Box Set: Highland Flings: Scottish Historical Victorian Romance Taboo BDSM Erotica by Bonnie Brand Page A
Authors: Bonnie Brand
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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
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
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