by Reece Butler
“Unless ye dinna wish to do it—” began Somerled.
“Nay, husband, ’twould be an honor.” Meg patted Somerled’s chest. “Aggie and the village women will help. I’ll tell you men what needs doing. Thank you for believing in me.”
Planning a Gathering, the first in two generations, meant she could prove her worth to all. If they met her, and saw her abilities and that she worked hard for the MacDougals, they might still accept her if the truth of her birth was discovered.
“Well, good, then.”
Somerled patted her head, much as he did Shadow. She swatted his hand away, the same way the cat did.
“I ken ye need sleep this night, wife. But I’ll be waking ye come the morn.” He lay back, settling himself for sleep. A shaft of moonlight showed the corners of his lips turned up. Was it a smile, or a smirk?
“Mayhaps I’ll be the one waking you, husband.”
“Aye, that’ll do. What say ye, Niall?”
Niall pulled her back to spoon against him. His cock nestled between her cheeks. He squeezed her breast, catching the nipple between her fingers the way he knew she liked. He released his grip to one of support and comfort before she got too aroused. She wanted more but really needed sleep. Now that she knew that they cared for her she could relax. Not fully, but the worst was over. For now.
“First up gets first choice,” said Niall.
Meg hid her grin. She planned to wake first and take advantage of whichever husband was more “up.” Considering how the brothers liked to outperform each other, she got the best of both worlds.
“Good sleep, husbands.”
Epilogue
Ewan poured a wee dram into Herald Cam’s glass. He allowed himself half of one. The prime quality whiskey, and the crystal glasses, had once belonged to a Campbell. Unlike the laird, Ewan didn’t care. They were things, of only temporary value. He’d rather have a steady supply of food and a safe place for his clan to live. Though he’d enjoy them if available, such things did nothing to ease his heart or his mind. Still, the whiskey’s peaty flavor was just right and the glass smooth on his lips.
“You think Somerled kens why Lady Meg doesna speak of her past?” asked Cam.
He took his time, sipping, letting the whiskey roll around in his mouth and then slide down his throat. He waited for the burn, inhaling to sear his throat. Any sensation meant he was alive. Fearchar lay on his lap, sleeping as only a kitten could. The wee beast blocked out much of the clamor that usually filled his head.
“Aye, but he isna pleased she said naught. He’s the laird and must ken all. If he learns of her clan he’ll be furious after this. He’ll say he’d have refused her if he kenned she was born a Campbell.”
“If he’d not taken her to his bed King James would be a wee bit fashed with your clan.” Herald Cam’s words were soft, but there was an edge.
“Ye dinna need to tell me. I kenned that, and how the chance of troops at our walls lessened when the laird accepted Meg.” He settled into the padded chair. The herald sat in Somerled’s while Ewan used one of the new ones.
“Herald Murray and I picked Lady Margaret for your laird, and nay by chance. We kenned she was at Duntrune, there was a good chance much of what Clan MacDougal prized was stored there, and that Edgar Campbell hated his heir. Discovering his will would leave much to his wife, was the final point. ’Tis good for Scotland that the MacDougals have these things rather than John Campbell. He would have destroyed it all.”
“And then the Earl of Argyll would have to make an example of his own nephew, and that would cause a fair bit of strife all over the Highlands as other clans took sides.”
He took another sip. Lately there’d been a fog around him, an invisible one that made it difficult for him to See. Change was coming to Duncladach, but he knew not what, or if it would be caused by Meg’s past or something else.
“If Somerled doesna learn of her clan—”
“Nay,” said Cam. “He must learn of it and be seen to accept it. King James wishes all to ken the feud between the Campbells and the MacDougals is over. The marriage of the daughter of Glen Lyon and Laird MacDougal has ended it.”
“Yet ye didna bother to tell the bride, the groom, or Glen Lyon, aye?”
“I told Lady Margaret shortly after we crossed onto MacDougal soil.”
Ewan let his tip of his tongue taste, but didn’t drink. “What is it ye hold o’er her head to stop her from speaking?”
Cam poured himself another dram. He held the bottle up, tilting it in question. Ewan thought on it, and then held out his glass. It was unknown for him to drink, but when could he speak with a man who kenned the world and was pure enough that he could stand to be near? Ewan knew of Hamish but wondered what Cam would tell him.
“Lady Margaret has a younger brother, one who is short for his age, slight, and blond,” said Cam. “She loves him dearly as she mostly raised him. Her brothers call him weak due to his size and because he looks like Meg, rather than them. Their efforts to ‘toughen him’ nearly killed him more than once. He is safe elsewhere as long as this marriage stands.”
“How long afore the king speaks of this alliance, even if Somerled doesna ken it?” asked Ewan.
“After the harvest, when he leaves for England.”
Ewan chewed his lip. “’Twill be late enough that the weather will stop any battles until spring.” The herald nodded. “Did King James think of Somerled sending Meg home, making it an insult to the Campbells and worsening the feud?”
“Aye, but he trusts Laird MacDougal to be his loyal servant.” Cam’s tone was wry. He tilted his glass in a toast. “And that, being MacDougals, the lady will soon be swelling with an heir. Would your laird send his wife away when it means losing his babe as well?”
“Ye play a long game, herald.”
“’Tis no game, but people’s lives. And deaths,” said Cam quietly.
“Aye.” Ewan toasted the herald. “Thank ye for bringin’ Meg to us. And for taking Tearlach and Rory to Lady Isabel.”
They both sipped for a while. The herald was a good man. He wouldn’t live a long life, but he would serve his king and country well while he could. He would also do it with the utmost integrity and care. He waited until Cam’s mouth was empty. No use wasting good whiskey.
“Meg is already carrying a spark of life.”
Cam bent forward, coughing. Ewan held back a smirk. He could have waited for a minute or two after the whiskey reached the herald’s stomach. The glare he got proved the herald knew it.
“Does your laird ken it yet?”
“Nay, nor does Meg. ’Tis only a spark of possibility yet. The wee laddie may stay, or release his spirit and choose another vessel.” Ewan lifted his glass. “If Somerled kenned Meg carried a babe he’d wrap her up, sit her on her chair, and order her to stay there until the babe was born.”
“So best you dinna tell him.” Cam cleared his throat again and pounded his chest from the whiskey burn. “Do you ken what Somerled will do when he finds out Meg is a Campbell of Glen Lyon?”
“I canna See all, but from what I ken of my laird ’twill be far worse than today. He will have to choose between his past and his future.”
“As in leaving his hate behind to accept a future with Lady Meg?”
“Aye. Ye ken much.” Ewan finished his glass. He ran his tongue around it, savoring the taste.
Herald Cam held up his empty glass. He looked through it at Ewan. “I dinna wish to ken my future. It doesna matter how long I live, only that my life has meaning.”
“Ye are a wise man.”
“Why would a man wish to live longer if he is being stretched on the rack?”
Ewan reached out, touching Cam’s hand before he could pull it back.
“Dinna tell me how I die!”
Ewan settled back in his chair, pleased with the flash he’d seen. “I See little chance of ye being tortured.”
Cam closed his eyes, sagging. Ewan could feel his relief. A herald lear
ned many secrets. Some would wish to torture him to have those secrets out, and others would kill to hide them.
“There is sommat I will say of yer future and that is to keep a coin handy for the busty redhead at yer favorite tavern. She fancies ye, and for more than the coins in yer sporran and what’s under yer plaid.”
Herald Cam leaned back. “I will take that future and enjoy it as best I can. What of the ones sleeping in yon bedchamber?”
The whiskey sang in Ewan’s veins. He closed his eyes and set his Sight on them.
“The three are well matched. Now that Meg has lost most of her fear of Somerled she will be more at ease, and that will help the laird. He may even smile on the morrow, for all to see.”
“I hear that would be a miracle in itself. Is there not a long-standing bet on it?”
“Aye. I’d forgotten that, as they wouldna let me bet.” He leaned back, pleased. “Zander will be collecting from his brothers when he returns. They laughed when he said the laird would smile when he jumped a broom.”
“But they’re already married.”
“Aye, but by the king. This shows to all what is in their hearts.”
THE END
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Early jobs cleaning cages for a veterinarian, scrubbing floors in a hospital, and working as a waitress helped Reece Butler realize she was more of a thinker than a doer. An office keyboard kept her occupied for many years while her family grew. Once she discovered the romance genre it was a short step to reading erotic romance. And, since she has an active imagination and is fascinated with people, she began writing…
She now spends most of her time writing, reading, researching, editing, plotting, creating characters…and eating dark chocolate.
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