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He seated himself once more and swung his feet back up onto the stool. Goblet in hand, he settled down to watch her disrobe.
“You are staring,” Kat admonished, though without a hint of rancour.
“Aye,” he agreed. “Get on wi’ it.”
She smiled and turned her back.
Moments later, her bright-blue skirts lay in a pool at her feet. Kat bent to gather up the costly satin and placed it upon a chest. She was always careful with her possessions, Robbie knew this. Now, only her knee-length chemise remained, and that was made of such fine cotton that he could clearly see the outline of her body through it. A slender waist, hips that flared delicately, full, round buttocks which he was convinced required a decent spanking, though he would not press her on that matter. He could also still make out the smudgy bruises on her legs and torso, evidence of her harrowing ordeal a week earlier. Most had been caused by the unremitting tossing and turning in the cart, though the purplish-yellow shadow on her jaw was the handiwork of Callum Fenwick himself.
Vicious bastard. Thank the dear Lord I had the sense not to kill him outright.
Even recalling the nature of his vengeance did little to assuage Robbie’s seething anger at those who would have hurt his wife. The Fenwick headed his list and had received his just deserts, but Mary Douglas was next.
Kat slipped the chemise from her shoulders and allowed it to fall to her waist. She stood before him, chin raised, her dark curls obscuring one perfect breast.
Robbie’s cock was solid in moments, straining beneath his kilt. Kat saw, and her lip quirked.
“Ye make a fine sight, my love, but ye can cease yer starin’ at me, take that off, an’ lay yourself across my lap,” he growled.
“You mean to spank me?”
“I do, certainly. Unless ye’re still too sore.”
Her mouth curled in a sensual smirk. “I believe I shall manage, my lord.”
“Well then?” He patted his thighs.
Kat obliged him by dropping the flimsy garment to the floor. In her usual neat manner, she bent to retrieve it and placed it neatly with the rest. Completely nude, she walked to stand beside his chair, then lowered herself across his lap.
“Ye will tell me if I hurt ye?” He eyed the remaining bruises on her legs with a degree of concern.
“I shall certainly have something to say if you do not,” she retorted.
“Such a wicked little harlot.” He palmed the curves of her backside. “I knew it, the moment I laid eyes upon ye.”
“And I thought you to be a wild and dangerous Scotsman,” she replied. “We were both correct.”
“Impudent sassenach.” He dropped a sharp slap onto her right buttock. The mark of his hand bloomed a delicate shade of pink on her creamy skin. Robbie considered the sight most pleasing.
He repeated the spank on the left, with the same result.
“Are ye quite all right, sweetheart?” he murmured.
“Apart from becoming impatient, my lord, I am perfectly fine.”
Encouraged, he continued his ministrations on her ripe behind, raining slap after slap over her milky skin. He avoided her thighs entirely, though he would usually afford them particular attention since they were particularly sensitive, and he found the resulting squeals and squirming so delightful. But he would not add to her bruises, not this time.
With each slap that he administered, her bottom became redder. She began to wriggle on his lap, so he wrapped an arm about her waist and trapped her legs under one of his. Now, she squealed with each blow. Soon, her cries had become loud enough, he was sure, to cause concern to any passing servants.
“Perhaps ye might contrive tae be a little quieter, sweetheart. We wouldnae want James’ guards banging on the door an’ demanding that I cease murderin’ ye.”
“I… I am sorry,” she managed. “It just hurts so…”
“Have ye had enough yet?”
“No!” She shook her head, causing her tumbled curls to sway wildly. “I shall be quiet.” To demonstrate her resolve, she stuffed her fist in her mouth.
Robbie continued.
