by Lee Savino
“Inside,” he ordered. “Where’s your wood?”
“What?”
“The wood for the fire?”
“I haven’t had time to collect it—”
He stomped out without another word, leaving her to scoff at his rudeness. In another few minutes, he returned with an armful of wood.
“I don’t need your help.”
“Now, you listen to me, lass.” Stooping in the low hut, he still managed to loom over her, making her feel about two inches tall. “I’ve had it up to here with watching you struggle. Life out here is hard, and refusing the help of friends makes it impossible.”
Phoebe’s fists knotted at her sides and then she gave up. In this contest, she was not going to make it out the winner. “Then, thank you. As a friend.”
His head jerked in a nod, and he knelt, stacking kindling in her little fire pit and expertly starting a tiny blaze. The sight of her large employer kneeling in her rude abode rankled, and Phoebe was too embarrassed not to protest.
“I can build my own—”
The flickering light didn’t diminish his savage glare, and she fell silent. Frustrated, she tucked herself as far away from her employer as she could, but what space he didn’t occupy with his large body, he seemed to suck up with his immense presence.
Finally, the blaze caught to Calum’s satisfaction. He stood, dusting his hands off on his breeches.
“There you are.”
Phoebe had to admit, it was nice to have a fire ready and made on this chilly night. She thanked him, and he nodded, ignoring her begrudging tone.
“One more thing, and I’ll leave you. What did your last employer do when you made a mistake?”
Phoebe’s breath caught. “She withheld my pay.”
Calum crossed his arms in front of him. “I’m not paying you enough as it is. But the next time you break one of my rules, I intend to dispense correction.”
“Correction?” She had a feeling she knew where this was going.
“Aye. I believe that a good firm discipline goes a long way to helping learn a lesson.”
“Discipline? Like whipping?”
“Not a whip. But a good spanking with a hand, or a switch, or a tawse, depending on the crime.” Even in the darkness, she could tell he was dead serious.
She swallowed hard. “I don’t intend to make mistakes.”
“Good. Then, there’s no reason for you to protest. But, Phoebe,” he took her chin in a firm grip, so she had no choice but to look at him, “I catch you walking home after dark, alone, and I’ll turn your bottom red. Do you ken?”
In the dim glow of the fire, Phoebe stared into her employer’s eyes. She didn’t know what to say.
His touch softened, along with his voice. “I won’t beat you, or harm you unduly. But I will spank you hard enough that you’ll think twice before you disobey again.”
She stared at him for a moment. To her surprise, he reached down and rolled a large, round log out before the fire. He seated himself on it, his great legs stretching out into her space.
“Come here.” The big man patted his lap.
“What?” she squeaked.
“Here, Phoebe,” he said, taking her hand and tugging her down. “Over my knees, just like that.”
He was so much bigger and stronger than her, she had no choice but to obey. Her body obeyed while her mind numbed with shock. She found herself over his lap, belly pressed to thighs thick as tree trunks.
“What are you doing?” Her voice still had a squeaky, breathless quality.
“Showing you what it means to take you in hand. Now, this is your first spanking, and a trial run for us both, so I’m going to talk you through it, then give you a few light swats. I’ll end with one real one, for good measure.”
Face down, feeling Calum’s touch as he positioned her, Phoebe’s breath came faster.
“Shhh, lass.” He ran a broad hand over her back, stopping at her rump. “Easy now. Each spanking starts with a lecture, where we discuss your behavior, and I tell you to take your place. Sometimes it’ll be over my lap; other times I’ll have you lean over something and stick out your bum.”
Heat flooded her cheeks as he started pulling up her skirts. One part of her mind was screaming at her to move, but the rest of her stayed as quiet and meek as a lamb, submitting to the humiliating position and hanging limply over his legs.
“When you’ve earned a wee punishment, I’ll spank you over your drawers. Let me show you.” One hand cupped her bottom and she tensed.
“Breathe, Phoebe.”
His deep voice penetrated her frozen mind, and she sucked in a breath.
“Good lass.” His hand squeezed her bottom lightly. “This won’t hurt yet.” His hand lifted and then came down, swatting her. It was more of a pat, and he repeated it over and over again, covering her bottom.
After a minute, her bottom cheeks felt warm.
“Does that sting?” he asked.
“No.”
“In the beginning, I give you a warm up, to get your cheeks ready for the real spanking. I’m going to give you a few harder swats now.”
His hand smacked one cheek three times in quick succession, then the other. The sting was there, barely present. She clenched her bottom, trying to wriggle away.
“None of that, now,” he admonished. “Good Phoebes lie still and take their punishment.”
At that moment, she wanted more than anything to be a good Phoebe for him. The thought was stranger than her predicament, tipped over her employer’s lap, receiving mock correction.
“Now a real warm up.” His hand fell hard enough for her to whimper. The swats stung, but not enough for the pain to linger. Instead they faded into an even heat she was sure he could feel through her thin drawers.
“Once your wee bum is warm, I’ll take it up a notch. Tonight you’re not getting very many, so lie still like a good lass, and take your punishment.”
Again he surprised her, undoing her drawers and baring her bottom. Phoebe felt a strange prickle between her legs; the sensation distracted her from the shame of having her drawers down and in plain view of the handsome Mr. MacDonnell.
Smack! Smack! Smack! His hand fell harder than ever, and a cry escaped her lips. Immediately, he cupped her cheek and squeezed it, and the sting left.
“In a proper punishment, I wouldn’t soothe the flesh so soon. I’d let the pain teach you a lesson.” He spanked her again, one buttock and then the other, an even rhythm that made her insides pulse. The sensations confused Phoebe; the ache growing inside her was worse than the punishment. Was she enjoying the pain?
Calum kept up his lecture. “But for now, I’m just going to show you how it will be. You will mind my rules, and let me walk you home. Your safety is my utmost concern.” He emphasized this point with a particularly hard swat. “If I catch you disobeying me again…” For a long count, his hand peppered her bottom with relentless smacks. Each slap made a sharp sound and added to the heat, but Phoebe could tell he was holding back.
Still, when he stopped, she relaxed.
“One more, Phoebe. And this is a real one, for leaving and going out alone into the dark. It could be dangerous for a wee one such as yourself, and I’ll not allow it.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
His hand squeezed her bottom, once, and she could tell how a good rubbing would take the pain away.
Then he lifted it and let his palm fall, catching her hard on her sit spot, sending her body forward into his legs. Her breath left in a whoosh and she trembled. That one had actually hurt. A whole session of swats like that, and she’d really be sorry.
“After the spanking’s done, I’ll talk to you and make sure you learned your lesson. Then I’ll tell you you’re a good girl, and that all is forgiven, and then it’s done.”
She waited, holding her body stiff over his legs so she wouldn’t tremble. When he didn’t touch her again, she pushed off his lap, backing a
way as far as the hut would let her.
Calum let her retreat.
“You’re all right, Phoebe. You did very well.”
She stared at him, panting. “If I break your rules, or put my life in danger, you’ll do that again? You’ll spank me, just like that?”
“Just like that, only harder.”
“Those are the terms of your employment?”
“Those are the terms.”
He rose, and took a step forward so he was close enough to reach out and stroke the strands of hair from her face. His thumb brushed her cheek, and suddenly all her senses were alive and singing. Her bottom throbbed, reminding her of his careful, but dominating hands.
She ducked her head, shying away from his fingers, and he dropped his hand. Even his light touch on her jaw sent a thrill through her and she didn’t want to think about it, or feel it any more.
“We understand each other, Mr. MacDonnell.”
And just like that, angry Calum was gone, replaced with the easygoing giant she knew well.
“Good,” he said with satisfaction. “Then I look forward to seeing you home tomorrow night.”
That night, when Calum left, Phoebe tossed and turned in her bed. Her bottom felt warm, but not so sore she couldn’t get comfortable. The real ache was inside her, a steady blaze that had caught when Calum had sat in front of her fire and pulled her over his knees. She squeezed her eyes shut and imagined it over and over again: his hands guiding her and drawing her clothes off as his deep, warm voice narrated the act. He was so strong, and so careful with her.
And now, even though the skin on her bottom didn’t sting anymore, she burned.
Other than that one confrontation, Phoebe quickly settled into her new home. She never would’ve thought she’d take to living in the deep wilderness like she did, but she grew more content with each passing day.
One day, when her employer was gone, she couldn’t help singing as she did laundry, stopping only when she thought she saw something lurking in the brush.
“Wolfie?” she called. The woods around Calum’s lodge were dark and deep, and she could easily scare herself imaging the monsters lurking in the dark. She knew evil existed. Her own family had taught her that.
When the big dog burst out of the forest, she felt relief. “Oh, Wolfie, you gave me a scare.” She scolded him for a few minutes as he trotted around, finding his bone from the last deer Calum butchered.
There were monsters in the world; she knew that, but she felt safe. Her handsome employer had something to do with that.
He was often quiet, sinking into long brooding spells at night. Sometimes he whittled with a little knife and a piece of wood, and other times he sat in his chair, staring at the fire and brooding.
One night he perked up when she took out her needle and thread, and the scarves she was making for Mrs. Martin.
“What are ye doing, lass?”
Phoebe showed him. “I usually sew for a few hours before bed, but the firelight is better here.”
“You sew at night, after working all day?”
“Yes,” she said nervously. “But it’s not during the time I’m beholden to you.”
He caught her in his steady grey stare. “You’re not beholden to me. Stitch here as much as you like. But aren’t you tired after a full day’s work?”
“A little,” she admitted. “But I’m used to it. At Mrs. Covey’s, I did the same.”
His brow furrowed for a moment as he frowned at the fire. She took a moment to admire the way the firelight caught the red tints in his blondish locks. She noticed early that he’d shaved his cheeks a little and trimmed his beard, and was wearing a newer buckskin jacket, and trousers brushed of all mud. The effect sent little pleasant flutters through her.
“Make sure you get enough sleep, lass. You already don’t eat enough. Wolfie has more meat on his bones than ye, and you’re a mite taller than him.”
She bristled, but his grin told her he was teasing. A smile on those full lips was truly breathtaking, and Phoebe took a deep breath and concentrated on her stitching again.
All too soon, her eyes grew tired. “I best be getting home.”
Her employer stood. “I’ll walk you.”
It was getting darker earlier and earlier, so Mr. MacDonnell carried a lamp. They went along silently, Phoebe swinging her foot in the usual gait. Her body didn’t ache as much anymore; her muscles were stronger, but evenings she always felt relief when she got home.
Only a few yards from the lodge, a sound broke out of the bush and Phoebe startled away from the edge of the forest with a cry.
Calum stepped closer, his muscled arm clamping around her. He swung her to the side and put himself between her and the dark edge of the forest.
Lifting the lamp, he revealed a little bird caught in the brambles. It beat its wings frantically when Calum dipped the lamp closer.
“Oh no,” Phoebe cried. “It’s caught.”
“Not for long.” After handing her the lamp, Calum cupped the bird in his hands. With gentle fingers, he pried the wings free. His big hands held the little body with more care than Phoebe would’ve guessed possible.
“Is she all right?”
Calum bent the little wing back as the bird shivered in his hand.
“Her wing is torn. Come on.” Cupping his hands around the bird, he strode back to the lodge. By the time Phoebe followed, he’d already found an empty bucket and set the little thing inside, where it flapped pitifully.
“I’ll keep her a day or two, feed her some seeds. No, Wolfie.” He nudged away the large dog and added a crust of bread before taking the bird and bucket to the second bedroom and setting it in the cool darkness there. Phoebe limped after him, anxious.
“She won’t die will she?”
“No.” Calum turned, looking a little surprised at her distress. “Don’t worry yourself.”
“But her wing—”
“The wee bird just needs a little time to heal. She’ll fly again. I promise.” His arm settled around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze before releasing her. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to stay the night, and help me keep Wolfie away from her? He won’t touch her, but he’s a curious one, and he’ll give her a fright when he sticks his nose in the bucket.”
“All right,” Phoebe agreed. “But what will I wear to bed?”
He paused only a second before tromping out and returning with the lit lamp and one of his shirts. “It may as well be a nightgown on you.”
She thanked him and he stood for a moment scratching the back of his neck. “Sleep well, Phoebe.” The bed was already made and the room was clean, if a bit stuffy from little use. Phoebe swept in here from time to time, and had spent her first night there, but she hadn’t explored it. Thinking back, she realized she’d never seen Calum enter it.
She changed out of her things and into his shirt. There was a dresser to one side. Out of curiosity, she opened it and touched the clothes inside in wonder. There were little shirts and trousers, child sized. The real surprise was the bottom drawer that held women’s clothes. A few large dresses, much too big for her form, a chemise and petticoats, even a brooch. The clothing was good quality, with fancy stitching. These were dress up clothes, set aside for special use. Did they belong to the people who’d lived in the lodge before? She’d assumed Calum had built the place, but she’d have to ask.
It posed another question: why didn’t Calum have a wife and family? Why did he live out here so alone? The lodge was a big place—three rooms, enough for a growing brood of children.
Her mind ran over the puzzle as she lay in bed, and eventually turned to thoughts of her handsome employer. She imagined him out in the armchair, brooding by the fire. At night he got rather melancholy. For such a big man, he was surprisingly gentle and sweet. The way he’d cared for the little bird, broad shoulders hunched as he cared for the quivering form—she’d never seen anything more beautiful. He would make a good husband and father. The thought mad
e her happy and sad at the same time: he was so eligible and so alone.
Whispering goodnight to the little bird, she closed her eyes and dreamt of a trio of sandy-haired boys with serious grey eyes, walking through the woods in moccasins like their father.
Over the next two days the bird’s wing healed, and Phoebe slept at the lodge. She liked the quiet evenings stitching by the fire, and though her employer frowned at her fervent labor, he didn’t complain. He spent the time whittling a figurine out of wood. On the second day, she rode the mule to fetch supplies at the store.
“How is the Scottish bachelor? I’m sure he’s happy to have you about. Mighty lonely in that great lodge all alone.” Mrs. Martin winked.
Phoebe didn’t quite know what to say, but that didn’t bother Mrs. Martin. Her own husband was also a quiet man, who seemed content to sweep and organize the shop, work in the back loading or unloading new merchandise, and do his wife’s bidding.
Phoebe understood why he and others scrambled to please the outspoken matron; when she presented the scarves for the shopkeeper’s perusal, the woman’s entire face lit up.
“Yes, yes, these are very fine.” Mrs. Martin fingered Phoebe’s creations with delight. “I love this pattern.”
Before Phoebe could blink, the shopkeeper was counting out generous coin.
“I can’t,” Phoebe stammered at the growing pile of money. “It’s too much.”
“Pish posh. I’m selling them in Florence for five times as much. I insist.”
The shopkeeper accompanied Phoebe out onto the porch, spending a few minutes instructing her husband on how to best load up the little mule with goods.
In the end, Phoebe had taken the purse Mrs. Martin offered, plus Calum’s order and a few jars of preserves the shopkeeper added for her to “try.” Phoebe had the sneaking suspicion that the woman was trying to fatten her up.
She’d ordered more cloth and thread. If she sewed every night, she could provide Mrs. Martin with new merchandise every week, and start supplementing her meager wage.
“Bid Calum good day for me now,” Mrs. Martin ordered. “I used to worry about him living all alone in the those great woods with only a wolf for a friend. Poor thing. I’m sure he’s very glad of your company.”
