to see ye naked in the sun. So ye will do it.”

  Somerled swaggered forward. His smirk was far too arousing. She knew of women who kept their husbands in control through the use of their body. She’d not heard of it happening the other way around.

  “’Twill be cold!” She felt behind her for the door. The brothers had left it open.

  “Aye. But dinna fret. I have a few ideas to warm ye up after.”

  His eyes dropped to her breasts. They swelled, nipples peaking as if cold water was already touching them.

  “Ye do?”

  He stopped, one stride from her. She was hidden from the others by his back. He reached forward with his knuckles and caught her nipples between them. He squeezed, making her gasp.

  “Ye may be Lady MacDougal,” he murmured, eyeing her intently, “but I be yer laird. Methinks I shall give ye a lesson on that this morn.”

  She inhaled. Swallowed. “A lesson?”

  “Aye. On how ye will obey me. Ye went to yer knees to say yer vows for the king. ’Tis time ye knelt to serve yer laird.”

  She frowned, uncertain. “To write in the sand, on my hands and knees?”

  He shook his head, eyes gleaming. “That will be after.”

  “After what? I dinna ken what you mean.”

  He leaned forward. “Where will your mouth be if you kneel afore me?” he asked, his voice low.

  Meg dropped her eyes to his rising plaid. His cock was hard. He’d put his mouth between her legs last night, making her scream. This morning he wished her to return the gift. She shivered at the sinfully arousing thought. She thought of what he might taste like, and swallowed hard.

  “I dinna need to say it in words, aye, wife?”

  Whether he was asking if she understood, or if she would do it, the answer was the same.

  “Aye, laird husband.”

  Keeping her chin down, she raised her eyes to his. There was eagerness, but also pleading. He wanted this, and she wished to please him. She also wished to taste him. But she was not without power.

  “If ye can catch me!”

  She turned and dashed down the stairs, her feet quick and agile. The slapping of her bare feet echoed off the stone walls of the tunnel. A distant roar gave her a burst of speed. She rushed down the steps and to her left, away from the stables. While her small feet made the steps easier to take, once out of the castle Somerled’s long legs gained on her.

  “Running will only make it worse when I catch ye, wife!”

  She sensed he was close, so she stopped and whirled around. “I wasna running from you, husband,” she said, panting between the words. “I thought you’d enjoy a wee bit of a chase to clear your head.”

  He might have staggered comi
ng from their chamber, but now he strutted. “Ye wish to be chased, wife?” He stopped within an arm’s length of her, not at all out of breath. She could not reach him, but he would have no problem with his much longer arms. He leaned forward, towering over her. “Or is it the catching ye like?”

  “I dinna ken,” she said. “I havena run wishing to be caught afore.”

  He watched her chest rise and fall as she caught her breath. “Have ye another gown?”

  “Aye, the one I wore riding,” she replied. “’Tisn’t dry yet.”

  “Now that’s a pity.”

  “Why?”

  “I wish to rip yer gown off and ravish ye for running from me.”

  Her pussy throbbed at the thought. “Oh,” she said weakly. “Mayhaps another time.”

  He leaned back, arms crossed and stared down at her. She should be terrified to have such a giant of a man scan her body as if he could do to it whatever he wished. The truth was, he could. Another truth was that she wished him to.

  “I will be ravishin’ ye, wife. So if ye dinna wish to have yer gown cut off, ye’d best remove it. Dinna fret. Niall will see that none come by, or look. Except himself.” His wink faded into something like regret. “I wish I could give ye a pretty gown, Meg. Someday, when our flocks improve, I will do so.”

  “I wished to leave quickly so brought little,” she explained.

  “Eager to see me?”

  Perhaps this wasn’t the time or place to explain but they were alone. “Herald Cam only told me your name when we were on MacDougal land.” Shame stained her cheeks at how her father’s fury had insulted the herald, and therefore the king. “My father wasna pleased when Cam told him the king had decreed I was for another. I left within minutes, afore my father could build up his rage. I was running away from that, not running to you, husband.”

  She clasped her hands in front, head bent, waiting for his response. If he asked about her father…

  “And now?” he asked quietly.

  Relieved, Meg raised her head, straightening her spine. “If I’d kenned ’twas you I was married to I would have ridden here faster.”

  She would take that hint of a lip twitch as a Somerled smile. He used a knuckle to brush her jaw. She rubbed against his hand, much like Shadow had with her that morning.

  “I expected a shrew,” he murmured. “A lady who would tolerate bedding as a price to have bairns.”

  “I expected a brute and hoped I would have bairns, and be allowed to hold and raise them. And then last night…” She fell silent.

  “Last night?” he urged.

  “I never thought a man would wish to give pleasure to a woman. Or that ’twas possible to feel such.”

  “So you wish me as your husband for my cock?”

  The playful tone was back. She took her cue from it. “Aye, and your wit. Though your kind brother Ewan waiting with a hot bath turned my heart toward him as a brother. Do you play chess?”

  He blinked at the change in subject. “Aye, we all do.” She waited. His eyes widened. “Dinna tell me ye play?”

  “Aye, though ’tis been a while. Most men are too afraid to play with a woman in case they lose.” She hadn’t thrown down a glove but it was still a challenge. His eyes narrowed.

  “Ye think ye could beat me?”

  She dropped her head, drawing circles with her toe in the sand. “We willna find the answer to that unless we play.”

  His big hands settled on her shoulders. “’Tis nay the game I wish to play this morn.”

  “Do ye wish to play naughts and crosses in the sand?” she asked coyly.

  He shook his big head, very slowly. His eyes, an even more intense blue in the sunlight, bored into her.

  “Nay, I wish ye to drop yer gown and show me yer naked body.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Somerled held his breath. He’d never, ever thought of saying those words. He phrased it as a request, not a demand. He still expected Meg might scream and run. Instead, her eyes widened, her nostrils flared, and she licked her lips. Lips that he wished around his cock. He’d not believed Angus when he’d said a wife could do such a thing, and enjoy the doing of it. He would ask, but not expect.

  “Would you help me, husband?”

  Her gown laced in front, so she needed no need help. Yet she’d asked him. His thick fingers fumbled the strings, accidentally brushing against her breasts. She made a breathy gasp, a sound he’d grown fond of the night before. That he remembered, but not words. He stared into her eyes and did it again, this time pressing on her nipples. Her eyes darkened, and her nostrils flared.

  “Ye like my touch, do ye?”

  “Aye,” she whispered.

  He tugged the strings, pulling the bodice loose. This time his fingers touched bare flesh. Hot, soft breasts, their nipples pebbling as he watched. He pushed her gown off her shoulders. It caught on her hips and the curve of her arse. She shuddered, and it fell to her feet. His wife stood in the sun at Duncladach, naked and eager for his touch.

  “Och, Meg, ye make me burn for ye.”

  His hands fondled her breasts, weighing them. His thumbs rolled her nipples. Her breath caught. She was so small, so perfect. Why would she want an oaf such as he?

  “You are nay the only one burning, Somerled.”

  Her wee hands reached for his belt. He let her take charge as it was what he wished as well. She fought his belt, grimacing.

  “I’ve not done this afore,” she said between grunts.

  “There’s much ye havena done yet. Today ye are showing yer body to the sun and undressing yer husband,” he leaned closer. “Soon ye’ll be screaming my name when ye peak.”

  Her blush went from her forehead to the golden curls at the apex of her thighs. His belt gave way. He caught his plaid before it scraped against his hard cock as it dropped. He carefully folded it on the ground. She watched, blushing silently, knowing he was making a bed for them.

  He curled his finger for her to come forward. When her legs parted to take a step he saw her upper thighs glistened. His woman was as wet and eager for him, as he was for her! There was only one more thing to do. Her hair was tightly braided, wrapped around her head like a thick crown. He wanted it loose to run his hands through and grab.

  “Does yer head nay hurt from being bound so tight?”

  She blinked, surprised. At the question, or the concern?

  “Aye, but ’tis what married women do. My husband insisted I show him proper respect.”

  Respect? One did not have to be in pain to show respect!

  “Nay more, lass. This husband wishes ye out of pain. I dinna mind if ye wish to tie it back, out of yer way. But I like it loose. Would ye take it down?” When she raised her hands her back arched, lifting her breasts. “I’ll help,” he said. He placed a hand under each breast, supporting their weight.

  She rolled her eyes. “I dinna need that type of help,” she grumbled.

  “Your body is mine to enjoy as I choose,” he reminded her. To emphasize his control he pinched her nipples, tugging on them just enough. Her blush darkened. He wasn’t sure if it was from rebellion or how she held her head to pull out the pins. “Look at me, wife,” he ordered. Yes, there was both challenge and arousal in her expression. He was pleased not to see fear. She pulled her braid over her shoulder to untwist it. He shook his head.

  “I will do this.”

  She pressed her lips together, which he was quickly learning meant she wanted to say something to disagree but knew better. He lifted the thick rope of gold and turned her to face the water. He held the braid off her skin to get a good look at her. Her features were so delicate. How did that slender neck hold the weight of so much hair? And her shoulders! They set off her frame, slimming down to her narrow waist before widening to her hips. If he looked at her arse he’d be lost.

  Starting at the tip of her braid, he threaded his fingers up through it. A rose scent drifted around them. She was silent, which pleased him. He was not one for chatter.
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  “What frightens ye, Meg?” he asked softly. She tensed. “I sense sommat’s been done to ye. I dinna wish to touch ye in a way that pains ye, or brings such memories. Tell me what I need to ken to keep from makin’ ye cry.”

  “I dinna cry. Ever.”

  “I thought all women cry.”

  “Crying does naught to help and makes the ones hurting you laugh.”

  He winced at the pain in her voice. He didn’t think he’d cried, even as a bairn. He’d learned not to rail at the Fates and roar at the injustice of it all. Justice was blind to those begging for mercy so he didn’t beg, either. He did what he must, cursed when he could, and survived. But none had purposefully set out to make him cry.

  He set his fingers on her temples and rubbed in wee circles. She sighed, relaxing her shoulders and jaw, so he kept going.

  “Who would wish to make ye cry, wee Meg?” He kept the circles going, and after a while her shoulders dropped once more.

  “I was the only girl after many boys. My brothers and cousins enjoyed a bit of sport,” she finally replied. “I decided to be like them, rough and tough.”

  “And how did that go?”

  “Fine, as long as I ran fast enough to escape them.”

  He halted. “They didna…” He couldn’t say the words.

  “I was but a lass of five or six,” she replied. “I had value to be sold as a bride, so my virginity was a prize they couldna take. They did other things instead.”

  Her last words were said with a blunt coldness that made him cringe. He’d promised not to speak of her family, so he couldn’t ask what laird would allow a lass to be treated that way. His brothers wrestled and fought, always trying to be better than the others, but there were rules. None were to be harmed because then they couldn’t work or defend Duncladach. That was his reason, though they all got along well, sharing what they had.

  “If we are lucky and have a lass she will choose the man she wishes to marry,” he promised. She turned, eyes and mouth wide.

  “You jest?”

  He found himself smiling. “Nay, I speak true. Ye were married to a man ye didna choose. Twice. Our daughters willna be forced to bed a stranger.”