Elinor looked to Ranald and saw that his 'if ye please' was mere formality after his biting comments. She looked to the Wisewomen for guidance, but they were all suddenly busy tidying up the paraphernalia of the Tradition. Ranald stood beside the bed while they changed the blooded sheet for fresh white linen.
"Wash me," he said to his wife.
Elinor did not feel she could refuse. She'd been forced to watch Ranald repeat with Ginny what he'd done to herself, and she had also seen in glaring actuality a particular act she'd only heard spoken of among the ladies of the court.
It all seemed very advanced and technical. And thrilling, too. Her lady's parts were already greatly moistened and pulsing, and with never a hand near her, even more so than when the Chief had prepared her last eve.
She cleansed Ranald's hands first, leaving his manly parts until last in the hope that a softened state would resume. It did not, and it helped her none to kneel and wash from it the traces of another woman.
She saw how correct the comparison had been. Ranald was quite ridiculous in length and girth, now that she had chance to look objectively. If his father the Chief had stretched her almost beyond bearing, what would her married life be like with a man this size?
His manner towards her bade it unlikely any problem would occur. She had destined herself to have a second chaste and loveless marriage, and not even any lands to give her value.
All her own fault for tricking him. All her own fault for trying to bait him this morn with sassy words and superior attitude. There was more to being a lady than having it as a title. No woman should ever make jest at her husband's expense and expect her words to be without consequence.
Ranald did no' know how he managed to suffer her touch without spending all over her. He was even less convinced he'd be able to manage the next part. Control and conditioning, the Chief had said.
His father had a confidence in him that might be difficult to live up to where Elinor was involved. He had to take his mind to a different place.
He dared no' even look at her until she had finished drying him, and then he bade her do something more.
"Give me ease, wife."
Elinor had dreaded this. Surely not… surely he would never deign to re-enact the Chief's furtive spending on the far side of the bed. She blushed to think of the previous eve when the entire structure seemed to shake with Lady Agatha's ministrations.
She was right, in a way. Ranald would not be doing any furtive spending. He gave her open access by laying on the clean bed with one leg drawn up and the other dropped over the edge facing the fire and in full view of the Wisewomen.
Elinor wondered just how often she would need to do this in her life. It was an outrage. A total affront.
"Ye have been tutored in two different ways of husband-pleasing by myself and my parents, and have seen a virgin do more this night. Make yer choice, or combine yer learnings. Get yer bonnet off and proceed."
His voice was as hard as his manhood. He meant to shame her in front of the Wisewomen as she had shamed him this morn. She untied the gauze sashes, and Beatrix took the tall bonnet from her.
Which method? Combined might make it be finished the faster. She clasped two hands around him, one atop the other, and began to move his skin up and down. Once happy with her rhythm, she put her tongue to him and licked and lapped and sucked.
Something wasn't working. She seemed to have been doing this rather a long time yet he wasn't trembling like his father had. No juice appeared at the crest. From her kneeling position on the floor she was acutely aware of the Wisewomen watching as Ranald's manhood softened completely in her hands.
Desperately she tried to rouse him but she'd lost all her power. Ranald spoke over her head as if she were of the serving class, something to the Wisewomen about chairs. What did he want more chairs for? And the folding screen in the corner concealed only extra cloths and oil supplies, did it not…
"Turn the two chairs from the fireside to face this direction, and that gives us thirteen. Elinor and myself will no' be needing seats."
Thirteen? An ominous number… Elinor felt a chill run through her as the Wisewomen veritably scuttled to follow his instructions.
"WITNESSES – ENTER!"
The chamber door opened and in filed the Chief, the Lady Agatha, and several others. Ginny had come back, and Dougall the steward at her side… Martha and her husband the Scribe… and Meredith, and Archie the Swordmaker. Why would they be called as witnesses in the Bride's Bower? And why was the Bard carrying a sack? One man Elinor did not recognize, although clearly a MacKrannan.
Ranald introduced him to Elinor while the rest took their seats.
"My brother Connor, fetched home from Ireland in case he must take my place as chieftain. Far likelier to stay now, for I will no' inflict a Scold on the clan and lose my people's fealty, nor will I leave an untamed one here in my absence."
The Bard stood up. "LADY ELINOR KEIRSTON, wife to the chieftain, I address ye. The Red Book of MacKrannan Education Traditions was opened and consulted upon the occasion of yer marriage to our chieftain. Little did we think certain sections of it would be needed so soon. The Tradition known as the DUTY OF THE CHIEFTAIN will now be enacted. Thirteen of the clan will witness, every one of them affected by yer tongue's misuse."
From his sack, the Bard drew forth the contraption forged by the Swordmaker only hours before. A brand new Scold's Bridle, its little spike shining gruesomely in the firelight.
He set it down at the chieftain's feet and retired to his chair.
Elinor shrieked and looked to her husband. He'd taunted her with the Scold's Bridle on the Prison Island and then said he was jesting.
She could see no fun in his eyes as he spoke now.
"All ye say and do is reflected on me, Elinor. The clansfolk will no' follow a man who canna keep his own wife in check."
"I am sorry, Ranald… please, not this…"
"Sorry is no' enough. It is a deterrent ye need. Wisewomen – remove her garments."
She was to be stripped and whipped. "No… please, no…"
The Wisewomen were not gentle with her, tearing fabrics and lacings until she stood bared and cowering at the bedside in full view of all. Only when they unbraided her hair did she have a modicum of cover, but they pulled it from her hands and let it fall down her back.
Ranald had expected her to object, and ignored all her pleas.
'Control and conditioning,' his father had said upon hearing his plan of action and agreeing with it. 'Do it, son. Yer wife is yer second self to the clan. She must be TRAINED…'
Payback did not come much worse than this. Stupid! Stupid to have tried to make Ranald jealous by telling how clever his father was at bedplay. A fool to have thought he would not be hurt by her sneaky little put-downs. The words had scarce been out her mouth but she'd realised how she'd humiliated him in front of the Chief and the three Wisewomen.
She'd hoped for some blithesome banter, a mischievous promise extracted to do it better next time. Instead he'd been angry and stormed off... and the Chief was coldly furious when she commented on what he'd done at the end of the Bride's Right... and the Lady Agatha had been seething too, no matter how pleasantly she gave her advice.
Elinor was truly frightened. Ranald could not disown her as wife, not when His Majesty himself had commanded their marriage. She'd caused the king enough trouble to dare make complaint – he'd taken all her lands away for her last mistake.
The Scold's Bridle was to make her biddable, whether or not he stayed chieftain. She was an upstart to be quelled, just as he'd done with the Cambels.
"Get on the bed, on yer hands and knees. Nay, nay… face the witnesses and keep looking at them. If yer eyes close, they will tell me."
Naked while her husband whipped her in front of thirteen people. Dear god, what kind of creature had the king bade her wed…
If none would defend her, she must speak for herself. "Witnesses? Do not fool yourselves! The Bride's Ri
ght is over, so you are nothing but spectators now… voyeurs to torture!"
The Bard called out, "I correct ye, Lady Elinor. The Duty of the Chieftain is a Tradition. All MacKrannan Traditions are witnessed."
She tried beseeching her husband. "Please, Ranald… I am sorry!"
"Do ye know what I am about to do, wife?"
"Whip me...?"
He did not deny it.
Only last eve she had been divested of garment in this bower but it had been so different then. She'd been in control of everything until the Chief took over, and even then everything had been beautiful until his tawdry spending by his wife's hand. Now there were six men here with her husband, and this had nothing to do with researching the Bride's Right. She felt shamed by her nakedness and could not even use her hands and arms to cover any part of her now.
He came up behind her and ran his hands lightly over her bottom. She shivered, determined not to cry. What kind of tormentor petted his victim like this in the very places he would whip?
Suddenly his voice came near her ear. "Ye'll remember me telling ye of a jailer that hurt the prisoners for his own pleasure? And how we did no' want that sort in our clan? Think on that."
His two immense hands began fondling her nether cheeks. He put his mouth on one, latching on tightly and sucking until a small bruise appeared.
Again, his voice near her ear. "I would no' sully yer pert wee arse with a whipping. Ye have on ye now the only mark I would ever put on it."
He reached round her waist and grasped her breasts, pulling her up to sit between his legs as he leaned back against the pillows. And he kept palming her, and rolling her teats, and she could not help but respond in her agitated state.
When the moan came, he snapped, "Keep looking at the witnesses!"
She looked. Thirteen faces looked back at her as impassively as before, and Ranald's hands never stopped moving.
"The Duty of the Chieftain is to educate ye in the quality of remorse. Ye will sacrifice yer pride for the betterment of yer spirit. And it is a lesson in apologizing that ye will no' forget in a hurry."
Ranald's hands were as rough as his father's and he used no oil on her.
"Yer eyes had better be open, Elinor, or I will stop this and have the Bridle put on ye, I swear… I want ye to look at Archie the Swordmaker who forged this instrument no' hours ago. Archie and myself have trusted each other since boyhood. I place my life in the craftsmanship of his hands every time I lift a weapon in battle. And I had to LIE to him, just to cover up for yer trickery until it became known what ye'd done…
"Look him right in the eye, wife, for I tell ye, I am still finding it difficult to do so."
Elinor had not thought of any of that, and her shame began. Archie was a good and loyal man who did not deserve to lose faith in the chieftain because of her actions.
"I am sorry, Archie… all of it was my fault."
The way Ranald was pummelling her breasts was making her crazed and she tried to lean her head back on his shoulder. He would have none of it.
"And yer apology to Archie's wife Meredith. Ye lied to her face and deprived her of the Lord's Right."
He nuzzled into her neck and sucked until he marked her.
"…Meredith, I am so sorry…"
"Martha now. Ye turned up yer prissy wee nose at the tools of her husband's Scribing as if ye had never smelt a bucket of piss afore in yer life. Ye dishonored Martha, and Roddy our son. And ye dishonored the Scribe who has helped Ishbel in the transcriptions of her notes for it is too much for one person. He has done as much for the Bride's Right as any. What have ye to say?
"Oh Martha, I apologize… I never thanked you for your hospitality, and your husband has been most kind…"
A hand wandered full of promise down to her thigh.
"Look now to Dougall my steward who went with me to the king when he did no' have to. Did ye even realise he risked imprisonment as an accomplice?"
Elinor gasped, unsure if it was because of Dougall's bravery or because of the ascent of Ranald's hand to her lady's place, for either would merit it. "I did not realise that… Please forgive me, Dougall…"
"And his bride Ginny – ye made her yer own accomplice in the trickery, and her trying to protect yer honor and covering up the evidence with the bedsheets. Can ye imagine how she felt hearing the truth?"
His fingers had nearly reached their destination and her vision was of him doing exactly this to Ginny only a short while ago on this very bed.
"Ginny, I very much regret involving you…"
He shifted himself a bit and she could feel his manhood pulse under her nether cheeks.
"I want ye to look at Beatrix the Wisewoman. Beatrix has spent days readying this bower and the Husband's Waiting Room and getting silk gownies and the supplies to make it nice for folks. It was all just items on a list to yerself, for ye've never done any real work."
He brought his knees up between Elinor's. And then he suddenly jerked his knees wide, taking her legs with them, and his hand shot down to the wetness he knew he would find there. He'd seen her sitting prim all through the Bride's Right. He'd also seen her nibbling at her lip and her face all flushed.
Elinor buckled and gasped as his wetted finger came onto her bud and he began the circling. She could scarce believe that thirteen people were at that moment viewing between her wide open legs.
"Do ye see her, Elinor? Now look at Ishbel. Look at her! See her fingers, stained with ink and swollen with doing more writing since the king's decision than our Scribe need do in a normal year's quarter?"
Ranald dipped deep into her and brought the wetness to her bud. She tried to close her legs and make apology to the Wisewomen, and he jerked them harshly open again with his own, baring her parts further to the witnesses.
He had two fingers moving on her now and his other hand at her breast, tweaking her tit hard. Her mouth came open as the bliss grew in her. He took both his hands away before she could peak.
"They have put more work into this Bride's Right than ye'll ever know. Hardly have they known sleep since the research and recordings began. Tell them ye're grateful!"
The two Wisewomen smiled at her in encouragement as Ranald grasped her round the waist. "I tha… I thank ye…" said Elinor as he brought her slowly down on his length, in total control of the joining until she was speared to the limit. The witnesses saw her eyes watering and fight to stay open. "…So much Ishbel Beatrix…"
"Look to the Lady Agatha! She brought ye here just because ye were upset at having to wed the Earl of Maxton. She would have helped ye solve yer problem, had ye but asked her. But what did ye do? Tricked her son. Insulted her hospitality. And still she tries to help ye in every way."
He bounced her on his shaft and she moaned, "I am truly… truly sorry… Lady Agatha…"
"And the Bard. Look at him! Tricking one of us is tricking us all, yet he assembled the clan and spoke up for ye, got them all on yer side and made ye welcome in our midst. Have ye thanked him yet?"
"I am so… so grateful to you… Bard…"
Ranald bounced her all the harder until he felt the bliss begin. And then he pulled out of her completely, leaving her wanting.
"See the Chief? Aye, my father there who went along with all yer ideas and plannings, and taking orders from ye, and still did his best for ye in the Bride's Right. Get on yer hands and knees! Nay, nay… face the witnesses! And then ye purse yer lips at him spending by his own wife's hand in the verra chamber he has provided in the verra castle that shelters ye from harm. Ye dare to judge him and my mother!"
He took hold of her thighs and spread them wide, entering her from behind and driving into her over and over.
"Ye'd better be looking at the Chief… are ye? And what have ye to say?"
He pounded into her so hard that Elinor could scarce keep her balance.
"I am sorry… Sir Thommas… no right to judge…"
"And Hessa the Grandam Wisewomen who changed the Lord's Right so I cou
ld stay chieftain."
He drew a leg up alongside her to deepen his reach, and rammed into her all the harder.
"She's been nothing but good to ye since ever ye arrived, yet ye sullied… her cottage… with yer… nasty TONGUE!"
Elinor was stuttering her sorry to Hessa when the bliss hit and Ranald didn't stop.
"ALL these folk tried their damnedest to make ye welcome as my wife."
She was clenching tight as a fist and he kept hammering his cock into her. Control. Take yer mind elsewhere. Dinna even think of spending yet or all is lost.
"And my brother Connor and me, willing to give up our lives for the clan, and His Majesty the King himself having to protect our two brothers from Maxton… all because of Elinor Keirston…"
She near fell forward and he pulled her back up, ramming through her clenches with gritted teeth.
"…and here ye are, messing us all about with yer bloody NONSENSE! What do ye have to say for yerself?"
He grabbed Elinor's wrists, pulled them outwards and launched himself on her, flattening her underneath him onto the bed with her head over the side.
"I am sorry… sorry… I am so, so sorry…" she said in the last of her bliss, the Scold's Bridle mere inches from her face and Ranald still pistoning into her.
"GOOD! A bit of conditioning works wonders, as my parents have taught me. And every bliss ye have in our wedded life, ye will remember this lesson, and the trouble a scolding tongue gets ye into, and ye'll be sorry ever after for all ye did to folks that were kind to ye… And if ever ye forget, there are thirteen witnesses will remind ye!"
He flipped her onto her back, still leaving her head dangling over the edge where her hair now swept the floor, and entered her again. When he was in full deep he twisted his hips to rouse her more, and held her hands either side of her shoulders. And he set up a rhythm of slamming full in and grinding at her bud with every stroke.
"See? It could no' be that bad, since I feel yer loins readying themselves again and the Duty of the Chieftain done and by. I will be taking my ease inside ye now, Elinor, and all present will still watch us, even though the Tradition part is over. Take comfort that ye are acquaint with all the folks watching the bed shake. Ye'll no' see any of them pursing their lips and judging either of us ill."
Duty of the Chieftain - a Highland 'Lord's Right of the First Night' novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions #3) Page 11