by Fiona Monroe
She struggled against him, her long hair tumbling into her face, seeing the weave of the rug, breathing in wood and dust and the smoky tobacco smell from the fabric of his breeches. He was far too strong for her to have any chance of escape. With insuperable force, he held her arms down with one hand and pinned her legs between his thighs, so that she felt her bottom rise up exposed and vulnerable. And then, to her horror and shame, he pulled at the fabric of her nightshift.
At this, she gave a small scream and tried again to kick her way out of the vice-like grip of his legs.
"Hold still!" he barked.
"No - Mr Farquhar - for shame, do not—" She could not even say the words.
"There is no shame."
With a yank, because the fabric had been partly trapped by his legs, she felt her nightshirt come loose and the coolness of air on her now-exposed bottom. She closed her eyes and burned with mortification.
"I am your husband. I may look upon every part of your body, unclothed. The only shame is that I must see your naked beauty for the first time in order to chastise you, rather than to enjoy the pleasures of the conjugal bed. However... there will be time enough for that in due course. For now be assured, Flora, that whenever you are punished, it will be on your bare behind. I do not believe in half-measures. Punishment is meant to hurt, so that you will remember its lesson, and by God's good grace, suffer it less often. Now then."
She winced as she felt the cool, smooth sensation of the back of the hairbrush resting on the bare skin of her buttock.
"First of all, you showed disrespect to our hosts. You spoke impudently to an elder of the Kirk, while supping at his board. Then, there is the matter of the dreadful example you set for Miss Abernethy of the conduct and decorum of a minister's wife. But most seriously of all - this very morning, you gave your solemn pledge before God and man to obey me in all things. This very evening, you defied me, and in front of others. When you break your wedding vows, you dishonour the Lord as much as you dishonour me. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir," she whispered.
“Let me hear you tell me why you deserve this punishment."
Flora gasped, and struggled, and could not speak.
With terrible suddenness the back of the brush came down with a crack of wood on exposed flesh, an explosion of pain unlike anything she had felt before in her life. She screamed in shock.
"Flora, tell me why you deserve this punishment!"
"I spoke impudently to Mr Abernethy! I disobeyed you!" Flora cried desperately. "Oh, please, sir! Please do not strike me again! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I won't do it again!"
"I will strike you again, Flora, until you have learned this lesson."
"It hurt! It hurt!"
"It's meant to hurt. To punish your misconduct, and to teach you not to do it in future."
"But I won't! I promise!"
Her pleas were cut short by the fall of the hairbrush, striking harder than before. She arched convulsively, twisting her upper body and trying to kick free. But he held her arms in a grip of iron with one hand, while he kept her legs imprisoned in the vice of his thighs and brought the dreadful instrument in his other hand down full force on her immobile, exposed backside.
Each time the pain was more than she could endure and she felt another blow would kill her, yet each time another one came. He left several seconds between strokes, so that the terrible burning mounted to a peak of agony just as the next landed with sickening white-hot blow atop the last. And so that she had plenty time to dread it, and feel that the rest of the promised punishment would last forever.
Between the blows Flora tried to gasp words of entreaty. "No - NO - please - please - stop! Please no more! Sir! Oh please!" But each stroke when it came drew an irrepressible shriek of agony from her, and before long she could not catch breath enough to form words. She sobbed between screams and fought harder to escape his grip and the relentless fall of the hard, cruel brush. He alternated between each cheek, and the hairbrush was so wide that it seemed to cover the whole of each in a single blow and bite into the edge of the other.
At last, Flora lay limp and crying, her bottom blazing. Though the blows had ceased, her backside still hurt so much with a vicious burning sting deep into the muscle. He had laid the last two strokes across the upper part of her legs, just underneath where her bottom creased, and those had been the most agonising of all.
He did not release the vice-like grip of his thighs around her legs.
"Now, what was that for?" he said sternly.
She gasped, trying to find her voice. "Disobedience. And insolence. Insolence to Mr - Mr - Abernethy."
"And will you talk impudently at the table to our host again, or disobey me before others?"
"No! No! Never!"
he released her, and she fell onto the hearthrug.
She lay there, curled up, rubbing and moaning and moving her legs in a restless, hopeless attempt to quieten the blazing stinging and aching in her buttocks. It would not subside. After a moment, she felt a touch on the side of her head, and realised that it was Mr Farquhar kneeling beside her, gently stroking the hair from her forehead.
"Now," he said, in a firm but almost kindly voice, "it is over. You are sore, but you deserved it, and you will learn better ways from it. Sit up, Flora."
Her heart hammering, Flora struggled to a kneeling position and looked up at him.
His expression was softened, his blue eyes had warmth in them once more.
He touched her face. “I know this has been hard for you, Flora. Do you truly understand why I had to do it?”
She nodded, suddenly overwhelmed, and broke into tears from the heart; tears that sprang from shame that she had disappointed him, and fear that he would not love her now. She lay back down on the rug for a moment or two, feeling too weak and sore to move, then she felt his arms around her, lifting her gently to her feet. He enfolded her against his body, hard and warm and all-encompassing, and stroked her hair wordlessly. Flora clung to him, as her breathing steadied and she felt peace and sweet reassurance spread through her.
"Now, Mrs Farquhar, I will leave you to wash your face and prepare yourself."
He released her, put the hairbrush back where he had found it on the dressing table, and actually bowed slightly to her before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.
She did not want him to come back and find that his orders had been disobeyed, so she limped slowly over to the washstand, wincing even at the brush of the fabric of her nightgown over her beaten backside as she moved.
She filled the basin from the jug and sluiced cold water over her puffy, flushed face, then put the candle by the long dressing mirror, lifted her nightshift high and twisted her head over her shoulder to inspect what damage had been done. She drew in breath as she saw her bottom, covered all over from the top of the cheeks to the top of her legs in bright purple-red oval splotches She ran her fingers lightly over the marks, feeling that the skin was rough and hot, and realising that there was a burning within, as well. A tight, sweet ache was, quite unexpectedly, tingling between her legs, the same that she felt at night when she lay in her bed alone and immersed her mind in visions of a man climbing in beside her and pulling his shirt over his head. Sometimes the man was nothing more than bare, strong arms without a face, too often lately that face had been Mr Farquhar’s. She had never felt that was quite proper, especially when – as eventually she always did – she slipped her fingers down there to feel the wet heat and touch where the nub of the taunt sensation was. She did that now as she stood there, turning to face the mirror, her nightgown bunched in one hand and the other sliding between her thighs.
"Aye, that is a well-skelpt hide."
Mr Farquhar had come back in silently, and Flora dropped her nightshift with a start, whirling around guiltily. Had he seen her touching her most intimate place?
He smiled. He had already removed his jacket earlier to swing the hairbrush more effectively, and now he had removed his
tie and partly unbuttoned his shirt. Once again, Flora could see curls of dark hair below the white crisp cotton.
"Now, my dearest Flora, my dear little wife," he said, "it is time to undertake the more pleasant duties of matrimony." He reached his arms towards her. and with the same large hands that had wielded the hairbrush, hands that were suddenly gentle, eased her back against the covers and covered her mouth with his.
She gasped in pain as her bottom pressed into the coverlet, then moaned with quite another sensation as those same hands slipped through the opening in her nightgown and found her nipples below, already hard.
Chapter Four
It was a somewhat uncomfortable journey the next day, rattling along ever-more rutted roads in the pony and trap. Flora wrapped a shawl together and placed it discreetly under her seat, but after a while the contrivance did nothing to protect her injured rear against the constant bumps and jolts of the carriage. A spark of pride made her wish to conceal this from her husband.
After the second time a sudden bump had made her wince, he looked aside at her with amusement and said, quite cheerfully, "Aye, you'll not forget your lesson today."
Her face flushed. "How many days til we reach our destination, sir?"
"Unless we have bad luck with the weather or the roads, we should reach Scourie before nightfall on Friday. We shall then have one full day to prepare before the Sabbath."
She had awoken that morning a little stiff and sore, confused for a moment about where she was. Despite everything, she had fallen into a deep sleep, exhausted and strangely relaxed, ravished by quite new sensations. After using those strong hands to such painful effect on her backside, Mr Farquhar had put them to quite another and more delightful employ with boldness and gentleness combined. When the time came for him to lay atop her and take her maidenhood, she all but forgot the chafing of her nether regions and opened her legs to receive him most willingly; the slight sharp pain inside as he pierced her and made her his, subsumed in the pleasure that exploded through her whole body moments later. Afterwards she lay still and sweet in his arms in the smoky darkness, at peace despite the throbbing in her behind.
But when morning came, she knew all about it again. She awoke to a shaft of sunlight over her face, and saw the maidservant opening the shutters and laying tea by the bedside table. Mr Farquhar was not there, and she wondered a little anxiously where he had gone. She eased herself out of bed and found that her inner thighs were aching too, the delicate region sore where he had lain his whole weight between her legs and thrust into her. And inside, she felt it still too. When she hobbled to the mirror and lifted the nightshift high up her back to examine once more the results of her last night's chastisement, she was dismayed to see that the angry purple marks of the night before had faded only into darker, mottled bruises all over her bottom and upper thighs. The unbearable burning stinging sensation had gone, but she was aware of a dull deep ache.
It took her some time to dress, and she felt desperately conscious when she went down to breakfast. It was only now occurring to her that others in the household might have heard her screams the night before. It was true that they had been isolated in the tower room and the door had been closed, but she knew that she had yelled and cried at the top of her voice and it seemed to her that it had gone on for hours. She burned with shame to think that anyone of the family might know that she had been soundly chastised on her wedding night.
Mr Farquhar, to her relief and also to her embarrassment, was already in the breakfast parlour, as were Mr and Mrs Abernethy and Grace. He rose as she entered, bade her good morning very courteously, and held out her chair for her.
She was well aware that he was watching with half a smile as she lowered herself very carefully into it. This was when she found out what he meant the night before, when he finished her punishment with four swingeingly hard whacks of the brush to the crease between her bottom and her leg. Not only was that spot exquisitely painful when hit, it was exactly where the pressure was when one sat down on a chair. Flora chewed her lip and held her breath and managed not to gasp or react as she felt the full force of her final lesson. After some moments, the throbbing subsided and while not exactly comfortable, she was at least able to pay some attention to the breakfast that Mr Farquhar attentively provided from the sideboard.
Miss Abernethy was sitting opposite, very quiet and subdued. She did not look at Flora, nor did she venture any remarks beyond a few quiet civilities. She fetched her own breakfast, and took her seat again slowly and gingerly. Flora noticed a spasm pass over her features, and that she moved a little back and forth as if trying to find a less painful position.
But Grace, Flora thought resentfully now, did not have three days of torment by bad road and ill-sprung carriage to endure. She could, she suppose, nurse her wounded rear in peace until the worst wore off. She wondered whether a strap hurt more than a hairbrush, and felt sure that no torment could possibly be greater than what she had endured the night before.
Besides, she would give Mr Farquhar no occasion to chastise her again. She would be a sweet-tongued and perfectly obedient wife from henceforth.
* * * * *
They stopped at the next two nights at roadside inns, where Mr Farquhar, as a minister of the Kirk, was received with great respect. Flora found she was treated with great deference, and not a little excited interest when it became known that she was the minister's new bride.
Once she and Mr Farquhar retired to the small, but comfortably-appointed bedchamber provided for them, he at once set about embracing her and removing her garments with delicious slowness. This time, there was no soreness inside, and this time he did something with his fingers that brought her to a pitch of delight even before he took her once again for his own.
Flora's spirits began to recover rapidly, particularly as the lingering effects of her chastisement lessened considerably the second day and subsided into an occasional twinge when the carriage hit a particularly rough spot of road. Mr Farquhar continued gentle and kind to her, and she began to understand that once he had scolded her for her misconduct, and administered the necessary correction, and once she had apologised and promised amendment, the matter was over. She was forgiven, and he did not brood in anger.
The scenery changed around them. From rich pastures and farmlands, where cows grazed in meadows and ploughed fields stood bare and frozen awaiting the waking touch of spring, they passed into higher and wilder country. Great pine trees climbed peaks that seemed to scale the sky, rivers rushed and tumbled over rocks, and the road became stony and winding. Only three days' travel beyond the gentle hills and pastures of Lothian, it was as if they were in another land altogether. They were watched as they trundled past low rough stone cottages by peasant women wearing plaid shawls around their head and shoulders, as their children ran barefoot behind the cart.
When they stopped in what seemed to be a kind of small market town for refreshment on the third day of their journey, Flora was surprised to hear a strange tongue spoken all around. At first she thought her ear must be unaccustomed to the type of Scots spoken in these parts by the common folk; for the language of the lower classes in Edinburgh - though comprehensible to her, since she had been brought up to it - was so far removed from what her governess called the King's English, that it had quite baffled her friend Miss Compton, the daughter of an English wine merchant who had visited them the summer before. But as Flora listened to an exchange between the landlady of the inn where they were served a hearty luncheon, and a small lad who appeared to be her son, she heard quite plainly that the words were neither English nor Scots, but quite another tongue.
"Mr Farquhar," she said in a low voice, after the landlady had terminated the conversation by sending the boy out of the room with a smack on his ear and had gone to another room to fetch more bread, "I hope you do not think I am speaking out of turn, but do you think the people who run this inn might be... foreigners?"
He was much amused. "By no means, a
ssuredly not. From their point of view, you and I may as well be the foreigners."
She was amazed. "But why do they speak so?"
"It is the Gaelic, Flora, the native tongue of these parts and once, of the larger part of Scotland. Did your governess never teach you of this?"
"Oh! No. My governess always insisted that we... my sister and I, spoke the King's English. I have heard of Gaelic, of course I have, but I thought that as we are now, as my father says, a modern nation, it was no longer spoken."
"In these parts it is spoken by all the common folk."
"And do you understand it, sir?"
Their landlady had returned with a loaf of bread and a cutting-board, and instead of replying to her direct, Mr Farquhar addressed the woman in a stream of the half-lyrical, half-guttural tongue. She smiled more warmly than before, made a short reply, addressed some words to Flora too, and retreated with a curtsy.
"I believe I mentioned to you that Inverness-shire is my native country," Mr Farquhar said when she was gone. "And of course, I had a nursemaid."
"Will they speak the Gaelic in the parish of Scourie, sir?"
"They will indeed, Mrs Farquhar."
Flora was quite intimidated by this, when she reflected that her resolution to be a good minister's wife may be hampered by her inability to comprehend or speak the language of the common folk. She cheered herself by thinking that she could help to educate and improve the peasants, by teaching and encouraging them to learn decent English.
Nonetheless, the voices she was now aware of all around added to her feeling that she was travelling into a strange and distant land and not merely to another region of her own. On the fourth and, they hoped, final day of their journey the road - now barely wider than the tracks of the trap's wheels - climbed high into a glen, enclosed by peaks of bare rock. Down below, a long loch shimmered silver as far as Flora's eye could see. She began to feel a little dizzy, but at least she sat comfortably now; or as comfortably, at any rate, as it was ever possible in such a vehicle on such a road.