The Highlander's Little Lass

by Ava Sinclair

  “Moping about won’t change things, lass. Let’s get you changed for bed.”

  “For bed?” Glynis looked to her nanny, whose words cut into her thoughts. “The sun’s yet to set!”

  Ina walked over and stared down. The expression on the nanny’s face was one Glynis hadn’t seen in years. It was still gentle, but underneath it was a firm warning.

  “It’s best to start now getting used to the ways your life is about to change. You heard your betrothed. You’re ‘little Glynis’ now, and where I come from, wee bairns like you go down with the sun. So I’m going to get you changed for bed now, and have a meal sent up. And should you defy me, I’ll call in your betrothed.”

  Glynis fixed her nanny with a look that usually preceded a barrage of insults. But this time she bit her tongue. The only signs of her anger were the small, tightly balled fists in her lap and the high color in her cheeks. Ina ignored both, and efficiently fetched the gown. “Now, stand,” she said, and Glynis complied wordlessly as Ina moved her before the looking glass. With deft fingers, the older woman undid the gown her charge was wearing and slid it off her shoulders and down her frame. Taking Glynis’ shoulders, she turned the smaller woman so that her bottom was facing the mirror.

  “Look,” she said.

  Glynis didn’t want to. But at the same time, she lacked the strength to disobey. She’d known for years that nanny Ina itched to spank her. And she wasn’t going to test her now, especially not when she reluctantly looked back to see the reflected image of her bottom.

  The pain was continuing to recede thanks to the salve, but the skin was still angry and red, with visible imprints of Bran McKinnon’s large fingers across the expanse of her bottom. Seeing the damage had Glynis blinking back tears as she recalled the strength of the man, her helplessness, the awareness of all those eyes witnessing her humiliation.

  “That’s a well-spanked bottom, that is,” Ina said, gently pinching a portion of Glynis’ cheek in a manner that made the girl flush. “And make no mistake; that man of yours is not just a skilled disciplinarian, but one who takes pride in the craft.”

  “Since when is beating someone a craft?” Glynis asked flatly.

  “Not beating, lass. Discipline. The molding of a recalcitrant spirit into something refined and focused through the artful use of pain and modification. As a nanny, this is what I was trained to do, and your sisters are all proof of my skill. You were denied this, and as an adult you’ll need more than just I can give. I’m happy to help, but I believe when it comes to true correction, you’re being put into the hands of a master.”

  She lifted the gown she’d retrieved. “Raise your arms, lass.”

  Glynis was more than willing to have herself covered, to have the cherry-red bottom shielded by the garment. A maid entered with some fresh linen and Ina instructed her to bring up dinner for the two of them.

  The evening meal was plain fare, not that it mattered. Glynis had little appetite and picked at the potatoes and leeks and cold beef on her plate. It was only when Ina threatened to feed her that she relented to clean half her plate.

  Lying in bed a half hour later, she watched the sun sink behind the mountains through a haze of tears. How could her father and the king be so cruel? She thought of showing them, of showing them all. She imagined her body dashed on the rocks below the castle walls. She imagined her father rending his clothes in grief as his kinsmen tried in vain to console him. She imagined Ina in old age, stooped by grief and regret over her role in her charge’s suicide. She imagined them all sorry, sorry, sorry. Then Glynis stopped imagining and started thinking. She was being silly. She didn’t want to die. She was afraid of the very notion of death. But the fantasy of causing collective grief when she didn’t get her way was one she’d had since she was little. True, the times were rare when she didn’t get exactly what she wanted, but her thought process was the same at eighteen as it had been at eight.

  She rolled over on her belly and plucked at the bedcovers with her fingers, remembering how she’d felt during those few times when she hadn’t gotten her way. And it occurred to her that those were the only times she’d felt really, truly loved. Could it be that those who cared enough to stop her willfulness really were trying to help her?

  “No!” she said aloud, steeling her heart anew against the thought. This was just her mind, trying to rationalize and adapt to the inevitable horror she faced as Lady McKinnon. Well, she would not have it. She would not give in. She would fight. But first, she needed her rest. Ina could think she was going to sleep because she’d been made to. Well, the old cow was wrong. Glynis told herself she would go to sleep, but because she wanted to. She continued to tell herself that as she drifted off.

  * * *

  Perhaps Glynis would not have slept so easily had she known the plans her future husband was already making. Bran had come back up to meet with Ina, and asked for a list of things she would need to assist with Glynis’ training. As he studied the list she gave him, he cocked an eye at the nanny.

  “The pouch is easy enough to acquire. It sounds similar to a wineskin. The gourds are plentiful, too. But what is the purpose?”

  “For a proper cleansing of your feisty lass, for her insides, by a concoction delivered into her bottom—and something that I believe is long overdue. Trust me, Laird McKinnon,” she said. “When we are settled in your home and I give you a demonstration of what such treatments can do for a little one’s temperament, you’ll completely understand my wisdom.”

  Bran McKinnon tried to imagine just what she had in mind. He thought he had an idea, and decided if it was anything like he imagined, it was something he’d find intriguing. In fact, his cock lurched under his kilt at the thought of it.

  He returned to the list. “A child’s dressing gown? Nappies?” He couldn’t help but smile.

  “I’m hoping it won’t be necessary, but should she resist, then Glynis needs to understand that we are willing to reduce her as far as needs be to gain her cooperation.”

  Bran imagined Glynis’ pout, her flushed skin as he walked in to find her sitting in a sopping nappie. It was not an unpleasant picture. But it remained to be seen whether it would be necessary. All he knew is that the peculiar notion of what he’d always wanted in a wife—a woman-child in need of corrective spankings and training—was about to become a reality.

  That night Bran could hardly sleep. When he closed his eyes, he saw the firm white thighs churning below a milk-white bottom that grew redder and redder with each application of his hand. Oh, but had the men not been there, he would have stopped to spread those red cheeks. What would he have seen beneath them? Was her little hole as dusky pink and crinkled as he imagined it would be? If he’d spread her legs and looked more closely, would he have seen the slick oyster of her pussy, so wet, so tender? Was her clit large or small?

  “Down, boy,” he said, giving his large cock a slap. He smiled, thinking of his wee lass, likely asleep on her tummy at that moment. He knew for himself, that was not an option.

  Chapter Four: Wedded to the Laird

  “God’s bones, that’s cold!” Glynis’ whole body shook as another pan of cold water was dumped over her head and Ina set to scrubbing her again.

  “Stop your grousing!” Ina grabbed the little redhead’s chin and began to scour her neck and behind her ears.

  “I can do this myself!” Glynis protested, trying to cover her breasts with her hands. Ina slapped them away and moved the sponge lower.

  “You’ll be getting used to doing nothing for yourself without my permission or your husband’s.” Nanny put the sponge down and nodded at the maid, who dumped one more pail of water over a shrieking Glynis. As the girl continued to sputter, her nanny swaddled her in a towel and lifted her from the wooden tub to plop her in a chair by the window.

  Outside the day was fair. Only a few clouds moved across the sky, sending their shadows racing across the glen. Glynis wondered sadly if the view from her new home would be as bonny as it w

as from this one.

  “Ow!” She winced as nanny Ina pulled a comb through her hair, muttering about tangles.

  “’Twas going to put it up for your wedding, but your laird wants it unbound, like a child’s.” Glynis didn’t comment on this.

  “But a wreath… a wreath with tiny white flowers or sprigs of heather!” Ina smiled and stood, barking to the maids to keep watch over her charge while she went to make the wreath. Glynis watched her go, wondering why she bothered to issue the warning. Armed men from both clans still stood guard outside her door.

  Two maids close to Glynis’ age were whispering nearby, unaware that their voices carried.

  “They say he skelped her right proper, and right in front of her da and both the McLeod and the McKinnons,” said one.

  The other maid sighed. “Were I so lucky as to have a man like that tan my arse.”

  Glynis frowned as she continued to listen.

  “They say he’s large as a horse.”

  “Larger, I heard tell,” said the other. “They call him Bran the Bull.”

  “Och! I’d stand to be mounted by him!”

  The two were tittering now, but stopped when they realized that their young mistress was looking right at them. Exchanging shy glances, they hastily carried the tub from the room just as Ina returned, a hastily plaited wreath in her hand.

  “Stand up, then,” she said, and lifted the wedding dress that had been laid across the bed. It was simple, creamy of color, but with delicate embroidered trim. Glynis had to admit that it made her look very grownup. She swept up her hair, imagining how she would look with it fashioned on her head, but Ina pulled her hands back down to her side, combed through the wild red locks one last time and then put the wreath on Glynis’ head. Now the reflection in the mirror looked like a beautiful, ethereal wood nymph. The dress hung to her curves, but her eyes were large in a youthful heart-shaped face surrounded by a cloud of wild red hair topped with spring flowers.

  “I look like something from a faerie story,” she said. “Like I’m nae real.” She paused and then looked up at Ina. “Is this real? Is any of this real?”

  Ina spun Glynis to face her. “You’re a real lass about to marry a real flesh and blood man who will take you to his home and give you what you need. You must prepare yourself, Glynis McLeod. And you best not fight, for from this moment on there will be a reckoning, from both him and from me. If my impressions of your betrothed are right, he’ll have no problem skelping your bare bottom at the altar in front of God and the priest and all the guests.” She allowed a moment for the image to sink in. “Now, is that what you want? Because as much as you test me, I love you, and I nae want that for you on yer wedding day.”

  Glynis shook her head. “No, nanny. I don’t want that.”

  “Good.” Ina gently took her face in her hands, and Glynis was surprised to see tears in the older woman’s eyes. “I still remember the day ye were born. Yer sisters, all five of them, were in the nursery, waiting for the word to come in and meet their new little brother or sister. Yer ma was hoping for a boy, but when you were born all red-haired and beautiful, she took one look at you and said it dinna matter, that she loved you anyway.” Ina sniffed and wiped her eye with the cuff of her sleeve. “She was already bleeding more than we liked, and we hoped you’d distract her while we stopped it. But we couldna… it was too much. Her last words to me were to take care of her precious little girl. She chose your name with her dyin’ breath.”

  “Why are you telling me this now? Today?”

  “Because I know she wanted only yer happiness, Glynis. And I’ve fretted over it ever since, because you weren’t just the last, you were the hardest. And every day I’ve lived with the fear that I’m a little closer to failin’ her. ‘Twasn’t until this man came here that I finally had hope again.”

  “You think I can’t be happy without a man who beats me?”

  “Not beats ye, lass, corrects you. You are in need of a firm hand. Ye may not see it now. But you will. Trust me. Trust him.”

  Glynis dropped her eyes. From across the valley, the church bells were tolling. It was time to go. Her white mare was waiting for her when Ina and several other attending ladies walked outside. A man helped her up into the saddle, and they made their way across the glen to the stone chapel.

  Glynis was surprised at all who’d come to see her wed. It still bothered her that all that had happened—including publishing of the banns—without her knowledge or consent. Her sisters were there, looking plump and proud and relieved. Her father looked as if he’d had less sleep than even she had. The priest, a stooped old man who never smiled, stood at the lectern along with Bran McKinnon.

  The man she was to marry was dressed in his formal McKinnon tartan. His black hair had been washed and curled softly at his broad shoulders. The women in attendance—even two of her sisters—cast longing glances at the handsome laird and jealous glances at her as she approached with the help of her father. Glynis felt smaller with each step, and smaller still when Laird McLeod put his daughter’s tiny hand in his former rival’s larger one.

  She did not remember saying the vows, could not tell Ina later what she had or had not promised. She simply replied flatly and then signed the documents sealing the union. She was still in a haze when the family and friends crushed in on her with congratulations and well wishes. The short celebration passed in a blur, and she realized later that she likely appeared unhappy, even lost. But in truth, Glynis was simply dazed by having the control she’d exercised her entire life—over herself and everyone else—so completely stripped away.

  “We’re for home.” Bran McKinnon towered over his new father-in-law as the men clasped hands. “Long live Clan McLeod. May ye all prosper, and should ye ever fall under attack, know that you can call on your friends over the eastern border.”

  The older man gave a curt nod. “Long live Clan McKinnon, and know that the same applies.” Laird McLeod walked over to where his daughter was already seated on her white mare.

  “Daughter …” he began, but she looked away.

  Bran walked over.

  “Say goodbye to your father, lass,” he commanded, but Glynis only jutted out her chin, not caring whether this last act of defiance set herself for more punishment. But the punishment did not come; instead the larger man clapped Kiernan McLeod on the shoulder. “My wife and I have a long journey ahead of us,” he said as he shot Glynis a proprietary look. Laird McLeod stepped back.

  “We’re for home!” Bran McKinnon barked to his men as he moved to his horse. From the back of her horse, Glynis watched as her new husband rode off with the obvious expectations that the rest of his party would follow. Immediately, several of her new clan members fell in around her; whether this was for protection or to prevent her from fleeing, she did not know. She only knew that the man she just married did not look back at her. He’d not spoken to her since the wedding, not one word, save for his order to acknowledge her father.

  There were more clouds in the sky, moving toward them from over the hills. Beyond the green peaks a new home was waiting, and a new life. What could she expect? She truly did not know.

  Chapter Five: His Lady Bairn

  Glynis’ new husband did not come to her on her first night in her new home. In fact, she did not see him at all, not that it mattered. After four days’ ride, she was too exhausted to consider his neglect, or to ponder that the McKinnon holdings were grander than what she’d left behind.

  Castle McKinnon did not sit on a bluff as her father’s did. Bran’s home sat on the crest of a gentle hill. If position warned attackers from Castle McLeod, sheer size was the deterrent for Castle McKinnon. There was a loch in the distance, and the estate spanned the massive valley beyond. The interior of Bran’s castle was far finer, too, with fur rugs and rich tapestries. There was no chill wind coming in through the gaps, and when Glynis was shown to her room that first night, there was a bath waiting—a hot bath. It was then that she finally cried, but her tears were more from relief and fatigue than anything else.

  “Will he send for me tonight?” she asked as Ina put her to bed.

  “I think not.” The nanny tucked Glynis into bed and stood over her. “He’ll send for ye when he’s ready.”

  “Perhaps it was all for show,” Glynis said. “Perhaps he intends to ignore me as he did on the ride here.” She paused, thinking. “I’d like that.”

  Ina looked down at the girl and hid her urge to smile. That was unlikely. Glynis may not have seen Bran McKinnon looking at her, but Ina noticed that the laird stole glances at his new bride every chance he got on the journey back to McKinnon lands. But his observations were always when the lass wasn’t looking. And while it had been years since Ina had lain with a man, she still recognized what a lustful one looked like, and she knew even if Laird McKinnon was keeping a physical distance between himself and his new wife, she wasn’t far from his private thoughts.

  When word was sent a full day later that the laird would be expecting his wife to be brought to his bedchambers that evening, it was brought not to Glynis, but to Ina, along with instructions that the lass be dressed in a simple gown and a pair of simple deerskin slippers that arrived with the messenger. Ina smiled when she saw the gown. This was no ladies’ garment, but something more befitting a child. It pleased her to know that the laird was still planning to carry through with his decision to treat the lass as more a ward than a lady.

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