Between The Sheets (A Naughty Box Production Book 1)

by Carmichael, Kim;

  I am annoyed at my father for his high-handed dismissal of the Mackenzies. He must know all about their misfortunes, and their progress in recovery. He would make it his business to know. Therefore, his snobbery has no merit. We are still nouveau riche compared to the Rothschilds and Vanderbilts. For him to turn his nose up at Hugh and his family is maddening, especially considering how few single, wealthy men there are. None of them having shown the slightest interest in courting me. Putting Hugh to work in the gardens was only meant to teach him the value of humility and hard work, after all. It should be held to his credit!

  Though my father would never believe it, Mother and I are well-versed in economics and industry. He may treat us as trite, though charming, ornaments, but he underestimates us both. With Mother on our side, perhaps we can win him over. If we can convince Father to agree to a long courtship, and show him the shrewdness of Andrew’s plan, he may come around!

  Father should return from his most recent bull session shortly. If I am quick, and he is in a receptive mood, I may be able to reason with him.

  May 13, 1936

  Elspeth will ruin everything! Again, I question whether we are one person, or merely two souls, somehow sharing our experiences through dreams, across time. Yet, when I am in her world, I see, hear, smell, taste, feel everything! How is it possible to make love as Elspeth, but remain a virgin here? How was I to encompass it all without going completely mad? I could not. It is that simple and that complex.

  * * *

  I, (Elspeth), woke yesterday with the sun and went about small, daily tasks as usual. While I was feeding the mule, though, I could feel eyes upon me. At first, I thought it was Arailt again, but it couldn’t be. Arailt’s father had sent him to Caisteal Duuaidh at Inbhir Nis, with Lord Lovat.

  I turned slowly, and caught the glint of sunlight on metal, in the trees. It was a man; Ewan MacCoinnich to be specific. His eyes were feverish, and his hair damp with sweat.

  “Are you ill?” I called out to him.

  He rushed at me, and took my arms at the elbows, pinning them to my side. He kissed me roughly, tore his lips away and moaned.

  “I am dying!” he wailed, then, his body quaking. “Dying of privation, dying of lust—for you. You are a witch. You have cursed me, bewitched me. Please, grant me release!”

  “No!” I protested. “Your lust is your own. I’ve done nothing. Let me go!” But I did not fight. I did not want him to let me go. His hands on me stirred my desire.

  He saw it in my eyes and moaned again, releasing my arms. I threw them around his neck, even as he lifted me from the ground and carried me into my hut.

  He set me on the pallet, and his hands worried at the lace of my kirtle, eager to lay me bare. The laces proved too trying for his need and finally he gave up, simply lifting my skirts instead. His mouth found my queem, and I cried out. His tongue worked with unbridled fury. I arched to meet him, thrashing on the pallet. With his head alone, he pressed me back into the straw, his hands throwing aside his mantle to expose his eager cock. The sight of it was frightening and thrilling; hard, pulsing and alarmingly great. I gripped it tightly in one fist, pulling him toward me.

  He caught my wrist and pinned it above my head, bringing the fingers of the other hand to penetrate my sex. I crested a peak of desire that stopped time and held me rigid.

  His head emerged from my skirts, though his hand remained, and he covered my mouth with his, suffused with the nectars of my womanhood. I moaned my passion into his mouth, and he devoured it. His cock pressed against the verge of my core. I thrust my hips up to greet it hungrily, but he pulled back, denying me fulfillment. When I bit his lip in frustration, he roared and plunged. His thrusts were vicious and glorious. Thrice he stopped, biting his lip to fend off his zenith.

  I whimpered as he pulled away, leaving me suddenly bereft. In one powerful motion, he flipped me onto my stomach. One hand snaked around my waist, pulling me to my knees with my buttocks upturned. The other hand tore aside my kirtle with a rending of fabric, and then he was on me, and in me, again. I reached another crest as his prick found the depth of me and plunged deeper still. There was pain, but such glorious, exhilarating pain!

  I cried out again as the lightening surged, and he climaxed moments later, his cock swelling and pulsing once…twice…thrice...and he collapsed atop me, panting.

  In the haze of fulfilled descent, I drifted into contented sleep…

  * * *

  …and woke in my bed in the Hamptons, Beth again.

  But I did not want to be Beth. I wanted to be Elspeth—small, buxom Elspeth with the long, raven hair and beautiful, blue eyes. I wanted to get back to Ewan and his magnificent body. It was still the middle of the night, so I pulled the blankets over my head and tried to go back to sleep. With my body humming, it was impossible.

  I slipped into a warm robe and a pair of loafers, and wandered down to the main level, thinking that a stroll along the moonlit beach might cool me off, or the fresh air might clear my head. Even though the night air was brisk, however, the burning hunger would not go away. This was impossible! I wondered how long I could go on like this, a caged bearcat, withering away with lust for the one man who had probably been dead for three hundred years, and the other I had just met and gone head over heels for.

  In my distracted state, I nearly fell over one of the large, wooden loungers on the beach. Exasperated, I flopped down on it and stretched out. My mind drifted, like the tide, back and forth between Ewan and Hugh, rehashing the sweet agony of making love, and the thrill of Hugh’s touch, until the two men became one in my mind’s eye.

  My hands moved of their own accord, one kneading my breasts, while the other stroked my minge through the nightie. I closed my eyes and imagined Hugh hovering over me, his thick cock throbbing and ready to fill my body’s every craving. Whispering his name to the ocean, I arched my back to meet the apparition.

  The nightie was becoming a nuisance, so I pulled it up and out of the way. This was what I needed, a way to quell the rising fire, and sooth my frazzled nerves. It was something I had done before, plenty of times, but never with such fervour. Using myself rougher made me call out loud. The charge began to build, a wave of lightening surging toward a powerful explosion.

  “Oh, God Hugh.” It was a benediction to a daydream…

  * * *

  …and then it was real. Hugh was there, above me, his eyes glazed with passion, and his hands searing my skin.

  “Beth?” One word filled with awe and trepidation. The hand on my thigh shook, the other, nearly cupping my face, fluttered against my cheek.

  I should have run away in shame but I was too deep already. Turning my head toward him, I took his thumb in my mouth, slowly drawing my lips from base to tip. Where had I learned such a thing?

  His nails dug into my thigh, and a groan rose up from deep in his chest. Then his mouth was on mine, and nothing mattered but the need in both of us.

  He pushed my hands aside, his long, thin fingers taking over what I had begun. Where I had stroked he probed, with no pretense of gentleness. This was all passion and fury, fucking, not lovemaking. A sharp thrust brought pain and fear, but before I could protest, his fingers withdrew and his cock entered, plunging desperately past my maidenhead. The searing agony petrified my body and I cried out, but he must have taken it as urgency, for he only fucked me harder and faster. Despite the pain, my passion amplified, and then I was clawing his back and meeting him at every thrust. Before I could reach my peak, he screamed his climax and I felt the burst of his seed within me, again, and again, and once more, before he rolled half-off of me.

  “Oh, baby, mine. All mine.” He murmured and nuzzled my neck. “Never guessed you for a nympho, but man, you are one sweet tomato!”

  I gasped, and started to protest, but he covered my mouth with his hand.

  “No. I love it! I never wanted no virgy. Too punchy, not enough moxie.”

  What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t tell him, then, c
ould I?

  “Come on, Bethie, vamp me again.” He mumbled, but he was falling asleep. When his arm became a dead weigh across my chest, I let the tears come. This was not how it was supposed to happen.

  “Oh, Hugh.” I sighed as I, too, drifted off.

  * * *

  Ewan had me by the shoulders and he was shaking me violently.

  “Who is Hugh?” he demanded. His rage was terrifying. “Who is this man you call for in your sleep?”

  “He is no one!” I, (Elspeth), protested.

  “He is someone!” Ewan spat.

  “He is only a strange dream. It is too hard to explain. He is the lover of a woman I often dream of, Beth. Just an odd and frightening dream!”

  That seemed to satisfy him. He released me.

  “Strange names for strange dreams, I suppose.” He nodded. “I thought you were ill. You would not wake, and you were thrashing and writhing in pain.”

  I smothered relief. “Yes. It was most fearsome. I sleep deeply, and dream of this strange woman too often.”

  “You are a witch.” There was no fear or revulsion, just a bald statement.

  “I am a healer with peculiar dreams.” I corrected.

  He stared into my eyes, the disbelief plain, but he said nothing. Something in his face announced that he was waiting for more.

  “And I am a pagan priestess.” I could not look at him then, staring at my feet instead.

  “I know this, and I know you are a witch. My father may be fooled by my lies and yours, but I know you bewitched me on that loch, May Day morn. Would you deny it?”

  “I would. It was not my doing. Elphane is responsible for that.”

  “Who is Elphane?”

  “A goddess,” I answered, “she of disease and death, birth and healing as well. Beltane is Her day.”

  “That was no goddess in me. There are no Gods. It was animal mating, unfettered and lustful.”

  “It was Somhlth, the God of the Divine Male.”

  “Are you claiming I was possessed.”

  “We were both possessed. You by Somhlth and I by Elphane. We—“

  “We rutted like wild wolves.” He spat. “I took your maidenhood with no more care than a rabid dog, and you welcomed it. If that is the way of your pagan gods...”

  “Yet you return to me, looking for more of the same?” My ire was rising. “Hypocrisy thrives in your Christian judgement.”

  “I am no Christian.” He mumbled. “But neither am I a pagan. I am bound to no god.”

  I braced for the return of his fury, but I knew I must tell him the truth of it.

  “Nae, you are bound to a goddess.”

  “No!” he protested, but the fear in his eyes contradicted the denial.

  “Aye, you know it in your heart. You were guided to me, to bind you to Elphane.” I cringed as his hands clenched into fists, but I would finish. “You belong to Her as much as I. We serve the Goddess until we cease to walk this earth, or we bring Her wrath upon us, and all of Midlothian.”

  He raised one of the fists, and I braced for the strike, but it did not come. Rather, he leapt from the bed, and ran out of the door. I sat on my pallet and shook for a while, fearing what he would bring upon me. Then I rose and made preparations to flee. Before the night fell, I was miles away to the South-West, making camp in another wood, near Lyintoun.

  I prayed to Elphane for protection and guidance, and then fell asleep staring at the waxing crescent moon.

  * * *

  I, (Beth), woke on the lounger, looking up at the waning gibbous moon, which confused me for a moment. Despite the heat of Hugh beside me, his arm still draped possessively over my chest, I was shivering.

  He stirred, while my mind was still sorting my memories from Elspeth’s. The shivering turned to quaking with fear. Any moment, he would wake and discover the plain evidence of my deflowering, and then…”

  I could not finish the thought, but I did not have to. A lion’s roar cut through the dawn fog. Hugh leapt to his feet, instantly alert and ready to fend off my father, who was barreling down on us like Zeus himself!

  “I will kill you!” My father screamed, and he swung at Hugh, but missed. “You son of a two-bit whore, you will die for this!”

  I remember screaming, but not the words I tried to use. Father grabbed me by the hair, the first time he had ever laid hands on me in anger. He dragged me back toward the house, only letting go when I stumbled and fell, face first, on the cold, damp sand.

  “How dare you!” Hugh shouted and swung at my father. The punch connected, and I scrambled to my feet.

  “Go!” Hugh shouted. I ran.

  * * *

  I have been here since, trying to put these words o paper with quivering hands. The door is locked to keep Father out, but it also keeps me from Hugh. I need to know he is well.

  May 20, 1936

  So much has happened, in such a short time! I am to be married, both as Beth and as Elspeth!

  There isn’t much time to explain, as I have to pack, and quickly. Hugh and I elope tonight. Father, of course, was a pill about the whole affair, and he very nearly killed Hugh. Andrew has disowned his son, perhaps for the sake of his position, but Hugh believes he is truly furious at him. My father will surely disown me, as well, but Mother and Susan Mackenzie are both for the match. They’ve tucked away some money for us, and we are off to New York tonight. We will stay at a small hotel, marry in the morning and return to The Hamptons. My mother will convince Father to return to the city, once he has cooled down. Of course, the Mackenzie’s will have to return as well. Orders will be left to welcome Hugh and I back to Rudderfirth as caretakers.

  While we hide away here for our honeymoon, the mothers will bring the fathers around, I am sure. We are both only children, so they must accept us back into the fold, or leave the fruits of their labors to strangers at their passing, or worse, the government. Father would rather leave all his money to Beelzebub than let FDR touch a penny.

  Hugh was distraught to learn I had been a virgin, after all. He swore he would never have used me so callously if he had, and promised to be a more respectful husband and lover, from here on. Mother has hidden him out in one of the guest cabins, and I have been sneaking out to him there, though it means a dangerous climb down the rose trellis in the dark. We have not made love since that fateful night. Hugh insisted we wait until after the wedding.

  Elspeth is another story. Ewan tracked her down after days of searching He forgave her for binding him to her pagan Goddess, though I do not believe he was ever convinced the Goddess existed. Ewan persuaded Elspeth to counterfeit a conversion to Protestantism, in order to hide her true nature. They will marry within the week, and a good thing, too! Yes, for Elspeth somehow knows that she is already with child; whether by pagan God, or Godless man, remains to be seen.

  I shut her out, as best I can, when I am there. I want nothing more to do with that life. My life is here. Perhaps ignoring her will make this insane double life go away. One can only hope, for I do not know how to explain it to my husband-to-be. Oh! How wonderful that sounds!

  June 15, 1936

  I have been Mrs. Hugh Makenzie for nearly a month now, and it is heaven and hell at once. Father has not relented. We have been turned out of the mansion, though at both of our mother’s pleading, we have been allowed an old cabin on the far edge of the property, and a small piece of land to garden for our food. Mother sneaks us things when she can, but we live no better than any Hooverville family. I am learning to cook and sew, with mixed results, and Hugh has begged a job as a gardener at another estate nearby, Gildavale.

  Hugh has been the most attentive husband, making love to me daily, in his gentler, more caring way. Is it wrong for me to say I hate it? It is always the same and so tedious. He kisses me, and then strokes at my sex until I am just oiled enough to fuck. A few half-hearted thrusts later he is done, and I am left still wanting. I thought it might fire his lust if I tried to copy that trick Elspeth does to Ewan’s coc
k with her mouth and hands. That worked for a few days. Then I suggested he perform Ewan’s similar talent, and he was disgusted. He stormed out and would not speak to me, or touch me, for two days. When he did return to our bed, it was back to the same tired routine. I tried to speak to him about it, again, but he became so defensive and angry, I gave it up.

  Perhaps it is just me, being wanton, but I get more satisfaction at my own hands, and from eavesdropping on Elspeth and Ewan. They, at least, still have passion to spare. Ewan takes his wife every chance he gets, in as many ways as possible; in bed, at the dinner table, even once over a fence, without any care at all who might see.

  His father gave them a small croft for a wedding gift, near to Penicuik. Elspeth is happy to be a crofter’s wife. It is only by focussing on her daily tasks that I have learned as much about housekeeping as I know.

  Elspeth has not told Ewan of her pregnancy yet. By her estimate, the child was conceived that May Day morning, and should arrive a month after Imbolc, close to St. Valentine’s Day. She is already making small preparations for the child.

  She has returned to making her potions and remedies as well. Hugh finds it all very amusing, but still does not believe in any of her pagan knowledge. He calls it simple medicine, instead. Because her father-in-law still dislikes her, he still attempts to catch her out. He makes surprise visits to the croft, looking for some evidence. She found evidence that he’d searched her hut, as well, so she now does all of her drying and mixing in the hidden hut deep in the wood. It means a difficult travel ahead, in the winter, but Elspeth is not worried about that yet.

  Her life is rather simple and cheerful, compared to my own. I sometimes long for the nights when I believed I was her.

  July 18, 1936

  Elspeth has begun speaking to me, in my head. Perhaps it is just my lonely imagination, trying to fill the emptiness in the house. Her whispers are disturbing enough, but the subject is worse. She does not trust Hugh. Truth be told, she detests him.