Black Sheep

by Maren Smith

Though he tried to grab after her, with her sheep-thief directly in her sight, Elspeth charged ahead without him. He had to jog just to catch up, and it was only his restraining hand on her arm that kept her from running up those steps after Jack herself.

  “Officer!” she ordered, pointing square at him. “Arrest that man!”

  Everyone but Jack jumped all over again, including the constable, who more than anything just looked confused. “On what charge?”

  “Sheep stealing!” Elspeth hotly declared.

  Leverton’s hand snapped back and before he could stop himself, he landed a strong, straight-armed swat straight across her fanny.

  “Attempted murder!” Elspeth corrected, and sidestepped the reach of his arm while she reached back to rub at the sting.

  “Murder?” The constable looked from her to Leverton. He was no less confused, but when his suspicious gaze fell on Jack, the man took off running. Straight into the house, of all places, with both deputy officers fast at his heels. “In Penny’s Weight?”

  “For these.” When Leverton held out his hand, Elspeth fished the gem and coin they’d found in the pasture out of her pocket and handed them to him. He showed both to the constable. “I believe Mr. Holcomb was present when one of Els—” He caught himself. “—Miss Wainwright’s sheep ate its way through a bag of these. Every night since, he has abducted a handful of the animals, replacing them with imposters as so to hide his crime from her notice, and then he has, I suspect, butchered the animals in search of one with a gut full of un-passed riches.”

  “Oh,” Elspeth breathed. Smarting bottom forgotten, her eyes shone with deductive appreciation. “Very impressive, Mr. Strathsford.”

  He reached for her hand, giving her fingers a fond squeeze.

  Looking from one to the other, the constable said, “All right. There’s thievery, but you said murder.”

  “That occurred about five hours ago when he buried us alive in a cellar we found under one of Miss Wainwright’s back pastures.”

  “We dug our way out,” Elspeth interjected, and then confronted Leverton somewhat testily. “Which is why I think we should have charged Mr. Holcomb with sheep-switching. The evidence for murder is rather weak, considering we lived.”

  “Kindly make our apologies to the townsfolk,” Leverton added. “It would be just my luck to have survived this night only to awaken shortly after dawn with a mouth full of garlic and a stake through my heart.”

  * * * * *

  It was a quarter past nine before the constables finished asking their questions and carted Jack away. At ten past midnight, Mrs. Brody finally declared the mess created by Jack’s desperate flight for freedom through the house cleaned up enough for anyone to have earned a decent night’s sleep. Poor Mr. Brody looked dead on his slowly shuffling feet, but both Elspeth and Leverton sat side by side before a warmly crackling fire, tired but still too excited to want to sleep. They had both washed their hands and faces, but everywhere else remained just as filthy as they had been when they’d first arrived home.

  Almost.

  After washing the dirt from his hands, Elspeth quite tenderly applied an antiseptic salve to the rope burns and the popped blisters cultivated during that mad-dash dig for survival. Then she rewrapped them. Tomorrow, he intended to remove the bandages and let the wounds breathe, but for tonight, the sight of her bent over his injuries was as much a painkiller as a heady dose of laudanum.

  And now, with a good-sized cup of brandy slowly warming him from the inside out, he was content just to watch her, the flickering glow of the fire’s light igniting a halo of gold in the highlights of her hair and all across her face.

  “What will you do with your half of the treasure?” Elspeth finally asked him, all but shocking him speechless.

  “What do you mean, my half?”

  “You helped me find it,” she said, turning her head just enough to smile at him. “I’ll share with you; I’m not greedy.”

  His half. He didn’t even need to think about it. “I’m going to pay my father’s debts. My sisters will have their Season and proper dowries. My mother will enjoy the rest of her life without constantly having to ingratiate herself into my uncle’s good graces. And his wishes be damned, I will know them all.”

  She smiled, turning her gaze back toward the fire. “That sounds like money well spent.” They both fell silent—her studying the dancing flames and he studying her—until very softly, she admitted, “I admire you. How noble, to face down the fear and disgrace of gainful employment when you could have simply sought yourself a wealthy wife.”

  “The disgrace of our poverty was too public,” Leverton replied, loathe as he was to shatter her fanciful image of his significantly less than noble motives. He thought about it, arching his eyebrows as he added, “There are fewer obstacles preventing me from marrying now, however.”

  It might have been a figment of his imagination, but for just a second, he thought he saw the corner of her mouth tick down in a frown. Her tone, however, remained light. “You’ve some wealthy young thing in mind, I suppose.”

  “The wealthiest woman I know,” he said with a nod. “You.”

  She looked at him in surprise, and then burst out laughing, her cheeks already blushing a bright, hot pink. “You should have asked for my hand before I learned of your walloping ways.”

  The corners of his mouth tugged slyly upwards, and before she could suspect it, he caught her arm, pulling her up off the settee and tossing her face-down across his lap. “Marry me. I know it’s too much for you to promise obedience, so I’ll buy you a mountain of soft pillows to sit upon instead.”

  “How kind,” she drawled, still smiling but seemingly unimpressed. “I think I’ll pass.”

  She tried to push herself up and back off his lap, but he locked an arm around her waist, keeping her right where he wanted her. “You leave me no choice but to convince you otherwise.”

  “Wear me down, you mean!” She struggled again to get up but couldn’t budge his arm.

  “As someone very wise once told me: potato, patato.” He reached down to hook the bottom hem of her skirts, lifting the multitude of them all the way up to her waist. “Yield to me. Be my wife.”

  “Your hand!” she squeaked when he lay it upon the frilly summit of her knickers. “Y-you can’t! Leverton!” She tried to laugh, but it ended abruptly in an even higher-pitched squeak when he untied the ribbons that kept her underwear closed behind her. Her hand snapped back, batting frantically to chase his away before he could part the halves, baring her for a second time in the same day.

  “My wounds are fine,” he replied, catching firm hold of her wrist and pinning that down as well. “Were I you, I’d be more concerned about the up and coming wounds you’re about to have.”

  “Oh. Oh, my goodness!” Her hips rolled sideways, but he put an end to that by scissoring her legs between his thighs. He pushed the two halves of her knickers apart, baring the cringing summits of her buttocks completely. “Oh, dash! Oh, bother!” She erupted into a fury of firmly-restrained wriggling as he laid his bandaged hand upon her naked flesh. “Oh! Oh, hang!”

  A rosy blush and a few thin lines were all that remained of her earlier birching, and he took a moment to caress and soothe as much of her bottom as he could reach, until her struggles waned and grew still. All except for the shiver that trembled her as his fingertips played lightly across her skin. “I could hold you like this all night long.”

  She mewed, her feet drumming the floor and the fingers of her captured hand clawing desperately at the empty air. “Villain.”

  Her heart wasn’t in the insult; he spanked her for it anyway. A single, firm splat that nevertheless made her jump and darkened the blush that crowned her right buttock. He spanked the left side just as firmly, ignoring her teakettle yelp and the renewed desperation in her squirming. He found a comfortable right-left, up-down, back and forth rhythm that quickly had her feet drumming the floor again.

  “I really can do thi
s all night,” he lied, thoroughly enjoying the show as she bucked and thrashed, her bottom wobbling under the steady if gentle application of his palm. “And again tomorrow morning.” Smack! “And again tomorrow night.” Crack! “Twice a day, every day!” Smack! Slap! “Until you concede defeat!”

  “Okay! Okay!” she wailed, throwing back her head hard enough to send her long hair flying all about her back and shoulders.

  He loosened his grip, pulling her upright to sit on his knees, and she instantly grabbed the back of her knickers, clutching the two halves tightly closed. It was hard for a girl to look irate with her skirts bunched around her waist and her northern cheeks the same blushing shade of pink as the southern pair, and yet Elspeth did her best.

  “You could have kissed me first,” she grumbled, rubbing her bottom gingerly and feigning a great deal more irritation than she actually felt. “Who knows, I might have given in straight away!”

  He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing her mouth to within an easy kiss’s distance. “Is that a fact?”

  His husky tones had the right effect. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, and the azure blue depths turned smoky in response. Her breath hitched and her hands abruptly ceased their rubbing. Against his thighs, he felt it when her bottom clenched, and this time it had nothing at all to do with impending punishment.

  “Are...are you going to do that thing...with your tongue?” she asked, breathlessly.

  “Among other things,” he promised, and then he kissed her.

  Exactly when he picked her up, twisting to lay her down upon the settee and covering her body with his own, was anybody’s guess. Chalk it up to another of Motteldine Hall’s many maddening mysteries.

  The End

  Other books by Maren Smith

  Angel of Hawkhaven

  B-Flick

  Bippity-Boppity-Boo

  Daughter of the Strong

  The Diva

  Enemies

  The Great Prank

  Jinxie’s Orchids

  Kindred Spirits

  Life After Rachel

  The Locket

  The Miner’s Wife

  Mistress

  Morogh the Demon

  Mountain Man

  My Lady Robin Hood

  The Next Ex

  Saga: Constance’s Story

  Spanking Tails I thru X

  The Suffragettes

  Treasure

  Varden’s Lady

  Continue on for a sneak peak of

  Maren Smith’s new series:

  Masters of the Castle

  KAYLEE’S KEEPER

  CHAPTER ONE

  “This is fantastic!” Selena stepped off the tour bus grinning, her blue eyes wide and sparkling. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

  Disembarking behind her, Kaylee gave her new friend a nudge on the shoulder to keep her moving and then stepped down onto the gravel parking lot beside her. She knew her own expression could not have been any less awed. The Castle looked just like…well, a castle. The medieval stone-block structure towered atop its earthen plateau, surrounded by sparse acres of grassy meadows, which were in turn surrounded by tall, leafy trees. Condemned as a derelict (according to the six-panel photo-packed brochure, which Kaylee had faithfully read the whole way here), it was spared the indignity of the wrecking crew by an anonymous overseas buyer. Dismantled on the moors of its native Scotland, it was moved—first by cargo ship, then train, then truck—until it arrived at its new home in America, where building authorities nickel and dimed and permitted all restoration attempts half unto death before finally—finally!—allowing its noble reconstruction. And now, here it sat, a grand and historical site, slightly out of place in this remote Ohio valley and ultimately considered by the kinky-inclined to be the resort to end all fantasy resorts.

  Multinational banners snapped and waved in the breeze along the parapet walls. The massive iron portcullis was raised then the drawbridge lowered; beyond that, the cobble-stone courtyard of a bygone era awaited its most recent busload of vacationers. There were wooden carts, horses neatly stabled amongst round bales of hay and sacks of grain. Leather harnesses, pony whips and riding crops that sent tiny thrilling shudders racing up her spine hung casually about. It was truly awe-inspiring, not to mention a little bit scary, but Kaylee was not immune to the historical romanticism attached to every crenellated tower, high-arching doorway and ghastly grinning gargoyle.

  “We are going to have such a good time,” Selena squealed, clutching at her arm and hugging it.

  Kaylee certainly hoped so. In fact, she had every expectation that she would have a fabulous time. Fantasies fulfilled, the website had claimed. Anonymity assured, the brochure vowed. Safe, sane, consensual play was advertised on every ad and every page. The reviews (and not just those posted on the Castle’s website) had raved that this was a "must go" place, and Kaylee had saved her pennies for almost two years, mentally debated for six months, changed her mind no less than two dozen times then finally purchased, not the ten-day package or even the five—she just didn’t have enough money for that. What Kaylee had, though, was still her dream come true: three full days in a kink-oriented castle that promised to be the vacation of a lifetime.

  Singles or couples welcome. Bed, board and costumes provided. Consensual atmosphere strictly enforced. Art gallery, gift shop, group activities and how-to panels available, and on the last day of every month, a masquerade ball. She wouldn’t get to see that, darn it, but everything else…

  Beside her, Selena screeched another excited squeal and grabbed her hand; behind her, a man wanting to disembark cleared his throat. Kaylee quickly got out of the way and they moved to stand in line with twenty other people while their suitcases were unloaded from the outer luggage compartments. En masse, they then headed for the main gate.

  This many people all tromping across the drawbridge at one time sounded like the marching of a small army, and it sent a gaggle of women in maid costumes (some quite modest, some anything but) scampering from the courtyard where they had been setting up chairs in a semi-circle near the front door. They assembled into a hasty line at the bottom of the main steps, looking as one to a tall, butler-like figure waiting at the door. His hands were clasped behind his back and a neat cluster of birch switches peeked out from behind his leg. At a gesture from him, the line of maids retreated up the steps and vanished into the house. The last maid through the door received a snap on her skirted fanny from that birch-switch bundle. The maid barely made a sound, but Kaylee felt that snap all the way across the courtyard. Her bottom tightened, tingled, suddenly so sensitive that she could feel the scraping fabric of her panties and jeans with every step she took.

  Beside her, Selena’s fingers clutched at Kaylee’s arm, squeezing as she squealed yet again. Her face was flushed; her eyes, bright. That single swat put a bounce of excitement in both their steps as they passed under the shadow of the iron portcullis and into the cobblestone courtyard.

  Gazing up at the points on the iron teeth, Kaylee was distracted by a flicker of movement from one of the castle windows. It took her a moment to separate the figure watching them from the curtains. One hand in his pocket, one shoulder propped against the sill, a man in fine 1800s clothing stood framed by the second story window. His shirt was white, his pants and vest black, and flashes of gold from his waistcoat watch caught the afternoon sunlight, reflecting it back at her. Sipping from an elegant coffee cup, he was watching as they filed into the courtyard, approaching the line of tables set up just inside, and then his eyes caught hers. He smiled, though only slightly, pushed away from the window and vanished beyond her sight.

  Selena pulled at her, reclaiming her attention. “Come on. We’ve got to get registered.”

  The vacationers divided down into four short lines, one for each of the waiting attendants, all of whom were so well-versed in their set procedures that very short work was made of the whole process. The lines moved quickly, each person signin
g in, picking up a thin packet and then adjourning to find a chair from the selection set up in the courtyard near the castle door. Waiting behind Selena, by the time Kaylee stepped up to the table herself, she had overheard enough to know exactly what to expect.

  “Welcome to the Castle!” The perky young blonde looked up from the notation she was making in Selena’s file and smiled at her. She looked right into Kaylee’s eyes when she did it, and though there were a lot of people there, in that moment, the young clerk made it seem as if she and Kaylee were the only two people in the courtyard. “Do you have your number?”

  “Yes.” Having fished it from her pocket back when it had been Selena still standing here, Kaylee gave it to her and then waited quietly while the woman fished a manila envelope with a matching number neatly penned in the upper corner out of a dwindling stack.

  “Anonymity is strictly protected and strongly encouraged,” she said as she opened the envelope and neatly removed all contents. She handed Kaylee the plastic wristband that spilled out along with her initial online application. Selena’s wristband had been bright pink; Kaylee’s was jet black. “For the duration of your stay, you will be provided with a new name and a new identity. Please don’t give any of your fellow visitors your real name, unless you want that contact to be continued outside in the real world.” The young woman stopped sorting papers to pin Kaylee with a stern but still-smiling look. “We don’t encourage that.” She clipped the papers she’d gathered onto a clipboard and handed that to Kaylee along with a pen. “We have preselected a name that will be used by you and you alone from now until you step back on the bus to return home. The name Mystery was selected for you. Would you like to keep it or do you have a different name in mind?”

  Kaylee didn’t even hesitate. “Do you have something that’s more average or…normal?”

  The young woman arched both eyebrows. “Normal?”

  “My first name is Bay,” Kaylee confided, offering a pained smile when the woman arched her eyebrows even higher. “I go by my middle name, but I’ve always wanted a nice, normal non-estuary name.”