book JdM6x1406931-20978754 (10 page)

“Come here, dearling,” he said softly.

Hesitantly, she rose and went to him. She clasped her hands before her and looked up into his eyes. She could see that he was happy, and it made her heart swell with pride.

“This was well done,” he said simply. He bent his head down, and, practiced now, she let him kiss her, yielding to him just the right amount.

“Thank you, Angus,” she said.

“I’m going to give you a reward, now,” he said. His voice sounded mischievous.

“What kind of reward?” she asked.

“Get back where you were before, over the bed.” His voice was husky.

She had been so needy, so warm and aching between her thighs since the strapping, that she could not even summon up the will to pretend a resistance. She went and lay where she had been before.

“Lift your skirts,” Angus said, and she complied, blushing to know that he would see her baring her own bottom that way.

She felt him spreading her knees again, and then he was caressing the cunny that never seemed dry when he was present and putting the finger back inside her, that shameful way that had almost brought her over the cliff before, and almost immediately, it happened again—the same thing that had happened the night before, when he had held her down with his strong chest. She screamed like a Highland eagle, and it felt like her body would be torn in sunder, and she was little, tiny, for a long moment in the clenching of her muscles, and then she was gone, limp, nothing, upon the bed.

“Elisabeth, my dearling,” he was saying. “Elisabeth, come back to me, love.” He was sitting beside her prostrate form, upon the bed, stroking her back.

“I am here, Angus,” she croaked. “I am so sorry. I was wicked. I
am
wicked.”

Then she thought of Fiona MacGregor, and she started to cry.

“Oh, Angus. Fiona will come back tomorrow, will she not?” Elisabeth wept into the plaid that covered the mattress.

“Yes, dearling, she will. Do not worry.”

“I am so very grateful to her.”

“Are you, Elisabeth?”

“I am, my… my Angus.” She swallowed. “I am, my love.”

There was a long silence. Then Angus said, “Dearling, I… I need your help to decide how I should help you. I love you better than I ever thought I could just yesterday, let alone the day before.”

Elisabeth giggled, thinking of how he had looked in the pillory.

“But… this wickedness of yours… that I am not certain truly is wickedness, mind… I do not understand it.”

Her heart sank. It could not go on, could it, after all? “Nor do I, my love,” she said.

“Could we try to understand it together?”

The reply that sprang into her mind, that almost made its way to her lips, was
no
. Because Elisabeth did not want to understand it herself. Because to understand it would be somehow to say that it was understandable, that it could be forgiven, this longing to be mastered and tamed.

But how would that help her be the wife to him that she wanted to be? How would that help Castle Urquhart rise again? Suddenly, she wanted to be Angus MacGregor’s crofter wife more than she wanted to be the lady of a castle that lay in ruins at the feet of the Lords of the Isles.

“I do not know,” she said simply, finally turning her face upon the plaid, which, because it was used for bedding, was at least much fairer-smelling than Angus’ own, to look at him as he bent over her with his expression of concern.

“Why were you inhospitable to Fiona?”

“Because…” How could she say it? How could she say something that expressed only the smallest bit of what she really felt and not go on and tell him all? “Because I am the Lady of Urquhart, and… and if I cannot be a MacGregor, at least I will always be the Lady of Urquhart.” Her tears broke out anew.

“Lass,” Angus said, after a deep breath, “you say one thing, but I think you mean another. I think you mean that you are afraid.”

“Oh, Angus,” she said. “Will you take me in your arms?”

“With all my will,” he said, and helped her rise, and then helped her lie down with him upon the mattress with his strong arms around her. “Is that it, Elisabeth? Are you afraid?”

“I am, my love, but… truly I am afraid of myself and not of you or Fiona or Glanaidh.”

“How can you be afraid of yourself, dearling?”

“I…” How could she say it? Her father and her cousins clamored that to be subdued by a Highland crofter was a shame not to be borne. “I… fear that I should not be who I am, if… if you should know how entirely you are my master.”

“I am your master, Elisabeth,” he said in a low growl that wakened her loins yet again. “I am entirely your master. What doubt is there?”

“Yes, Angus… but… but you do not yet know how my soul cries out for you to master me every minute of every day—for you to beat me, to spank me, to…” she hid her face in his chest, “to fuck my little cunny with your beautiful yard, over and over.”

He seemed to draw back in surprise, but then he pulled her in again and held her tighter than before. “Truly, lass?”

She could only nod and then finally say, “Ever since that moment I looked at you in the pillory. I knew you were the man who must possess me. And when you—when you fucked me, I felt like the angels were singing… and even when you… took my mouth… it was so hard, but I knew it gave you pleasure, and so I loved it, and…” She took his plaid in her hands and gripped it close and could not finish her thought.

“And what, love?”

“Oh, please do not make me say it, Angus!”

“You must say it,” he replied with mock-severity.

“I… I got so wet… there.”

He chuckled. “That was how I knew, Elisabeth. Thank goodness for your wicked, wanton cunny.”

“What?” She hit him playfully on the chest.

“When I strapped you, two hours since, and I saw your cunny-wet trickle down your thigh. That was when I knew there was truly a mystery that I must strive to understand.”

He reached under her shift and put his hand upon her punished bottom, and she whimpered and looked into his eyes. She had told him. The secret was at an end. What would become of the Lady of Urquhart now?

Beneath his plaid, through her shift, she could feel the massive length of him, desiring her. “Fuck me,” she whispered. “Oh, please, Angus. I want you inside me.”

“I will fuck you, lass, but…” He looked deep into her eyes. “I think I must fuck you in such a way that you will never forget the way I mastered you this night.”

Her heart quailed at his strange words. What could he mean?

In answer, she felt his big hand upon her bottom send its middle finger inside the valley there, to push again where he had pushed before, when it had felt more wanton and more delicious than anything she had ever known.

“I am going to fuck you here, Elisabeth,” he murmured.

Chapter Twelve

Elisabeth made no protest at the shameful words but whispered, “Tell me what to do.”

“Get back over the bed, the way you were when I strapped you,” he said, quietly. He got out of the bed, himself, and stood to supervise her preparations for his pleasure.

As if in a trance, she did as he commanded, putting her arms out in front of her, across the bed. She lay there in her shift, with her red-gold hair now falling out of the kertch Fiona had helped her pin, and he could scarcely believe how beautiful a sight she was, his submissive Lady of Urquhart, who it seemed, wished only to bring him pleasure.

He bent down and raised her shift past her knees to her waist, and if he had thought the sight lovely before, it was nothing to what he saw now: his young wife, stretched out upon his bed, her bottom presented dutifully for him to enjoy as he wished.

“Spread your legs, just a little,” Angus said, louder now and more commanding.

Elisabeth shifted from foot to foot, her still-red bottom wriggling delightfully as she moved her feet a bit apart, exposing her glistening cunt to his lascivious eyes, while he stripped off plaid and shirt and dropped them to the floor.

He had never taken a girl this way before, but it was not because he had not thought the act through in his imagination countless times. Something about it had always seemed to carry the ultimate means of mastering a woman; now at last, he had a wife who needed mastering. He spit into his hand as he had imagined himself doing so many times and took his yard into it, moistening himself.

“Reach back and open your bottom,” he instructed Elisabeth, and she did. There was her lovely little arsehole, pink and cringing between the pert little apples of her bottom cheeks that he had just beaten with the strap. The sight of her own fingers, at his command, opening her arse to him, seemed to make his yard swell even greater. He spat and rubbed again, and then he placed his own feet firmly outside hers and put the head of his manhood there, where she must take him in despite everything her governess and the whole palace at Holyrood might say.

She cried out softly when she felt him there. “Oh, My Lord,” she said. “My Lord.”

He pressed, but her bottom was tight against him, although she moaned in submission at the feeling of the coming violation. She gave a choking sob, and he leaned back a little and then forward again, saying sternly, “Give yourself to me, Elisabeth MacGregor,” and suddenly she seemed to yield to him with a heart-rending cry, and he was inside her lovely little arse.

“Hush, now, my dearling,” he said as he began to ride her backside, and her cries continued. He realized to his amazement that having her wail thus under him made him harder than he had known he could be. “There you go, there you go,” he said with each little thrust. “Take it now, Elisabeth Grant, you wicked girl.”

“Yes, My Lord,” she cried out.

“Does the Lady of Urquhart have a Highland cock in her proper arse?” he found himself shouting.

“Yes, My Lord!”

“Are you learning what happens when you put a free man in the pillory, milady?”

“Yes, My Lord!”

And then it was too much. He grunted and held her squirming bottom still. She whimpered at the feeling of his yard pulsing there where he was sure she had never known a girl might be violated, and he stood there, stroking her shapely bottom cheeks, hardly believing what he had just done to his noble wife, and still stunned by her obvious enjoyment of the shameful act.

“Oh, Angus—My Lord—thank you,” Elisabeth said, still breathing hard.

Such love came upon Angus at her words that he found himself desperate to do something for her, to give her another of those wonderful spends she seemed to have when she felt him mastering her. There was another thing he had never done, which had always seemed shameful for a free man even to contemplate, but now he thought it might be the best way to truly dominate Elisabeth Grant, to make her feel a pleasure that did not become the Lady of Urquhart because her Highland husband demanded that she feel that pleasure.

Gently, he withdrew his manhood from her backside. She called out, forlornly, at the feeling. He knelt on the floor behind her upon his plaid. Her fingers still obediently spread her bottom open, and the sight of her cunt and her arse, laid out for him, the arsehole so well-fucked that a trickle of his seed could be seen emerging from her little opening, nearly took his breath away.

“Wife,” he said, “you are now to feel a shameful pleasure, because it is my will that you should feel it. You are to spend when I tell you to spend.”

“Spend, Angus?” Her voice came muffled to his ears, through the heather of the mattress upon which her face rested.

“Oh, my dearling—that is when you feel like you will die with pleasure, and it grows and grows, and then it is over. It is like when I give you my seed.”

“Oh…” She giggled, and the sound made his heart light. “I did not know it had a name.”

“Well, it shall happen to you now because I wish it,” Angus said, and he kissed her upon her cunt.

“Oh, heavens, Angus… oh, no… you must not… you must not… oh, dear God…”

By the Rood, she tasted sweet. He ran the tip of his tongue along the length of her pretty little cunt lips and teased her at the top, where he knew there lay the most feeling, and she rewarded him with little shrieks of pleasure as her hands, still upon her bottom cheeks, seemed to convulse in time with the wriggling motions of her backside and with her soft cries.

He put a massive finger inside her, and then another, and pumped them quickly in and out as she screamed her pleasure. With his left hand, he began to spank her hard, once, twice, thrice.

“Spend, my little lass,” Angus said, and she did. As before, her muscles grew so tense that she seemed to shrink for an instant, and she made the eagle’s cry, and then she collapsed again onto the mattress as he stroked her thighs and bottom gently.

Angus rose and stretched himself out next to her on the bed. “Now for something even more shameful,” he whispered, and brought to her mouth the fingers that had been inside her. She looked into his eyes, and the submissive love there, for the very first time, did not depart in an instant. Looking only at his eyes, she opened her mouth and let him put his big fingers inside. “Suckle, now, Elisabeth,” he said. “Taste your pretty cunny.”

She did, dreamily, closing her eyes again, and he was stunned at how the sight and the feeling seemed to be rousing his yard again, so soon. Oh, he could not get enough of this strange, wonderful girl with whom fortune had somehow blessed him. He gently removed his fingers and kissed her mouth, to share upon both their tongues the taste of Elisabeth Grant’s noble cunt.

* * *

The next morning Angus awoke to find that Elisabeth had already risen and was about her chores. He heard her calling to the pigs and to the chickens, and the simple sound of her happy voice seemed to lift him out of the little croft-house and into the Highland sky he knew must be as blue as his lovely wife’s eyes. He dozed a bit, and then he heard the door opening, and she was calling to him, “Are you awake yet, my sleepy Angus?”

“I am,” he called back. “I suppose I must get to the fold.” He tried to keep the grumble out of his tone.