Page 5 of Highlander’s Lust

He stroked her hair. “Have a care, Lady Macanroy, else I’ll have no choice but to take advantage of me husbandly privileges.”

She gave a soft chuckle and then sighed. “An elderly Edinburgh courtier will nae be enough to satisfy the itch Jean has to scratch. She reminds me of an ice queen in the tales of old: full o’ lofty ideals and cold enough to freeze the marrow right out of a man’s stomach if he does nae please her. She needs someone who is strong enough to ignite a fire and passion so strong and fierce inside her that she will bend to his will.”

Callum said calmly, “Such a man does nae exist, love. Jean will bend any hardened Highland warrior to obey her before he can do much else but scratch his ear.”

Kirsty had to disagree with her husband. “Hush! Love can do strange things...strange and beautiful things.”

His lairdship looked at his still beautiful wife and had to agree with her, but all he said out loud was, “We must go and pay our respects at the wake. The servants tell me there is every expectation of over two thousand villagers, tenants, and clan arriving to hold up lanterns while following the coffin. ‘Tis sure to be a spectacular sending off for poor auld Brisbane.”

Both Lady Kirsty and Laird Callum were thinking to themselves: And with over two hundred extremely eligible Highland chieftains and lairds converging inside one castle, the odds of Jean finding at least one of them pleasing to her eye are exceedingly high.

Charlie Brisbane would have found laughable any parent describing him as extremely eligible. Finally relieved of having to obey his father’s commands, the new Laird Brisbane was taking full advantage of his newfound status and wealth.

After realizing his every whim could not only be indulged but paid for with some of the Brisbane gold in safekeeping at the bullion merchants, Charlie had spent his first three days as laird drunk and making merry. For Charlie, this was the perfect combination because when he was drunk, he wanted to make merry, and the easiest way to go about doing this was with wenches.

Knowing that overseeing the castle and funeral preparations would be taken care of by Sorley, Charlie had not left his bedchamber for nearly three days. He had ordered his meals sent up to him, and a steady supply of tavern wenches and Inverness bawds arrived in the courtyard from dusk to dawn.

Occasionally, he would pull the bell rope for more Macanroy whisky to be brought up, but this luxury refreshment he kept for himself. If a visiting strumpet asked for some whisky, he would laugh and say, “Be at peace with yer ale an’ wine, woman! This whisky’s worth more than what ye earn in a year!”

And if the woman pouted and fretted over his mean behavior, Charlie would be entertained all the more; he loved a challenge, and turning a female up sweet was something he took pride in doing. In fact, there was no amusement to be had if a girl was to be had too easily—and if the truth was to be told, Charlie Brisbane had never met a woman who told him nay. Sooner or later, every woman succumbed to his powerful charms. But it was always sooner rather than later.

He was simply too rich, too handsome, and too powerful.

And because Charlie chose the women with whom he copulated and seduced with care, there had never been any man who could shout Adultery! at him in the village square. A continual stream of widows, courtesans, harlots, and wenches came and departed Charlie’s bed, to the point where, just like his father before, he could not recall a single face or name. One might amuse him for a week, sometimes even a month, but once he had had his way with them, Charlie discovered his attention began to waver quickly.

It was not that the activities in the bedchamber became boring, Charlie acknowledged, it was just that the woman herself would begin to bore him. Some would fuss and complain about needing a looking glass to do their hair and repaint their faces. A few would demand fine clothing and jewels. Others would insist on more money or begin to recount a tale of woe about their hardships. Still, others—the more highborn amongst them—would start talking about marriage and bairns. Little did these ladies know that these actions were a one-way passage to Charlie leaving and a footman entering, carrying on his silver salver a scribbled note requesting her immediate congée.

While no one could rightly accuse him of encouraging a woman to compromise her virtue, it did not stop the Brisbane tenants and villagers from shaking their heads and asking the pastor to pray for the master’s salvation. The new Laird Brisbane showed every sign of continuing in the old one’s tradition.

Two days before the wake, Sorley had had enough of shouting requests to Charlie behind the closed bedchamber door. He waited for the pageboy to bring up more whisky and then barged into the bedchamber behind him. He found Charlie lounging in bed with two ladies of ill repute from Inverness.

“What’s to do?” Charlie said, one dark eyebrow cocked inquiringly when he noticed his steward had entered the room.

Sorley, trying hard not to stare at the bare bosoms of the two harlots, replied in a constrained voice, “Laird, the merchant supplying us with lanterns for the wake is downstairs demanding payment.”

“Then pay the rogue an’ be done wi’ it,” Charlie said lazily, curling a finger around one of the lady’s ringlets.

“I cannae!” Sorley shouted, all pretense at diplomacy forgotten in his anger. “The consignment is no’ complete! I ordered one thousand lanterns brought up from the Aberdeen shipping docks, and the merchant has only brought half that!”

“Then pay him half,” Charlie said nonchalantly, giving Sorley a careless wave of his hand to signify the man should leave.

“An’ then what are the mourners meant to carry at the wake! Ye graceless jackanapes—get out of bed and do something to help me! ‘Tis yer own faither’s funeral, so help me!”

This outburst got Charlie’s attention. He flipped the sheet off himself and put both feet on the wooden dais floor with a sigh. “Very well.”

He stood up naked and stepped down the dais stairs to where his great plaid was draped over an ornately carved armchair. He looked at Sorley over his shoulder, saying, “Send me manservant up to help me set the plaid right, will ye?”

Sorley gave an exasperated huff. “For goodness’ sake, b0y! Thrust yer legs into a pair o’ trews, and let’s be done with it!”

Charlie must have agreed with him because he lounged over to his dressing room and came back clothed in trews, boots, and an unbuttoned shirt.

“The man’s too indolent to even button up his shirt without the help of a manservant. I suppose the closer to naked he is, the easier he finds it to bed wenches.” Sorley muttered the words under his breath.

Charlie must have overheard him because he gave a lopsided grin and nodded. On his way out of the door, the new Laird Brisbane said to the two women in his bed, “Get yerselves ready. The coach will be leaving for Inverness in one hour, and ye must be inside it.”

And on those words, he flipped two gold half sovereigns expertly onto the mattress and then closed the door.

Sorley could only marvel at such dismissive savoir faire.