I was still struggling with these questions when the mousy maid came to bathe and dress me in a pale white shift. I’d never been bathed by anyone but my mother when I was a child, of course, and the experience made me shy. I wondered, of the maid, does she know what I have promised the laird? Does she feel sympathy for me or contempt?
But all she squeaked was, “Rose oil.”
She looked sorry for having said even that much to me, as she rubbed a bit at my wrists and the base of my throat. After that, she dried my hair until it gleamed copper in the looking glass, and tied it for me with a blue bow. Finally, she dabbed upon my lips the lightest rouge, and brushed it upon my cheeks too.
“Thank you,” I said, though I’d never worn cosmetics before, and found them to be garish. She didn’t answer and I had the strangest sense that she’d been forbidden to speak to me at all.
When she turned to go, I asked, “Aren’t you going to take me to the laird?”
Carrying away a bucket of the wash-water that seemed too big for her tiny frame to manage, she eyed me over one shoulder. “You think the Macrae will receive ye like a lady in the hall? Nay, he’ll come for ye when he wants ye, and that’s all ye must ken.”
With that, she shut the door with a thud and latched it on the other side. And when no one came for me again until the next morning, I began to fear that the laird meant not to ravish me, but to imprison me.
“Breakfast,” the mousy maid said, setting down a tray for me of eggs, blood sausage, biscuits and a pot of honey. And when I took a bite, I noticed the maid’s brown eyes fall longingly upon my plate.
I’d been locked alone in this room for nearly a day now—alone for the first time in my whole life, without any little siblings clinging to my skirts—and I half-feared I’d lose my mind if it went on even another moment. “I haven’t much of an appetite,” I lied, hoping she’d stay. “…if you’d like to share some with me.”
“Couldn’t,” the maid said, her eyes darting to the door.
I took a bite of the biscuit, a tender crumb pinched between my fingers, and moaned in pleasure. “It’s quite tasty.”
“Would be better with the honey,” she said, softly, looking as if she might just give in.
I broke a piece of the biscuit off, and dipped it for her. “Here you are…but I don’t know your name.”
She bit her lip as if she hadn’t meant to answer, so I quickly give over half the biscuit to her. “Brenna.”
“Did you miss breakfast to tend me, Mistress Brenna?”
She gave a squeak of laughter. “I’m no mistress. And I had me some oatmeal this morning, but not such good victuals as the laird ordered for you.”
Something inside me squeezed at the thought the laird had given any thought at all to my breakfast, and made me feel strangely hopeful. Then one taste of the honey upon my finger…and I tasted heather. Could he have remembered our meeting all those years ago? Surely not. I doubted that he even remembered my name. But the thought that he might…it warmed me. Made me somehow less terrified. And it left me hopeful he hadn’t simply forgotten about me to leave me moldering in this room.
I ventured to ask, “Is he a kind man to serve, our laird?”
Brenna the maid stopped mid-chew. “Aye…not that I’d ken any different. The old laird died before my time here.”
I pushed a little bit of the blood sausage to the edge of the plate for her. “Would a girl in my situation have reason to fear him?”
Brenna snorted again, swiping the sausage in two hands to nibble the end. “Wouldn’t ken about girls in your situation. I’m a good girl from a good family.”
Unlike me, she meant. So she must know, after all, what I was here in the castle to do. And soon after that I was out of food to share with her, all by myself. One day of loneliness turned to two, then three, then four. Until I was finally so eager for something to happen, that I was honestly eager for the laird’s summons.
It t came in the wee hours of the night, when I was awakened from my bed, and led to his…
~~~
It was a tall warrior who came to summon me; an unsmiling one with dark eyes and a scar on one cheek. He didn’t speak at all beyond barking out orders to follow him—not even to tell me his name—though I think I remembered his compatriots calling him Malcolm.
He took through the castle on naked feet, my steps soft and halting on the cold stone the closer I got to the carved wooden doors to the laird’s chambers. Torches sputtered when we knocked upon the door, and I swallowed when the door opened to reveal the laird sprawled upon his upholstered chair, one leg dangling casually over the arm. In his hand, the Macrea held a wineglass, which he emptied quickly, swallowing it one gulp.
I saw—to my surprise—that he wasn’t alone. Two more of his warriors were there too, one examining the leather-bound books in the dark wooden case. Another staring keenly at me, as if his hungry blue eyes could see the outline of my body under the gown. The hungry-eyed one said, “I cannot believe this the same lass we found at her father’s cottage?”
“Don’t be daft, Davy,” the laird said, with a laugh. “Of course it’s the same girl. Give them a bath and some perfume and some food for their bellies and even the daughters of crofters turn to beauties.”
He thought me a beauty? I shouldn’t have flushed with pleasure to hear it, but I did. After all, if my fate was sealed to one of misery, I might as well take what pleasures I could. And though I knew men found my looks pleasing, none had ever called me a beauty. “Thank you, my laird,” I said, glancing down at the embroidered nightclothes I’d been provided, appreciating them anew for the way they showed the curves of my hips.
As if he could read my thoughts, and sense my appreciation, he said, “Don’t get it in your mind that you’ve been treated well for your own good, lass. You have been made presentable for your clan chief. Now come before me and kneel.”
There was no kindness in his voice and only the barest hint of lust in his eyes. However, he had look of a man who owned me and knew it. I’d once fancied the lord, thought often of the day we met. Truth be told, some nights, remembering his handsome face and the strength of his hand on me, my fingers had sometimes danced down my body at the thought of being with him.
But now that I was in his presence, I felt more fear than arousal. And resentment, too. He’d kept his part of the bargain and spared my father, so I was bound to keep my part, too. But it didn’t mean I was resigned to the life of shame he wished to make my own. Still, the command to kneel was oddly comforting. It was an assertion of his command; there was someone in charge, someone who knew what he was doing, and all I had to do was obey.
I crossed the room, lowered to my knees before his chair, and dropped my head.
“Do not think me a fool, little crofter’s lass. I know you must fantasize of taking a rich man for a lover. A man who will free of you of poverty and reward you for your beauty with riches. You may enjoy this evening or you may not. Know that it doesn't matter to me, and that either way, I own you until I am sated of you. Whether that be this night, or the next, or the next month, or the next year, or ten years, you have given yourself to me. And so your disobedience will break our agreement. Am I understood?”
Breathless, I nodded, strangely grateful to have someone talking to me, even if it was in this harsh manner. But it hadn’t occurred to me that he might want me for more than a night. More than a week. The unlimited nature of my pledge now seemed terrifying. Still, I would have made it if I was to be the laird’s plaything for the rest of my life, so long as my father wasn’t executed in front of his children. Remembering that there had been no other choice, and that I would have made the same one all over again, I nodded my head. “I understand, my laird.”
“Do you know these men?” he asked.
I swallowed, daring to glance up at them in spite of my memory of the slap I received the last time I looked up without permission. “Should I know them?”
With a jerk of his chin, he
motioned to the man at his left. “The dark brooding bastard who brought you here to me is Malcolm—my best swordsman. The blue-eyed clown drooling over you, is Davy.” Finally, with one finger, he pointed at the warrior with the book in his hand. “And this brawny bairn is my cousin Ian. He disapproves of you—and me for that matter.” Ian’s jaw clenched at being mentioned, but he never looked up. “Nevertheless, he’s sworn fealty to me as have all the men in this room, and they’ll bear witness to your shame.” I swallowed and nodded, because I could do nothing else. But the laird was unsatisfied. “I said the men in this room will bear witness!”
With that, Ian slammed his book shut, crossed his powerful arms across his tartan-adorned chest, then stared hard at me. At that moment, the laird reached for the collar of my sleeping gown, yanking at it harshly. Ripping the fabric open, exposing my breasts to the cool air. Not only to the air, but to the feasting eyes of his warriors. Instinctively, my hands raised to cover myself, and the laird caught them. “No. Let me look.”
Strangely, though, he didn’t look. He simply waited for me to lower my hands, then nodded with satisfaction. “Now remove your shift, lass, then crawl on your hands and knees like an animal.”
Yes, he still wanted my shame, and I needed to give him what I had left of it. I took several moments to compose myself enough to lift the shift over my waist. But somehow I found the strength to do it. The men were all silent, watching me as I stripped to bare skin. Then I crawled to the bed where I was to submit myself to their depravity. My breasts swung heavily beneath me as I crawled, my hands trembling with the embarrassment as I crossed the wood planks of the floor. A hoot sounded behind me, and other lewd noises and shouts came from the laird’s men.
“Magnificent teats!” Davy called cheerfully.
Malcolm said, “I admit, she has a nice round rump to slap.”
And the laird himself said, “I like the curve of her spine, the flare of her hips; she’ll make a nice cushion under a man.”
I reached the edge of his bed, my forehead touching the richly embroidered coverlet with gold-tasseled fringe. I’d never seen anything so lovely—and its warmth and darkness seemed, at that moment of humiliation, like my salvation. But all at once a strong arm grasped me round the waist and hauled me up. It was the laird—he was so strong and stealthy I hadn’t even heard him move from his seat. Then he threw me down onto the bed like a sack of grain, my hair spilling over the linen-covered pillows.
Then he was on me, his hands in my hair, his mouth descending over mine in a kiss. A kiss that stole the breath from me. He kissed me hard, taking my mouth, claiming it as his own. And I gave over to him for this kiss. I hadn’t expected it; hadn’t known it would be so warm. His lips, his hands, all fevered. I tasted on his mouth the sweetness of wine and in my own mouth…burning desire.
The arousal awakened inside me unbidden, uncontrollable under the devouring mouth of my laird. How is it that a kiss could make me forget my shame and hatred? I will never know. But it did make me forget. With his lips plundering mine, I forgot everything but his kiss. And I was made so dizzied by it, so pliant, that I actually arched up to him when his hand groped openly for my breast. He wouldn’t be gentle with me; I couldn’t expect him to be. But a part of me didn’t want him to be.
His big, strong, calloused and scarred warrior’s hand squeezed the soft pale skin of my breast, nearly crushing it, and the pain and the arousal mixed so surprisingly that I yelped. When I did, the laird barked at his men. “Out. You’ve seen enough for now.”
Davy chuckled. “Ye tease like a woman, my laird. I suppose I’ll just have to look forward to my turn with the lass.” He winked at me, then strode out the door.
Malcolm said nothing, but narrowed his eyes lustfully as he passed, a sword swinging heavily at his hip. Finally, Ian made his way out, slamming the heavy wooden door behind him with a thud. I hadn’t wanted them to be in the room but as soon as they were gone, I felt a thrill of fear.
What did the laird want to do to me that he wouldn’t want witnessed?
~~~
We were alone in the laird’s bed chambers, in the lord’s bed, and my naked body nearly tingled with anticipation. My skin delighted in the sensation of the soft coverlet beneath me, and the warmth of the laird’s muscular body hovering over me.
He would lower himself down onto me now, perhaps shove my legs apart to begin the rutting. He would take what he had bargained for. I told myself that he would have my submission and my maidenhood, too.
Instead, the bed shifted underneath us as he reached to pull the coverlet over me. Then he sat up, squeezing at the back of his neck. And I waited…and waited…until he said, “You can cover yourself, lass.”
He hadn’t phrased it as a command, but I took it as one, shyly clutching at the coverlet over my hard, aching nipples. Confusion reigned. “Have I displeased you, my laird?”
His head came up. “Displeased me? No. To the contrary, bonnie lass. But I felt you shiver beneath me; I’ve plainly scared ye out of yer wits.”
I was shivering, that much was true, but I wasn’t entirely sure fear was the only cause of it. Besides, I had the pride of a Scotswoman, so I said, “I’m not afraid.”
“You likely should be,” he said, with a low growl that sounded predatory to my ears. But instead of coming closer, he rolled from the bed to fetch my discarded sleeping gown. “Here. Put it on. I shouldn’t have torn it.”
More confused than before, I murmured, “It was your gown to tear.”
“Aye, it was. But you might think me less of a monster if I’d merely asked you to take it off.”
I did think he was a monster. How could I not? He’d nearly killed my father and he’d already shamed me without even touching me. Or at least, without touching me much. I still felt the imprint of his hand on my breast and some part of me ached still to have him put it back. How could my body be at such odds with my heart and mind? Under the laird’s gaze, all I could think to say was, “I can mend it, if you like.”
He sat beside me and the fire lit up the contours of his rugged face. “Mend what?”
“The sleeping gown,” I said, softly. “I can sew, ye ken.”
“That’s not what I want you to be seen doing,” he replied, then waited, expectantly, for me to pull the gown over myself.
I hesitated. “Does this mean…you don’t want me?”
He laughed a bitter laugh. “Oh, I want you, lass. Am sorely tempted to prove it, too. Have wanted to from the first moment I saw you run to fetch me water those years ago. You had the long legs of a colt, and tended to me with such gentleness that I wanted your hands on me everywhere.” So then he did remember me; my mouth went dry at the realization. “Alas, now what I want most is to ruin you.”
My temper flared to hear it. “What kind of monster wants to ruin a simple crofter’s girl who has never done anything but honor and obey her laird?”
He frowned. “The kind who is the constable of a castle keep often under siege. The kind who needs to keep the rebellious men of his clan—including his closest cousin—in line. Your father defied me, and he isn’t the first to do so. There are whispers that I haven’t enough Macrea blood on account of my mother’s origins. My leniency has only encouraged disobedience from men like your father. I would’ve taken your father’s life to make of him a lesson to others, but you pleaded with me for mercy. So I needed to take something else from him. His daughter. His honor. His pride. You are to be the lesson. Let every rebellious man in the clan fear their laird will do to their daughters what I’ve done to you, and they’ll obey.”
He said it with such satisfaction, my temper flared again and I pulled the sleeping gown over my nudity. Perhaps he didn’t want to see the body he intended to claim; perhaps he thought it would be easier for me if he just lifted the hem and took what he wanted. I should’ve stayed silent, but my anger at his diabolical plan forced the words between my teeth. “They’ll think you’re a monster, too, is what they’ll think.�
��
“Aye, maybe I am,” he said, kicking off his boots. “But not monster enough to force an unwilling girl. So rest easy on your pillow, lass. We’ll share a bed tonight, but nothing more.”
I blinked, confused again. “I don’t understand.”
He pulled off his plaid, then lay back in the bed in nothing but his white linen shirt, one well-muscled arm behind his head. “I don’t have to force you to ruin you, lass. That’s why I wanted witnesses. My men will all be able to say they saw me make a whore of you. They saw you naked and on my bed, my mouth on yours, my hands on your body. They can swear that on a bible if need be. But you can keep your maidenhead and your purity in God’s eyes. I won’t be taking either tonight.”
The wrenching I felt inside myself was both shock and an internal war. I was relieved at the reprieve I’d been granted. But another part of me—the part that had tingled with anticipation of the laird’s body atop mine—howled with protest.
I couldn’t have actually wanted him to do all the shameful things that he promised, could I? No. And yet…
He smirked. “You look almost as if you’re a wee bit disappointed.”
I wouldn’t be tweaked by him. Not on top of everything else. “How can a girl who is pledged to her lord ever feel disappointed when his will is done?”
He arched a brow. “Is that sarcasm I hear? A simple crofter’s daughter, indeed. How is it that you manage to be a saucy wench while surrendering yourself to my will?”
I bit my lip in answer, for fear I might say something worse.
The Highlander's Harlot (Sword and Thistle Book 1) Page 2
