Chapter 6 #2
Why he spun her around and pulled her against his chest Dorchad didn’t know.
She needed some tenderness, so he stroked his hand over her curls with a stiff, awkward motion.
He’d never once comforted anyone, even Sgathan, and it fashed him to no end that he would wish to do so with her.
She had already proven to be the most frustrating female he’d ever encountered.
“Look at me.” When she lifted her face he cupped her chin. “What shall I do with you, my wee bird?”
Rebecca’s flush vanished, and she swallowed several times.
“Anything you want.” She spoke in a near-whisper, her eyes widening and darkening as she looked up at him. “Anything.”
She spoke as if she knew too well what he wished to do. The wench definitely needed to learn what happened to silly maidens who offered themselves to brutes.
Dorchad scooped her off her feet and carried her into the barn, pausing only to drag shut the door and bolt it.
He stopped in front of a mounting bench, turning her over as he sat down on it.
Holding her sprawled across his lap, her bottom sticking up in the air, made his mouth dry.
He had never once done such a thing to any female.
“Maybe I should have been more specific about the anything.” She stiffened as he yanked up her skirts and pulled down her brief drawers, baring her arse. Squirming now, she begged, “Chieftain, please.”
“Aye, you’ll please me.” He slapped her pretty pale buttocks hard enough to make her gasp. “You said just now you’ll do anything I want, aye?” He smacked her again. “Never again shall you leave the stronghold without two armed guards. Promise me.”
“I won’t,” she promised quickly.
“You’ll keep quiet and modest near me,” Dorchad told her before he delivered a third blow. “I’m no’ your gallant.”
Once he started punishing Rebecca, Dorchad thought he might not ever stop.
Slapping her small, tight arse appeased some of the hunger that had been gnawing at his insides since he’d pulled her from the loch.
The sounds of her whimpers and sobs pleased him on some strange, deep level he’d never before realized he possessed.
She seemed to accept her lot, too, for not once did she try to resist or escape him.
She needs schooling as much as I need to teach her.
When her arse had turned a bright red, and bore marks that would surely turn to light bruises by the morn, Dorchad decided that was enough.
His tadger had grown so swollen and stiff it was all he could do not to ravish her here and now.
The scent of her didn’t help, and when he realized why, his balls tightened.
The smell came from between her legs, salty-sweet and subtly intoxicating, blending with the sunlight scent of the rest of her.
She’d grown as aroused as he was.
He thought of what Cath had told him as he stroked the heated curves of her buttocks.
He couldn’t stop himself from slipping his fingers between her thighs and pressing them against her quim, the folds of which had grown slick with her arousal.
His heavy, hard cock twitched in response, as if to suggest the next lesson he should teach her.
Och, what should I do to this tender wee thing if I had her for a night?
“Please.” Rebecca gasped the word when he parted her and rubbed his thumb over her hard little nub.
As he caressed her there she began to writhe on his lap until he slapped her bottom with his other hand.
“Be still.” Slowly he stroked her, watching the muscles in her thighs tighten, and sensing the tremors in her belly against his thighs.
“Ever I see you, wench, and my shaft rises and swells until I can think of naught but burying it here, where you’re so tender and sweet.
Only I’d fack you all night and the next day, and you’re but a wee thing. ”
Dorchad wanted to penetrate her with his fingers, and work them in and out as he rubbed her wee pearl. Yet that was facking of a sort, not schooling. He could do no more without her leave, for which he would not ask. She still needed a final punishment to remember this day.
Leaving her unsatisfied as he was now should remain in her memory for some time.
He straightened her drawers and her skirts, and drew her to her feet as he stood.
She wouldn’t look at him now, her pretty lips trembling.
Doubtless she’d weep again, and if she did in front of him the sight of her tears would make him drag her to the ground and fack her until she screamed his name.
Dorchad said no more as he marched her through both gates and into the stronghold, where the laird’s wife intercepted them.
“Rebecca, are you all right? Did those sodding thieves hurt you?” As she hugged her, Lucy eyed Dorchad. “Did you kill them?”
“No, he rescued me,” Rebecca said before he could reply. “I should have listened to him.” She then moved away, turned and fled.
“What on earth?” The laird’s wife stared after her. “Why is she so upset?”
“’Twas my doing, my lady.” He wanted to go after her, but it was better if he stayed far away from the wench until his blood cooled. If ever ’twill.
Cath had been searching the guest room when he heard Rebecca outside in the hall, and quickly slipped into the adjoining room, where through the peephole he watched her come in and hurl herself atop the bed.
The scent of her suggested she’d been with an unclean mortal and Dorchad, and had very much liked being with at least one of them.
Why she had the smell of two men on her would have to remain a mystery for now, he thought as he walked out into the passage and headed for the garrison hall.
Along the way Sgathan appeared and stepped in his path.
“Dinnae brace my brother just now,” the seneschal warned. “He’s in a mood.”
“Dorchad’s ever in a mood.” Cath wondered how the second most secretive MacRune always knew everything that occurred inside the stronghold. “What happened to the wee healer?”
“The thieves on the island briefly caught her outside the walls. My twin rescued her. Spare me a moment to look at something that troubles me.” Sgathan gestured for him to come inside his work room, and when he did he held out the strangely-made satchel.
“’Twas found by a maid, washed ashore near where Dorchad pulled her from the water. ”
Cath examined the cloth bag, which had flat but vivid flower renderings on the outside and a top that folded over and clipped to the bottom with a small, brightly-polished latch.
He fiddled with it until he could open it, and frowned at the contents: a scarf, a smooth leather pouch, and baubles of different shapes and materials.
“I dinnae ken what purpose the fripperies inside serve, but the bag belongs to the lady,” he told him. “Return the bag to her.”
“What if ’tis the cluet?” Sgathan asked. “I’ve never seen cloth made of flattened flowers trimmed in such metal.”
“’Tis dyed on the fabric, no’ pressed.” He ran his hands over the outside of the bag. “The satchel contains no’ a flicker of enchantment. If ’twas the treasure, we’d sense the magic empowering the cloth.”
The seneschal still appeared unconvinced. “Mayhap ’tis warded somehow.”
Now Cath understood why Sgathan had pulled him into the room to show him the bag. “Go out into the hall.”
“Your beastly skinwork doesnae frighten me,” he said, looking offended now. “’Tis but some wee demons.”
“Do you wish never to sleep through another night again?” Cath demanded. When the seneschal shrugged he started to walk out. Only then did Sgathan wave him off and leave the room himself.