Box Set: Highland Flings: Scottish Historical Victorian Romance Taboo BDSM Erotica Read Online Free PDF Page A

the most exquisitely dressed gentleman I had ever seen . He had braces, and a jacket, and shining buckles upon his shoes! He even wore rings upon his fingers, like the king! I almost felt that I should bow to him when he walked up to the bar to order his drink, but my limbs were trembling so atrociously that I could not even move, let alone attempt something so complex as a bow.

    ‘Sir,’ I managed to stutter eventually. ‘Can ah get you somethin’ tae drink?’ I cursed myself for my strong, thick Scots accent, wishing I’d spent more time listening to the voices of the soft-spoken young English men and women who had come here to elope. They always sounded so much more elegant, so much more refined than I.

    The stranger looked down at me – he was a very tall man and I am less than five foot, just a tiny wee creature – and the expression in his eyes was cold, almost disgusted. ‘Get me a brandy, wench,’ he said, with such authority, and such a deep resonance in his voice that at first, I must admit that I could barely understand him!

    After a moment’s puzzlement, I nodded, realizing what he was after, and I fetched him the brandy, pouring him an extra large glass, not out of generosity, but because my fingers were shaking so wildly. Then I passed his drink to him and he paused a moment before he took it from me. I could see his eyes trailing over my ripped, brown dress, the very same dress which I had been wearing since I was fifteen, and, truth be told, was really far too small for me now. My breasts had shot out in the last couple of years, and almost hung out of my bodice. The people of the village had known me since I was a wee girl, and I think they barely noticed me, but seeing him seeing me made me suddenly aware of myself all over again. My hands shot to my cleavage, trying to cover up some of my buxom breast in vain.

    The stranger smiled. ‘One is a dirty little wench, isn’t one?’ he said, and then he took the drink and drained it in one.

    As the heat from the brandy poured down the stranger’s throat, I felt as though it were I who had drunk the brandy, as I too felt a heat spread up my neck, across my throat and my cheeks, causing a fierce red blush to glow ablaze across my pale, freckled skin.

    ‘I’ll wager one is a lot of fun between the sheets,’ said the stranger, firmly but quietly, so no-one else in the inn could hear.

    I thought about the smell of the sheets I’d changed in the inn just yesterday, and felt a softening in the spot between my legs. What effect was this stranger having upon me? I was terrified of him. Maybe that’s all it was! He was scaring me, making my heart race with fear, not lust! At that moment, I felt I had to change the subject.

    ‘Sir,’ I stammered. ‘My father is here…’ Why couldn’t I finish my sentence? What was I trying to say to him? That my father was here, so his flirtatious remark was inappropriate? No, I wasn’t saying that! I became embarrassed that he’d interpret it that way, and hurriedly blurted out: ‘My father is the blacksmith.’

    The stranger kept his eyes on me, raised his eyebrows, and then turned, slowly.  

    My father was already scrambling out of his chair by the far wall, wiping his hands on his soot-black apron, leaping forwards to try to shake hands with the esteemed gentleman. The Duke stood back and kept his arms at his sides, unwilling to take part in any bodily contact with my old man.

    ‘Sir,’ my father stammered, in much the same way I had just done. ‘Yer horseshoes are ready for inspection an’ collection.’ I cringed at my father’s accent, even thicker than my own.

    The stranger watched my father pick up a cloth package from a nearby table, and then unwrap them before him. I felt a gleam of pride as I saw my father’s handiwork being opened out for display. He was a gifted man, my father, and to see him with a customer as grand as this standing before him, inspecting his work, felt truly