Page 17 of Luthias

“You’re pretty young to be a laird, right?” As he shrugged she realized something odd about him and his men––she hadn’t seen anyone among them who looked older than twenty-five or so. That wasn’t entirely unexpected, as the average lifespan during the Middle Ages was only about thirty-three years, but all of the MacRoss appeared quite healthy, too.

“What ’tis your age?” Luthias asked.

“I’m twenty-eight. I know, I look younger,” she said, making a face. “So do you. I’m not older than you, am I?” He shook his head, but didn’t volunteer his age. “How old were you when you became laird?”

“One and twenty.” He got to his feet and held out his hand. “Shall we go to the forge now?”

Emery nodded, but as she walked out of the chamber with him she had the strangest feeling that Luthias had just lied to her.

Chapter Five

“Eventide, my lord.” The plump, smiling maid who entered Callum’s chamber brought a pail of steaming water to add to his tub. She looked too clean, and smelled of rose water. “Shall I stay and help you wash?”

“No.” He looked over at the wench, whom he finally recognized as one who cheerfully serviced any Carack in need of relief. Even now he felt an unwelcome surge of need. “Who sent you to me?”

“The night steward, my lord.” She gave him a hopeful look, but when he didn’t say more she bobbed and turned to leave.

“Stay.” He walked over to her, circling around her as he watched her shoulders hunch and her hands twist. The more he looked at her, the more he wanted her. He noticed a new thong around her neck, and tugged it out to reveal a desire charm dangling from it. She gasped as he snapped it in two and let the pieces fall to the floor. “Who gave you the charm to wear?”

She ducked her head. “The steward, my lord.”

“Who told the steward to send you to me?” he demanded.

“I dinnae ken––ah.” She trembled as he caught her jaw in an ungentle grip, and patches of red popped out on her round cheeks. “I but saw Master Struan speak to him before he sent me, my lord. I dinnae ken what ’twas said.”

Blaming her for his brother’s maneuverings seemed as ridiculous as causing her to suffer for them. She also looked as if she might piss herself now, so Callum released her. “Never enter my chamber again unless I summon you myself. Get out.”

Once the maid had fled he took down the window covers and looked out to the west. Four leagues stretched between the boundaries of MacRoss and Carrack lands, enough distance to keep their warriors from crossing paths. Athdara would have had to walk for hours to reach Dun Lasair, unless Luthias had come part the way to meet her. She would have kept to the woods, where she would not be easily spotted by sentries or patrols. Perhaps they had met in one of the woodsmen’s cottages; she had always been inclined to secret trysts in strange places.

A lass could do worse than bed a Carack, Athdara had told him one night when they had been together in the workroom, letting her gaze wander up and down his body as boldly as a harlot. All fetching and strapping, you handsome, selfish beasts.

Callum remembered being so surprised that the tall, black-haired woman had dared speak so familiarly to him when she’d rarely said more than aye, my lord since coming to work at the stronghold. Her pale brown eyes had looked golden in the lamp light, and mesmerized him for a moment before he recovered.

Watch your tongue, wench, he’d warned her. Any Carack shall happily bed you, but none shall ask for your hand.

Do you reckon I wish to wed? She’d laughed. Never fear, my lord, for a lowlander wench like me, ’tis all drudgery and birthing and an early death. I desire no complaining husband nor squalling bairns. I’m meant for something more.

That night in the work room had been the first time he’d realized how much he’d wanted the jewel-setter. He’d then circled around her for weeks, watching and calculating, all while she feigned indifference. She had no fear of him, and absolutely no interest, or so he’d thought. His own patience had thinned as he’d watched her smile and flirt with the nobles who came to inspect the delicate, beautiful things she’d made for their wives.

One night she had fallen asleep at her bench, and Callum had lifted her into his arms, intending to put her on the cot in the corner. Athdara’s hands had twined around his neck, and when he tried to extricate himself she’d pulled him down for a kiss.

“Shall you have me whipped?” she asked as he stared at her. “Or do you wish to beat me yourself, my lord?”

Callum had put her on her feet, bending her over a table as he jerked up her skirts and exposed her pale, round bottom. He’d used his hand on her arse, skelping it over and over until it reddened, but she didn’t make a sound. Then he’d felt how wet she’d grown between her legs, and kicked her feet apart. Nothing had ever felt as good as the first moment he’d thrust his cock into her, and felt her liquid heat pouring over him.

“Aye, my lord, ’tis good,” she’d said, panting the words. “Punish me proper.”

As he remembered that first facking his cock swelled and hardened, as it had any time he’d seen her after that night. During the day Athdara behaved as if the beating had never happened, but if she happened to find him alone anywhere in the stronghold she would rub up against him and murmur more insolence. That led to more facking, until Callum began seeking her out and dragging her to a solitary place where he could do as he wanted with her. She consumed his thoughts so much that he sometimes used her for his pleasure twice or three times a day.

Always he’d seen slyness, not love, in her eyes, as if everything he did to her kept her amused. It had driven him mad, and made him brutal, and still she never made a sound or found her own pleasure with him.

Shall we ever do this proper? Athdara had asked him, still on her knees after sucking his cock in the buttery. ’Tis that how you’ll punish me, my lord? By taking another to your bed?

Callum had lifted her up to brace her against the stone wall and impale her on his still-hard shaft. We dinnae need a bed.

Now he reached back to unlace his trews to relieve the discomfort of the cloth confining his erection, and then slipped his hand inside and curled his fingers around the thick shaft. He couldn’t imagine anyone but Athdara giving him relief, so he closed his eyes and remembered her under him, her lips parted and her full breasts heaving as he facked her deep and hard. As he stroked his cock he felt his balls tighten; simply thinking of her brought him to the brink so quickly he began to jet after only a few moments.

“You shallnae run from me, you hoor,” Callum muttered as he shook and spilled. “You’re mine.”