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

  “Nay,” she cried, “I want more!”

  “I am done for now,” said Somerled, panting. “Niall will help ye, if ye wish.”

  She opened her arms to him. “Please, Niall, fill me!”

  He scrambled to change position. They both groaned as he stood at the edge of the bed and filled her, slower than his brother. Deeper. All those years of an old man’s fumbling were forgotten. A few minutes with Somerled and Niall made her feel alive!

  “Is this what ye wish for, my lady?” asked Niall.

  “Oh yes,” she replied with a groan. His slow strokes touched her right where she needed. In and out, keeping her near the edge.

  Somerled moved to lie across the bed, his mouth on her nipple. His hand found her clit. He circled a few times, then flicked it. She gasped, clamping down on Niall’s cock. He choked.

  “Dinna hold back,” he ordered. “Let yerself go.”

  He looked like he was in agony, yet he kept up the slow surges into her. Her head and heels pressed into the mattress as she urged him harder and deeper. She grasped the sheet with her hands, arching her back and raising her hips in a silent demand.

  “Faster,” she whispered. “Please!”

  “Thank God!”

  Niall grasped her hips and pounded into her. Somerled pinched her nipple and clit. She exploded. Niall roared, keeping her going until he, too, collapsed. They lay there a moment, fighting to breathe.

  “If ye give me a wee while, I’ll be ready for more,” said Niall.

  “More?”

  “We have all night,” reminded Somerled. “Best to make sure ye are well consummated.”

  A laugh burst out of Meg. She opened her arms to Somerled and Niall, her husbands. “That one was for practice. There’s more, aye?”

  “Oh, aye,” replied the twins in unison.

  Chapter Nine

  He must be dead, thrust into hell for eternal damnation. Why else would he be floating in such pain? The pounding throb settled in one place. His head. His gut wasn’t doing so well, either. Somerled groaned, then inhaled a hiss as the sound attacked his ears.

  “And that is why I drank sparingly last night.”

  “Stop yelling,” he whispered.

  Niall’s laugh echoed, bouncing off the stone walls and into his head. Somehow it got even louder.

  “I wasn’t yelling, brother,” yelled Niall. “Ye drank with Dougal and Finn to celebrate. This is what happens in the morn. Yer head hurts, yer gut rolls, and the sun burns yer eyeballs as if someone poked ye with an ember. Or so says Dougal. He kens it well, as does Finn. I have ne’er felt it, nor choose to.”

  “Why am I floating?” he whispered.

  “Our new bed has a feather mattress. So soft, it feels like a cloud.”

  “Bed? Ewan said we mustn’t touch it without our wife.”

  “Do ye not ken our Meg, or what we did with her last night?”

  It was difficult to think, and painful, but there was something at the edge of his memory. A wee golden creature with big breasts, a wide smile, and a laugh that made life complete.

  “A golden fairy.”

  “Ye called her that, and nymph. But nay, she’s a wee, golden lass who is now ours.”

  “Ours?”

  Somerled was used to thinking faster than his brothers and making the best decisions for their clan. He did not like feeling as if his brain was clogged with mud.

  “Aye, laird. Ye made wee Meg scream with yer tongue afore consummating yer marriage, which made her scream again.” He paused. “And then she reached for me,” he said quietly. He cleared his throat. “Aye, we have a wife named Meg. Ye are no longer a virgin. How does it feel?”

  He’d sunk into his wife’s heat, and he didn’t remember it? “Are ye sure? I ken sommat of a herald, but ’tis mostly blank from there.”

  Niall sighed heavily. “Ye dinna remember what ye whispered to her, nor what ye did to make her sigh and cry out?” He shook the bed. Somerled’s head rolled. So did his gut.

  “Dinna shake the bed,” he ordered.

  “Then get up!”

  Niall grabbed his feet and pulled. When his hips hit the edge of the mattress Niall let Somerled’s feet drop. He lay there for a moment hoping his head and stomach would settle, but Niall shook the bed again. He staggered to his feet. The room spun around him.

  “I shall never drink again!” His worst nightmare was all his brothers being murdered. Finding a wife, bedding her, and being so drunk he couldn’t remember touching her, came close. “What’s her clan?”

  “Herald Cam said she’s Lady Margaret Stewart. Ye said that was too long so she is Meg.”

  That he remembered. “Aye. A man my size can carry a big name. A wee thing like her needs a name to match.”

  “So you remember?”

  “Her hair is gold, her eyes are brown, her chin is pointed, and she tastes and smells better than anything.” Another memory floated to the surface. “She’s so wee that when I put my hand around her ankle my thumb wrapped over my fingers.” He held up his hand, making the motion, leaving a hollow between. He opened his hand. “Yet her breasts and arse fit my palm.”

  “That much is true. And she has no shyness for bedding, thanks be to God.” He grimaced at Somerled. “Mayhaps the rest will come back. Ye dinna ken what ye told her?”

  Somerled set his naked back against the cold stone wall. It felt good on his head and woke the rest of his body. “I dinna ken sayin’ other than how beautiful she is.”

  “Aye, Lady MacDougal is a beauty.”

  “Lady…?”

  “That’s what the woman married to Laird MacDougal is called, aye? There hasna been one since Maeve died. Twenty-five years.”

  “Two lassies have been born to MacDougal men and there is a Lady MacDougal living at Duncladach,” he said. “Surely the curse is over?”

  “If there was a curse, it had more to do with our ancestors not supporting the king,” replied Niall. “So ye’d best be sure that Lady Meg wishes to live at Duncladach, sharing your bed. For if she does not, and King James discovers it, what little good fortune we have found may slip away once more.”

  He grunted. He’d heard the words, and taken the warning. But there was no need. The luscious bundle he’d held last night would have no reason for leaving him. Unless he’d said something…

  “What did I tell Meg?”

  “I dinna listen to what my laird whispers in my lady’s ear,” replied Niall. “Mayhaps it will come back to ye.” Niall gave him a look of disgust. “Let’s hope it comes back afore the promises ye made come due.”

  He looked away from Niall, not wanting to think on it. An arrow-slit window let in far too much light. He winced and turned away from the brightness.

  “The sun’s up!”

  “Aye, it does that even if ye’re drunk and sleep in.”

  “Why did ye let me sleep? I willna be respected if I show weakness.”

  “Ye are my twin and my laird and have my respect, no matter what. Finn and Dougal lie under the table snoring. Torquil went hunting at first light, but he might be back. Ewan’s on the wall walk. He’s talking of a dog again.”

  “Aye, he’s wanted one for a while.” Somerled bent to pick up his plaid and belt. It almost blew his head off, but he bit back the groan. He’d take a swim to clear his head before breaking his fast. “We should be able to keep a dog now. There’s enough meat to feed a pup.”

  “He says one will come our way when the time is right.”

  Niall pulled open the door. Loud clanging crashed against his ears. There was no challenging roar, so they were not under attack. The noise made his head hurt far worse.

  “What is that?” he demanded.

  “Lady MacDougal must be waking the lads.” Niall looked at him and laughed. “Best to leave yer chamber afore she does that o’er yer head.”

  “No wife would wake their laird by banging a pot over his head!”

  Niall smirked, enjoying his pain far too much. “Me
g would.”

  * * * *

  Meg entered the hall. Two figures rolled in their plaids snored under the table. All her life she’d wanted to loudly wake the drunken sots that sprawled under her father’s table each morn. The sun was up, porridge made to break their fast, and they were still snoring. Just as her husband had been when she’d left their chamber. She’d thought Niall was awake but didn’t wait to see. She’d put on her gown and left.

  She’d not snuck out, she’d merely let her husbands sleep in. The amazing things they’d done to and with her were not something she could think of in the morning light. Herald Cam had eaten some of her porridge, complimenting her before asking if she was thoroughly wedded. He’d taken her blush as agreement.

  Her own headache would not hold her back from the day’s work. This was her first morning in her new home, and she had to make her position plain right from the start. She quietly approached the men. She stopped, noticing Torquil watching from the shadows, arms crossed. She glanced toward him, hesitant. He grinned and bowed, encouraging her. So she grinned back and moved closer to the table. She lifted her wooden spirtle in one hand and pot in the other and rang the chimes over Dougal and Finn’s heads.

  “War!” they roared, rolling to their knees and scrabbling for weapons.

  She grinned and showed them her pot and wooden stick. They sank back to the floor, groaning.

  “Good morn to ye,” she chirped brightly, speaking far louder than necessary. “Porridge is in the kitchen if you wish to break your fast.”

  “And if we dinna?” mumbled Finn. He opened a bleary eye at her. She smiled sweetly back.

  “Then haul your corpses elsewhere, for I’ll be cleaning this room and you are part of the mess that must go.”

  “Isabel never showed such disrespect,” grumbled Dougal. He grunted with effort, taking two tries to roll from his side onto his hands and knees.

  “Mayhaps, but I am Lady MacDougal. As such, I am charged with making our laird’s life comfortable. I shall start with giving this room a good cleaning.”

  “Lady Isabel brought in some lasses to scrub it,” said Finn. He hauled himself to one knee. He waited a moment, set one hand on the table for support, and groaned himself upright.

  “I see ’twas done a while back, but you’ve been tromping around in your muddy boots since.” She pointed to some clods of mud.

  They groaned but did not complain further as they tromped down the stairs. If they stopped by the kitchen they’d see she’d put out a pot of honey and a small dish of salt. Both had been hidden in a back corner cupboard with other items, perhaps from Lady Isabel. The door leading from their chamber opened. The sight of Somerled and Niall brought a rush of eagerness and a smile until she saw Somerled’s scowl. He strode across to his chair and dropped into it, pressing one hand against his eyes.

  Niall, thank God, fought a smile. He winked, easing the tension in her gut. If she’d as much as whispered and woken her brothers and cousins, or her father’s men, she would have been beaten. That Dougal and Finn had complained, yet followed her orders, was utterly amazing. She could get used to this.

  She could also get used to being touched by Somerled and Niall. They, however, would have to get used to a few things about her. When she’d woken and seen the size of the men sleeping on either side of her she’d realized she had to take control right from the start. Otherwise they might dismiss her as a child due to her size.

  Last night Somerled had carried her to their bed, his strong arms protecting her. In the cold light of morning she’d known he’d done that in his eagerness to bed her and not from any sense of caring. Yet the two of them had given her a taste of ecstasy, and promised much more. She could put up with a lot of scowling for that.

  “Is this how ye wake yer laird on the one day in thirty years he sleeps in?” demanded Somerled.

  She didn’t fear him, much. Herald Cam insisted he would not harm her. While she didn’t really believe it, the men she’d been with last night were considerate. She’d fallen asleep in their arms. Had Somerled left her bed after to drink? Niall’s wink and the ease of his posture suggested she was safe. She’d learned to watch for small signals to know when to run. Somerled was not happy, but he was in his chair, too far to reach her easily. There was nothing within reach that he could throw, either.

  “And a good morn to you, husband.” She kept a smile in her voice. “’Tis our first morn, so I dinna ken if you sleep as a drunkard each night and wake up in a foul humor. None told me to let you sleep. Mayhaps ’twas my greeting your brothers that did it? For I would gladly bang a pot over your head each morn if you wish it.” She lifted her pot and spirtle, ready to act.

  “Halt!” He leaned back in his chair, eyeing her. He’d not shaved in days, so his black beard was soft. Her thighs were a bit rough but not scraped. His eyes were not soft, at all. “Ye are a saucy baggage to speak to yer laird husband so.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, giving the small bob of a servant.

  “’Tis nay a compliment, wench.”

  He’d called her wench? She’d have to think up the male equivalent.

  “Nay?” She opened her eyes wide, all innocence. “But last eve you said you liked my sauce.”

  Niall choked. Torquil watched silently from the corner. She thought Somerled likely knew he was there. Neither of her husbands gave a sign Torquil’s presence was a problem.

  “I dinna recall all I said in my cups,” replied Somerled carefully. “And what a man says while drinkin’ shouldna be kept as truth in the morn.”

  Her good feeling slumped. She shouldn’t be disappointed. When she got up she’d wondered if he would remember much of the night. She knew those who drank often pissed out their promises in the morning. She would test his memory using something innocent.

  She gave a loud sigh of obvious disappointment. “Does that mean you willna get me the kitten you promised?”

  “Kitten?” Somerled turned to Niall. “Did I promise our wife a kitten?”

  “I told ye I didna listen in to your pillow talk, laird. I do recall hearing the word ‘pussy.’”

  Somerled didn’t see her fight a grin as his back was to her, glaring at his twin, but Torquil and Niall did. Meg figured the brothers would be having a chat later. One involving fists, and maybe a dunk in the sea.

  “I dinna mind having another cat,” said Somerled, turning to her.

  “Thank ye.” She gave a quick bob. “Now, I ken ’tis hard to walk when you’ve got a sore head, but could you stagger to the kitchen so I can start cleaning? I dinna wish to be idle.”

  “Stagger to the kitchen to break my fast?” he repeated. He leaned his head forward and wrinkled his brow.

  “Well, best not to stagger since it is down some steep stairs. Mayhaps you could sit on your arse and slip down step-by-step so you dinna fall. Like a bairn,” she added helpfully.

  His narrowed eyes and intense stare suggested she’d pushed a bit too far. He was now aware she’d been poking him.

  “Ye forget, wee Meg, I be the laird here.” His words were cold and hard.

  Chapter Ten

  What would Somerled do to her if she pushed him? Meg trusted Niall and Torquil to keep her from being harmed. Somerled was sore, tired, hungry, hung over, and angry with her. If ever he would hit her, it would be now. She needed to know.

  “I be the lady here, and I forget very little,” she replied in the same tone. “’Tis my responsibility as Lady MacDougal to provide hospitality to kin, clan, and guests. That means safe food, and that takes cleanliness. Though what I do may give you discomfort now and then, I will do what is necessary.”

  “If ye continue this way I’ll be giving yer arse some discomfort,” warned Somerled.

  Her pussy spasmed. His knowing smirk suggested he’d noticed. Why could the man not act like the drunks in Glen Lyon, oblivious to all but themselves and their laird?

  “Ye ever been spanked, wife?”

  She’d been hit and bi
rched often, even whipped once, but never spanked. Even if she had it would be quite different to be touched by this husband, his hand on her bare arse. The thought warmed her even more. Was it wrong to wish for such as that? She’d have to think on it later.

  “Ye ken that if we had a servant she would creep quietly into your chamber to light a fire and bring hot water to start your day.” She drew herself up. “We dinna have servants and Lady MacDougal doesna creep in her own home. I shall do the duties I have been trained to do.”

  “Yer laird may have other duties for ye.”

  “I heard MacDougals were Highland warriors, respected for their honor, courage, and loyalty to the Crown. Highland clans are hospitable, aye?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Now that you have a wife you may receive guests. If this is where you greet them, should it not reflect the values of your clan?”

  “We dinna have guests, so ye dinna need to fash yerself o’er it.”

  She raised an eyebrow and stared at him. “I heard a tale that said MacDougal of Lorn kept a public table where anyone might sit and take their meals. They could go every day without being asked who they were. The MacDougals were well-known and respected for it.”

  “Aye,” replied Niall. “’Tis true the MhicDhùghaill Latharna kept a bòrd poblach when the clan lived at Caisteal Dhùn Ollaigh. ’Twas a long time ago. We are no longer MacDougals of Lorn, we dinna live at Dunollie Castle, and we have little enough food for ourselves. That is changing, but we dinna wish to have hungry guests.”

  “Guests or not, a clean table to eat off, and a room that doesna stink, is welcoming to all. If your brothers and their wives visit do you wish to have them eat in a pigsty? ’Tis the responsibility of the lady to ensure hospitality is provided. Food, as such is available, warmth, water to wash, and the like. To do so I need—”