King's Knight [Highland Menage 8] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Read online

  A squeaked ‘nay’ was followed by Rory shutting and barring the door. He carefully moved everything off the table, laying it aside in the same order.

  “This first time will be fast and hard, sweetling,” warned Tearlach. “I’ve a need for ye that canna wait.”

  She was used to being active, being outside walking and working. While the men had been clashing their swords using up all that energy she’d had to sit quietly, acting like a lady. She was ready to scream, for different reasons. And she wanted them to be just as wild. She may have little choice in her life, but she would be eager and demanding their first time together as men and wife!

  “There’s naught under my skirts but a hot, wet, pussy and a throbbing arsehole, both needin’ yer hard cocks.”

  “Jesu!” Tearlach shuddered. “Wife, ye’d best be telling the truth.”

  Isabel leaned over the table, feet wide. She slowly hiked her skirts up. Twin groans filled the chamber. “I dinna lie, husband. Nor do I care which of ye will be first as I need both of ye. Twice.”

  “Twice?” Rory choked.

  “To start.” She’d hauled her skirts up to almost bare her arse, yet neither husband had touched her. She turned her head, scowling at them. “Do ye need a more personal invite?”

  Tearlach roared, flipping up his plaid as he rushed to her. He shoved her skirts over her back. Rough hair rasped her thighs. The head of a hot cock set at her pussy, hands gripped her hips, and he thrust deep. This time she was the one groaning as his cock forced its way through her eager flesh. He leaned forward, putting his mouth near her ear. He panted, the sound harsh.

  “Ye are my wife now.” He growled the words between gritted teeth. “Ye said a wee word a while back. Do ye ken what it was?”

  She tried to move, but he held her down, proving his physical power over her.

  “The priest said a fair few things.”

  “Wife…” he warned.

  “Aye,” she grumbled. “I ken well I vowed to obey. ’Tisn’t a good time to speak of such, husband.”

  She clenched him from the inside, proving that though he held her down he wasn’t totally in charge of her body. Tearlach lifted his chest. He pulled his cock almost out and shifted his hips. He entered at a different angle, pressing against something that made her hiss with approval.

  “Who owns this body?” he demanded.

  “Do ye mean the one doing the filling, or the one being filled?” she replied, purposefully sassing him. She wanted action, not talk!

  “Ye ken what I mean, wife.” The possessive swat was not unexpected. The burst of pleasure was.

  “Do ye wish me to say that I ken ye are my husband, and therefore ye own me and all that I have?”

  He began to move, as if rewarding her for her answer. “And who will be giving the orders, and who following them?”

  That sweet slide of his thick, hard cock through her soft, wet pussy made her brain whirl. She panted, her breasts heaving. She wanted them released, both to breathe and to have hands and fingers and mouth on her nipples.

  “The one with the cock gives the orders,” she replied.

  “And?”

  She held back the words until she realized he would not move until she said them. “And the one with a cock in her obeys.”

  “So ye do ken the truth?”

  “Aye, though I dinna agree. I want—”

  “Hush!”

  Tearlach grabbed her hips harder and began pumping. She moaned, gritting her teeth as tension coiled. She needed this. Needed the release as well as the taking.

  He suddenly stopped in mid-stroke, then pounded into her, coming though she’d not reached her peak! He then slumped over her, chest heaving to squash her into the hard table. She pounded it with her fist.

  “I thought MacDougals made sure their wives came first a time or two?” she snarled.

  “We do, when our wives obey.” Tearlach, now far more cheerful, eased himself out of her.

  “Will ye just leave me here, wet and wanting?” she demanded.

  “’Tis Rory’s turn at ye. Though he mayna let ye come, either.”

  “What?” She pushed up, turning to stand. This time it was Rory’s hand that swatted her arse cheek.

  “Ye’d best learn to obey,” said Rory, far too cheerfully. His cock eased its way into her greedy, throbbing flesh. “Ah, this is where my cock belongs. Balls deep in my woman.”

  It was easier to grip him with her feet now closer together. She did it once as a warning. “Well, yer woman willna be welcoming yer cock unless ye satisfy her!”

  “Hush, woman,” he replied, patting her hip as if it were the haunch of his favorite hound. Yer peak will be far greater the longer ye are denied.”

  “I’ve been denied since we left Calltuin. Ye’d best make up for all those days and nights of teasing!”

  “Teasing?” He commenced a slow in and out movement, his balls tapping against her pussy each time he touched bottom. “We never teased ye.”

  “Aye, ye did. Each time ye strutted into a room, or waved yer wee claymore at those lads attacking ye, ye were saying ‘this is my cock and ye canna have it yet.’”

  “And the way ye thrust those white mounds at our faces wasna the same?”

  Rory reached her breast with a hand. He slid his fingers inside her bodice, squeezing her nipple between his fingers. Her breath caught. Could she come before him? The need to do so, to take rather than be taken, raised her tension higher. She thought of the way her men’s arm, chest, and back muscles strained and flexed as they’d swung their claymores. How their strong thighs flashed as they ducked and weaved. Thighs that held her fast. She loved that they could control her, yet did it carefully. Both would tease and torment, spank and thrust, yet not harm her.

  She clenched Rory’s cock, but for her purposes, not his. It worked on both of them. He grunted and sped up, tilting his hips. It hit a spot.

  Yes! She inhaled, holding her breath as her peak hit. A hand covered her mouth, keeping her jaw shut. She startled, but it could not stop an intense orgasm from rushing through her. Rory erupted, creating another peak. She shuddered, her flesh in spasms as it clenched around him. Finally, she sagged onto the table, spent.

  A hissing sound filled her ears. Her legs could not have held her up. A satisfied smile creased her cheek as it lay on the wood.

  Tearlach and Rory might be able to pick her up and carry her around, and have the right to demand she obey them. It did not mean she would let them control her orgasms!

  Chapter 4

  “Yer wife is a demanding wench,” said Rory.

  He expected Tearlach’s snort of amusement. They were returning back from their usual morning’s work instructing highborn sons on proper swordhandling techniques. Too many of them had been treated kindly by their trainers. They had little discipline and caused their fathers problems by their excessive drinking, gambling, and wenching. They soon realized what the MacDougals meant by discipline. Kindness had no place in fighting. Surviving a battle meant attacking until they achieved victory or death. Those three words were the MacDougal war cry, and for good reason.

  The first complaint, within moments of the first morning’s training session, was at the insult at using wasters and not blades. The wooden practice swords were for young lads, which they were not. Tearlach replied they could use a claymore when they proved themselves worthy. He’d offered any who wished to do so, to step forward and be tested by himself and Rory.

  The next complaint was due to the bruises inflicted by the MacDougals. The most insolent and lazy, ones who’d been catered to, threatened to walk out. Tearlach told them nothing was keeping them there but pride, in themselves and their clan. He said they were free to go, and should do so quickly so the rest could learn that which may keep them alive.

  Tearlach was glaring down at the ringleader, the eldest son of a Lowland earl, when King James entered with his usual train of followers. The king’s approval of Tearlach and Rory’s efforts stop
ped any further open complaint.

  They therefore spent hours each morning showing the group how to stay alive in battle. As with their brothers years earlier, they challenged the lads to prove themselves worthy. The second morning young women brought to court to be married arrived with their eager-eyed mothers. The opportunity to see potential husbands wearing nothing but a plaid was not to be missed. Their titters and gasps proved too distracting and Rory ordered them out.

  No one came close to beating Tearlach or Rory until the previous day when Laird Fraser, red hair graying, stripped to his plaid in front of the king. Fraser fought Tearlach, both with claymores, to an exhausting draw. King James praised Fraser for being a true Scottish Lord, one who could lead his men into battle rather than directing them from a hill far to the rear. He shot a glance to one known for doing such. Fraser’s ability at his advanced age, far greater than the young pups training, made many of the lads try harder.

  As they shared quarters with the Frasers they were privy to Lady Janet’s lecture to her husband following the battle. After calling him an old fool she fussed over him, muttering about not having to prove his manhood with his claymore as he did it so well in their bed with his much shorter sword. The hot looks they shared sent Tearlach and Rory out for a long walk with Isabel. They found a quiet spot in Queen Anne’s garden for a bout of heavy kissing. It was the closest they’d gotten to bedding her since the quick thrusts in Herald Murray’s chamber.

  “Is Isabel mine now because she’s demanding?” replied Tearlach. “Or because I can satisfy her and ye canna?”

  “If ye remember, brother, ye left her frustrated the last time. ’Twas I who made her peak.”

  “If ye remember, brother, she took her peak in spite of ye.” Tearlach rubbed his jaw with his knuckles. “And for that methinks she needs a wee spanking.”

  Though he was tired from the morning’s heavy workout Rory’s interest, and his cock, perked up at the comment.

  “Aye, followed by a thorough fucking, by both of us at once.” Rory grimaced. “And that’s not likely to happen for some time.”

  “Mayhaps at Duchray Castle,” mused Tearlach. He stopped outside their chamber. “One thing is for sure. We’ll be claiming her, hard, while at Duncladach. I wish to give her a babe on Clan MacDougal soil. Then no matter where the king sends us, the lad will be a true MacDougal.”

  “He’ll be the first of our generation. Alana and Kiera had sons, but they willna have the clan name.” Rory nodded with satisfaction. “Aye, we’ll have the first true MacDougal lad.”

  Tearlach groaned. “Not unless our cocks plow our wife’s furrow.”

  Chapter 5

  Herald Murray finally got his lists. They left for Aberfoyle and Duchray Castle early the following morning with Isabel riding a sweet mare. The weather was lovely and the path easy so they rode fifteen miles to the Port of Menteith. The inn was crowded so all six of them shared a chamber. Isabel was not so eager to leave the next morning. Though it was only seven miles to Duchray Castle her arse was sore from riding. She was also uneasy at returning to the place where her guardian had badly beaten her when she was a child.

  “Laird Graham’s in Stirling,” reassured Rory yet again. “Ye have two husbands, a herald, and his two guards with ye. One old woman and her sons willna harm ye.”

  She nodded, thinking instead on what she’d do at Calltuin if it became her home. Tearlach gave an order to the herald’s guards, reminding her of reality. If she lived at Calltuin it would be as a wife. The way of the world was that husbands gave orders and wives obeyed. Unfortunately, “obey“ was not something she was good at. Being wed did not change her knowledge or ability to think and plan.

  What did change was Tearlach or Rory looking at her with husbandly intent. Then her ability to think was gone, and all she could plan was what part of them to touch next. If she wasn’t the one doing the touching then all she could do was feel and respond.

  She shifted in the saddle, rubbing the seam of her braes against her clit. They had not yet celebrated their wedding night in a bed. They’d have to give the herald the only pallet at Calltuin. That left them the choice of sleeping on a hard floor or in the stables. Or lying in a soft meadow surrounded by her beloved trees, as she’d done the first time she seduced them.

  Too soon, they rode through the gates of Duchray Castle. One of the herald’s men had gone ahead to prepare the way.

  “’Tis bigger than Calltuin,” she said, looking around.

  Tearlach snorted. “’Tis naught compared to Duncladach.”

  She rolled her eyes, fed up at how wonderful he believed his home to be.

  “Aye, brother, but Duncladach has little more inside it than Calltuin,” said Rory. He turned to her. “All that wasn’t essential has been traded for food, gifted to needy clan members, or given as thanks to the mothers of our bastard brothers for bringing the weaned lads to us rather than casting them aside.”

  It was another glimpse into their past. One that was far harsher than hers. But, if things were that bad, why did Tearlach insist they should live there?

  “Why have I no memory of this place?” she asked Murray.

  A round tower, windowless but for one arrow slit high up, was butted against a stone building that then abutted another, one with the stone harled with lime for protection. The other buildings were newer and had windows, some arched as if for a chapel.

  “You were asleep in my arms when we rode in,” he replied. “And when you left with Janet Wilkes it was in a cart so early that ’twas still dark.”

  “We left early so to escape before Laird Graham woke and changed his mind about us leaving?”

  He silently nodded his answer.

  Tearlach lifted her down. He held her for an extra moment though her legs were steady.

  “This canna be worse than Stirling, aye?”

  He gave her a slight squeeze of encouragement before moving her forward, a hand under her arm stopping her from dragging her feet. The herald spoke with a young man with a commanding presence. Though he didn’t look that much like Roderick, he must be the oldest brother. He did not have Roderick’s sneer, which made him far more good looking.

  She let the herald handle things as she gazed around. She thought she remembered the Great Hall. Both sides of the chamber had square panels halfway up the wall while the end with the fireplace was all paneled. Tearlach kept close to one side, with Rory on the other.

  “’Tis so small,” she whispered, mostly to herself.

  “’Tisna small, but that ye’ve grown,” replied Rory. “Ye were a wee lass when ye were here last.”

  She tried to think back to that night. A man wearing a blazing red lion tabard, who she now knew was Herald Murray, had told her that her parents had died. He said she was a lucky lass as the king had given her into the care of her father’s distant cousin, Laird Graham. She was to be a good girl just like she was with her father.

  Unfortunately she hadn’t known most daughters were not allowed to question their fathers. So a few days later when she questioned her guardian she’d not expected to be slammed so hard in the face that she was knocked to the floor. She didn’t remember it, or him hitting her again and again when she wouldn’t stop screaming. Janet Wilkes, then her nursemaid, said she hadn’t stopped screaming until her voice gave out, hours later.

  “I dinna ken what I said to make him hit me.”

  “It could have been naught,” answered Murray. “The man is known for his temper. He’s learned to curb it when he must, but it later comes out to harm others he believes are less important.”

  “Lady Isabel,” said Herald Murray, “may I introduce you to Errol, the Master of Duchray.”

  She curtsied. He was obviously surprised to see her.

  “Welcome, Lady Isabel, to Duchray,” he said, bowing back. “I was not informed of your arrival, just of the herald.”

  Tearlach put a possessive arm around her. “We’ll wait to judge yer welcome as yer laird and brot
her have much to answer for.”

  Errol nodded. “I canna answer for my laird father and willna for my brother. I’m afraid my father allowed his second wife to spoil her first son. Roderick is a fool who canna be trusted. Dinna fear,” he added. “He is behind a locked door for now. His mother isna pleased, but I act for the laird in his absence.” His grimace faded. “I remember you, Lady Isabel. We shared a few days in the nursery.”

  “We did?”

  “Orders had not been given, so you sat in with us for our lessons. At first our tutor ignored you, but that didn’t last. For when we couldna answer, you did.” He looked abashed. “I’m afraid I was rude to you, insulted that a wee lass kenned her lessons better than I.”

  “I’m sorry,” she replied. “I remember little of this place other than fear.”

  “Mayhaps one day you may visit under more pleasant circumstances.”

  Tearlach nudged her. She understood the warning. “That would, of course,” she said demurely, “be a decision made by my husband.”

  Errol bowed to Tearlach. “Of course, as you are married to my kinsman, you are welcome to accompany her here whenever you wish.”

  “Thank ye,” answered Tearlach. “Dinna take it personal if we wait until ye are laird to do so.”

  They all turned at the rustle of skirts. Lady Graham wore a gown suitable for a banquet at Stirling Palace. A cutaway burgundy gown revealed a gold-embroidered one under it. A matching hat, square like her bodice, sat severely on her head. White fur sleeves were turned back to show the embroidery. And then there were the jewels. She had diamonds and ropes of pearls around her neck as well as matching ear-bobs, rings, and bracelets.

  Isabel, who’d moved behind Tearlach when Lady Graham entered, wondered why she seemed so welcoming. It soon became clear she’d assumed the herald had come to report Roderick was absolved of all crimes and to escort him back to court in triumph, bringing her along.

  Roderick had gotten his arrogant sneer from his mother. Isabel was glad to have Tearlach and Rory’s bulk to duck behind. When Murray said Tearlach was the one Roderick had attacked, which meant of course he’d harmed her precious son, Errol had to hold her back from attacking with her claws. He spoke sharply to her, saying she’d be sent to her solar for a few days of silent contemplation, before she calmed.