Naughty Brits: An Anthology

by Sarah MacLean

  Daniel only took his eyes off the gray-white stones and crumbling crenellations to glance at her or ask a question she didn’t have an answer to without looking it up on her phone.

  Sometimes, his thumb stroked hers and she lost track of her thoughts. As they ducked into a hollowed-out tower, necks craning to stare up at the hooded remains of ancient hearths and notches where floor beams used to insert, he stepped behind her and put both hands on her shoulders, leaning close, and she felt him breathe in the scent of her hair and the valley behind her ear.

  “This is good,” he said, his tone almost like he was reminding himself. Elspeth reached up to touch one of his hands but said nothing. If today was the anniversary of his friend’s death, she knew better than to try to mold it in any particular way. She hated it when others imposed their assumptions about grief onto her; she wouldn’t do that.

  As they left Beaumaris Castle, Daniel purchased the thin yellow Cadw Guidebook, and as she drove them back to the mainland on the way to Caernarfon, he flipped through, reading tidbits of the history and filling in gaps in her knowledge. They ate power bars he’d packed alongside bottled water, umbrellas, a jacket, maps, and his wallet in a small hiking knapsack. She pointed out the village of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch and laughed as he tried to pronounce the full name—the longest place-name in Europe—several times, even pulling up videos of various attempts by news anchors.

  Everything was natural between them, easy and domestic, and Elspeth relaxed moment to moment. She’d been nervous after yesterday, after coming all over her bar. Daniel had offered to stay through the afternoon to help with her chores, but she’d told him they wouldn’t get anything done, eyeing the rather excessive bulge in his pants.

  He’d had to agree with her, watching as she reluctantly pulled her sweats back on, and she held his gaze, licking her lips as she offered to get him off, too. Daniel had kissed her forehead and promised to take care of himself before she lost any more time away from work.

  With a boldness that took her own breath away, Elspeth had asked to watch.

  And he’d let her.

  In the tiny, dark-paneled bathroom, she’d leaned against the door and stared, hot and excited enough it would’ve been easy to bring herself again, too. Instead, she’d forced her anticipation into a panting need, a pain, while he stroked and fingered himself, lashes lowered except for when he occasionally snapped his gaze to hers and seemed to glare with passion.

  Elspeth had realized in that drawn-out, deliciously dirty moment that she liked needing something so badly, something that would definitely make her happy. It was a perfect ache, wanting something new—a future apart from the expectations of grief or the past, different from selling or not selling. Another option, not either/or, but more.

  Her heart blew out and open while he gave her the gift she’d asked for, coming messy and with gritted teeth, in his fancy suit and his big dick reddened and spent.

  As he’d shivered and breathed himself calmer, reaching for paper towels, Elspeth had fled.

  She’d dived back into cleaning the bar, gave up mopping, and had the stools and tables nearly set to rights again when he emerged, perfectly coiffed, from polished shoes to slick black hair. She said, “I’ll pick you up at half-eight tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ll pack snacks,” he had answered with a friendly smile, and as he walked past, he took his jacket, which Elspeth had folded carefully.

  They’d not seen each other again until she pulled into the Blue Garden Guesthouse car park at eight-thirty sharp, and he walked out in jeans and a dark green sweater, knapsack arms clipped across his chest in a way that accentuated the breadth of his shoulders.

  It had been the most glorious day, sun-bright and green, warm despite the cool wind gusting off the ocean. After Beaumaris, they wove along the coast to Caernarfon, another Edward I castle with layers of squared-off towers, this one in a larger town, its walls surrounded by ocean, city, and a long car park. This castle had been more rebuilt, and they could explore different levels, climbing up into the ramparts to gaze out over the gray roofs of the city while wind snapped royal flags above their heads. They weren’t alone at all, and Daniel had bought his Cadw book at the start this time so he could read things as they went, exploring slowly. Elspeth was more than content to go where he willed, reading placards and discussing what it must have smelled like eight hundred years ago.

  Especially because he continued to hold her hand.

  Once he’d frozen in a tower room clustered with a dozen other tourists, his body suddenly rigid, but before Elspeth could tug him into the next room or ask if he was all right, he blew out a long breath and let go of whatever had happened. With a sad, self-deprecating smile he’d said, “Sorry.”

  “For what?” she’d replied, and they’d stepped together into a long inner hall, filled with exhibits of weaponry and uniforms and flags. It was the Royal Welch Fusiliers Museum, housed there at Caernarfon.

  Daniel took his time, and Elspeth followed, wondering if being surrounded by the trappings of war made this day better or worse for him. Wondering when he’d tell her what had happened to him—or if he ever would, and whether she could stomach not knowing.

  She was thinking long-term, she realized. After five days, she was wondering if it would be months or years before she knew him completely.

  “I’ve read some of his poetry,” Daniel said, before a display of a lovely silver cross medal with a white and purple ribbon.

  Elspeth leaned closer. It was a Military Cross, awarded to Second Lieutenant Siegfried Loraine Sassoon in 1916. “Oh,” she murmured.

  “He was not a fan of war.”

  “Is anybody?”

  Daniel slid her a look that was less sad and more knowing. “Yeah.”

  Elspeth put her hand in his again, curling their fingers together. “I didn’t know you like poetry.”

  “My therapist gave it to me—Sassoon had PTSD, too, and wrote poetry and memoirs. I read some.”

  He said it all so lightly, especially the too, that Elspeth could’ve ignored the implications. All she did was nod.

  “He lost several very good friends and his brother,” Daniel said.

  Did you? She wanted desperately to ask.

  “Too bad I’m shit at writing poetry.”

  “You’re good at other things,” Elspeth murmured.

  Daniel’s eyes lit up, and the surprise in his smile put a real jump to her pulse. “I sure am,” he said slowly.

  They’d left the museum and wandered the rest of the grounds, until it was time to find lunch.

  As they ate, in a low-ceilinged café with sandwiches and Elspeth’s favorite lager, she told him about coming here as a little girl with a school trip, and Daniel told her about his family.

  Mom and Dad living in Chicago, both working in the family business—which started as a corner pharmacy in the early 1900s and grew, thanks to hard work and his grandmother’s money. She’d been a rich Protestant who’d nearly been disowned for marrying a Catholic, but when the profits began to accrue, she was forgiven. Elspeth said she didn’t realize things like that happened in America.

  “Rich people everywhere are like that,” he’d said.

  “I wouldn’t know,” she teased, and Daniel had cocked his lips and said, “Maybe you will someday.”

  Certainly—certainly—he meant when she accepted that offer for The Fort, or if she managed to be a world-class singer. But she wanted him to mean because she’d be his.

  Elspeth was smitten.

  He also had a sister and brother-in-law and two nieces, and he related the shenanigans his mum had reported when he called her Saturday morning.

  He voluntarily called his mother. Elspeth grinned.

  “I like that one,” Daniel had said.

  “What one?”

  “That smile.”

  Her joy drifted away into flirtatious amusement. “My smile.”

  “You have so many differ
ent ones.” His voice was low burning embers, his eyes insistent. “For different customers, different emotions, even a sad smile. And one for me, when you’re about to command me to . . . do what you want. And that one from just now. The wide-open grin.”

  Elspeth felt her face falling away from every possible smile, she was so touched. She stood up, hands on the table, and leaned over to kiss him.

  Daniel returned it, fitting their lips together, just barely parted, and when she pulled back, Elspeth said, “We have another stop to make.”

  Chapter Ten

  Elspeth dragged him down the road to a corner store.

  “Wait here,” she said, voice higher than usual, but Daniel nodded, sliding his hands into his pockets, and she darted inside.

  This town was rushing with cars and people, on a bright Tuesday afternoon. The castle wall rose over rows of converted shops and quaint cafes, and Daniel looked up at the flag snapping high against the blue, blue sky. They’d stood beside it only a couple of hours ago.

  He took a breath and let his finger skim along Alvin’s lighter at the bottom of his jeans pocket. He hadn’t pulled it out all day, even when that woman’s laugh had so sharply triggered a memory, and not in the car this morning as Elspeth drove him mostly in companionable silence. They’d swept along narrow roads through forest and hill to the island of Anglesey, and he’d enjoyed looking at her profile as she drove with her chin slightly raised, like she was ready to literally fight traffic. Not that there was much of it.

  He’d enjoyed everything today.

  For a while he even forgot it was the anniversary, and forgot he was lying to her, too.

  Nothing had ever made him as eager and constantly turned on as Elspeth Gwenlan, and he felt like a kid waiting to open presents on Christmas morning every time she looked at him. Would she tell him she wanted to watch him masturbate again? Christ, he hoped so. Would she talk about some damn opera and wiggle at the way it made her feel? Or grow thoughtful as her mind whirled, each twist and turn splattered across her face? Or would she give him that smile again? The one that said, you make me happy. You make me happy, and I didn’t know I could be happy again.

  Daniel leaned against the external wall of the corner store, and hung his head to look down at his feet so nobody could see that he was smiling, too. The gesture pulled the scars on his back, the ones trailing up his neck from burns and skin grafts. The sensation always made him a little nauseated, but this time he wondered if maybe Elspeth wouldn’t mind them.

  He wondered if maybe he could give her everything she wanted, and then leave before she knew he was a liar. Make this good enough she never regretted it, even if she hated him after.

  She’d been inside for a long time.

  At least seven or eight minutes. What could she possibly need in there?

  He checked his phone, ignoring the work emails like he’d been ignoring everything from Pella for days. He had a few news items and notifications he deleted, since he was supposed to be on a recovery vacation. Far, far away from stress. He didn’t delete the email from Alvin’s brother, who always emailed this time of year. Daniel always responded about a month late. It was the best he could do.

  His shoulder muscles were stiffening with tension. Last year he’d been so wound up he punched a manager in the face for he didn’t even remember what. Except he’d been so fucking frustrated. The year before that he’d spent today drunk.

  Daniel needed Elspeth back. Before he got too fidgety. Before he lost it and snapped or—or cried.

  A traitor thought whispered, what if she doesn’t mind your tears, you coward.

  Pushing off the wall, he spun to escape himself, charging for the door.

  It swished open and there was Elspeth, cheeks bright pink, eyes wide as she nearly ran into him.

  She had a single plastic bag crushed to her chest, and tried to smile.

  “Elspeth,” he said, gripping her arms, frowning too hard because he wanted to know why she was too upset to smile.

  With a broad grimace, she shook her head.

  Not upset. Embarrassed. Acutely embarrassed.

  Biting her bottom lip until it turned white, she opened the bag. “I just stood there for so long, staring. Reading the boxes! There weren’t even that many to choose from, but I didn’t know . . . ”

  Daniel’s whole body felt like it was glowing, pushing out and out and out until he’d float away like a hot air balloon. The bag had several different kinds of condoms. His breath hissed through his teeth. She wanted him. She wanted him enough to— “You got plenty,” he managed to strangle out, sure he was holding her too tightly.

  “I didn’t know what was best! What . . .” her voice dropped. “You just seem . . . large. But just because you’re bigger than Alfie and Sam—the only other—well. It doesn’t mean . . . I . . . So I don’t know how to tell what is . . . Does it matter? And so I stared and stared, and I Googled it, Daniel. I Googled it while I was standing there! And then someone . . .” Her eyes dropped shut as if she couldn’t bear it. “Someone asked if I needed help. It was mortifying.”

  Daniel had never been so charmed in his life. He let go of her shoulders and cupped her face. “Okay, beautiful,” he murmured, then kissed her forehead. She smelled indefinably good. His own smile grew, even though she couldn’t see it. As Elspeth melted into him, arms (and sack of condoms) going around his waist, he whispered, “I’m sorry my penis is so big.”

  Her body went rigid and she gasped.

  There in the bright afternoon street, he held her, eyes closed and face pressed to her hair, and Elspeth slowly started to shake with laughter.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was five p.m. Tuesday, and they climbed the loose rubble path up the hill to the last castle of their day: Dolwyddelan, only twenty minutes south of Caerafon. Elspeth wanted to show him a true Welsh castle, built by a Welsh prince, and she had a meeting at six. Maybe they’d take another castle day, and see Harlech, or go up to Conwy.

  Dolwyddelan was the ruins of an old square keep built on a knoll overlooking a valley. They walked a long path up steps and rough-cut terrain, but through idyllic forest and past a stream. They climbed over the crumbling curtain wall and stood in the grass looking up at the old keep.

  They were alone. The sun lowered in the west, and Daniel walked ahead, jogging up the old stone stairs to the dark arched doorway into the keep.

  Elspeth hugged herself. She’d been here several times throughout her life and liked letting him explore on his own. He’d return to her.

  Green hills lifted all around the site, and clouds rolled, and everything was glorious. She hummed the ridiculous “Papagena-Papageno” from The Magic Flute. A silly lover’s song, that sounded the way her heart felt.

  “Elspeth!” Daniel called, peering out from the high entrance. He waved her to him.

  She went, joining him inside the empty old room, with its pale wooden floor and bare stone walls.

  Daniel caught her from behind, wrapping his arms around her. “I don’t know why you didn’t come with me.”

  “I was enjoying the outside. Singing.”

  “Oh? It will echo nicely in here.”

  Leaning her head back, she caught his eye. “I’ll sing for you later. After my meeting.”

  “I know,” he nuzzled her neck. “Ten p.m., at The Fort.”

  “Come prepared to stay the night.”

  He hummed darkly against her skin, and she closed her eyes, holding his hands as they held her. The musty stone and dust smell didn’t even bother her; it was cool and soothing inside the old keep. Especially with his strong chest behind her, arms around her, and hot lips exploring the lines and hollows of her neck and jaw.

  Elspeth controlled herself carefully, fully aware if she sank into this, they’d end up doing something unforgivable in this governmentally protected historic site.

  Daniel seemed to sense her peace, and kissed her jaw, her cheek, and then leaned his temple to her head. He breathed so slowly a
nd carefully.

  “I like this. I like how it feels,” he said.

  “How does it feel?” Her heart thrummed along with her body, wanting something intangible, but etched in delicate lines with hope.

  “Constant,” he said, then repeated it, more firmly. “Constant. I constantly think about you, constantly want you. Constantly like you. I’m not used to that.”

  Elspeth managed to nod, and her fingers tightened against his hands, too tight, really. But her knees were weak. Her center ached again, gentler than yesterday, but the slightest encouragement would revive her desperation.

  Daniel pressed against her, and then suddenly let go. “If I have to wait until ten o’clock tonight, I better not get started.”

  “I’m sorry.” She turned. “I wish I could cancel.”

  “It’s good for me. I can be alone for a few hours. Your sustainability stuff matters.”

  Elspeth snorted. “My sustainability stuff. Yes. All right.” She let out a shaky breath. “But at two minutes past ten, you be ready, Daniel Kelly.”

  He laughed, warm and eager, and with a jaunty bow—which she could hardly take with a straight face—charged off to finish exploring the ruins.

  Chapter Twelve

  Daniel showed up at The Fort at nine-thirteen. Asra was tending bar, and warned him they closed at nine-thirty on Tuesday nights.

  “I’m meeting Elspeth after her meeting,” he said, sure of himself, and it worked. He enjoyed a whiskey until the last customer was shooed out, then offered to help Asra tidy up while they waited for Elspeth. The music playing had been quiet old jigs, and Asra changed it to a current alternative station, pushing the volume to a better level for cleaning.