Page 18 of Highlander’s Lust

9

A Pleasant Day in the Sun with Unpleasant Consequences

Charlie woke up feeling as though he had been hit over the head with a large cudgel. He sat up with a start, staring around the room with confusion; he had no idea where he was.

The bedchamber in which he lay was a tawdry affair. The wainscoting was full of rat holes, the dusty canopy curved toward the bed with an alarming bulge, and as for the bolster, it was begrimed with sweat and ceruse so thickly the original pattern woven into the brocade was no longer discernible. The thought that he had spent the night lying in such filth made Charlie’s stomach churn.

If he thought that was bad, worse was still to come.

The bedchamber door opened, and a woman who could only be described as well matured entered the room.

“Losh, me dearie,” the woman exclaimed, holding a brown spotted hand up to clutch her ragged breast, “ye gave me such a fright to see ye sittin’ up! An’ here’s me wi’oot even me paint and wig on!”

It was clear the lady still had much dressing to do. Her thin hair was bedraggled and so sparse it was possible to see her scalp showing under the grizzled locks. The pallor of the skin on her face was grey and poxy, the result of the unceasing use of ceruse. And underneath her shift dress, her withered dugs hung down her chest like dog’s ears.

Charlie jumped out of the bed and rushed to the small looking glass standing on the cluttered dressing table in the corner. His face was the same ghastly grey color as his hostess’s and was also besmeared with the traces of cochineal and coal dust, the artifices courtesans used to disguise their true features. When he looked down, he saw a huge red wig hanging from a nail beside the looking glass; when he touched it, he knew the hair to be made from a chestnut horsetail.

He was appalled.

The woman cackled. “Oh, dinnae fash, laddie. Give me a moment, and I’ll be back to lookin’ the way ye liked it afore! Ye kept callin’ me ‘Jeannie’ an’ ‘auburn-haired goddess,’ and I’ll no’ be adverse to ye doin’ it again, but only if ye pay me as lavishly as ye did last night.”

Charlie had heard enough. Only stopping to grab his great plaid and shirt off the stand and pull on his boots, he ran naked out of the bawd’s bedchamber. When he made it outside, he spewed his guts out into the gutter. Only when his stomach was empty, and he had belted his plaid around his waist as best he could, did Charlie become aware of a few jeers and catcalls made in his direction. It did not bother him so much as did the sour taste in his mouth and the thought of what he had done last night.

The woman he had slept with was far worse than the old abbess his father had tried to force on him when he was five and ten years old! Charlie had the vaguest recollection of sunrise alerting the barkeeper to the lateness of the hour. The church bell ringing three times past midnight informed Gavin and Charlie they must head home or else find shelter for the night. This was some kind of witching hour when it came to wantons and wenches. They crowded into the tavern, offering a bed for the night and a pair of loving arms to go with it, but for a price.

Through his blurred vision, Charlie had seen a slim red-haired lady approach him. When she came closer, her pale face had a symmetry to it that he found pleasing, even though he had to close one eye in order to focus on it. Her lashes were dark and full, her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and her red ringlets fell over a lovely uplifted pair of breasts, brought to blooming fullness by the tightened stays of her dress robe.

A quick transaction, and it was time to stagger outside and up a strange flight of stairs. The lady had refused to remove her clothing, only giving him access to her lower regions by lifting up her skirts and petticoats, but by then Charlie had been past caring. The room had spun around like a cartwheel, and he could remember no more.

Too shocked to feel shame, Charlie ran back to the tavern stables, mounted his horse, and rode back to the castle as fast as the destrier could carry him. He only felt safe and whole when he passed through the sentry gates.

When he got to the stables, Sorley was waiting for him.

“Have ye run mad?” the steward seethed. “Yer betrothed is sittin’ right there inside the castle, and ye blether off to go cavortin’ with wenches! She’ll find out yer true nature an’ call off the wedding! D’ye ken how bad that will be for the estate, never mind the possibility of starting a clan war with the Macanroys?”

Charlie felt sick from all the whisky he had drunk the previous night and scowled at Sorley.

“What the lass’s eyes dinnae see, her heart cannae bleed for, Sorley, and I’ll thank ye no’ to be so busy about me business.”

Sorley scoffed, “Pah, ye addlepate!” He spat, “’Tis me duty to look after yer affairs. I’m yer steward, and yer cousin once removed on yer faither’s side, so be more respectful when ye talk to me like that!”

“She cannae leave,” Charlie said gruffly. “The contracts are binding...and-and I love her, I want her…from the moment I laid eyes on her, I ken she had to be mine.”

Sorley muttered under his breath, “Ye don’ even ken what love means, ye wastrel,” as he walked away.

Charlie knew he would not be able to face eating dinner at noontime and could think of no excuse to explain this. Inspired by desperation, he sent a note round to Jean’s bedchamber, begging her to accept his invitation to a ride over his estate with a pleasant tour of the castle afterward. He did not wait for her to accept, telling a footman to summon her downstairs when he was ready to depart.

Laird Brisbane took his time getting ready, making sure to wash every last scrap of last night’s debauchery off his face, hair, and skin. He had a light wool plaid wrapped around his midriff and belted it slightly below the waist, at his hips. A lightly spun linen shirt finished this ensemble, with Charlie feeling more like himself once he had slung his sword behind his back and pulled on his riding boots. He noticed his manservant’s expression of severe disapproval and was irked by it enough to say, “What!?”

The man shook his head and bowed himself out of the room before Charlie could vent even more of his spleen on the poor servant.

When Jean walked down the stairs later, dressed in a close-cut riding habit made of deep blue velvet with a frill of white lace at the high-buttoned neck, Laird Brisbane thought there was no clothing on Earth that would not show his betrothed to her best advantage. She had an effortless grace, the tilt of her head, bowed down with the weight of her hair and the vastly fetching hat she had perched on top of it, gave her a queenly air. She had that smile on her lips; he knew from previous experience with his betrothed that she had a question she wanted answered. Laird Brisbane braced himself.

“Ye were nowhere found at breakfast, Laird. Is all well?”

“Er, what time was that?” Laird Brisbane thought it best to disassemble and prevaricate. “I was up with the rooster’s crow, training with me soldiers.” He indicated his damp hair and the sword behind his back.

She looked at him keenly from underneath lowered lashes, “The roosters crow all day an’ night, me laird. ‘Tis midsummer, ye realize; the poor foolish fowls must be confused by the early rising and late setting of the sun.”