Replay Book 6: Highland Fling

by Nia Farrell

  Sir Richard put an arm around her waist and curled his other hand around her biceps, ready to catch her, should she start to fall. He let her set the pace. It took twice what it should have, but they reach wardrobe without an incident, just a couple of stops along the way to make certain that she was okay to continue.

  Leah, the wardrobe assistant on duty, helped to retrieve her things. Jannet put on the sundress that she’d worn to Replay, slipped on her sandals, fished her room key card from her purse, and asked if Leah could get Samael or someone to see her to her room. Although her anxiety had eased, she was still pretty shaky.

  Leah came back long minutes later with the news that Samael was tied up.

  Jannet sensed that it was literal rather than figurative. “Thanks for checking. I appreciate it. Don’t worry,” she assured her. “I’ll manage just fine.”

  She would. Somehow she always did.

  Chapter Four

  “And where do you think you’re going?”

  Jannet felt her chest seize. Realizing that it wasn’t Ian’s voice, she forced herself to breathe again.

  She turned to find Rich, arms crossed, leaning against the wall, obviously waiting for her. He, too, had changed into street clothes. If Miss Brat was hoping that he’d chase her down, she was doomed to be disappointed.

  For whatever reason, the thought made her smile. “Going to my room, Sir. Thanks for checking.”

  He frowned, silent censure in his eyes. The low rumble in his throat sounded very much like a growl. “Suite number?”

  When she realized that he wasn’t going away, she sighed and told him. Where she was staying was a far, far walk from here.

  Rich pulled a cell phone from his pocket and placed a call to Lenore, asking her to meet them out front in five minutes. “Thanks,” he told her. “We’ll see you there. Come on, cupcake. Your ride is on its way.”

  Jannet felt her face flush as memories came flooding back, threatening to overwhelm her. The chubby little girl she’d been was still there. Still hurting. She held out her palm when he reached for her. “No. No. I’ll be fine. Thanks. You’ve done more than enough. Really.”

  He took her wrist and felt her pulse. “This tells me that you have a heart,” he quipped. “Why don’t you prove it? Humor me. Pretend that I’m all Domly and in command until I get you as far as your room. Then you can tell me to go to hell, and I’ll leave you alone. What do you say, Red?”

  She wasn’t his sub, but for whatever reason, he was determined to help her. She knew what it was like, to be driven to do something. She’d done it herself, walking away from a career because family mattered more.

  He crooked enough of a smile to dent his cheeks. Lord help her, she was a sucker for dimples. Dimpled and Domly? Rich was making her feel things she shouldn’t be feeling an hour after sleeping with another man.

  “Yes, Sir,” she said, silently promising to be kinder and gentler than Miss Brat had been to him. “Thank you, Sir.”

  They reached the lobby and found Lenore parked in a resort limousine just outside the front door. Rich helped her into the back seat and climbed in after, taking a spot on the opposite side and giving her the room that he thought she needed. Strange, but she almost wished he would slide in beside her, close enough to feel the solid, protective weight of his presence.

  “Will you be at the cèilidh tomorrow?” she asked him. She’d been told that the music would start midafternoon, with food served and more music and a scene to follow.

  “Och. Aye.”

  Rich might have a very poor Scots accent, but she’d bet that he looked just fine in a kilt.

  “Then maybe you’ll get another chance to act all Domly. Hopefully in a good way, not because I’ve had a meltdown.”

  There was enough interior light that she could see his face. He rubbed a hand on his jaw, considering her. “Do you want to talk about it? I’ve heard that I’m a good listener.”

  Jannet had no reason not to believe him. Maybe it was because she needed an outside observer to act as her mirror, but she found herself telling Rich what had happened, without naming names. “Long story short, I thought I had a connection with someone, and it turned out that my brother had asked him to keep an eye on me. That triggered an anxiety attack like I haven’t had in years, and when you called me ‘cupcake’—well, a whole host of bad memories resurfaced. I’ve struggled with weight and body image my whole life. I was the chubby girl. Daddy’s cupcake. I was bullied in school until I started to grow and discovered dance. Pretty soon, watching all the dancers, I became weight-obsessed. I developed an eating disorder. Food play is one of my hard limits. If I can’t trust myself, I’m sure as hell not ready to trust someone else. But that’s my problem, not yours. Sorry. I don’t mean to be a Debbie Downer.”

  “You’re not,” he assured her. “You’ve given me an honest explanation, and I appreciate that. Too many women hide themselves. Makes it damn hard to be Domly when you don’t know what you’re working with.”

  The way he said it, as if poking fun at himself, made her smile. What a pair they made!

  “I bet it does. One of these days, you’ll find the right submissive. Someone worthy of you. You’re a good man, Rich. And very Domly. And because I’m feeling grateful to have gotten out of a situation where only my pride was hurt, I’m not going to tell you to go to hell when you walk me to my room. I’m not inviting you in, either,” she added firmly, “but I swear, I won’t kick you to the curb.”

  They fell silent, each of them lost in thought. As promised, he walked her as far as her door, and she didn’t send him to perdition. And when she went to bed, any time self-recrimination threatened to replay her humiliating experience with Ian, she would conjure Rich’s dimpled face and watch him chase her monsters away.

  Gone from home and free of responsibilities for the first time in years, Jannet slept late, had room service deliver a gourmet low-carb breakfast, and spent the rest of the morning pampering herself and being pampered. A leisurely soak in honeysuckle-scented water. A manicure and pedicure. A deep tissue massage that worked out sore spots she hadn’t known were there until he hit them. And yes, she’d asked for a male masseuse. Gay, bi, or straight, didn’t matter. She just wanted big, strong hands on her body and, boy, did he have them.

  She had a late lunch delivered to her room around two, then headed down to wardrobe. More 18th century dress for her, but the men would be wearing plaids. She’d love to have snuck in a camera, but electronic devices, including cell phones, were not allowed for patrons, only the resort staff, who set them to vibrate and carried them for emergency use only. In all the time that Replay had been open, they’d only been used once—to order the unapproved fireworks stopped during pirate weekend.

  Because Jannet was single, her hair was worn loose and long; her head was uncovered. Over her Scottish dress, she wore a plaid that proclaimed her a MacDonald of Glencoe. Just ahead of four o’clock, she put on sunscreen and joined a group of other patrons who were being shuttled to the site of the cèilidh.

  After seeing the Versailles Room, she knew the setting would be perfect, and it was. A hamlet of a dozen thatch-roofed stone cottages was nestled in a valley, ringed with hills and hidden like a treasure from the outside world.

  The terrain formed a natural amphitheater for those who’d come early to listen to the music. One slope had been terraced and outfitted with semicircular rows of wide wooden benches that ringed a wooden stage. The stage itself had been constructed with stocks at both ends, clearly built with more than pipes and drums in mind. Upright posts supported a frame for a canvas awning, providing shelter from light rain and shade to protect exposed skin from the sun. Orders had been placed that morning for food baskets that would be delivered at the six o’clock intermission. The concert was scheduled to end at seven, when the scene would officially begin.

  The women wore a range of 18th century dresses, from tavern wench slattern to high-born lady. Jannet’s was somewhere in the middle, serv
iceable but of good quality, suitable for a scholar’s daughter or a tradesman’s sister, which is exactly what she was. She and her brothers hadn’t come from wealth, but Micheil and Xander had certainly earned it. Genius software designers, they were both billionaires.

  She wore traditional black leather ghillies, laced up her ankles over her gartered stockings. Similar to ballet slippers, the soft-soled shoes were the footwear worn by traditional Scottish dancers.

  The musicians playing tonight were known for their tribal rhythms, ancient melodies rooted in a distant Celtic past, heavy on drums and rich with Highland bagpipes. The single women who’d come early vied for the attention of the few kilted Doms who were already here. Not seeing Sir Richard, Jannet picked a spot, up front and center, that was perfect for losing herself in the music.

  And lose herself, she did. Her feet refused to keep still. When the band finally took a break, she used the opportunity to visit the closest cottage, which housed a kitchen for catering services and indoor restrooms for patrons and staff. Washing her hands, she exited the ladies’ room on the far side of the building, intending to return to her seat. She rounded the corner of the cottage to see a handcart blocking her way. Milling around it were a dozen Doms, wearing plaids and laden with baskets of food.

  One of them was Rich. In a kilt, with a body that was built for it.

  And Ian was nowhere in sight.

  Maybe Jewell killed him after all. Or threatened him enough that he wouldn’t be back.

  She could only hope.

  Jannet smiled when Rich spotted her and headed her way, carrying two baskets. “Red,” he greeted her. “I have something for you, little girl.” Dimples flashing, he gave his eyebrows a salacious wiggle, grinned like a lecher, and handed her a basket. “Check it out. Make sure it’s what you ordered.”

  She took the splintwork basket from him and pulled back the linen cloth that lined it. Inside was a meat pie, a bannock, two apples, a wedge of cheese, and a small crock filled with fresh vegetables, perfect for supper and for grazing as the night went on.

  “It is,” she told him.

  “I’ll need to get drinks from the kitchen. Do you still want water, or something stronger? The two-drink limit applies.”

  “Water’s fine. Thank you, Sir.”

  “If you don’t mind the company, I want to sit and eat with you. Be all Domly and make you eat your veggies. Think you can handle me?”

  Jannet’s gaze flew up to meet his dark eyes, full of unspoken questions. He wasn’t just talking about food.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe. I guess we’ll just have to see.”

  Rich handed her his basket and guided her to the shade of an ancient oak tree. Its branches were adorned with Spanish moss, a reminder that this was all an illusion, an adult stage play with actors and props. He came back with two tankards of water and a folded sheet tucked under his arm. “Spread it,” he ordered, sounding very Domly indeed.

  Jannet did as she was told. Sat where he pointed. Ate what he told her to—which she was able to manage. Everything was food that she had ordered. There was no forced feeding. Nothing that would resurrect unpleasant memories. Her anxiety stayed at bay.

  She had to ask. “Tell me, Sir,” she said. “Have you seen my list of limits?”

  Rich finished chewing a bite of his second meat pie and swallowed. “Today. As soon as I got to the resort.”

  “Do you live near here, or commute in?”

  “It’s a bit of a drive. Forty-five minutes, and worth every mile. Separation of church and state and all that. I like to keep my play space mine and enjoy Replay’s sets while I’m here. I find it keeps things fresh at both places. You know,” he said, leaning close to whisper in her ear, “I’m usually in Pirates’ Cove, swinging a cutlass and lashing with ropes. My favorite play space here. If the ship’s a rocking….”

  “Not even going to go there,” Jannet laughed. Resisting the temptation to turn and look at him, she reached in her basket and found her crock of fresh vegetables.

  Rich sighed and sat back. Angling his head, he considered her for a long moment. “Someone else asked to see your limits list, too. Ian McGregor. I’m assuming last night….” His words trailed off.

  “Yes.” She put down her carrot stick when she felt her stomach pinch.

  “He spoke with Sir Josef after that. He’ll be here at some point tonight. You let me know if you need rescued by my Domly self.”

  “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “He’s not—he won’t…I can handle him. I think. We weren’t together long enough for him to even ask my safewords. It’s arabesque, by the way. Arabesque to slow, and coda to stop.”

  His perfect lips curved in a smile. “Arabesque and coda. I’ll remember.”

  Chapter Five

  The music was still going when a fleet of vehicle stopped on the far side of the hamlet and patrons and staff members poured out. It was something to see. Dozens of women in period gowns and men in kilts strolled down a lane lined with thatch-roofed stone cottages, headed to where the scene would start. A few lucky ones would spend the night here, in rustic surroundings with modern amenities close by. Besides the building that housed the kitchen and restrooms, another building was a communal bathhouse, with the hot tubs and showers lacking in the other period-correct buildings. Sir Piers had thought of everything.

  Jannet had hoped to see Aubrey and Mr. Vashon, but they weren’t among the new arrivals. Sir Josef was.

  And Ian McGregor.

  But it was Sir Josef who headed in Jannet’s direction and asked permission from Sir Richard to speak to her. “May I borrow your lovely companion?” he asked, his Austrian accent giving it an exotic appeal. “There is something we need to discuss.”

  Rich might not have liked it, but he conceded with grace. “Certainly. Red, I’ll go refill our tankards. Be right back.”

  “You lied to me.”

  Jannet’s head snapped up at his accusation. “What? No. No.”

  “Yes,” he said, scowling severely. “When asked for your history, you detailed your eating disorders but failed to disclose the anxiety that continues to plague you. I understand that you had an episode last night which rendered you unable to walk. That, my dear, is unacceptable. You came to learn about submission. Complete and honest communication is the cornerstone of D/s. The foundation is trust. Everything else is built upon that. Do you agree that you have wronged me? Wronged the resort? Wronged Sir Piers—and our wardrobe mistress for your careless disregard of the clothing entrusted to you?”

  Jannet couldn’t deny it. Any of it. “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”

  He nodded. “I have discussed the matter with Sir Piers. We both agree that you should be punished. As you are no one’s submissive, and I am the one whom you wronged the most, he has agreed to let me administer it. Are you willing to accept my judgment as to what is required? You can use your safe word at any time, but the moment you do, you will be escorted back to your suite to collect your things and be driven home tonight. I am certain that your brother will insist on knowing what has happened. After what he has spent on you this weekend, he will not be happy.”

  Oh, God. Her only choices were to be punished here or disappoint Micheil. One, she could live with, but not the other.

  “I’m sorry, Sir Josef. Truly. I bow to your judgment and yield to your wisdom.”

  “Go. Void. When you come back, be prepared to pay the piper.”

  She saw Rich’s back disappear in the door that led to the kitchen. She tried to hurry, hoping that she could walk back with him, but he was already in front of her and headed for Sir Josef. She approached the two Doms with no little trepidation.

  “No,” Rich said, sounding appalled. Not good. Soooo not good. “That’s advanced. She’s too new for that!”

  “The punishment fits the crime,” Sir Josef stated firmly. “She will submit, or she will go home.”

  Rich thrust ten fingers into his long, dark hair. “Surely there�
��s something else.”

  “Nein.” Sir Josef shook his head, adamant. “Public humiliation. On display, unable to join in while the scene unfolds around her. It is a lesson that she will remember, which is the point of punishment, ja?”

  Jannet cleared her throat, alerting the men to her presence. “I’m ready, Sir Josef. What do I need to do?”

  “As soon as the musicians clear the stage, you shall meet me there.”

  The stocks. It had to be the stocks. Public humiliation, displayed while everyone else engaged with their play partners. She’d have extremely limited vision, able to see only what was happening in front of her.

  Unable to see what was happening behind her. Whom was behind her. What they intended to do to her, until it was happening.

  Jannet felt her knees grow weak. Seconds later, she was on the ground.

  Sir Josef checked her pulse and her respiration, compromised by the tightness in her chest. “This is why you need punished,” he scolded. “Now tell me. What were you thinking, to trigger this reaction?”

  “The stocks,” she choked out. “Not the stocks, but people coming behind me. Men touching me. Doing things….”

  “No one will touch you,” he assured her. “Your punishment is mine. I shall put you in the stocks. I shall set you free. No man or woman here will be allowed to interfere. If that is not acceptable, use your safeword and I shall have Geoffrey drive you back.”

  Rich. Poor Rich. He looked as torn as she felt inside, helpless to help her. “I can do it, Sir,” she told him. “It was the not knowing….”

  “I understand, Kleine. Do you trust me to see to your punishment? Trust that I will keep you safe?” He crooked a curious half smile. “I cannot fail. I must answer to Aubrey. She is small but mighty, ja?”

  His admission eased her anxiety even further. The thought of the Dom answering to his blind submissive made her want to trust him. Truthfully, she had no reason not to. She was the one who hadn’t been forthcoming.