Loving the Enemy [Highland Menage 10] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Read online

  “I willna stay if ye dinna wish it, laird, but ye’ve been stompin’ around like a bear with a thorn in his paw. Time to get it out so ye can heal, aye?” He popped the cork and held out the jug.

  Somerled took it, nodding his thanks. He took a mouthful before passing the jug to Niall. The whiskey burned all the way to his gut when he swallowed. He inhaled, feeling the burn, and waited for the others to clear their throats.

  “All our uncles died because someone poisoned the food, and then let in the enemies that slit their throats.” He spewed the words he’d held back for so long.

  “Do ye ken who?” asked Ewan.

  “Aye. Laird Fingal’s wife, Grizel Stewart of Appin.”

  “But, why?” demanded Niall.

  “Why would a woman let men in to slaughter the family she’d married into?” Somerled reached for the whiskey. “She wished to marry another, but her father made her marry Fingal. He didn’t want her as he kenned Grizel had been spoiled and pampered. Their fathers insisted ’twas a good match as the Stewarts are allies against the Campbells, so they did their duty. Grizel came from Castle Stalker and hated living in a cold, empty castle. She used her serving woman to send notes to her lover. He said he would release her from Fingal’s grasp and show her things no MacDougal ever would.”

  “How do ye ken this?” demanded Niall. “Ye could have been told a lie.”

  “Father told me, though he didna ken he did it.”

  “Tell yer story from the beginning, laird,” said Ewan quietly. “Get it all out. ’Tis the only way to be free of it.”

  How could he ever be free of such a thing? Lately he’d seen it in his nightmares. He saw it whenever Meg got that worried look, the one that said she held secrets. He took another mouthful of whiskey, taking his time, letting it slide down his throat. The burn proved he was alive.

  “Father was in his cups one Beltane night. Maeve had just died, so I was ten. I wished to go out to see the bonfires with the rest of ye but Father was never home on Beltane. With all of ye gone, I’d have him to myself, so I said I was sick.”

  “I remember that,” said Niall. “Ye didna look sick afore we went out, but the next days ye looked like ye’d seen a ghost.”

  “’Twas Father who saw ghosts that night. I found him sitting at the table in the hall, at the laird’s end.”

  “But he never sat there,” said Niall.

  “Aye, it made me stop and look closer. He had one candle afore him and he scowled so bad the shadows made him look like the devil. I hid where I could see him, but he couldna see me.” He paused. “It took me a long time after to make sense of what he said and put it all together.”

  Somerled closed his eyes and took himself back.

  “Father mumbled that Fingal had sat in the same spot that night while Grizel served their meal as she’d given her woman the night off. Grizel ate none of it. She was carrying their first babe and since her stomach had been upset they didna think when she served the meal and then left. They were hungry, and ate quickly. Fingal was explaining sommat to them so didna eat as much. By the time they realized they were all sick, it was too late. Grizel came in, gloating and laughing at their pain.”

  Somerled rubbed his own belly, thinking back on how Isabel had dosed him with a purgative. She called it a spring tonic to relieve him of his choler. He’d spent hours in the garderobe that night. Grizel had used something far worse. Rather than killing them quickly her poison made them writhe in agony.

  “Laird Fingal grabbed his wife and demanded to know why she’d done this. She said she hated him, hated his ragged clan, and she would escape with her wealthy lover.”

  “What clan?”

  “She didna say his name. While they ate she’d opened the postern gate. Men came in then, claymores high, and sliced the throats of all but Fingal. He fought but was overpowered. They bound him to the laird’s chair.”

  Niall groaned, and then cursed.

  “Aye, Fingal saw it all, as they wished him to. Grizel ran to her lover, but he pushed her away with a snarl. She demanded why, that she had done as he asked, and he was to take her away. He said he wouldn’t touch a whore who’d fucked MacDougal dogs. He ripped off her gown, becoming enraged at her rounding belly. Fingal closed his eyes but he couldna close his ears.”

  Somerled swallowed hard, his voice now hoarse.

  “He heard her screams as her lover took her, hard. The others then used her, one after the other, again and again. By the end of it she was silent. Laird Fingal could do naught for his wife, though he struggled to escape. They finished by cutting his babe out of her body, leaving her to bleed to death. They walked out, kenning Fingal would die in slow agony afore morning.”

  Somerled’s gorge rose. He wished he’d not had the whiskey. At least his uncles, all but Fingal, had died quickly.

  “No woman, even a traitor, should be treated that way,” said Niall into the quiet night.

  “Our father came home to that?” asked Ewan.

  “Aye. He thought he’d stop by for some supper afore joining the villagers in Beltane rutting. Instead, he walked into a charnel house. He cut Fingal loose, though it was too late to save him. Fingal told him what Grizel had done, and that our father must become laird.” Somerled stared out at the sea. “The worst of it was, Fingal had trusted her, and thought they might come to care for each other. Yet all along she’d shown him a false face, hating him and loving another, one who had plotted with her and enjoyed her death.” Somerled nodded at their white faces. “And that, my brothers, is why I dinna like Meg having secrets.”

  “And this is why ye are having those nightmares again,” said Niall. “Ye are thinking on it, bringing it to life in yer mind.”

  “I didna tell ye the part where Father walked through the hall that night, not kenning I could see him, pointing where each lay, sayin’ their names and how the blood spilled and spread.”

  “How did Father hide that Grizel had let them in?” asked Niall.

  “By running away,” said Somerled in disgust. “After Fingal died our father slit his laird’s throat, and that of Grizel, so they’d look like the rest, and walked out.”

  “Nay!” cried Niall.

  “Aye. The new Laird MacDougal walked out as if naught had happened. He spent the night rutting, and the next few days as well, as if he’d never come near Duncladach. When he returned the villagers had cleaned it all up and laid the bodies to be buried. He pretended shock. They called him Laird Dougal.”

  “He was no laird, but a selfish…” Niall shook his head as if unable to say more.

  “Awake or dreaming, I can see it all,” said Somerled. He shuddered, remembering his father holding up his hands, staring at them as if they were still dripping in blood. He fought to keep the whiskey down as his gorge rose.

  “Ye are a fool to let it rot inside ye, festerin’ and spreadin’ the poison,” said Ewan. His lip curled in disgust. “Dinna let the past destroy yer future.”

  “’Tis why I didna wish to tell ye, to spread the vile tale.”

  “’Tisn’t the speaking of it that’s vile, ’tis the blaming,” said Niall. “Ye have poisoned Meg with this nightmare. Ye’ve been giving her looks that’d curdle milk. No wonder she shrinks from ye. And then ye blame her for it and think the worst.” He punched Somerled in the arm, again hitting his bruise. “Ye are a fool to put this on Meg.”

  “Meg couldna do such a thing,” said Ewan. “I ken her soul.”

  “But I canna!” he bellowed, raising his fists in frustration.

  “If ye act like that to Meg ’tis no wonder she turns away.”

  Somerled winced at Ewan’s softly spoken words. He was right. If he scowled at Meg whenever he saw her outside their chamber no wonder she turned away. He scrubbed his face to calm himself before speaking again.

  “If I could ken what ye do, Ewan, mayhaps I would sleep better.”

  Ewan sagged, holding himself up by leaning on the parapet. He slowly shook his head, looking as
if the pain of the world lay inside him. Perhaps it did.

  “Nay, laird,” he whispered into the night. “If ye kenned what I did ye wouldna sleep.” He refused Niall’s offer of the jug. “Ye see the way Meg is with Shadow and Fearchar, and the wee babes in the village. She holds much pain, yet laughs when she can. She’d not harm a soul but in protection.”

  Somerled exhaled. “I dinna wish to believe Meg would harm a MacDougal, but—”

  “Then dinna believe it, laird. Release Meg from yer nightmare. She isna part of it.”

  “I ken that, but then I see her frowning and am sure she has a secret.” He rubbed his throbbing forehead. “What if ’twill harm our clan?”

  “Try harder to believe in Meg,” said Niall harshly.

  “What if ’tis the kenning of her secret that would harm our clan?” asked Ewan.

  The question made Somerled’s head hurt even more. “Ye dinna speak sense, brother. How could the truth harm us?”

  “Do ye See sommat?” asked Niall of Ewan.

  “I dinna have to. Our laird’s so caught up in the past that he canna see what’s in front of him. He listens to the memories of what a drunken fool said one night when he was a lad.” Ewan turned to Somerled. “Laird, ye should be listening to yer heart.”

  “I dinna have a heart,” growled Somerled. He raised his chin, sticking out his jaw. “I willna be like Laird Fingal, taken in by a two-faced woman.”

  “So ye judge Meg as if she were an adder like Grizel.” Ewan sneered, something he’d never done before to his laird. “Ye’re a burned bairn dreadin’ the fire, so ye huddle in the dark to save yerself the chance of a spark.”

  “Are ye callin’ me a coward, brother?”

  Ewan waved Somerled’s words away. “When our uncles died they left our father alone and untrained. He were a selfish, lazy lad afore he went to Stirling to strut afore the king. He was an even more selfish, lazy laird, as we all ken. The clan had no other so accepted him.” He paused, staring Somerled in the eye. “Laird, ye are naught like our father, and Meg isna Grizel.”

  “I ken that, but—”

  “Ye must strip this from yer head and heart, laird,” continued Ewan. “Lady Meg has given ye her heart as well as her body. She deserves the same. And ye are wrong,” he added softly. “Ye have a heart but ye fear it bein’ hurt, like when ye were a lad.”

  Ewan’s words hit hard so he lashed out. “I am protecting Clan MacDougal!”

  “Nay, ye are using Grizel as an excuse to turn against Meg!” Ewan crossed his arms, sneering in disgust. “Ye hide yer heart from her like a bairn scairt of a boggle. Ye fear Meg—”

  “I dinna fear my wife!” he roared.

  Ewan smirked in the sudden silence. “Then prove it, laird. Show Meg, and the rest of us, that she holds yer heart.”

  Somerled cursed. He turned and pounded his fists against the stone. It hurt, but he did it again. He didn’t want to be ripped apart when Meg turned against him. He knew she would. His own mother had pushed him away, wishing nothing to do with him. Maeve, his father’s second wife, was the same.

  He cursed again. No, Meg was nothing like them, and he cared for her in a way he’d thought impossible. No matter how hard he tried to deny it he did have a heart, one that was breaking from hiding how much he cared for her.

  “Do ye wish Meg in yer life?” asked Ewan.

  “I dinna wish to lose her,” he hedged.

  “Ye will if ye think she may murder us all,” said Niall, finally joining the conversation. “I’ve watched Meg’s bright smile fade since ye started grumbling and glaring at her. ’Tis no wonder she spends her days in the village. She kens ye fear to go there, so is safe from yer glower.”

  He couldn’t see his wee Meg, with her scolding and laughter, killing anyone. Nor did he believe they would all be murdered. Yet he still couldn’t go far beyond Duncladach’s walls.

  “Why did ye keep this to yerself for so long?” asked Ewan quietly. “Why let it fester so?”

  “In faith, I’d forgotten. Then I saw that, though Meg told us about Edgar Campbell of Duntrune and she’d jumped a broom with me, her heart was still heavy. I decided she must be hiding sommat worse. And then I remembered Grizel, and thought—”

  “Ye werena thinking on it when ye enjoyed her wee body just now,” said Niall. There was a hard edge to his words.

  “I dinna believe it in our chamber. But when she goes to the village I think she could be meeting someone—”

  “So ye think the worst of her.” Niall snorted. “Ewan would tell us if Meg was a danger.”

  “Aye? He didna tell us when Meg and Herald Cam rode up to our gates.” Ewan shrugged as if it was no matter. “Ewan may in his wisdom—” Somerled spoke the words with disgust “—decide his laird doesna need to ken sommat, so keeps it to hisself.” He glared at Ewan, expecting an explanation. There was none. “Have ye naught to say, brother?”

  “I must do what is best for the clan, the same as you, laird.”

  “And that means following your laird’s orders!”

  “Not if ye will act the fool, as ye did when ye heard Meg was the widow of Edgar Campbell.”

  “I am yer laird, and ye shouldna keep such from me.”

  “Nay laird, dinna put your anger on me,” said Ewan. “Things happen beyond our ken. Some we can control but many we canna ken afore ’tis time.” He narrowed his eyes in warning. “And if it isna yer time to ken it, I willna tell ye. Like yerself, I must think of what’s best for all the clan.”

  As laird he had to make hard decisions, some of which could bring death. He hadn’t realized Ewan was the same.

  “I will do my best to let ye keep yer head on yer shoulders if ye let strangers in without telling me,” he finally said, “but it pains me that ye’d do so.”

  Ewan nodded. “We all do as we must.”

  “What will happen from all this tonight?” asked Niall.

  “’Tis up to Laird Somerled.” Ewan moved toward the stairs, silent as a cat. He turned before the first step. “He holds all our lives in his hands. ’Tis a heavy burden. Ye’ve helped him with it all yer life, Niall. Meg could take some of it off his shoulders but only if he allows it. I dinna ken the future, but ’tis best if a laird trusts his lady.”

  “How does he disappear like that?” demanded Niall into the dark. He looked around. “And he took the whiskey!”

  “I’ve had enough to rot my gut this night.” Somerled rolled out his shoulders.

  Yes, he should trust Meg. She was his wife. Whoever had raised her, whatever clan she’d been born into, she was now Lady MacDougal of Duncladach. She cared for his brothers and the villagers. All could see that.

  Yet Meg looked guilty, and acted it. She’d pulled back from him as if expecting him to attack. There had to be a reason for it. It could be nothing like what Grizel had done. The king had proclaimed any clan starting a feud would be slaughtered. Meg would not do that to her birth clan. Or would she? Considering how they’d treated her…

  “When Ewan’s dog comes, mayhaps we can put a collar on it with a bell or three,” said Niall. “If we can’t hear Ewan, we will hear his wee pup.”

  He and Niall stood, shoulder to shoulder, and watched the waves in companionable silence. He felt less alone now that he’d shared the secret that had gnawed on him for years. He may not have thought on it, but deep inside it had eaten away at him.

  “Now that ye’ve told us of Grizel, and that Meg willna do that to us, could ye walk past the village?” asked Niall. “Could ye go to Dunollie Castle to show our sons the MacDougal clan seat?”

  He hadn’t been past the stable for over twenty years before going to the village with Meg to pick out Fearchar, her fierce kitten. He’d gone to the chapel to see his father buried but he’d been surrounded by his brothers, all of them bristling with weapons.

  “Mayhaps now that ye ken why ye fear leaving Duncladach yer nightmares will fade,” said Niall. He bumped his shoulder against Somerled’s, like a bro
therly hug. “Ye may yet walk out of sight of these walls. Dunollie Castle is less than four miles.”

  “Aye, but it seems a hundred or more.”

  He shuddered at the thought of walking so far. As Meg had not yet quickened with a babe he’d have a few years to build up to it. Though if the true story of Grizel Stewart’s treachery became common knowledge he might be expected to put it behind him sooner.

  “I am laird so canna show fear and still be respected,” he said quietly, more to himself than Niall.

  “A laird is a still man, and has faults. Accept yerself for who ye are and the clan will as well.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Ye are a good laird, my twin and, if ye will give Meg a chance, ye may become a good husband.” Niall slapped him on the back, hard. “We’d best get back to our wee wife. We dinna wish her to get cold, aye?”

  “Yo go. I wish to watch the sea for a bit.”

  “Nay, ’tis sommat else. Dinna lie when I can feel ye in here.” Niall rubbed his knuckles over his chest, making the point.

  “I canna lie still after this, or sleep.”

  Niall held out his arm. “Laird.” They clasped, and he was gone

  Somerled looked down the coast to the west. Past the stables, past the village. Why could he not lose the terror that held his feet close to these walls? Deep inside he still believed if he went too far he would return to find his brothers’ throats slit, covered in blood, just as his father had described so vividly.

  Only now, when he thought of it, Meg was there, too. Dress torn, legs bloody, her face and body beaten from fighting them far harder than had Grizel. He’d find blood under her fingernails, and she’d leave scars on the faces of the men who attacked her. Yet she’d be dead, and so would the babe now growing inside her.

  He had a sudden need to go to her, to hold her, and prove she was still alive.

  Chapter Four

  “When will ye tell him, my lady?”

  Meg continued pulling weeds. She and Aggie were on their knees in Nessa’s herb garden. The old woman’s legs were so sore she couldn’t kneel so Meg had volunteered. There was something life affirming about getting her hands in dirt. She’d spent too many years locked behind stone walls. Helping things grow to provide food for her people released her worries for a while.