Contents

Title Page
Copyright
Teaser
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
MORE HISTORICAL EROTICA
FREE PREVIEW OF THE HIGHLAND ROSE


THE LAIRD’S NEW BRIDE

Bonnie Brand
 This book may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the
copyright holder. This story contains explicit content that is intended for adult audiences only. Inspired by
‘The Baron’sLittle Bride’ by Celia Strapp; idea used with full permission. All characters involved in sexual
situations are 18 years of age or older. Copyright © 2015 Bonnie Brand. All rights reserved. Cover Image ©
mimagephotography, Bigstockphoto.com; Alhovik, Bigstockphoto.com, Mtain, Megapixl.com. Logo Image
© Photochatree, Bigstockphoto.com.

‘Before I can welcome ye into my hoose, I’m afeart that we have the small matter of yer punishment to
discuss. Do ye really think that the way ye acted when I came to meet with ye was appropriate? I gave ye
direct instructions to wear the dress that I graciously bought for ye, out of my own pocket, so that ye’d feel
comfortable in my presence. However, ye disobeyed me, yer new husband. Is that the way that wee lassies
are meant to act?’

I was so close to him now that I could almost smell him, his regal, masculine scent.

‘No, your excellency,’ I said, my voice trembling with fear.

‘That’s quite right. Now, I am afeart that I am going to have to punish you. It’s for your own sake, Caitlin.’
When he said my name, he moved his legs so that they were slightly apart from each other. I wondered, if I
bent down a touch, if I might be able to see his sausage poking between his thighs… But of course I didnae
dare do any such thing.

He lightly tapped his knee with an open palm. ‘Come here. Come and lay across my lap.’

I hesitated for a moment. Was this really happening? Was he really going to make me lie across his lap and
then, was he really going to skelp me?






CHAPTER ONE


Ever since I’d been a wee lassie, growing up in my father’s Highland manor,
I’d dreamed of one day being presented at the Assembly Rooms in the capital
city of Edinburgh during the social season. Anyone who was anyone would head
to that beautiful city of Sir Walter Scott and Thomas Carlyle, to waltz through
the grand portico entrance, and surround myself with such finery as Corinthian
pilasters, drapes, mirrors and crystal chandeliers. In 1822, King George IV
himself had attended the assembly rooms! It had been said that the sudden rush
of carriages and the roaring of coachmen was quite the spectacle to behold, and I
for one wanted to be a part of all that glittering wealth and aristocracy in the near
future.

Of course, growing up in my father’s household, it had always seemed as
though it would only be a matter of time before it was my turn to be wooed and
seduced by some rakish young fellow at the Assembly Rooms. My family came
from old money, my grandfather having being married to the Marquess of
Lothian, and as an only child, I’d known that it was my duty to carry on the
family line by being married to another old house, maybe the MacGregors or the
MacFarlanes. I had been sent to the oldest and finest finishing schools that
money could buy, had been taught poetry, ceilidh dancing, and decorum by some
of the finest etiquette teachers in the whole of Scotland.

But on my eighteenth birthday, all of my hopes and dreams came crashing
down like cheap pottery. I was told to report to my father’s study at my earliest
convenience by Buchanan, the butler, and so I did, after having taken tea in the
front room with mother.

‘Ye mustnae get upset at anything yer father might divulge tae ye today,
Caitlin,’ said mother, sipping heather and sage tea from a bone china cup. ‘He’s
tried his best to keep everything stable for ye, despite particularly difficult
circumstances.’

‘Aye, o’ course,’ I said, not really knowing to what my ma was referring.

I felt unduly nervous as I took the familiar walk to father’s study, past the
bookshelves and antique sculpted ornaments. My family had always had
expensive tastes, although our collection of artworks had rather diminished in
size over the past few years. I’d wondered why it was that father had been
selling off the old portraits and sculptures, but had presumed that it had been due
to changing tastes or fashions or suchlike.

I struck father’s old oak door thrice as I had done ever since I could
remember, and he called me in. ‘Come on in, Caitlin, I’ve been waiting for ye.’

I was rather taken aback by my father’s appearance behind his desk. He had
large, dark bags beneath his eyes, and his normally carefully oiled moustache
was lacklustre and drooping; his eyes were bloodshot and there was a general
pallid quality to his skin that I’d never seen before.

‘Caitlin,’ he said, sighing heavily, ‘I’ve let ye down, hen.’

‘Father,’ I said, ‘what’s the matter?’

‘I’ve tried to keep it from ye for all these years, tried in vain to make ye a
happy wean, to give ye a happy childhood and a contented life, but now that
you’re eighteen, you need to know. We are in debt. A suffocating, monstrous
amount o’ debt. For years I’ve struggled to reconcile our paltry incomings with
our huge outgoings to no avail. If I didnae do somethin’ aboot it, we’d be oot on
our bahookies this time next year, without so much as a hoose to our name.’

At this, I gasped.

My father continued. ‘Now I need to tell ye somethin’ important, Caitlin. I’m
afeart that ye willnae be going to enjoy the season in Auld Reekie next month.
I’m afeart that yer fate will be quite different.’

I felt the shock grip my body like a frozen vice, and I thought for a moment
that I was going to swoon, faint right in front of my da. How had they kept this
from me? How could he take this away from me like this, after having led me to
believe for all these years that becoming a socialite in bonny auld Edinburgh was
my destiny?

‘Father, I,’ I said, trying to hold back the tears which I felt pricking warmly at
the corners of my eyes, ‘what will be become of me?’

‘I’ve committed tae something terrible,’ he said. ‘I’ve agreed, in principle, to
yer marriage.’

‘My marriage?’ I asked, beside myself with wretched rage.

‘Aye lassie, yer marriage,’ said my father. He drew himself up a little,
shuffling in his seat, before adjusting his collar. I saw beads of sweat on his brow
and then, finally, when he was ready, he uttered the words: ‘you’ll be merrit to
the Laird of Elgin.’

‘Elgin?’ I cried. ‘But, but that’s miles away! That’s even further north than
Inverness!’

It took a second for this to truly sink in, and then when I finally knew what
my fate was, I felt a surge of adrenaline beat round my body. My legs began to
shake, and my breast heaved in my bodice as I struggled to breathe. Then, when
the cold realization hit me, I felt consciousness slipping away. Everything went
black.






CHAPTER TWO


In the following week, I learned a lot about my family, which had been kept
secret from me over the years. All of our dirty wee secrets, my father’s gambling
and my mother’s drinking, grandfather’s whoring debts and the scabrous clean-
picked bones of countless other family scandals. And it fell to me to settle the
family’s debts, of course. My maidenhood was the only thing of any worth
around here, so of course it had been sold off to the highest bidder. The Laird of
Elgin.
His was a name that I knew well. Indeed, it wouldnae be an overstatement to
say that he was quite famous. Or, to be more precise, I should say that he was
infamous.

The Laird Of Elgin had a reputation for unbridled cruelty and perversion
amongst the landed gentry of Scotland. Scarred in a horrific accident when he’d
been but a wee lass, there was no-one in the whole country who lay with more
harlots, who drank more liquor, who fought in more duels. There where
whispered rumours of his perversions, the sort of thing which those in polite
company dare not discuss with each other. I’d overheard the maids talking about
him as I bathed one evening.

‘They say he brands his wenches,’ said the older one, cackling like a mad old
goat.

‘Aye, and he likes ‘em young an’ all, that filthy auld pervert,’ said the other, as
she scraped the laundry along the washboard.

‘Mind you, if what they say about ‘is sausage is true, I wouldnae mind a
nibble!’ The two wretched old hags fell about themselves laughing, and I closed
the cracked door fully, once more on the verge of tears.

The following day, after begging my forgiveness over and over again, my
father had explained to me the terms of the engagement into which I’d been sold.
Because the Laird had never seen me, he was going to perform an ‘examination’
on me the following Monday, to ensure that the ‘goods were to his satisfaction’.
I could hardly believe the way that everyone seemed to be talking about me,
objectifying me as though I were nothing more than a slice o’ haggis. Even my
father was involved in the lewdness, in the unbelievably uncouth goings on.

‘Ye are,’ he paused, trying to come up with the right words, ‘whole, aren’t ye?
Ye know, doon there?’

This time, there was no stopping the tears.

‘If ye mean have I let some nobody take my maidenhood, the answer is no!
But I damn well wish I had, now that I know for whom I’ve been protecting it. I
wish I’d laid with the gardener, or the butler, or anyone at…’

My father flung his hand round and skelped me hard across my face. I felt the
shock and the shame of it more than the actual pain. He’d never so much as laid
a finger on me before.

‘Now listen here, you glaikit lassie, there’s a lot about the world that ye
dinnae understand. We’ve fed and raised ye since the day ye were born and all
ye’ve ever done is asked fer mair and mair, and got what ye wanted, I might add.
It’s time that ye paid yer way, and the only talent ye’ve got for sale is right there,
between yer legs!’ His face was a mask of fury. I searched my heart, trying to
think of something to say to him, but I knew, deep down, that he was right.

‘Now make sure that ye wear this fer yer meeting with the Laird,’ he said,
throwing a slim cardboard box down onto the table in front of me. I saw a lick of
pink lace fall out from under the lid. ‘He’s given express instructions that ye
must be wearing that dress.’

‘Aye father,’ I said, still feeling the shame of the slap burning my face.






CHAPTER THREE


The arrival of the Laird was the talk of the entire estate. I had everyone from
the cook to the stable lad ask me whether I was excited, or nervous to be meeting
my new husband. I gave the same answer to everyone who asked: ‘We’re not
merrit yet, and he mightnae even like the way I look, so let’s not be too eager to
call him my husband, shall we?’

On the morning of his arrival, I sat in my chamber as I always did in the early
part of the day. I opened once again the wee box which contained the dress that
the Laird had asked me to wear for his inspection. It was a quite ludicrous
garment, more befitting of a set of underwear than a proper lady’s attire. It was a
short, frilly thing, with wee straps over my shoulders (which would have been on
complete display if the dress was the only thing I would be wearing). The skirt
of the dress was so short that it barely reached my knees, and it was so puffy that
it stuck out from my body almost at right angles.

I’d come up with a bit of a trick. The Laird had of course requested that I
wear the dress for his inspection, but he hadn’t stipulated that I was not to wear
anything else as well. So, I decided that aye, I would wear the wretchedly ugly
wee thing, but that I’d wear an overcoat as well, so that my entire body wouldn’t
be on display for him. Of course, my father had been in to my chamber to make
sure that I was wearing the dress, but he’d since gone out to collect the Laird,
who apparently had since arrived. I looked at the opulent surroundings of my
bed chamber If the Laird was happy with me, soon I’d be living a different life,
somewhere else, somewhere cold and dank and drookit up north. I mean really, it
rained enough in the Highlands, without having to move up to Elgin! Mainly,
though, I hoped that the rumours of the Laird’s cruelty were overstated, and that
he wasn’t as much of a cruel beastie as everyone seemed to say. I mean, nobody
could be that bad, could they?

I pulled on my overcoat, and sat on the bed waiting. Finally, after what felt
like hours, I heard a deep, rumbling voice outside my door, saying a few words.
Then, the door handle turned and a figure stepped in.

He was taller than, I think, a man had any right to be, and dark as well. His
kilt revealed more of his legs than my father’s did, and I could see the thick,
study trunks of his thighs creeping below the tartan fabric. I suddenly
remembered what those filthy old hags had said about the Laird’s ‘sausage’, and
couldnae help my eyes from trailing down to his sporran… just in case I could
catch a keek.

The Laird didnae seem as old as I’d imagined a Laird to be. He can’t have
been that much older than forty years or so. He had hard, dark eyes, which sat in
a slim, hard face, and his lip, underneath a thick, shiny moustache, had a cruel
curl to it. I noticed that he was scarred, just as the rumours would have had me
believe; an ugly, ragged wound ran up from his chin to his forehead. Maybe it
was for that reason that his mouth curled the way it did. Maybe he was trying to
smile. I wondered the scar had been caused by the dagger in his own sock…
Perhaps an angry wench grabbed the dagger and sliced his face one day…
Perhaps I would do the same one day in the near future.

‘I see that ye have a twisted sense of humour, lassie,’ he said. His voice was
deep, and coarse, like the bark of a hunting dog which had just smelled a kill.

‘I…’ I started to say, but I felt a shiver of a blush start in me.

‘Would ye kindly remove yer coat, so that I may conduct my inspection of ye,
young lassie? I’m a very busy man, and I must say that you havenae made a
particularly good first impression.’ He stood with such authority, such mastery of
his surroundings that it almost felt as though I were in his chamber, not the other
way around. I felt a surge of blood pump around my body. He was certainly a
commanding presence, that was for sure.

‘Of course…’

He held up his hand. ‘For the time being, it would be proper for ye to address
me as yer excellency,’ he said.

‘Very good, yer excellency,’ I said. His expression, as I stood and started to
remove my coat was completely unreadable. If he was impressed, he certainly
wasnae letting on. The coat dropped to the floor, and I twisted a little, left and
right, letting him see the naked flesh of my legs, my shoulders, the start of my
cleavage.

‘Braw,’ he said, ‘the dress suits you fantastically.’ I felt a sudden, unexpected
rush of happiness to hear him give me a compliment. I couldnae believe that a
man as stern as this might like me. ‘O’ course, the way you have yer hair is
utterly inappropriate. I hope that ye dinnae think a haircut like that would be
acceptable should I take ye as my wife.’

‘No, yer excellency, no–’

He again stopped me in mid-sentence. ‘Ye need to dress yer age, Caitlin. Ye
are a young lassie, barely out of girlhood, are you not? We need to preserve this
youth for as long as possible, do we not?’

I found the certainty and authority with which he spoke to be quite
intoxicating. I’d never met a man like this. He made my father seem like a
glaikit wee wean.

‘Aye, sir, we do,’ I said, blushing bright under his gaze.

He took a step closer, and looked straight at me, straight into my heart, into
my soul.

‘Has any man ever touched ye, Caitlin,’ he asked. ‘Doon there?’ He looked
down at my groin and then back up at my eyes. ‘Has anyone deflowered you? It
is important that I know. If you lie to me, I will find out.’

‘No, your excellency, no-one. I am a maiden still.’

He bowed deeply, took my hand and kissed it.

‘Thank ye, and I apologise for the coarseness of my questions.’ Then, he
turned and left my room. I didnae hear anything from the Laird for a month.






CHAPTER FOUR


When the letter finally came that I had been accepted as the new Lady of
Elgin, my father’s reaction was rather more positive than mine.

‘Och, that’s braw!’ my father cried, holding the letter above his head like a
trophy, ‘Finally, ye’ve done somethin’ good, lassie. Well done!’ I didnae know
whether I should feel good about the way my father spoke to me, but I decided
to take what little praise I could get.

With a wee bit of help from the house servants, I was packed and ready to go
in next to no time. I couldnae believe how quickly my life was changing. All I
had to look forward to now was the Laird’s odd way of talking and a strange,
loveless marriage.

Of course, I thought a lot of having to lie with the Laird. He was older than
me, and I had almost no experience of being with the opposite sex whatsoever.
From time to time I found myself thinking of his… sausage. What would it be
like? Would he expect me to open up to him straight away? I found the thought
of fitting something so big into my tender wee opening to be quite terrifying. Of
course I had touched myself there on several occasions, despite the teachings of
our chaplain, who was adamant that onanism was a direct route to fire and
brimstone.

I’d never gotten much from it, to be quite truthful, and any time I’d ever felt
the stirrings of arousal in myself, I’d felt so guilty that I’d had to stop my hand,
and think of something to take my mind off matters.

The trip by carriage to Elgin was a long and arduous one, via Perth and up the
east coast, with plenty of time for me to become anxious, wring my hands
together in fear, fall asleep, worry again about my fate and sleep once more.
Finally, after what seemed like days, we arrived at the grounds of the Laird’s
house. The carriage boy helped my out from the back of the cab, and I stepped
my first footstep onto the grounds of my new home.

It was grand. Grander than anywhere I’d ever been before. The house itself,
quite some walk from the front drive, was positively palatial, and must have had
individual wings, as well as guest accommodation and banqueting halls. It was
built from gleaming white sandstone, and had huge, gold rimmed windows, the
glazing of which must have cost a fortune. As I was looking at the house, a
figure emerged from the front door. It wasnae the Laird, no this was definitely a
woman, a short, rather plump-looking creature, who bustled her way down the
front path.

‘Come on, young Caitlin, you’re awful late, an’ the Laird has been waiting
eagerly for yer arrival!’ She had a rather rough sounding voice. ‘I’m Agnes, the
housekeeper. I’ll be looking after ye from now on. Come on, we have to get you
in to the hall. The Laird’s waitin’ for ye, come now, come,’ she said, and she
took hold of my arm with an iron-like strength, before virtually dragging me up
the entrance path, all the way into the house.

She pulled me to the right, after we got in, and I barely had time to take in the
opulence and wealth of the surroundings. I knew that the Laird was wealthy, of
course, but I hadnae expected this level of splendour. There were huge portraits
of the Laird everywhere, with intricate, gold-plated frames. Priceless vases and
other valuable trinkets adorned every surface. This was truly the most exquisite
house I’d ever set foot in. It was almost a castle! And now it was mine, I
suppose… Agnes dragged me through a doorway into a vast space. And there,
sitting across the room from me, was the Laird.

This place almost felt like a kind of throne room. The Laird sat, up a few steps
on a small stage at the far end. There was a stag’s head hanging over his head,
and a red carpet, which ran all the way up the middle of the room and ended
underneath his seat. The Laird was dressed in his full regalia, with high, broad
golden shoulder-pads crowning each side of his smart navy jacket, a fine, thick,
red tartan kilt, and a pair of the most polished brogues I’d ever seen adorning his
feet.

‘Finally,’ he said. His voice was as rough and deep as I’d remembered from
his inspection, and he seemed even more confident now that we were in his
domain. ‘Come!’ He commanded me forward, and I started the way up towards
his seat. I felt terrified in his presence, and as I slowly took the long walk up to
him, he started to talk to me.

‘Before I can welcome ye into my hoose, I’m afeart that we have the small
matter of yer punishment to discuss. Do ye really think that the way ye acted
when I came to meet with ye was appropriate? I gave ye direct instructions to
wear the dress that I graciously bought for ye, out of my own pocket, so that
ye’d feel comfortable in my presence. However, ye disobeyed me, yer new
husband. Is that the way that wee lassies are meant to act?’

I was so close to him now that I could almost smell him, his regal, masculine
scent.

‘No, your excellency,’ I said, my voice trembling with fear.

‘That’s quite right. Now, I am afeart that I am going to have to punish you.
It’s for your own sake, Caitlin.’ When he said my name, he moved his legs so
that they were slightly apart from each other. I wondered, if I bent down a touch,
if I might be able to see his sausage poking between his thighs… But of course I
didnae dare do any such thing.

He lightly tapped his knee with an open palm. ‘Come here. Come and lay
across my lap.’

I hesitated for a moment. Was this really happening? Was he really going to
make me lie across his lap and then, was he really going to skelp me? A horrible
thought ran through my mind - I hadnae worn any undergarments for the trip! I
was quite nude beneath my large dress - I found it much more comfortable to
have my underparts in the open air, but, if he were to lift my skirts before
smacking me, he’d be able to see everything! My bahooky, my pubis, my wee
quim. The thought made me panic and when I didnae move for a few moments
he locked his grim eyes on mine.

‘Come here, right noo, and lie across my lap young lassie, before I lose all of
my not inconsiderable patience!’

I could try to run, but the door might be locked and that frightful maid Agnes
might stop me. Maybe it was for the best that I just take my punishment like a
good lassie. I knew that I had been defying him by wearing a coat over my dress,
and he was taking me in and looking after me, as well as providing for my
family. Maybe it was right that I let him discipline me as he pleased.

Shaking with nerves, I walked up to the brute. As I was about to lay down on
him, he took an elegant-looking, freshly-pressed white silken handkerchief from
his top packet, and carefully laid it across his lap. ‘We dinnae want any of
Madame’s juices to stain ma kilt, do we?’ he asked.

I’d never been asked such a vulgar question as this before, and I felt my
cheeks start to burn red with embarrassment. I didnae know what to say, so I
carefully laid myself across his lap. I felt almost immediately dizzy, as I’d
arranged myself so that my head was quite low down and my behind was
sticking straight up in the air. I couldnae see the Laird’s face, but I could have
sworn that I heard the revolting sound of him licking his lips.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘it’s very important that ye understand the reason that this is
happening. It’s not because I’m cruel, or that I hate ye, nothing could be further
from the truth. I have,’ he said, as he started to lift my skirts and petticoat up my
legs, ‘only your best interests at heart. I know that your father is a pathetic,
wormlike creature, with no backbone whatsoever,’ he continued, revealing the
backs of my gartered legs, and surely the merest hint of my bottom. ‘And in
order to make a young woman strong and good, she must be taught that she
cannae act in whatever way she likes, whenever she…’ He stopped short.

He had seen that I was wearing no underwear. I felt the a cold lick of a breeze
on my bare bottom, I felt my tender, virginal quim totally open to the air.

‘My goodness, Caitlin, it seems that you’ve come quite prepared for our wee
encounter here today,’ said the Laird, and then I felt his rough, coarse hand on
my backside.

He began to stroke my flesh, pushing my buttocks away from the centre of
my behind. He felt so strong, as though he could tear my flesh away from my
bone should he so wish, but, for the moment at least, his movements were
careful and considered.

‘Ye have quite an exceptional form, my dear. Quite exceptional. Ye’ve almost
distracted me from my task.’ I felt my wee kitty being pushed down into the silk
of the handkerchief beneath me, my lips squashing into the fine fabric as he
rested a heavy hand on me.

‘Now, I’ve got the unhappy task of administering corporal punishment to yer
backside, ma dear. I’m going to skelp yer bottom so hard that it turns red and is
marked by my signet ring. That way ye’ll know that in future, ye must not
disobey yer Laird.’

‘Och,’ I said, not thinking, ‘please sir, not that.’

‘Aye,’ he said, and I’m sure I heard cruel relish in his voice, ‘I’m afeart it’s
my only recourse. Now, it’s imperative that you thank me after each and every
slap, you hear? The punishment is ten slaps, but if you dinnae thank me, they
willnae count.’ With a final squeeze of my buttock, I felt the Laird lift his hand
away from my flesh, and then, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, I felt his
heavy hand come skelping down onto me.

My mouth opened soundlessly and my eyes widened with the pain of the
strike. Wee needles of red hot sensation spread out from his fingers across my
flesh. I had not expected him to hit me so hard. Shocked, I remained silent.

‘Pardon me?’ said the Laird, ‘I didnae quite hear that. We’ll have to start all
over again, I’m afeart. What a dreadful shame.’ Then, without any warning, he
lifted his hand again and brought it down with a hard, snapping thwack sound on
my bottom, even harder than before. I felt my flesh pucker underneath him, as
my body struggled to react to the pain it was experiencing. I felt one part of my
bottom sting even harder than the other - it must be from his signet ring. Quick,
Caitlin, say something, I thought to myself.

‘Tha- thank ye, Laird,’ I panted, trying hard to concentrate through the shock.

‘Och, well done, dear. What a good lassie. Well, it was my pleasure.’ As he
said pleasure, I’m sure I felt his sporran lift, and then I felt something poking me
from his crotch. Was it his… My thoughts were broken by another skelp.
‘Thank ye, Laird,’ I said, as my whole body shifted forward with the power of
the skelp. I closed my eyes and took the pain, as it radiated around my buttocks,
and through my core, all the way around to my wee quim which shivered
underneath me, so close to his rough hands.

Again he beat me, and again I thanked him for it, and with each following
strike it became easier to say thank you, even though the pain became more and
more severe. I could feel the flesh of my bottom swelling and reddening with
each skelp as the Laird marked me, made me his. ‘Thank ye, thank ye, thank ye
Laird,’ I said, and I knew that I was thanking him with sincerity, as now each
skelp had started to make my pussy began to beat with pleasure, with
anticipation. I knew he was looking at me there, because with each strike now he
was pinching my buttocks and pushing them up so that he could see that secret
wee place. I knew that I had started to glisten for him. Then, before I knew it, the
ten skelps were up.

‘Och look,’ he said, ‘it seems like someone’s wee kitty is positively seeping
with all this attention.’ I felt his fingers walking their way back along my rump
and settle on the inside of my thighs. ‘I suppose for a bad lassie like ye, getting
smacked on the behind must have made yer cunny-skin wet with lust.’ His fat
fingers started to slowly stroke the lips of my Highland rose, smoothly stroking
my sweet wee organ, causing even more nectar to spill from inside me, as I
became entirely consumed with a burning passion.

‘Aye, Laird,’ I whispered, ‘please, my Laird.’ I could still feel the sting from
his hand on my behind, and the memory of the pain mixed with the utter
pleasure his hands began to gave me. His finger was the first part of anyone save
me to enter the space between my legs, and his hooked, probing fingers
discovered for the first time how soft it was inside me, how hot and how
quivering my pussy was. He began to slide his thick, wide-knuckled digits into
me while making wee deep groaning sounds. I could feel my wetness starting to
coat his hands, as he now plunged two fingers inside me.
‘What a tight wee kitty,’ he murmured to himself, as he started to push harder,
deeper into me. My body began twitching as he explored me, and with each
confident pound of his fingers, I gave myself more and more to him, to his
mastery, to his power, to his perversion. I now imagined him striking my behind
again and again as his fingers stretched my flesh, then, suddenly, he moved his
other hand to a space just above my opening, to what now felt the centre of my
sexual power, and he began to wetly slide his fingers over a hard nub of flesh
there. The pleasure, the surprise of it, was like flowers opening at the speed of
light in my mind. I felt streaks of hot joy spread instantly over my body and
then, black spots appeared in my vision as I began to buckle on top of him, and
finally, without thinking, my mouth made a word that I’d never said before, and I
exploded with pleasure, as my entire body stiffened and relaxed.

 ‘Fuck,’ I gasped, my body collapsing in joy over him.
‘My lassie has grown up,’ said the Laird, before wiping his soaking hand on
my backside. ‘I look forward to our next meeting.’






CHAPTER FIVE


I struggled to understand quite what had happened between the Laird and
myself. Had he been angry with me? Had he wanted to somehow show that he
owned me? Had he done what he’d done to me just for his own perverse
pleasure, to show the power that he had over me?

After our encounter, the Laird had lifted me up, before placing me down on
his chair, with my skirts now safely back down over my legs.

‘Wait here,’ he said, and within a few minutes, Agnes, the maid, had come to
collect me. She took me up to my chambers, and because I was so shaky on my
feet, I was slow to follow her up the stairs.

When we finally arrived in my chamber, I was shocked by how beautiful it
was. The walls were painted a pastel pink color, and large heather-coloured
drapes hung heavy in front of the huge windows which dominated the space. But
there was one thing which reminded me that I was most definitely in the domain
of the Laird. There was a large oil painting of the Laird of the manor on the wall.
It was unlike any other painting I’d ever seen. In it, the Laird was totally nude.
His body was like that of an Adonis, with beautifully sculpted, anatomically
perfect musculature. And between his legs hung a most almighty sausage. I’d
never, ever seen the like of if before in my life. If that was what truly hung under
the Laird, I could scarcely believe that he was human.

‘Do you like the painting, my dear?’ asked the maid, as she fussed with my
possessions.

I didnae know what to say, so I remained silent. The maid came right up to
me, in a way that no servant had ever done before, and then, without so much as
a second’s notice, she struck me across the face.

 ‘Ye’re going to have to learn to speak when ye’re spoken to, young lassie, do
ye understand? The Laird has given me quite strict instructions that I’m to
discipline ye if ye misbehave.’

‘Aye, I like the painting very much,’ I said. I didnae add ye auld trout which is
what I was thinking.

‘Very good. That wasnae so hard, now was it? When ye’re ready, disrobe an’
come through that door please.’

‘Disrobe?’

‘Aye, that’s right. Are ye simple or somethin’? Must ye repeat everything I
say? It’s time for me to bathe ye, so, unless ye want to get yer clothes wet, it’s
better that ye take them off.’
She walked into the adjoining bathroom and I waited for a moment before
taking off my clothes. I heard the sound of a bath being drawn in the other room,
and the maid started singing some infernal tune. I couldnae believe what was
going on here. I hadnae had someone bathe me since I was a wean. Did these
people not know that I was a fully grown woman of eighteen years? Well, I
suppose the Laird did know all about my womanhood. I blushed again, and
slipped off my dress. I looked at my behind in the mirror and saw that I was red
and puffy still. He’d truly marked me. I walked closer and saw quite clearly the
mark of his signet ring. There was a perfectly thin, red ‘D’ on my backside. I
dinnae know why, but I felt a thrill of pride burst through my body.

When I walked into the bathroom, the maid was waiting, with a monstrous
scrubbing brush in her hand.

‘Hmm, your breasts are more comely than I’d imagined,’ said Agnes,
somehow loading the compliment with scorn. ‘Well, get in.’

I did so, and was pleased to note that the water was warm and full of bubbles.
It felt good to take a bath, particularly after my earlier rough treatment. Agnes
immediately started to scrub me quite severely with the brush, and although I
hadnae felt particularly dirty, it was nice to be looked after.

‘So, what do you think of the Laird?’ she asked, ferociously scrubbing my
back.

‘He seems very stern,’ I said, not wanting to cause offence.

‘Och, he is stern. But he is a good man. Ye’ll learn to appreciate just how
good he is. He is always fair.’

She started to scrub my legs, moving the brush closer to my thighs and then
she lodged it right between my legs.

‘Ow!’ I said, surprised.

‘Dinnae moan, I need to clean oot yer quim. The Laird has big plans for ye
tonight, and yer wee cunny must be spick an’ span an’ ready for his instrument.
We need to make your marriage legal, so the Laird must take yer blood tonight,
take yer maidenhood.’ She started to scrub my wee pussy. It stung a wee bit, but
to be honest, the rough bristles of the brush felt good against my secret place.
She scrubbed more softly now, and I could feel my delicate lips thanking her for
the attention.

‘Let’s get yer wee pink garden absolutely shining for the Laird, shall we? An’
I’ll give your arse hole a scrub for good measure.’ She moved the head of the
brush underneath me, and started to scrub my back passage. It felt surprisingly
sweet also, and I found myself closing my eyes and exhaling softly.

‘Now that we’re all done, let’s get ye dry, an’ in the harness.’ She put down
the brush and held up a soft-looking towel.

‘The harness?’

‘Och dinnae worry, it’s all for yer own good my dear, to make it as simple and
painless as possible. Come on, out ye get.’






CHAPTER SIX


When I was quite dry, Agnes took me back into my chamber, and dressed me
in a tiny wee frilly frock. I saw that the Laird’s proclivity for short dresses was
quite profound as, if anything, this particular garment was even shorter than the
pink thing he’d bade me wear for my inspection. This dress was the purest shade
of white I’d ever seen in an item of clothing.

‘Quite virginal, this wee number, isn’t it?’ mused the maid, ‘Aye, quite, quite
appropriate for a young lassie to wear on her wedding night.’ I had to admit, it
was a beautiful dress, if quite inappropriate. It came down so low on the bust
that it felt almost as though it was a corset. The heaving flesh of my bosoms was
on clear display above the fabric, and when I turned fast enough in the mirror, I
could see the curve of my buttocks underneath the twirling fabric.
‘Now, let’s get ye in the bed, shall we?’

The maid led me to my bed, and I noticed, for the first time, some odd extra
features that I’d not seen in a bed before; there were coarse-looking leather
straps which came out from underneath the covers, and a few other hanging
pieces of leather cord from the canopy above the bed. Was I to be trussed up like
an animal? The thought became suddenly and shockingly clear in my mind, and
as soon as I interrogated the idea I knew that it would be my fate. It made perfect
sense. This is how the Laird wanted me: totally in his power, completely under
his control.

‘Come on, hop up onto the mattress.’

I didnae even have the strength to argue. I knew that it would just make the
situation worse. So, I crawled like an animal onto the soft mattress, feeling its
quality beneath me. I manoeuvred myself into the leather straps, and the maid
pulled the buckles tight around my ankles as I rested on all fours. Soon, she’d
strapped me in so tightly that I couldnae move my legs. I was bent over, and she
put her hand in the small of my back, before lifting my arms upwards and using
the straps which hung from the canopy she fastened my wrists close to the
ceiling. My torso dangled from the straps so that my breasts were pushed
forwards and my bahooky was pushed back. It was a surprisingly comfortable
position, because I could relax into the straps from the ceiling. There was no real
pressure on any part of my body.

‘Excellent,’ she said, ‘his lordship is going to love this!’

She lifted up my skirts so that my wee pussy and my ass were bare in the
evening air. ‘Lovely,’ she said, ‘what a beautifully clean wee cunny, just right for
the Laird to plough to his heart’s content.’

And I waited. It must have been a few hours, because soon, I was dozing off. I
woke to the sound of the Laird’s resonant voice behind me.

‘Well, well well, I must apologise for keeping ye waiting for so long, my wee
treat, but there was urgent business to which I had to attend. Now though, we are
simply left with the matter of pleasure.’

I couldnae turn my head to see him. Something about the situation made me
suddenly aware of how much I wanted his touch. It was agony not being able to
move, not being able to kiss him, not be able to let him know how much I
wanted him. I felt again the sweet sensation of moisture begin to blossom on the
lips of my quim, and I longed for him to see. I heard a long, deep sniff come
from right next to my pussy. Had he… smelled me?

‘The scent of your cunt is sweet perfume to me, wife,’ he said. ‘Och so
tempting to take my belt and to strike your beautiful behind once more. But,
alas, the maid tells me you have been so good this afternoon,’ as he said the
word ‘good’, I felt what must have been his thumb, split the lips of my pussy
slightly, forcing its thick tip into me.

‘Och aye, I’ve heard stories about how nice ye looked as the maid scrubbed
yer kitty for me, how pliant ye were to all of her requests,’ he pushed his thumb
deeper into me. ‘I even hear that she gave yer wee rose a scrub,’ he said, and
then, I felt the thick wetness of his tongue, licking up my arsehole, making
shivers of pleasure run up and down my body.

 ‘Please Laird,’ I said, ‘dinnae punish me.’

‘Dinnae worry dear,’ he said, his breath hot on my backside, ‘the punishment
is all over now.’

With that, he withdrew his thumb, and I felt something else, something
smooth and hot, kiss the lips of my pussy. Then, this new object, this incredibly
forceful object split me apart like a peach. The Laird’s dick had finally made its
home in me.

‘Dinnae worry my love, this will only hurt briefly, and then, it will be so
good.’ True enough, the monstrous mass of his black pudding was causing a
tugging tear of pain inside me. I winced, and he plunged deeper, and then the
pain was gone, leaving in its place only fullness, only joy, only long, hard, deep
pleasure. He pushed even further in. I couldnae believe the depths he was
plundering within me.

‘How big is…’ I started, and then winced again as more inches of manhood
were pushed straight up into my body.

‘Ye’re so tight, my wee virgin bride, I’ve not felt one as tight as ye before,’ he
said, groaning with pleasure.

‘Does it feel good, yer excellency?’ I asked, whispering, panting around my
husband’s lust.

‘My darling, ye can call me yer husband now,’ he said, and he started to slide
in and out of my passage. I closed my eyes and my mouth opened wider and
wider with each thrust, as new avenues of pleasure and experience were
unlocked to me. This man was thunder, he was the earth, he was the most
powerful creature on the planet, and he was filling me up, making me a woman,
making me his. I could feel every inch of him, I could perceive all of the
contours of his cock, every vein, every throb as he took me.

I felt his arms on my buttocks now as he pulled me wider apart. My juices ran
so freely it felt as though there was almost no friction between us, like our
bodies were two tongues slipping past each other, trying to find their way into
quims and cocks that prodded and probed them. The speed of his thrusts
increased, and I found that every sensation I was experiencing added to my
pleasure; the tug of the straps on my limbs, the soft mattress on my knees, his
coarse body against mine, the slapping of his balls into my pussy, the sweat
dripping from his brow onto my back. We rutted and rolled together, and then,
with a grunt, he reached his arms around me and took hold of my breasts. With a
long, firm stroke his pushed his cock all the way in, deeper than it had been
before, and he pinched my nipples with all of his might. I shrieked with pain and
then, moaned with pleasure.

‘That feels good, doesn’t it, my bride, to have my fingers around your teats as
I fuck you?’

‘Aye, husband,’ I said, and as I spoke, he forced his fingers into my mouth. I
bit them and licked them and sucked them as he continued to fuck me, settling
into the rhythm of a galloping stallion and then, with his other hand, he reached
between my legs and pinched the nub of flesh at the top of my sex and I howled.
My body started to wrack and spasm and I felt like I saw God in front of me,
watching us. The pleasure was so great that I yelped and pulled hard against my
restraints. I felt a rolling pleasure start to build within me, and then with a power
unlike anything I’d ever experienced, a climax built within me and I screamed in
pleasure. I felt the Laird suddenly roar and then, the tip of his penis, followed by
the entire shaft began to pulse and throb and he deposited his seed deep inside
me.

The Laird loosened my restraints, and we slumped down together on the
heavenly bed, both satisfied. I felt as though life was not as bad as it could have
been. What was a season in Edinburgh, compared to a lifetime with the Laird?
Hungry for more?


THE BLACKSMITH’S DAUGHTER

When the naive young blacksmith's daughter, Catherine MacBride, encounters a mysterious stranger in a
Scottish tavern one evening, she is far from prepared for what happens next.

The dark, handsome, and severely strict Duke of Leamington, is a rich Englishman with inexpensive tastes.
For he is a man who can buy anything, and soon the cheap young blacksmith's daughter belongs to him.

When the blacksmith consents to sell his daughter to the Duke of Leamington, however, he does not realize
just what the Duke wants with his wee lassie. And how far he will go to get it.

This dark, powerful, erotic, historical romance will awaken your deepest desires.

———

THE HIGHLAND ROSE

When Rosa, the Laird's young flame-haired herbalist, discovers an abandoned cottage on one of her
highland excursions, she rests there overnight to avoid contact with wolves and other wild creatures.

When she wakes the next morning, strapped to the bed, she discovers a different kind of wild creature:
Hamish, a proud, passionate highlander. He's not happy that she's stolen his bed, and soon, she's going to
want to pay the price for her crime, hard and without protection.

Soon, he'll make her his woman and let her in on a big, dark secret.

This erotic highland romance will take your breath away. Contains explicit descriptions.

ALSO AVAILABLE AS AN AUDIO BOOK!

READ ON FOR A FREE PREVIEW!



FREE PREVIEW OF THE HIGHLAND ROSE


Past the bustling, smoking metropolises of Glasgow and Edinburgh, past sleepy
villages where fishwives and farmers mill and chatter all day long, even further,
past the tilled fields and tended crops of wheat and barley, past the wild places,
the towering grey rocks and fierce bushes of thistle and dandelion, past the
shrubs and the grass and the pale, frosty heather, that’s where you’ll find me,
striding o’er the landscape with a knife in one hand and a basket in t’other,
lonely and shivering, but happy and free.

My name’s Rosa, like my grandmother before me, and I know the bare beauty of
the Highlands of Scotland like no-one else. I live at the court of the Laird at Fort
George, ten miles from Inverness, and I’m a herbalist by birth. My education
started as soon as I could walk. My ma was a hard woman, and she didn’t suffer
fools gladly. In fact she didn’t suffer them at all. She taught me that the best way
to know for sure if a plant stings is to ‘grab it wi’ yer hands’. And a lot of the
plants I’m after sting like buggery. My mother had died only three year ago,
when I was but sixteen. Losing her has been like losing my heart, but she’s
always taught me to be tough and strong in the face of misery, so after grieving, I
just carried on with life. I never knew my da, so now the court of the Laird was
like my family.

Milkthistle, St John’s Wort, Rosehip and Lovage; those were the tools of my
trade. I’d be sent out by Rory MacGregor, the Laird’s master of stores, into the
wilderness to restock our supplies every few weeks, depending on our needs. I
used to live for my trips away, because the work I completed from day to day in
the fort was so boring that it fair drove me round the twist. I would either spend
time grinding herbs in the pestle and mortar, or drying them by the furnace in the
feasting room. Sometimes, if the weather was fine (which was of course an
unusually rare occurrence) I could dry my herbs outside, on racks in the
courtyard. Spending time out there wasn’t so bad, although I’d often get hoots
from the stablemen and the other brutes that inhabited the fort.

You see, I was what you might call a ‘bonny wee lass’. That means I was young,
and not so hard on the eyes. My hair was deep copper red and my eyes were
green, and because of my hard labour, I had a strong young body with an ample
bosom and pert backside. People used to tell me that I must be descended from
the faeries or, if they were feeling cruel, the kelpies. I was no princess, that’s for
sure, but compared to a lot of the other serving wenches round here, I was a
beauty queen. You might think that that’s a good thing, but it caused me no end
of trouble. I got cat calls and vulgar demands shouted at me almost every time I
crossed the courtyard. The men all asked for a ‘keek at yer snatch’ (which has
such a disgusting meaning I’ll spare your blushes), and then usually would ask
me to ‘drop yer breeks’ (again, I’ll leave this to your imagination).

I’m sure you can understand quite why it is that I’m happiest out in the wild,
rooting around for plant and bud.

It was on one of those trips out into the wild that I discovered something
remarkable. I remember the day so clearly because unlike almost every other trip
I’d ever made; the sun was fat in the sky and the clouds (my almost constant
companions) were nowhere to be seen. I’d decided that because the weather was
fair, it’d be safe enough to search for bog myrtle in the marshland to the east. It
wasn’t somewhere I’d been to many times in my young life, but I knew that we
were dangerously low on astringent herbs, and the bog myrtle would be
invaluable to old man MacGregor.

When I finally crossed the stream which marked the start of the marshland, I
noticed something in the distance that I’d never seen before. It was a dirty
looking hut, not big enough to be anything more than a single room, really, but it
looked sturdy and, yes, there was a plume of smoke curling from the chimney on
its roof. Obviously someone lived here, or at least stayed here sometime. I
immediately felt excitement pluck at my heart. I’d been looking for somewhere,
anywhere to stay on my excursions into the wilderness. If I was lucky, I could
speak to the owner of the hut and negotiate it as a place to stay on the odd time
that I’d come out this far. It would mean that I’d be able to gather that many
more herbs, and I’d be just a little bit less tired when I returned to the fort. I
picked up my skirts and got myself ready to cross the oft-treacherous ground of
the marsh.

*

The marshland was surprisingly firm underfoot, and although I felt the wet
squelch of the muddy ground a few times when I stepped slightly awry, I
managed to make it across the boggy ground without so much as a slip or a
mishap. There were clear patches of very soft ground though, which I avoided
like the plague. I shuddered to think how treacherous it would be out here, late at
night, with the Highland fog descending and visibility poor to non-existent. With
rain in the air it would be even worse, with one wrong foot-step sealing your fate
at the bottom of the slimy bog.

When I came close enough to the hut to examine it a little, I was surprised to see
that by its side was a section of tilled land, which had been planted with crops. I
recognised potato plants, lined up in neat rows, and a brace of cabbages, also
growing big. Whoever lived or stayed here was quite the adept farmer. The hut
seemed quaint to me, somehow, and friendly, as though it had been well looked
after. Indeed, rather than being made from festering old beams of wood, which
would not have surprised me given the shack’s environs, the quality of the
timber was excellent, and the little abode looked dry and quite cosy.

I circled around the building, peeping in at the window, trying to see what was
inside. I was hoping that someone didn’t live here all year round, as that would
mean I most certainly would not be able to stay here on my nights away from the
fort. As I approached a window on what was the backside of the structure, I saw
that there was a gap between the hanging curtains which I could sneak a look
through. Inside the cottage was the warm glow of a dying fire, and I could make
out what looked to be the shape of a bed, and perhaps a cabinet or table of some
kind.

I surveyed the area, and was saddened to see no obvious signs of bog myrtle.
The lush green little tufty plant was quite obvious for someone as experienced
for me to spot, and try as I might, I could see none of it. It struck me as strange,
as the last time I was in this area, I most assuredly found a few shrubs of the
plant, and took half a sack’s worth with me. Perhaps whomsoever lived here had
been harvesting the local herbs, as well as running a well appointed farm.

After waiting for what must have been three quarters of the hour, and knocking a
few times on the door of the hut, I decided that the time had come for me to head
back to the fort. The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip below the
sumptuous Highland hills, and if I left it much longer, I’d struggle to make my
way back through the marsh without suffering a mishap of some kind. And then,
I heard a sound which chilled me to the very core.

A howl. Shrill and inhuman, charged with the hungry desperation of nature’s
most fearsome hunter: the grey wolf. I froze, and for a moment thought that if I
remained still, the threat might disappear. The sound had come from nearby, and
I turned my head slowly to the left. Standing on top of a small hill not a hundred
feet from me was a wolf. It was silent and still, and it had its trained on me.
Then, from behind me, came an answering cry, even more feral and grotesque
than then first. I felt my heart start to pound heavy in my chest, and I felt sweat
come quick to my brow. I’d never come face to face with one of these creatures
before, and the advice my mother had given me stuck in my mind like a knife: If
you spy a wolf, use your gumption, an’ run. Well ma, that might work if there’s
just one wolf, but it didn’t help me with a pack bearing down on me.

When the wolves started running down the hills, streaking their way like silver
fire towards me, I did the only thing I could: I grabbed the handle of the door in
desperation, and plunged into the warmth of someone else’s home.

*

The first thing I noticed in the little hut was how beautifully cosy it was.
Although the sun had been shining outside, the heat of the Highland sun was
wan and thin compared to that of warmer climes. It was nice not to have to rub
my hands together to ward off the prickling feelings that sometimes ran through
them.

It was really quite comfortable in here. Although the hut had seemed small from
the outside, inside it was roomy enough, with a large four-poster bed, the likes of
which I had only really seen the one time I’d peeped into the Laird’s chambers.
Across the bed was a huge stag’s fur. I imagined for a second the size of the
beast which this rug must have come from. I imagined the hunt and the chase of
the thing, how it must have fallen to a skilled arrow or keen blade. Indeed, I
could see the ragged wound where the arrow must have found the stag’s heart.
The bed had large pillows which, when I touched them, yielded softly to my
touch. These were pillows of the finest quality duck down, surely. Not the kind
of thing one would expect to find in the middle of a treacherous boggy marsh,
indeed.

The fire was on its last embers, with a stack of seasoned logs resting at its right
hand side. I could still hear the howl of the wolves outside, and I knew the
creatures weren’t going anywhere for the time being. I had the crazy thought of
catching a long log on the fire and running at the wretched beasties, brandishing
the flaming wood in an effort to scare them off. But I knew that it was just
desperation taking hold of my common sense, and that they’d tear my throat
from my body as soon as I stepped foot outside the safety of the cabin. Aye, I
was going to have to stay here awhile. I never thought that I’d be pining for the
safety of the tedious old fort, but here I was, in the wilderness, with only the
howling of the wolves for company.

I threw another log on the fire, and watched in silent admiration as the bark of
the wood caught aflame first, followed by the harder timber at its core. I
luxuriated in the heat, and felt jealous that mine was one of the few bed
chambers back in the fort which didn’t have its own range. There was a table in
here, too, and two sturdy looking pine chairs. The place was like a palace
compared to my usual lodgings, in fact. A sudden rumble in my stomach
reminded me that now was about the time I’d normally be having my evening
meal. I got up from in front of the fire, and started to look through a row of
cabinets which were under the windowsill. Amazingly, I found fresh bread,
cheese, and a couple of large potatoes, as well as salt and what looked to be a
small bottle of some kind of alcohol, most likely whisky.

I took a hunk of the bread and broke a corner of cheese before biting down on
the hard loaf. The flavor wasn’t great, but it filled me up in no time. Although I
was nervous that the owner of the hut mat come back, I thought it unlikely that
he’d be back this evening, and if he did happen to, surely he’d understand my
predicament, and take pity on me in my current vulnerable state. I took hold of
the bottle of clear golden liquid, and uncorked it. It was whisky! I could smell its
rich, smoky, oak-like aroma assaulting my senses. I took a wee swig and felt the
warm, sensation of the liquor encircle my heart and then my belly. It was
fantastic, not like any of the grog I normally drank back at the fort. It was
usually only cooking wine that us servants got to drink at the end of each day. I
took another sip, amazed by the intoxicating power of the brew, feeling already
tipsy, my cheeks reddening with the alcohol’s potent fire.

I sat alone but warm in the hut for a while, enjoying the feeling of being warm
and in luxurious surroundings. I’ve neglected to detail some of the items which
decorated the walls, but suffice it to say that should I ever have need of a mighty
boar’s head, mounted on a plinth, I’d know exactly where to come. I’d found it a
little disconcerting to begin with, but soon, as I became more and more drunk,
the boar’s had seemed like an old friend.

‘Oh, Angus,’ I said to the boar, ‘it’s jus’ you and me pal.’ The boar’s head was
not even polite enough to smile at my good humour, but I carried on talking
nonetheless. ‘You’ll look after me, eh, Angus? You’ll impale those reekin’
wolves on your proud tusks, won’t you?’

I could feel sleep start to take me, so I crawled underneath what may well have
been Angus’ hide, and dreamt of the moon.

*

‘Well, well, well, what do we have here?’

I woke in a start and tried to pull the covers up to my chin. I couldn’t! There was
something holding my arms tight, and when I looked down, I saw that I was held
in place by leather cords, tied to the bedposts like a criminal. I looked up at the
source of the sound, and saw, to my horror, that there was a man, sitting at the
table.

‘I come back in the middle o’ the night to find a wee lassie in ma bed and a crew
o’ scabrous hounds at ma door. Could there be a connection ‘tween the two, I
thought to myself.’

I’d never seen a man like him before.

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