Their Private Arrangement

Scotland, 1715

Duggan Moore has always stirred maidservant Morag's womanly desires. Even though Duggan is in a clandestine relationship with James Grant, he wants Morag as well—and James doesn't want to deny him any pleasure. Soon, all three are exploring their mutual passion…together.

But officials have come to town to hunt an accused witch…putting the threesome at risk. Can they find a way to keep their private arrangement safe

Read more about Morag and her men in Saskia Walker's THE HARLOT, out June 2011 from Spice Books.

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Fife, Scotland, 1715

When Morag heard his footsteps echoing up the staircase from below, anticipation lit inside her. It was always that way. At the appointed time she would unlock the secret entrance—a door at the rear of the building and a hidden staircase that led into the upstairs lodgings at the Drover's Inn—in preparation for Duggan Moore's arrival. Once she had prepared his route and assured herself no one else watched, she was supposed to return to her chores in the inn, but she would often linger in the shadows hoping to catch sight of him. On this occasion she had a good excuse, because she had a tray of provisions for the man Duggan had business with. The tray was out on the landing. She waited in the dressing room where the staircase emerged, eager for a glimpse of Duggan, for he was a man who always stirred her womanly desires.

His tall figure loomed up from the gloomy stairwell, his handsome face coming into view as the light from the candle in the sconce reached him. Instead of moving rapidly on to the landing and beyond, as usual, he paused and peered over at the shadowy corner where she stood, his eyebrows drawn low as he studied his observer.

Morag's hand went to her chest. Would he chastise her for being there?

“Morag,” he said as he closed the panel behind him, hiding the evidence of the secret entrance. The candlelight wavered as it clicked shut, casting shadows across his rugged features.

He knew it was her. Her breath caught in her throat. “Sire, forgive me. I did not meant to startle you, I have a tray for Mr. Grant.”

He stepped closer then drew her out of the shadows and into the fall of light from the candle, looking down at her with curiosity. Breathlessly she looked up at him. He was a fine man, built large and sturdy, with thick, dark hair to his shoulders and a broad forehead and cheekbones. With his hands around her waist, he held her easily.

“And why are you here in the shadows,” he asked, “and not taking that tray to him?”

“I…” What reason could she give? “I wished to see you.”

“You have a message for me?”

Curses
. She had made matters worse. Heat burned in her cheeks.

He cocked his head on one side, awaiting her response.

“No,” she admitted.

With an insinuating smile he drew her right in against him, trapping her there.

“Mr. Duggan,” she whispered, astonished.

“Curiosity, was it?” There was mischief in his eyes, and he had the look of a man whose passions had been stirred.

Emboldened, she lifted one shoulder, eyeing him from under her lashes. “Perhaps.”

Morag had been enjoying pleasant daydreams about the handsome field worker, but she was astonished at his forthright approach. Although he often scrutinized her, Duggan would usually make haste to Mr. Grant's rooms, in case he was seen by anyone else and questioned about his presence. What they had been told was that Mr. Grant wanted to keep their business private. The alewife, Mistress Muir, had whispered her suspicions to Morag. Duggan Moore and James Grant were secret lovers, an arrangement that would cause uproar and condemnation were it to be put about. It took Morag a little while to understand exactly what it meant—that they came together in carnal congress the same way a man and a woman would. At first the notion made her giggle, and then when she pondered it some more, she found her curiosity grew and that the idea of it stimulated her. Both Morag and the alewife were paid well to hold their tongue, and whenever Morag observed Duggan's arrival she noticed that he strode to the Drover's Inn in haste, as if he was eager not to be seen.

This time, however, Duggan didn't hurry on to his destination. He seemed more intent on pausing to idle a while with her. With one hand he held her close to him, and with the other he outlined her figure around the curve of her breast, waist and hip.

“You have a pleasing figure.”

She was startled by his remark, and rested her hands up against his frock coat as she steadied herself. “Thank you, sire.”

He gazed down at her bosom where it swelled from her bodice, while he stroked his hands around her hips as if measuring her. “Tell me, Morag, are you wed?”

Morag shook her head, startled. It was not at all what she had expected him to say.

“Does a man warm your bed for you?”

“Not presently.”

He seemed pleased about that.

Morag had been about to query him about the nature of his question, but her words vanished when he ducked his head and she felt that handsome mouth of his claiming hers. It was so sudden and unexpected that she tensed then melted as his lips moved over hers, softly at first, then more persuasively. Her own lips parted and she welcomed him, returning the kiss. Her hands clutched at his coat.

With one hand pressed to the small of her back, holding her lower body to his, he chuckled softly. “You look as if you were made to be bedded. I have always thought as much.”

He had noticed her before now? Her heart raced. “I will not deny it is in my nature to be bold about such things.”

He nodded, as if the confirmation was pleasing. All the while he squeezed her breasts through her bodice and stays, watching her face as he did so. Morag liked his hands on her, and pressed her hips more firmly to his, inviting that most manly part of him to bed against her belly.

He was hardening by the moment and his expression took on a hungry, possessive look. “I had my suspicions that you would be a lusty lass.” He squeezed her flesh again. “You enjoy a firm touch?”

She nodded and put her hand over his and demonstrated, forcing his hand roughly against her. Duggan gave a husky laugh as he manipulated her breasts, discovering her quickly. The firm grip on her paps made her wriggle. Her puss responded in kind, tingling and throbbing expectantly.

His gaze dropped to her chest, where the breasts he had teased had swelled up from her stays, and one nipple poked free. That nipple was tight and hard as a pebble. With a callused thumb, he stroked it firmly.

The tight peak stung, his touch sending a wild thread through her, a thread that lit between her legs and burned fiercely there. How she wanted him to touch her there, too.

In the distance, someone called her name.

“'Tis the alewife,” she whispered. “I need to be on my way.”

When he gave a disapproving growl and tightened his grasp on her, a dangerous thrill ran through Morag.

“Aye,” she shouted over his shoulder. “I am seeing to my chores. I am busy taking Mr. Grant his supper.”

Duggan stepped away, but all the while he eyed her hungrily as she pulled her bodice into place, covering herself.

“Mr. Grant has requested a tray for the pair of you.” She walked out onto the landing and when he followed, she nodded over at the tray that rested on a tabletop there.

His arms enclosed her again, and he tugged her hips against his, briefly and possessively. “We will continue this another time, in that case.”

That promise made her smile. His attention had warmed her nicely, and she would enjoy more of the same if he wanted it too. It was a long time that she'd had an eye for Duggan Moore. Morag could not think of a more pleasing thing to begin the day with than sight of him at work in the fields, and no better way to end each day than have him handle her as he just had. It was only caution and duty that made her step free of his enclosing arms and collect the tray. Duggan reacted as she hoped he might and held the door open before he followed her in.

As she entered Mr. Grant's chambers, she saw him standing close to the fireplace. He was staring over at the door expectantly. He was a slighter, fairer man than Duggan, and wore a finely made frock coat over his clothing. If it was true about these two—that they shared physical congress—did that mean they both enjoyed women as well? Morag found her thoughts run wild with curiosity on the matter, and it was only with great effort that she managed not to stare directly at Mr. Grant as she wondered on it. She carried the tray to the table, dropped him a curtsy and then went on her way.

Duggan had stayed by the doorway with his elbow resting on the frame so that she had to pass close to him as she left. She could not keep a smile from her lips, and gave him her most beguiling glance as she left the room. As she did, he smacked her playfully on the rump.

“Until next time,” he whispered.

After that, Morag went about her duties with a lighter step and a constant smile. The expectant simmer in her loins was both a merry and welcome companion.

 

James Grant watched the exchange with curiosity, keenly aware of some deeper exchange between Duggan and the serving girl. It might have been nothing but a teasing manner on Duggan's behalf, but James had a feeling there was more to it, and it left him somewhat concerned. Was Duggan tiring of him? Had he set his sights elsewhere?

He and Duggan had known each other for several months, slowly stoking their mutual desire each time they met, until passion had taken control of them and they had tumbled together in a lusty embrace. There was no denying the nature of their friendship, from that moment on. They had been intimate lovers for only a matter weeks now, and each time Duggan left his side, James prayed he would return. The forbidden nature of their encounters sometimes made Duggan uneasy, and James often feared the land worker would stay away. To see Duggan with his eyes on the girl made James ache with uncertainty. Such things mattered to him greatly. Duggan stirred him as no other human soul ever had, and the thought that he might lose him to another haunted him.

As Duggan closed the door, he rested his hand on the wood, as if he had wanted to touch the serving girl instead. When he turned to James he smiled, but there was a thoughtful look in his eye nonetheless.

“You desire the wench?” James asked. They had known each other long enough now that they kept few secrets. In fact they shared deep and meaningful discussions about the difficulties of their nature.

Duggan met his gaze and nodded. “I cannot deny it.”

“I would not want you to deny it, if that is what you feel,” James stated quickly.

Duggan stared across the room at him for a long moment before he replied. “I'm not like you, James, for I am drawn to women as well as my own kind. It is a powerful lure, but it does not take away what I feel for you.”

He thumped his fist to his chest, an action that stirred James and made him hunger for Duggan's mouth, his touch and his body.

“Oftentimes I am torn asunder by it,” Duggan added, gazing at the fire in the grate as he spoke. “I was raised to believe I would have a wife and bairns. My nature has set me on a different path, but I cannot deny the urges I feel toward a lassie with fine hips and a winsome way about her.” He was thoughtful a moment then continued. “I've known of Morag many a year. I've seen her about, and I hear she is a fine worker.”

At those words, James felt not jealousy but a wistful sense of regret. There was affection there. Would he lose this man with whom he had such a perfect bond? It was not an easy thing for him to consider. James had met Duggan the autumn before, when he pulled up his horse to ask directions. As an excise man he covered the inland region of Fife—always alert for the contraband goods that came in from France along the coast—and Duggan had rested on the handle of his pitchfork while he gave the directions. Even then James knew from the specific interest the other man showed in his appearance and the way he had locked eyes with him that he had the same nature as himself, that of being attracted to the same sex, to other men. It had taken several months to build upon that initial meeting, in friendship and exchange over a tankard of ale in the local staging post, the Drover's Inn. Eventually James had taken lodgings there and used the place as both his home from home and his secret meeting point with his newfound lover.

His chest knotted as he considered Duggan. “Will you pursue her?”

Duggan lifted his head to meet his gaze then closed the space between them in three easy strides. “It does not change this, what I am when I am with you.”

James felt the knot in his chest loosen when Duggan took hold of his shoulders and looked him deep in the eyes.

“I crave you as much as I crave that path,” he added. He drew James into his embrace, and James clapped his hands to his lover's broad back, relief surging inside him.

Duggan grasped James's hips, fingers digging deep in James's buttocks as he pulled him close. The hard length of Duggan's cock was reassurance enough, as were his heartfelt words. For James, bedding a woman was an unknown experience, and an unknown desire. However, he would not let that make him act unwisely. He kissed Duggan hungrily, clasping his face between his hands. His biggest fear now was that he might lose Duggan to a bonny lass. It weighed heavily on him.

“I want you to be honest with me always,” he said as they drew apart. “If you want a woman, I would rather it be with my knowledge and approval than in secret.”

It was hard for him to say, but when he saw the relief in Duggan's expression and Duggan broke into the broad smile that had first drawn him to the field hand, James knew he had done the right thing. Duggan had a passionate nature and he could be hotheaded. He also worried greatly that they would be discovered and condemned for their affections. Perhaps encouraging him to explore his dual nature would alleviate those fears in some way. James could only hope so. It was a risk, a risk that he might lose his precious lover, but refusing him that choice altogether would only bring heartache for them both.

One thing was certain. When James felt the urgent hands of his lover upon him as they were now, and this unruly, passionate man came to him with desire in his eyes, James's mind, heart and body were in tune. For the moment, for as long as it lasted, this exultant state of happiness was all there was, and when Duggan moved to clasp James's stiff member through his breeches, stroking it firmly, all the doubts that surrounded them whispered away, leaving only the urgent need for physical congress that would not be denied.