Red Skye at Night

by Ashe Barker

  At last, Angus replies, “I see. Well, we’d best be gettin’ ourselves some passports then. That’s if Ritchie and Sarah ha’ room fer the two of us.”

  Before either Ritchie or Sarah can respond, Harry gets to his feet, his hand extended to me. “You can have my old room. I reckon I’ll be needing a place of my own.” He turns to his grandfather. “I’d prefer if you don’t sell the old place off, though, unless it’s to me.” He nods to the rest of the family gathered around the room. “If you’ll all excuse us, I need a word with Hope. In private.” He extends his hand to me. “Come with me, please.”

  I know better than to argue with that tone, and in any case, my work here is done. The room erupts in whoops and congratulations as Harry and I make for the door. I assume Angus and Ann-Marie are the intended recipients, though it’s not entirely clear. I follow him along the ground floor corridor leading to our room, for once Daisy not trotting along at our heels.

  “You want to buy Kilmuir?”

  “Yes.”

  “But why?”

  “I’m minded to live there, for part of the year at least. It’d be a good place to relax, unwind. I could work there too, as long as I can get an Internet connection.”

  “Then Angus and Ann-Marie wouldn’t have been left alone?”

  “Not entirely. But I think we all know it’s Ritchie they want to be with. The rest of us are a bonus.”

  We reach our room. He opens the door and gestures me inside then closes the door behind us with a decisive click. He pockets the key.

  I begin to feel a stirring of unease. “Why are you locking us in?”

  “I don’t want us to be disturbed. And I need to know I have your undivided attention.”

  “I see. But you do, always. What is this?”

  “Those were fine words of yours back there. You were very persuasive. I wonder if you’ll be practicing what you preach, though.”

  “What do you mean?” He’s advancing toward me, and for the first time I back away. He has a gleam in his eye that I find more than a little unsettling. He means business, in a way he never has before. Did I overstep the mark, interfering in his family’s affairs?

  The backs of my knees come up against the edge of the bed. I stop, half expecting to be pushed backwards onto it. Instead, Harry steps around me and goes to the drawer where he keeps his shirts. He doesn’t open it, though. Instead he turns, hitches one hip on the chest, and folds his arms across his chest as he views me. His features are stern, harsh, unrelenting.

  “You were full of good reasons why Angus and Ann-Marie should leave everything behind and start a new life with us in Canada. Everything you said to them applies just as much to you. Will you be coming too then?”

  I shake my head, tears starting to form. I blink them back.

  Harry’s lips thin, his expression ominous. “Angus was right, last week, when he said you’d suit me very well. I agree with him. The question is, do I suit you? Well, Hope, do I?”

  I wrap my arms across my waist, the action defensive but I can’t help it. “This was only ever meant to be a temporary arrangement…”

  “Fuck the arrangement. Are you coming to Canada with me? Yes or no?”

  “No. I can’t. No.”

  “Wrong answer. Strip and lean over the bed. I’ll just have to thrash some sense into you.”

  “What? You can’t mean to…”

  He turns, opens the drawer, and takes out a long, narrow, flexible cane. He holds it by each end, bending it as he walks slowly toward me. I’m rooted to the spot, staring at the instrument in his hands.

  “You intend to use that? On me?” My voice has dropped to a horrified whisper.

  Harry nods. “I do. Strip and bend over. Then I’ll ask you the question again. If you still give me the wrong answer, I’ll lay ten stripes across your beautiful arse before you get another chance. I fully expect your attitude to have changed by then.”

  “You can’t do this. You can’t force me to, to…”

  “I’ve never forced you. I’m not forcing you now. But you’re sorely trying my patience, girl. It won’t go well for you if I have to ask you a third time to strip.”

  His tone has lowered, his voice is deceptively quiet but holds a menace I’ve not encountered from him before. I have never felt so intimidated by Harry, so overwhelmed. But I obey him. I may be terrified, I may be desperate but I do as he instructs me. It’s as natural to me as breathing. My fingers are shaking as I unbutton my blouse and drop it onto the floor. It’s followed by the long, loose skirt I picked up a couple of days ago in Portree. I reach to unclasp my bra and that joins the pile. My pants are last.

  I stand before Harry shaking, my eyes riveted to the cane. My mind is racing, questions tumbling over each other. Not least among them, where did he get that bloody thing from? I’m sure he didn’t have it with him when he arrived in Leeds, and since Perth, there’s been no opportunity for serious shopping.

  “Angus. He keeps an interesting collection of toys. He lent me this. I explained to him that you needed to change your way of thinking over one or two matters. He was keen to be of assistance.” Harry seems to know what I’m thinking. It’s one of the things that makes him so fascinating. And so terrifying. “Bend over now, please. I want your elbows on the bed, and your ass in the air.”

  “Please, I… Sir.”

  He taps the bed with the tip of his cane, his signal that the talking is over. Out of options, out of time, I position myself as instructed.

  “Feet about eighteen inches apart, legs straight.”

  I shuffle into the right pose, but still Harry places his palm between my shoulders to press my body farther into the bed. He wraps his arm around my stomach, lifting me up a little more, and taps my heels with his toes to move my feet slightly closer to the bed. Satisfied at last that I am arranged just as he wants me, he lays the cane on the bed beside me and walks across to the window. He closes the curtains, perhaps a little belatedly, then drops into the easy chair beside the bed.

  “Don’t move from there. You can have a few minutes to reconsider your position, then I’ll ask you again. If you still give me the wrong answer, nothing but your safe word will help you. After ten strokes with the cane, I really don’t think you’ll be getting it wrong again.”

  I’m sobbing, my knees shaking, threatening to collapse entirely. A caning. He really means to do this. Unless I agree to emigrate, to move to Canada with him, he intends to thrash me with that cane. Or I could use my safe word. I really could. I don’t have to accept this—he won’t do it if I say Midsomer. All the time we’ve been together I’ve never even considered safe wording, but I am now. This ordeal is too much. I can’t do it. I can’t.

  Harry stands, walks slowly back around the bed to stop directly behind me. I flinch as he lays his palm, warm and firm, against my trembling buttock.

  “I think I may have mentioned that you’re a lovely woman, Hope, truly fucking gorgeous. I thought so the first moment I saw you outside the airport. I wanted you then, I still want you, and one way or another I will have you. Do you want me too, little sub?”

  Even at a time like this I know better than to not answer. Or to prevaricate.

  “Yes, Sir, I want you.”

  “I knew that. Your pussy’s so wet, so hot. I know you’re scared, but you can’t help being aroused, can you? My perfect slut.” He moves to stand beside me, looping his arm around my waist to hold me still as he drags the flat of his other hand across my swollen pussy lips. I groan, the pleasure spiking despite my abject fear at what’s about to happen.

  Harry does a second pass along my cunt, this time dipping the tips of his fingers inside me, swirling them around to test my wetness further. I let out a low moan, more a keening sound. My body is a tangled mess of conflicted emotions—fear, lust, a desperate longing for a life that is nothing more than a fantasy yet seems so close. It can’t be, can it? Harry wouldn’t really want me, not for ever, not once he gets back to his own environme
nt and has no further need of a driver with benefits.

  “Why do you keep on saying no to me? That’s the wrong answer, baby. You know it, I know it.” He punctuates his words by sinking two fingers deep inside me and twisting them to rub my G-spot.

  “I can’t. I can’t. You won’t…”

  “What won’t I do? Tell me.” He finger-fucks me, thrusting hard.

  I’m fast losing the ability to think straight, let alone make a life-changing decision. “You won’t stay with me. You’ll leave me, and I’ll be alone, in a strange place. I couldn’t do that. Can’t risk it.” I’ve said it. There it is. I’m shaking, exposed, as vulnerable as I can ever imagine. But he demanded an answer, and now he has one.

  Harry’s thrusts slow down, his hands are gentle. “There are no guarantees. There never are. But I can’t imagine not wanting you. You won’t be alone in Winnipeg, and Canada’s not that strange. Even if it doesn’t work out between you and me, you’re only ever a plane ride from home. You saw how quickly my family got here when they decided they were coming. You wouldn’t be stranded.”

  “I-I don’t know. It’s a long way.”

  He delivers several more sharp thrusts. I squeal, then clench around his fingers.

  His tone is stern as he continues to demand answers from me. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. That’s total crap. You traveled a lot when you were an athlete, surely. Why is this so different?”

  “I was part of a group. I wasn’t alone.”

  The arm encircling my waist shifts slightly, and he extends his middle finger to rub my clit. I groan, sinking my face into the duvet. A sharp slap across my bum refocuses my attention on his words. He is unrelenting, rubbing my clit as he continues to make his point. “You’re part of a group now. You have been since we picked up Daisy. Our group got bigger here in Skye, then bigger still. You’re one of us, baby. The Clan McLeod, as you like to call us. The old folks adore you, especially Ann-Marie. My mom likes you. We’ll make you welcome. You will belong.”

  “Will I belong to you? Like Daisy?”

  “Now that’s a conversation for when you have your clothes on and you’re not about to feel a cane across your ass. For now, just say yes to me. We’ll work out the details. You just need to say yes, I’m in. Are you in, Hope?”

  It’s too much, too tempting and too terrifying all at once. He knows what buttons to press, just how to reduce me to a quivering mass of need. He flicks my clit again, then squeezes it. My remaining resistance crumbles. I capitulate.

  “Oh God, yes. Yes I’m in. I’m in, Sir.”

  “Good girl. I knew you’d see sense. With the right incentive. And if it makes you feel better, I’ll buy you an open return ticket. You’ll be able to come back any time you like. If you need to. So now, are you ready for your caning?”

  I stiffen. Surely he said… “But, Sir, I gave you your answer. The right answer. You promised…”

  “You did. You changed your attitude, so now I’ve changed mine. This won’t be punishment caning. You’re going to love this. Trust me.”

  “Sir, please. Please…”

  “Hush, baby. Trust me.” His arm tightens around my waist, and at the same time he draws the cane slowly across my bottom, from one side to the other. I let out a small yelp, of shock rather than pain. He’s not hurting me, but I’m so strung out on nerves I might faint.

  Harry strokes my bum with the cane again, slow, deliberate. “Is that good, little sub? Do you like this?”

  “I-I don’t know, Sir. You’re scaring me.”

  “I don’t hear a safe word. Until I do, this continues.”

  “I understand.” I grab two handfuls of bedding as Harry releases my waist and steps away to take his swing. I hold my breath, every nerve ending bristling.

  He taps my right buttock with the tip of the cane, once, twice, a third time. He speeds up, dropping light but fast strokes across my bottom. It smarts, but it doesn’t really hurt. It feels good—almost. Exhilarating. He pauses, the cane laid soft against my skin. Then he lifts it and drops one sharp blow across both my buttocks.

  “Aagh. Oh God.” The pain is acute, intense, but not the crippling agony I’d anticipated. My pussy clenches, wetter than ever.

  “Again?” The one word is delivered in his Dom baritone.

  I take a moment, shaking as the pain blooms and radiates, then fades to a deep ache. “Yes. Again.” I lift my bottom higher.

  Harry chuckles as he strokes the cane across my skin once more. He repeats the rapid tapping, picking a spot just below where he laid the first proper stroke. My breathing hitches when he pauses, as I know what’s to come. There’s a whoosh, and pain bites again, deeper this time, just a little more intense. I lurch forward, moaning.

  Christ! It hurts. I think. The sensation sinks into my flesh, seeping through my muscles as I draw in a breath, then another. Harry lays his palm across my bum, squeezing my buttock as though to smooth away the pain. I rotate my hips, pressing my bottom backwards into his hand.

  “Greedy slut. Again?”

  I shiver, the emotional impact of what he’s doing to me almost greater than the physical. For once he doesn’t press me, and at last I answer, “Yes, Sir.”

  The series of staccato strokes is pleasant now, the prelude to an experience I’m starting to crave. This sensation is addictive, drawing me into a tunnel of need. I tense, expecting the brief pause, the prelude to the final, hard stripe. It doesn’t happen—the blows become heavier, sharper, then a sudden whoosh. My bottom explodes in a wave of pain.

  “Aagh!” I scream out loud. My bum feels to be on fire, the heat driving deep into my body, shimmering and spreading, the glow engulfing me. My knees would collapse, but for Harry’s arm again encircling my waist and holding me up. He scratches my bum, abrading the sensitized skin with his fingernails, teasing the deep heat back to the surface. It feels heavenly. My cunt is having convulsions, grasping on air. Harry tightens his hold on me and turns his attention to my pussy, rubbing the wetness there, smearing it across the hot cheeks of my bum. The riot of sensation, the coolness and the heat combine to create a sensual sizzle. I’m going to come, the only question is how hard? Will I pass out from it?

  No, but it’s a near-run thing. Harry sinks three fingers into me, hitting my G-spot. He pumps hard. I scream again, clenching around him.

  “Let it go, baby. Let it out.” He shifts his focus to my clit, pinching, tugging, and I tumble past the point of no return.

  I fall forward onto the bed, or perhaps Harry lowers me there as my limbs have long since given up taking my weight. He parts my thighs, the pressure on my clit lighter as he circles and strokes, teasing my orgasm from me. At last it passes, the sensations receding. I’m groaning, unable to find the strength to open my eyes. It doesn’t seem to matter as Harry stretches out beside me. He rolls me over, somehow managing not to hurt my abused bottom as he does so. He pulls me across his chest and folds his arms around me.

  “You won’t regret it.”

  “I know.” I make no pretense of not understanding what he means. “Thank you, Sir, for making me see it. And for not just leaving me behind.”

  “As if. Like I said, we don’t do leaving. Now, we need to be getting you a passport sorted too. Is yours at home in Leeds?”

  “No, Sir. It’s in my bag.”

  “You brought it with you?”

  “Yes, Sir. I’m not sure why exactly. I mean, Scotland… Lucky I did, though, as it turns out.”

  Harry pats my bum, causing me to yelp. “Luck had nothing to do with it, girl. You were always coming. Speaking of which, I need to fuck you. Now. Then we can go and tell everyone else the news.” He grins at me as he stands to unbutton his shirt. “We’ll need to charter a plane at this rate.”

  Epilogue

  Winnipeg, June 2014

  “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes…” The soft but competent tones of the celebrant ring around the small chapel, flowing over the familiar words.

  We stand
, heads bowed, the occasional sniff or rustle of a tissue punctuating the otherwise hushed atmosphere. There’s comfort, I find, in the predictability of the funeral service, the cold finality of it, closure on a life lived long and full.

  I reach for Harry’s hand, find it as always, right beside me. He squeezes my fingers. I lean toward him and his arm is around my shoulders.

  “You all right, baby?”

  I nod as I bury my face in a handful of tissues.

  “We are here to say our final farewells to Ann-Marie McLeod, a woman of immense strength, dignity and resilience. A woman who never gave up hope, a woman dearly loved by all who knew her. A woman who lived a long life, most of it an ocean from where we now stand, united in respect and sorrow at her passing…”

  The words continue, speaking of Ann-Marie’s enormous courage, of a life of hardship and fortitude, but filled with an abiding love for her husband, Angus, whose death preceded hers by just a few short months. A life in which her love for her family never dimmed. The celebrant speaks of separation and loss, and of reunion. I reflect on the quiet but impassioned words and have to admit that she’s good. She never actually met Ann-Marie, but she’s capturing the essence of her life beautifully.

  Ann-Marie got her wish. Less than a fortnight after that family gathering in the lounge of the Portree Hotel, she and Angus boarded a plane bound for Canada. They never returned to Skye.

  We have Jill to thank for the rapid turnaround of their passport applications, but she somehow managed to get the documentation sorted in a few days. It took a trip to Edinburgh to attend the office in person, but Angus and Ann-Marie came away with British passports. Ritchie and Sarah stayed with them until the paperwork was completed and the four traveled together. The rest of us had gone on ahead, including Daisy.

  Harry was right, of course. Canada is a wonderful country. I’m settled here. I love it. I love Harry. He loves me. I’m happy. Why did I ever doubt it? If Harry ever wonders about that he doesn’t mention it.