Box Set: Highland Flings: Scottish Historical Victorian Romance Taboo BDSM Erotica (2 page)

After waiting for what must have been three quarters of the hour, and knocking a few times on the door of the hut, I decided that the time had come for me to head back to the fort. The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip below the sumptuous Highland hills, and if I left it much longer, I’d struggle to make my way back through the marsh without suffering a mishap of some kind. And then, I heard a sound which chilled me to the very core.

A howl. Shrill and inhuman, charged with the hungry desperation of nature’s most fearsome hunter: the grey wolf. I froze, and for a moment thought that if I remained still, the threat might disappear. The sound had come from nearby, and I turned my head slowly to the left. Standing on top of a small hill
 
not a hundred feet from me was a wolf. It was silent and still, and it had its trained on me. Then, from behind me, came an answering cry, even more feral and grotesque than then first. I felt my heart start to pound heavy in my chest, and I felt sweat come quick to my brow. I’d never come face to face with one of these creatures before, and the advice my mother had given me stuck in my mind like a knife:
If you spy a wolf, use your gumption, an’ run.
Well ma, that might work if there’s just one wolf, but it didn’t help me with a pack bearing down on me.

When the wolves started running down the hills, streaking their way like silver fire towards me, I did the only thing I could: I grabbed the handle of the door in desperation, and plunged into the warmth of someone else’s home.

The first thing I noticed in the little hut was how beautifully cosy it was. Although the sun had been shining outside, the heat of the Highland sun was wan and thin compared to that of warmer climes. It was nice not to have to rub my hands together to ward off the prickling feelings that sometimes ran through them.
 

It was really quite comfortable in here. Although the hut had seemed small from the outside, inside it was roomy enough, with a large four-poster bed, the likes of which I had only really seen the one time I’d peeped into the Laird’s chambers. Across the bed was a huge stag’s fur. I imagined for a second the size of the beast which this rug must have come from. I imagined the hunt and the chase of the thing, how it must have fallen to a skilled arrow or keen blade. Indeed, I could see the ragged wound where the arrow must have found the stag’s heart. The bed had large pillows which, when I touched them, yielded softly to my touch. These were pillows of the finest quality duck down, surely. Not the kind of thing one would expect to find in the middle of a treacherous boggy marsh, indeed.

The fire was on its last embers, with a stack of seasoned logs resting at its right hand side. I could still hear the howl of the wolves outside, and I knew the creatures weren’t going anywhere for the time being. I had the crazy thought of catching a long log on the fire and running at the wretched beasties, brandishing the flaming wood in an effort to scare them off. But I knew that it was just desperation taking hold of my common sense, and that they’d tear my throat from my body as soon as I stepped foot outside the safety of the cabin. Aye, I was going to have to stay here awhile. I never thought that I’d be pining for the safety of the tedious old fort, but here I was, in the wilderness, with only the howling of the wolves for company.

I threw another log on the fire, and watched in silent admiration as the bark of the wood caught aflame first, followed by the harder timber at its core. I luxuriated in the heat, and felt jealous that mine was one of the few bed chambers back in the fort which didn’t have its own range. There was a table in here, too, and two sturdy looking pine chairs. The place was like a palace compared to my usual lodgings, in fact. A sudden rumble in my stomach reminded me that now was about the time I’d normally be having my evening meal. I got up from in front of the fire, and started to look through a row of cabinets which were under the windowsill. Amazingly, I found fresh bread, cheese, and a couple of large potatoes, as well as salt and what looked to be a small bottle of some kind of alcohol, most likely whisky.
 

I took a hunk of the bread and broke a corner of cheese before biting down on the hard loaf. The flavor wasn’t great, but it filled me up in no time. Although I was nervous that the owner of the hut mat come back, I thought it unlikely that he’d be back this evening, and if he did happen to, surely he’d understand my predicament, and take pity on me in my current vulnerable state. I took hold of the bottle of clear golden liquid, and uncorked it. It was whisky! I could smell its rich, smoky, oak-like aroma assaulting my senses. I took a wee swig and felt the warm, sensation of the liquor encircle my heart and then my belly. It was fantastic, not like any of the grog I normally drank back at the fort. It was usually only cooking wine that us servants got to drink at the end of each day. I took another sip, amazed by the intoxicating power of the brew, feeling already tipsy, my cheeks reddening with the alcohol’s potent fire.

I sat alone but warm in the hut for a while, enjoying the feeling of being warm and in luxurious surroundings. I’ve neglected to detail some of the items which decorated the walls, but suffice it to say that should I ever have need of a mighty boar’s head, mounted on a plinth, I’d know exactly where to come. I’d found it a little disconcerting to begin with, but soon, as I became more and more drunk, the deer’s had seemed like an old friend.

‘Oh, Angus,’ I said to the boar, ‘it’s jus’ you and me pal.’ The boar’s head was not even polite enough to smile at my good humour, but I carried on talking nonetheless. ‘You’ll look after me, eh, Angus? You’ll impale those reekin’ wolves on your proud tusks, won’t you?’

I could feel sleep start to take me, so I crawled underneath what may well have been Angus’ hide, and dreamt of the moon.
 

‘Well, well, well, what do we have here?’
 

I woke in a start and tried to pull the covers up to my chin. I couldn’t! There was something holding my arms tight, and when I looked down, I saw that I was held in place by leather cords, tied to the bedposts like a criminal. I looked up at the source of the sound, and saw, to my horror, that there was a man, sitting at the table.

‘I come back in the middle o’ the night to find a wee lassie in ma bed and a crew o’ scabrous hounds at ma door. Could there be a connection ‘tween the two, I thought to myself.’

I’d never seen a man like him before. If anything, I’d have said that he had more in common with the wolves which had chased me into this shack than with any other human being I’d beheld in my life. His hair was long and thick, matted and coarse, with twigs and leaves and what looked like mud worked into it, giving it a rough, layered appearance, like that of a beast. He had a beard, a thick dark brown mass of wiry hair which sprouted from a rugged, hard face. His eyes looked crazed, like two saucers of milk, and the tiny dark pupil at the centre of each of them was surrounded by a warm hazel colour.
 

Amazingly, he was wearing a jerkin cut from the tartan of the House Gordon, to which the Laird of Fort George was a member, as well as many other high-born Scots, but the green-blue checked pattern was faded and dirtied by whatever savage life this beast had lived. He had on a navy-blue kilt, with weather beaten sporran dangling in its centre, and the high leather boots of a wayfarer or a vagabond. The one thing which was missing from his outfit was his sgian-dubh, the small knife which he’d normally have tucked into his socks or boots. He was gripping his, which had a handle made from the finest stag’s horn, and it’s single razor-sharp blade dripped with blood.

‘Don’t…don’t hurt me, please,’ I said. I tried again to fight against my bonds, but found that I was securely fastened in place.

‘Hurt ye? You must be crackers lass, hurtin’ ye’s the last thing I want to do. I haven’t seen a woman in months, nae, years. Why would I want to hurt ye? And y’are so beautiful as well, among all this stinking marshland. It’s like I came home to ma very own Highland rose, peepin’ up through the shit and the heather. Why would I want to cut a rose’s stem, when I could just carefully pluck it?’

He stood up and wiped the blood from his blade on his jerkin, and when it was clean, he slid the knife into his right boot, so that its handle was on display.

‘I don’t know, it’s jus’, ya’ve got me strapped to this bed.’

‘Aye, that’s true enough, I have got ya strapped to ma bed. The thing is though,’ he said, and looked at me with a rakish expression, ‘the way I see it is, ye broke into my hoose, ate ma vittles, drank ma drink and slept in ma bed. Now, in ma reckoning, that either makes you a criminal,’ and then he looked at me with a wicked, lustful, piercing gaze, ‘or ma wife.’ That’s when I noticed something beneath his sporran, prodding the bag upward like a rod of steel.
 

He sat again at his chair, this time with his legs open wide. I could see a darkness underneath his kilt and I must confess that I found it hard not to keep staring down there, wondering if I might catch sight of this mighty Highlander’s manhood. I felt so vulnerable like this, and the feeling of being strapped to a man’s bed, in his domain, as he watched me struggle fair brought juice to the place between my legs. No one knew I was here, and it felt to me for a moment that I had crossed into some other, wild world, with just the wolves and this monster for company. And I found that I like the way it felt, and I liked the way this monster looked at me, his highland rose.

‘Do you not recognise me,’ said the man, giving me an odd look, turning his head slightly to the side so that I could see his profile. That’s when it hit me. I did know his face. It was the nose. From this new angle he presented to me, there was something extremely distinct about it, something which I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

‘No my lord, I’m afraid that I don’t,’ I said, still wriggling slightly in my bonds.
 

‘Och, nae bother, it doesn’t matter whether ye know who I am or not,’ he said. I felt sure now that I could see something growing under his kilt. It was thick and long and its tip was lightly poking from the end of the material. If only I could turn my head a little more, I’d be able to see it fully…

‘So how long do ye plan to keep me trussed up for like this, like a common criminal?’ I said, trying to show a little defiance in the face of this man’s authority.

‘I’m no’ quite sure, ye see, I’d not really worked out what ma plan would be. I was thinking of tying ya up then ravishing ye on that bed.’ I felt a rush of blood to both my face, and to the little space between my legs which I sometimes touched when I was alone. No man had ever seen that space, let alone ravished it. My mother had warned me away from boys, particularly those from the fort.
 

‘Ravish me?’ I said, panting now, terrified and aflame with desire.

‘Aye, if ye’ll have me,’ he said, ‘but ye’d have to be a touch miserly to not want to lie with the man who saved ye from wolves, and from a night a’ boredom all by yerself.’

‘Ye didnae save me from the wolves, that was…’ I started.

‘Oh I didnae? Ye’d have been just fine without this hut I suppose, which I built and furnished with my two bare hands?’

‘Well I suppose…’

‘No. You’d be a pile o’ bloody gore or some wolves bowel movement by now missy, an’ you know it’s the truth,’ he said, a cruel curl in his lip. ‘But that’s not why ye should let me ravish ye, oh no. Here’s why:
Ye’d like it.
I’m a true highlander, a man o’ the mountains and o’ the streams. My appetite is insatiable and I haven’t seen a woman like ye let alone in months, I haven’t seen as pretty a rose as ye in my whole life. I want to show ye how thankful I am for ye comin’ by here, I want you to let me worship your tight, young little body with mine, I want to make ye happy that ye ever chanced upon me cabin. I want to fuck ye like a beast.’

I wanted it too. I know what my mother would have said, ‘Grab it wi’ yer hands’. With a soft little look, I nodded at him. I felt the cup of my sex full to the brim with my juice, and I wanted him to drink from it. ‘Highlander, come here and fuck me like a beast.’

When he rose from his seat, I saw that I had not been imagining the lengthening of the meat between his legs. His kilt stuck out straight in front of him, hanging over the edge of his penis, which must have now be fully erect and huge beneath the tartan fabric. He took off his jerkin and cast it to one side, and I saw that his body was that of a hunter or a blacksmith, seemingly carved from stone and cast in human flesh. How I wanted to touch him, to see if he was real. I felt like I’d found my opposite, the male version of me.

He came up to the bed, with his kilt still over his cock, and placed one of his rough hands on my leg, before running up straight up, softly, over my quivering skin. I felt a rush of powerful lust pulse around my secure body, and when he flipped my skirts up and then pulled my undergarments down, I felt as though I was going to pass out due to the anticipation.

‘Ye’re such a bonny lass,’ he said, and I saw that it was his turn to pant now, his breathing had become ragged and deep, ‘I would have walked a thousand miles for a chance to kiss these lips,’ he trailed a finger over the soft redness of my mouth, ‘but all I had to do was to come back home.’
 

He leaned in and placed his lips on mine, cupping my face with his coarse hands. I was amazed by how soft his kisses were, how hot his mouth was, how gingerly he caressed my cheeks. Then, I felt his tongue, warm and probing, asking to be let into my mouth, licking softly at my lips. I opened wide and let him into me, twisting my own tongue around his, dancing with him, slipping in and out of his mouth, claiming the territory of his insides as my own. Then, he bit lightly down onto my lower lip, and I felt a dart of pleasure tug at my quim, as though he’d grabbed it himself.

‘Och, you’re feisty,’ he said, and then, he drew the knife from his boot, ‘we can’t be having that.’ He reached down, and for a moment, I felt sure that he was going to run me through. I felt the knife against me body and then, with a little cut, he dragged it up my side, splitting my garments apart. How dare he!