by Fiona Faris
Chapter Sixteen
Late September, 1689 The Kirk at Dunkeld, Scotland
“What is it! Go Away!” Anton said, half in slumber as a hard knock came at his door. It was still night, and whoever was disturbing his rest would surely get the hint and leave. The knocking came louder.
“I said go AWAY!” He rolled over and felt the soft body next to his. Damn wench, he thought. Why is it they always fall asleep in my bed as if I want to see their stinking faces in the morning light. “Get up wench,” he hissed as he pushed the naked woman out of his bed and wrapped his robe around his naked body.
“Me lord,” she said sleepily and reached for him from the floor, making a pathetic pouting face that he found disgusting. Woman were always trying to manipulate him. He slapped her, hard. The contact of her face against his hand stinging him. She rubbed the red mark on her cheek, fully awake, and at the moment irritating him further by acting scared and looking for her clothing. If he remembered properly, and he was sure he did, the bitch didn’t seem to concerned with her clothing when she was servicing his needs just a few short hours ago. Normally he would take pleasure in hurting a serving wench and seeing the terror in her eyes. But at the moment his head was still fogged in confusion and the banging on his chamber door was growing louder and more insistent.
“GET OUT! AND WHAT IS IT?!” he screamed as he at once opened the chamber door and shoved the naked woman toward the soldier daring to interrupt him in the middle of the night. The young soldier looked from Anton to the woman and then back to Anton with utter red-faced shock. Anton couldn’t help himself but laugh insanely.
“Well don’t just stand there like a gape mouthed fool, boy, come in and tell me why you felt a need to disturb my evening,” he said.
“Sir, Commander, sir. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I come with news of the girl,” Smith said, sheepishly.
“Where is Peters?” Anton asked, pointedly. If there was information about Ella or her capture, he would have expected his lead man to come to him right away, and not send this young, sniveling idiot.
“Dead, sir,” Smith replied. “Stewart too, killed by a highlander sir, protecting the girl.”
“Was the girl with the highlander?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. Well not at the beginning sir, we came upon her in a clearing by a pond. We tried to get ‘er to come with us, but she screamed. We weren’t gonna hurt her, swear sir, but she screamed. Then the highlander came running and attacked us, full force. I was lucky to be alive sir, I tried to fight back, but when it was clear he woulda killed me dead, I thought to run back to bring you word sir.” Smith’s words came out in a rush, it took Anton a moment to process everything he was saying. In any other circumstance Anton would have laughed at the boy and his obvious terror. Anton put his arm around the young soldier and he visibly flinched.
“What scares you lad?” he asked, smiling kindly.
“Well, sir, beggin’ your pardon, but I saw what ya did to that poor footman when he brought ya bad news about the girl, and I don’t want to suffer the same fate. She got away, sir.”
“Well, Smith, I figured she did. She’s not here is she,” he said, his tone patronizing and waving his free hand around the bed chamber as if to illustrate Ella’s absence for the soldier. “But the footman was a moron, and you lad, well you are one of my trusted men are you not?”
“Aye, sir,” Smith said, shakily.
“Well then, as one of my trusted men I rely on you to use the knowledge and skill I have taught you, and by the by, you have shown in staying alive to bring this word back to me, to help me find my bride. How does that sound?” Evans replied.
“Good, sir.”
Anton walked around the room, dramatically swinging his robe. Pacing and pausing, leading Smith in believing he was pondering his next thought, but he already knew what his next question would be.
“Tell me, my boy, what of this highlander that killed two of my men. Do you think the girl travels with him willingly? Can you identify him?” he asked.
“I dunno who he was Commander, but I swear by my life, she travels with him of her own choice. And I’ll never forget his face or his shock of red hair.”
“Smith, every dirty Scot from here to Loch Ness has the same shock of red hair! Common bastards, every last one of them. Can you tell me anything of value that makes this highlander different?”
“Nay, sir, but I was able to snag a piece of his skirts. Do you think that could help?” The young soldier handed Anton the small piece of the woolen plaid material, stepping back most likely worried the commander would strike him.
Recognition dawned on Anton as he held the dirty scrap of cloth, turning it over in his hands. He had seen these colors and weave before. A broad smile made its way across his lips. How God and fate had smiled upon him. It was a glorious day, just more than a month previous. Early Autumn had kissed the air if Anton remembered correctly. It had been a good day for a battle. Usually Anton would leave the fighting to his men, and watch the fray safely from afar, but on that day the battle had come to him. The plaid belonged to a clan whose giant, red-haired Laird had marched with his men, and hundreds of other Jacobite traitors on the kirk at Dunkeld. Their insolence was an embarrassment to the crown, and Anton would not let them succeed. However, the old man had been a worthy opponent. Shame that in the end it was Anton’s strength that broad his sword down on the man’s head, like a hammer from God. Anton had watched with glee as the man’s head nearly split in two as he fell and gurgled out his dying breath. It had almost been enough to make him want to keep fighting. It had been a good day for Anton and a good day for the crown.
“It’s not a skirt, but what the highlanders call a plaid. This is excellent. Good work, lad, this is good work,” he said, clapping Smith hard on the back.
“Sir?” Smith questioned with a grunt but matching the commander’s smile with one of his own. Without knowing how, Smith realized he had done something good, and that pleased Anton. There may be hope for the boy soldier yet.
“I’ve seen this pattern of plaid before. I know exactly where Ella Pearson is headed. In fact, we don’t have to do anything for quite some time,” he said.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand sir,” Smith replied.
“No, no, I didn’t think you would. You see, Smith, for a Scottish Highland clan the plaid is a unique mark, no two clans have the same plaid. This scrap you have brought me is unique to only one highland clan. This piece belongs the clan MacGille of Cadney Castle, and in our last battle I killed their Laird,” he said.
“How do we know which of their men has the girl, sir?” Smith asked, and Anton just shook his head as he tried to hold in laughter.
“It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “We will take our time, have the men train, and then travel north. It will give Ella time to get comfortable. She will feel safe, but she will be living on borrowed time. I don’t yet know who the new Laird is, but when we show up, our troops strong and ready, we will demand my bride. The Laird will not want a battle or any trouble, and he will give her up readily, or suffer the same fate as his predecessor. Either way we win,” Anton finished, satisfied that his plan was brilliant.
He knew the new MacGille would never risk a battle he was sure to lose over an errant English woman. Especially with his men being so depleted from the last battle at Dunkeld, it would be a risk that a smart Laird would never take. At best he will be able to secure a good price in gold for the inconvenience caused by the highlander in taking his betrothed, still getting Ella back and sticking to his original plan making her pay with her body and then her life for the trouble she has caused. His purse growing heavier than he anticipated. But if the Laird did refuse to turn her over, and Evans was forced to attack, he would still be lauded as an English hero for depleting even more Jacobite rebels.
“Sir, but how do you know the new Laird will give us the girl?” Smith asked, rather foolishly in Anton’s opinion, but he didn’t fault the boy. How co
uld a poor, know-nothing, soldier for hire ever have a solid understanding of the relationships between the English and the highlanders. Smith’s only job was to take orders. It was Anton’s job to think of the larger world view, and with this new development that view was beginning to look a little brighter.
Anton felt pure pleasure at the developments Smith had brought him. He felt his manhood twitch. Ahhh nothing quite like remembering a good battle to make a man’s sex come to life, he thought. He almost wished he hadn’t kicked that insolent wench out of his bedchamber. He was hard, and in the mood to take it out on a feisty bitch. He rang the wall bell, whichever chamber maid was lucky enough to respond was going to get a mouthful of his pleasure. Then remembering Smith was still in the room, he turned to the young soldier.
“Smith, I don’t want you to worry about how we get the girl back. Trust in your commander. We will succeed. In the meantime, I want you to get the word out to all the men, we will be marching again soon. In the meantime, every moment of every hour we need to be training. When we march on the MacGille, I want all the men ready for battle!” he said.
“Yes SIR!” Smith replied excitedly. As he moved toward the door to follow Anton’s orders, the bedchamber door opened and a petite blond maid walked in. She wasn’t as buxom as Anton usually preferred, and her face was pocked and looked as if it had been run through a torture device, but she had a mouth and a hole, so she would do. He felt himself throb at the sight of her.
“Oh and Smith?” he called to the lad as he grabbed the maid by the waist and tossed her onto the bed, and ripped off her dress, exposing her small tight breasts to the chilled air of the room.
“Yes, sir?” Smith replied.
“Make sure I’m not disturbed again this night,” Anton said. Not waiting for Smith to respond. He opened his robe and stroked himself showing off for the maid. His was about to use his hot erection to plunder her, and he wanted her to know what was coming. As he thrust himself between the woman’s legs with force, again and again, he moaned with absolute pleasure. The chamber maid cooed and let out a small gasp indicating her own pleasure and Anton slapped her hard, across the face. She cried out in pain, making his erection grow at the violent act. He didn’t need some wench trying so hard to impress him. His eyes closed and head thrust back, Anton was completely unaware of Smith, who had remained to watch, shaking his head, as he closed the door behind himself.
Anton was lost in his own pleasure and ego. This was his night. He would soon have Ella back in his possession, and he would be able to shame another nasty Jacobite MacGille in the process. He flipped the maid over onto her stomach and entered her from behind, so he wouldn’t be forced to look upon her hideous face. With each thrust he thought of all the ways he would torture Ella, physically and sexually, before he killed the little bitch. The fantasy taking him to his climax and then he collapsed on the maid in a sated, satisfied slumber.
Chapter Seventeen
Late September, 1689 MacGille Lands, Scotland
Ella had never seen anything as beautiful as the MacGille lands. It was well after sunrise when they crossed over into what Lucas had told her was safe territory. If Ella had to guess she would say it was close to mid-morning, maybe even noon. They road in a green valley with just a hint of Autumn coloring accenting the sharp peaks rising on either side of them. She saw in the distance a crystal blue lake, that had a bit of fog rising up from it, giving it an ethereal quality. No wonder the Scottish people believed in fairies. It would be impossible to live in such a place and not believe in magic.
“What ur ye thinkin’ about lass?” Lucas whispered in her ear, sending a chill of pleasure down her spine. His burr thick and husky with the dawn.
“I can’t believe how beautiful your home is,” she said, wistfully. “I mean, if I grew up among this type of beauty, I would never want to leave.”
“Aye, ‘at is why leavin’ tae fight the English is so hard,” he said. “I wish it wasnae necessary tae keep our folk and lands safe, but it is.”
“You must hate the English,” she said.
“Nay, I dinnae hate the English, lass. I only hate what English rule over highland lands represents. It would be the end of my way of life, me da’s way of life, an’ his da before him,” he said, with a sadness in his voice that Ella felt she could understand. She wouldn’t want a foreign government coming in and telling her people what they could and couldn’t do. She was learning that there was an honor in the way highlanders lived. She felt badly for all of her preconceived notions about the Scottish people, and highlanders specifically. Now that she had spent time in their company, in Lucas’s company, she was learning how wrong she had been.
“Lucas, can you tell me what the keep will be like?” she asked. She could feel his smile in her back.
“Aye. ‘Tis beautiful, albeit a dirty place sometimes. Mud in the spring, thick as snow,” he said.
“That’s not what I meant,” she replied, somewhat embarrassed by her lack of knowledge of his culture. “I have always been told highlander men were brutes, and the castles of the Lairds scary places where women have no say and are made to do unspeakable things. I can’t imagine you would live in a place such as that, I’m just wondering what to expect is all,” she finished in a rush. Happy that he was behind her on the horse and unable to see the redness in her face.
He let out a full and hearty laugh. “Don’t laugh at me Lucas, this is serious. I’m an English woman heading into enemy territory.”
He laughed again, this time harder, and Ella felt her embarrassment turn to anger. “Lucas, please…” she begged. She desperately wanted to know why her questions caused him to laugh.
“I’m sorry lass, I dinnae mean tae make ye angry. I’m not laughing at you, but if ye kent how the keep really ran I think ye’d laugh too,” he said.
“What do you mean,” she asked.
“I mean, that I agree with ye that highland men are braw and strong indeed, but ‘tis the women who really run things up here.” The women ran things? Surely he was kidding her. “The women cook the food, raise th’ bairns, and generally run the day tae day of the keep. Not a single man, no matter how much a warrior he may be in battle, would ever speak against his woman. Not if he valued his life, at least not a MacGille man. A MacGille clansmen worships his woman above all else, and the women feel their power in that worship. That ‘tis why I laughed. The English nannies and governesses have it backwards. ‘Tis not the highland men ye should fear lass, ‘tis the women,” he said.
They stopped by a small stream to rest and water the horse. She climbed down first, and watched as Lucas winced as he got off the horse. His body stiff from hours in the saddle. Ella motioned for Lucas to sit beside her in the soft grass. She wanted to check his bandages and he needed to rest. He closed his eyes and leaned against the tree, letting out a sigh of relaxation.
“Dinnae let me sleep long lass, I’m eager to get you back to the keep where I know no harm will come to ye,” he said sleepily.
“I won’t,” she promised. Satisfied that his bandages didn’t need changing she shyly positioned herself in his lap and ran her hands over his bare chest, putting slight pressure and kneading with her fingers when she reached his shoulders. She had watched Gwen rub her own shoulders after a long day of work, and even though she had never tried it herself, she thought it might be something Lucas would enjoy. He let out a small moan of pleasure, and she knew she had done something he liked. “Does that feel good?” she asked.
“Aye,” he replied, keeping his eyes closed. “Dinnae stop. Yer hands are like little angels on my skin, but I have tae warn ye I may try tae ravish ye right here in th’ open.” His voice was heavy again and full of gravel that warmed her insides. She wouldn’t mind in the least if he did ravish her. She was curious about the feelings she experienced when she was this close to him. She felt his sex harden against her and she wiggled slightly, readjusting her body in order to feel more of him. He grabbed her hips forcing her to ke
ep still.
“Lass, dinnae move. Ye dinnae know what ye are doin’ tae me,” he said, his eyes open and staring at her, hooded with lust. She hadn’t been aware that men were so easily aroused. Maybe, she thought, it isn’t all men. Maybe it was just Lucas. She only wanted it to be Lucas at least for her, she was finding she liked this new power she had discovered.
“Tell me, Lucas,” she asked quietly, her own voice heavy with need. “What am I doing to you?”
“Ahh lass, I cannae tell ye. I’ll have tae show you,” He smiled as he unwrapped his plaid and let his manhood free. She was impressed by its size. She had never seen a fully erect male before and Lucas was a sight to take in. She felt a burning warmth between her legs as moisture began to pool there, and it made her feel like she needed to be as close to Lucas as possible. Taking her hand in his own he wrapped it around his hardened sex. She was amazed by the strength she felt pulsing out of him. He groaned as she delicately used the tip of her thumb to rub back and forth exploring the softness of his satin tip. She smiled and leaned down to plant a gentle kiss where her thumb had just been, and used her tongue to fleck it, licking the salty, light moisture that had formed there. His sharp intake of breath let her know she had done something right, and that pleased her. She took more of him in her mouth and kissed with slightly more pressure.