Laird Somerled MacDougal waited, framed in the arch at the far end of the stone passage. With the sun at his back and the tunnel dark, Isabel could see nothing but the outline of his body. While Tearlach and even Rory were eager, pushing her forward, her feet dragged, echoing on the stone. Duncladach Castle had been built for big men. She was dwarfed by the walls. Tearlach went forward, clasping arms with Somerled. Tearlach was thirteen inches taller than her. Somerled topped him by three more.
The glow of her orgasms faded in the glare of his eyes. They caught her and drew her in, at the same time his scowl pushed her away.
“Who is this?” he demanded harshly.
“Laird Somerled MacDougal, this is Lady Isabel Graham of Calltuin.”
The laser eyes went to his brother. “Lady? Why did ye bring a useless female here?”
Rory held her back, reminding her of his warning not to speak.
“King James wishes ye to marry, laird,” said Tearlach. “’Tis why Herald Murray came here. Murray sent us to get Isabel and bring her to the king.”
“She is for me?”
Somerled’s eyes devoured her. She took a step back, banging into Rory. The laird and her husbands were full brothers, sharing a mother as well as their father. They looked eerily alike, yet so different.
“She is standing in front of ye,” said Isabel icily. “Dinna speak of me as if I am elsewhere. And I am not yers, nor ever would be!”
Somerled’s scowl darkened. “Good, as I dinna wish a wife with a saucy mouth. And look at the size of her. Such a wee thing, even smaller than Fiona. She’ll die birthin’ her first babe.“
“Father said our mother wasn’t much bigger, and she gave him all of us.”
Isabel jabbed Tearlach with her finger. He looked down, startled. “Ye havena told yer laird that I am already married, or who my husband might be.”
Rory put his arm around her, giving her a squeeze. “Laird Somerled, I would like ye to meet this lovely lass, Lady Isabel Graham, who has kindly accepted to let us into her life.”
“Speak plain, Rory!” demanded his laird.
“Isabel married Tearlach in front of King James. She holds good growing land north of Stirling, and wishes to return there. The king is thinking on it. He may allow Isabel, and so us, to keep the land. If so, we’ll be sending good food to ye.”
“North of Stirling? Ye married a Lowlander? ’Tis almost as bad as a Sassenach!”
His horror was plain. Not only was she too small and too opinionated, she was almost English.
“Isabel,” said Rory mildly, “do ye wish to answer that?”
“What I wish,” she said loudly, “is to be greeted with what I’d heard was Highland hospitality. I am aware ye have had few women here. Let me tell ye what women require after a long, hard journey.” She looked past Somerled, noticing two pairs of brothers closer to her age. She spoke to them instead of the brute standing in her way. “A woman requires a hot bath on arrival, with soap as well as clean clothes. I brought my own soap and clothes, but I need a tub and hot water. And privacy,” she added.
Somerled’s scowl got even stronger. “If ye are finished?”
“Aye, for now,” she graciously allowed.
“We dinna cater to ladies.” He said the word as if it was the worst insult possible.
“I’m not asking ye to cater to me, fool! If one of ye will show me the kitchen, or allow my husbands to do so, they can make the fire up and get me a bath.”
He smirked at her. “Ye think they’d do that for a woman?”
She smiled sweetly back. Sweet with a touch of acid. More than a touch.
“Not for any woman, for their wife.” She tilted her head and spoke slowly and clearly, as if he was daft. “I ken ye are laird through my husbands. However, if I dinna have a bath those husbands will be sleeping alone. They willna be pleased.” Another thought struck her, one that might get his attention. “And, if I dinna have a bath as befits a woman, I willna be doing womanly things.”
“Womanly things?” He looked as close to uncertain as was possible while being full of arrogance.
“Ye canna have it both ways, laird.” She opened her eyes wide. “If I be a woman, and ye wish me to cook and such, then ye must treat me as one.” She narrowed them again, changing sweetness to a demand. “And that means a hot bath!”
Somerled lifted an eyebrow at Tearlach, ignoring her yet again. “I thought ladies canna cook?”
She poked the laird in the chest to get his attention. All six brothers gasped, but he finally looked at her.
“This lady has managed an extensive property raising crops, sheep, and more, for most of her life. While she has never cooked for ten large men she can cook for her two husbands.” She saw a pair of younger men edging closer. “Are ye Artair and Zander?” She gave them her best smile.
“Aye, Lady Isabel.”
Someone had taught them manners. “Would ye be so kind as to get my things from my horse and show me where I may sleep?”
They rushed forward, elbowing each other to get closer.
“Wife,” growled Tearlach, “what did I say about keeping clear of the young lads?”
“Husband,” she answered just as growly, “what did I just say about needing a bath, a place to rest my sore arse, and such like?”
“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.”
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 off her. 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.
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—”
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.
“Och, nay. ’Tis Rory’s turn at ye. Though he may not 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 pussy in spasms as it clenched around him. She sagged onto the table, spent.