Seducing His Sassenach

by Ashe Barker

  Jane opened her eyes. Robbie’s features were just inches from her own, his beautiful violet eyes dark with passion. He quirked his lip in a sensual smile and something low down in her abdomen responded. Her core seemed to twist deep within, to cramp, then relax. She throbbed, quivered in anticipation while wetness cooled against her thighs in the soft chill of the barn’s shade.

  Jane lifted her hand to cup his cheek, the rasp of stubble against her palm reminding her of his blatant maleness.

  She had never been this close to any other man, had never touched or been touched in this manner, had never breathed in such a uniquely masculine aroma nor had she tasted the salty tang of male flesh. On impulse, she raised her shoulders from the cool earth and touched the tip of her tongue to the exposed sliver of skin where his tunic gaped open at the top.

  “You taste nice...”

  “I taste of you. Try it.” He captured her mouth with his and sank his tongue between her lips. She curled her tongue around it, intrigued at the musky flavour. Heady, enticing, familiar yet at the same time oddly alien.

  She squeezed her inner muscles around emptiness. Jane wanted, yearned.

  “Robbie...” she whispered.

  “Aye, I know.” He reached to unfasten his trousers, to free his engorged cock.

  “Let me,” she demanded, her small fingers covering his.

  He leaned up on one elbow to allow her the space to work. Jane tugged at the laces around his waist, and as soon as the fabric loosened she thrust her hand inside.

  Oh, Lord...

  His cock filled her hand, thick, wide, already moist and slick from his juices. She tried to wrap her fist around it but her fingers would not meet.

  “I would need both hands for this,” she gasped, then an awful thought presented itself when she considered what must surely come next. “I am not certain you will fit...”

  “Ye’re doin’ fine as ye are, pet. An’ dinnae fret, when the time comes, you an’ I will fit very well indeed.”

  She ran her open fist the length of his cock, then smoothed her palm around the top. Jane had thought she knew what to expect, she had seen his naked body before, after all. But the reality of his solid erection, weighty in her grasp, was beyond her wildest imaginings.

  Nervousness warred with curiosity, but curiosity won. She rolled onto her side and watched, rapt, as she ran the pad of her thumb over the smooth, purple-coloured head. Juices flowed from the slit close to the tip. She caught some on her finger and brought it to her mouth.

  “It tastes of salt,” she murmured, “and of... the woods?”

  He let out a low groan. “Janie...”

  “Last night, you said I may touch you.”

  “Aye, I did, but—”

  “I love the way this vein runs right from here, to here...” She traced the path she described, drawing a muffled curse from his lips. His cock lurched in her grasp.

  “Any other time I would be glad tae let ye play tae your heart’s content,” he growled, “but right now—”

  “Yes?” She flashed him a bright smile. “Is something amiss? Am I not doing this quite right?”

  His response was to flip her onto her back and position himself between her thighs. “Enough o’ your teasin’, lass...” He rocked his hips to drive the head of his cock into her entrance.

  Jane gasped and caught her lower lip between her teeth. He was huge. This would surely hurt...

  He rocked again and sank deeper. Her body parted to permit him entry, and Jane wondered if he might actually split her in two.

  “Easy, sweetheart. Trust me,” he murmured, then lowered his head to graze his lips across hers. “There will be pain, but ‘twill be swift, I swear.”

  She nodded. Jane had heard as much from the other maidservants at Ashingburn Manor. There was never any shortage of bawdy laughter below stairs, so she knew what to expect, more or less, and she was not truly afraid. She wanted this, wanted him.

  “Do it,” she whispered. “Now.”

  The next instant, pain arced through her. Deep, tearing, burning pain. She cried out but the sound was lost when he deepened his kiss.

  Jane grasped his shoulders, clung on, too scared to move in case she really did break asunder.

  Robbie, too, remained motionless.

  She panted, dragging in precious air, willing the agony to subside.

  Her prayers were answered. The burn ebbed, cooled, settled into a dull ache. Jane shifted, tried an experimental squeeze around the massive cock that filled her, stretched her narrow channel beyond anything she could have anticipated. Had she realised, she would never...

  Liar. Of course you would. Her inner voice chided her, demanding honesty, at least with herself.

  Robbie groaned. “Jane, ye’re so tight, so hot an’ wet for me...”

  “I was right. You are too big,” she muttered.

  “No, lass. ‘Tis a perfect fit. See?” He withdrew a couple of inches, then sank deep again.

  “Oh.” Jane was surprised by the vaguely pleasurable sensation that now assailed her. “Oh, could you do that again, please?”

  He rested his weight on his elbows and obliged her.

  Each stroke created the most delightful friction. Jane arched, clenching around him. Her body felt to be not quite her own. She raised one leg, then the other, wrapped them around his waist and hooked her ankles in the small of his back.

  “I should like you to go a little faster, if you would...”

  “Ah, my demanding wee harlot. What have I unleashed?”

  She squirmed and writhed when he increased the pace, each driving thrust long and deep, harder, faster. Sensation built. Friction gathered and grew. Jane clamped her inner muscles as hard as she could, determined to squeeze every last shred of pleasure from this, her first excursion into the wondrous world of lovemaking.

  Leaning on one elbow, Robbie snaked his hand between them to find that sensitive little bud once more. He pressed, rubbed, thrust, and ground his hips against hers. Any residual pain was gone, replaced or rather swathed in sweet ecstasy. Jane wound her arms about his neck and hung on tight.

  It is happening again. I feel... I need...

  “Spend for me, Jane,” he urged. “Let me have your pleasure.”

  Yes, yes...

  She was flying. Weightless. Shards of bright colour exploded behind her closed eyelids. Her body was gripped by wave after wave of intense pleasure, pulsing, punching, flowing right out to her fingertips, to the ends of her toes. Her core clenched, her inner channel convulsed. Her senses reeled, then shattered.

  “Fuck, Jane...” Robbie rammed his cock deep, and held still. His erection jerked inside her, and he swore again. Liquid heat engulfed her when he shot his seed deep into her body.

  Mine. Always mine.

  * * *

  They lay on the ground, Robbie’s tartan now draped loosely over their entwined bodies. Jane’s head rested on his chest. She listened in contented wonder to the rhythmic beat of his heart.

  And, she was happy.

  For the first time she could ever recall, Jane felt utter contentment. If the Good Lord were to call her to him right at this very moment, she would die with a smile upon her face.

  She was in love. It was that simple.

  And that complicated.

  He was a Scot. The son of a laird. In time, he would assume his father’s title. Jane was not entirely sure just where Skye was, only that the McGregor lands lay a long way to the north. Robbie would lead men of his own, stride his own battlements, look out over lands that had belonged to his family for generations.

  And she was... what? A servant. Nurse to his brother’s stepdaughter.

  Born in a one-roomed fisherman’s cottage, Jane had entered the world the eleventh out of sixteen children. She had been seven years old when her father’s boat was lost at sea and her mother had been compelled to move her brood to a rented room in Portsmouth where she had taken in washing for the gentry who owned the ships in the bustling port.
Jane’s older brothers had worked on the docks or gone to sea themselves and her sisters had gone into service, one by one. When her turn came, aged just twelve, she had clung to her mother’s hand as they trudged the eight miles to the home of Captain Marchant and his wife. That was the last time she had seen her mother, since the life of a scullery maid afforded little enough leisure time. She had but one day off each month and the distance back to Portsmouth was too far to walk twice in one day.

  She had laid fires, washed pots, scraped vegetables, and scrubbed floors. Such might have been her lot for years to come, but Jane had always loved small children and made herself useful in the Marchant nursery.

  The captain and his wife were blessed with four lively offspring, so their nurse was constantly harassed and prone to taking to her bed at short notice. Jane was happy to step in on such occasions and Mrs. Marchant was suitably impressed. And grateful. A few years later, though, the Marchant children found themselves more in need of a governess than a nurse. Unable to write so much as her own name, Jane’s services were in less demand and her future in the Marchant household uncertain. So, when Lady Falconer, an acquaintance of Mrs. Marchant, had been seeking a young woman to act as nurse to her granddaughter, the countess had been persuaded to let the eager Jane Bartle take on the position.

  Jane had always known she was fortunate to have been given the job, and that she might yet lose it. She lacked experience, or references to speak of, and had a reputation for being impetuous and quick to anger. She often forgot to bob a curtsey when her mistress passed and had a habit of being clumsy. She lacked education, and her beginnings could not have been humbler. But she adored her young charge and was determined to give the Falconers no cause for complaint.

  Thus far, she had succeeded, and she had high hopes that her services would be retained once they reached Scotland. Lady Falconer would speak up for her, and Robbie too, she hoped. She could find a place in the McGregor household and stay close to Robbie.

  Surely, he would not send her away now. Not after... this.

  “What are ye thinkin’, lass?”

  She shifted and glanced up at him. “Nothing.”

  “Dinnae lie tae me. I can hear the cogs whirrin’. Are ye regrettin’ what just happened?”

  “No!” On that, she was certain. Jane rarely bothered with regrets despite her impulsive nature. “I was just thinking about the future. Of what will happen when we arrive in Scotland.”

  “Aye, ‘tis wise tae plan ahead, but we have tae get there first. I have been givin’ that matter some thought.”

  “Oh?” Jane settled back against him. “How long do you think it will take us to get to the Scottish border?”

  “A fortnight at least, probably more since we cannae go by the most direct route.”

  “Yes, we must avoid the soldiers.”

  He sat up, easing Jane up alongside him. “We cannae be sure that we will no’ meet any more. Henry Tudor’s armies are on the move an’ as far as we are aware, England an’ Scotland are at war. I dinnae suppose this skirmish will last long, but we couldnae have chosen a worse time tae be here.”

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  “In the north of England, it is no’ uncommon tae encounter Scots, but this far south, an’ at a time of war? If we are recognised, we would be arrested, imprisoned. Possibly killed.”

  Jane gaped up at him, wide-eyed. “But, why? Because of Cecily and Culpepper?”

  He shook his head. “No, not that. We could be seen as enemies. Spies for James of Scotland. ‘Tis best we travel unnoticed, an’ where we have nae choice but to encounter the English, that they no’ recognise us as Scots.”

  “How would they know?”

  “By our tartan, an’ by our way o’ speakin’ in the main.”

  “I see. So...?”

  “So, we will leave our colours here when we leave, well hidden. I willnae run the risk o’ them bein’ found if we are taken. And those who cannae manage tae speak as the English do will keep silent. Both Archie an’ me were fostered in English houses so we can manage the speech. Fergus too.”

  “Yes, I noticed that, when you spoke to the guards at the garrison. And at the inn, in Stratford.”

  “I can pass among the English well enough, but a large group such as ours will still attract attention. I am thinkin’ tae send the servants back home. One o’ my men can handle the wagon.”

  Jane sat bolt upright. “No! You promised—” Was her bubble of happiness to be so short-lived? Her glowing future about to be snatched from her?

  “Dinnae fret so, lass. They will be fine. We shall give them coin for the journey. An’ I daresay the countess will be generous as regards references.”

  “But you said I could stay. And now, after we... we...”

  “You can stay. I wasnae speakin’ o’ ye. I meant the maid an’ the driver.”

  “You said ‘the servants.’ I work for Lady Falconer too.”

  He grinned. “Aye, lass, but ye sleep wi’ me. Ye shall be stayin’.”

  “Really?”

  “Aye. Really. Now, where were we? Ah, yes. I think we shall pass ye off as my wife, an’ the countess as your mother. Archie can be my brother, or yours. ‘Twould be unusual tae be escorted by a half dozen fightin’ men, but I shall claim tae be a northern earl with estates close tae the borders, on my way home tae see my family safe afore continuin’ on tae fight for the king.”

  “Will they believe that, do you think?”

  “I can but hope. But, Janie, if my pretence is discovered, I shall say that ye an’ Lady Falconer, along wi’ wee Cecily, are our prisoners. Hostages, perhaps. Ye must swear that this is true, an’ wi’ a fair bit o’ luck ye should be released. I would want ye tae make your way tae my brother as best ye might an’ tell him what has happened.”

  She shook her head, vehement. “We would not leave you. How can you even ask?”

  “Because I must. We must be practical and do what is necessary tae see wee Cecily back wi’ her mother. You too, an’ the countess. Ye should be safe...”

  “No, I—”

  “Ye must get word tae my brother. Do what ye must tae get there. He will send help.”

  “But, it could be too late by then.”

  “We shall have tae hope otherwise. I will have your word on this, Janie.” His tone had hardened. Jane recognised that steely determination. She had heard it twice before and crossed him on each occasion. He had no need to spell out the consequences should she think to do so again.

  “Jane,” he warned. “Promise me.”

  She gnawed on her lower lip, considering her options and finding none. Jane offered him the only possible answer. “I promise.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Robbie squatted beneath the spreading boughs of a sycamore tree and scowled at the rain that lashed the surrounding countryside and poured in relentless rivulets from the leaves above him. The torrent had started just two days after they left their sanctuary in the deserted farmstead and had barely relented in the four days since. Every one of their bedraggled party was soaked to the skin, had been for days. Jane’s teeth chattered when she sat before him on his horse and there was little enough he could do to see to her comfort.

  Lady Falconer, the baby, and the injured Colin found some protection in the wagon, a waxed blanket thrown over them to ward off the worst of this filthy weather, but it was not nearly enough. The men were accustomed to hardship such as this, but the women and baby needed shelter. He could not provide it without entering a town, and thus risking discovery.

  Behind him, Archie lounged against the trunk of the tree. His injured leg was much improved, though Robbie knew the wound pained him still. Archie did not complain, never would, but nevertheless Robbie felt the weight of responsibility for his lifelong friend.

  “Which is the closest town?” he called over his shoulder. Archie’s sense of geography was legendary.

  “Chester lies a few miles tae the north. If we follow the River Dee we shall a
rrive there.”

  They had been tracking the route of the Dee for the last two days. The river, swollen by the volume of water rushing down from the hills upstream, marked the boundary between England and Wales. He and Archie had discussed the matter and decided that the best plan was to skirt the walls that surrounded the bustling city of Chester—the place was sure to be teeming with soldiers—then continue north into Cumberland, finally reaching the border at Carlisle.

  God willing, and if they were not washed away by this infernal, endless bloody rain.

  Now he was less sure of his strategy. Perhaps they could find an inn in the walled city where the owner would not ask too many questions in return for a generous handful of gold. They could all get warm and dry, enjoy some hot food, and get a couple of decent nights’ sleep before resuming their journey.

  “D’ye know the city at all?” he asked his friend.

  Archie limped over to stand beside him.

  Robbie got to his feet and shook droplets of water from his sodden cloak. “Fucking rain,” he muttered.

  “I went there once,” Archie replied, ignoring the remark about the weather. “‘Tis well-fortified, I recall.”

  “We dinnae want tae besiege the city, just find shelter there.”

  “‘Twould be a risk, though I daresay the king’s men will mostly be squattin’ like toads in their barracks, or already marchin’ for the border tae meet King James.”

  “We could find an inn, see the women comfortable at least.”

  “Aye,” was Archie’s fulsome response.

  Robbie glared at him from beneath sodden brows. “Right, then. Chester it is.”

  An hour later, back astride his stallion, Jane perched before him, Robbie hunched his shoulders in a vain attempt to reduce the stream of water trickling down inside his cloak. It seeped beneath the collar of his tunic and ran its chilly fingers down his back. He could barely see more than a few feet ahead, and the roaring sound of the swirling river to his left made conversation impossible, even if any of them had felt like talking. The ground underfoot was waterlogged and slippery, and it took all his concentration to keep his mount on a solid path. One false step and they could all find themselves in the fast-flowing torrent.