Red Silk Pt. 03

Happy confined Easter, dear readers!

I hope you'll enjoy the next installment of this story, and if you do feel free to give me some stars and voice your opinion with a comment.

Stay safe and healthy and good reading!

***

On my first Scottish morning I woke up disoriented. Everything around me was foreign, the room, the furniture, the cold. The drop in temperature from my native Texas was brutal.

It took me several minutes to get my bearings, my brain reeling from jet lag. A shower later, I remembered that I didn't bring extra clothing and proceeded to explore the wardrobe. Nothing.

Shivering, I tightened the belt of my robe and dug out the flight's complimentary slippers. Unless Eoghan's boss intended for me to remain naked, leading to a swift death by hypothermia, there ought to be something for me to wear in the multiple packages stored in the pantry.

Luckily, I was right. I climbed back the stairs charged like a mule, and dropped my burden on the bed. After tearing the wrappings open, I seconded Eoghan's opinion. His boss was indeed a nature obsessed freak.

Nothing but natural fibers, of all sorts. A profusion of organic cotton, linen, wool and even silk, the latter under the form of elegant lingerie and nightwear, sexy yet classy. Uneasiness crept over me at the thought of this unknown man selecting undergarments for me. Hopefully, he dropped the chore on a personal shopper.

There was no plastic, no metal of any kind, no elastic bands. Buttons were horn or mother of pearl, panties had bikini ties or drawstrings, and bras were laced at the front. Shoes were leather, with the exception of a pair of kaki green garden boots in real latex. This was really pushing it to the extreme.

I found a bag of organic beauty products, which I used, and picked a basic set of undies, a tee-shirt and a jean. I added a cream jumper and woolly socks, and savored the thawing of my limbs.

My first attempt at cooking porridge ended up with a boiled over puddle on the cooker and a watery sludge in the pot. The taste was horrendous, the texture even worse. My father used to say I could burn water. He was mildly exaggerating.

The second try yielded better results. I ignored the recipe on the bag and improvised, using milk instead of water and adding ground almonds and honey. It turned out quite nice, so once my offering in place, I made a plate for myself. It wasn't as good as my usual cereals, but it was warm and filling. By the time I figured out the coffee maker, Eoghan was walking in.

"Hi there, care for some leftover porridge and freshly brewed coffee?"

"No thanks, I already had breakfast. Mary would divorce me if I ate another woman's cuisine." He winked and I stifled a laugh. He dipped a finger in the pot and licked it. "Now girl, I don't know what this is, but it ain't porridge. You're gonna spoil those brownies rotten, and I'll have to deal with their disappointment after you're gone."

This time I couldn't stop the giggles. "You'll survive. Have Mary cook it. They'll love it."

"She won't. She hates the stuff. Meet me outside when you're ready, I want to introduce you to the herd. Don't forget your gloves!"

***

I gawked at the dozen horses, frolicking in a field overlooking the beach. All males, with shiny coats ranging from cream to dark grey, matching mane, no markings. As I tiptoed closer, I noticed an ugly bald areas, saucer sized, on each left shoulder. What had been done to these beautiful creatures?

They froze at our approach, neighing, one of them beating the ground with a hoof. Eoghan raised his hands and whistled. They seemed to calm a little and inched towards us warily, ready to bolt at any sudden movement.

"Easy boys, easy," he said softly, "come meet our new friend."

I remained as immobile as I could, trying my best to look inoffensive. I smiled at them and spoke sotto voce: "I've got treats for you, can you smell them?" I had taken the time to dice a carrot and two apples, and the bite-size bribes filled the pockets of my windbreaker.

Carried by the breeze, a rhythmic sound diverted my attention, faint at first, and growing louder. Over the hill appeared a black stallion, hooves drumming a frantic tattoo as he barrelled towards us.

I should have been afraid, yet I could only watch in awe as the majestic beast threw himself between his kin and us, rearing and showing teeth.

"Wow, you are beautiful!" I stared at him, agape, perfectly oblivious to the danger.

Eoghan wasn't though, and he stepped in front of me, eyes never leaving the enraged animal. "Come on, we are no threat, no need for the drama. This is Moira and she won't hurt any of you, all right?"

Why Eoghan bothered reasoning a horse, I had no idea. It's not like he could understand any of it. Yet something, the sound of a familiar voice or our relaxed, definitely- non-threatening posture, seemed to register, as the furious animal progressively calmed down.

"He is very protective of them," Eoghan explained in a whisper, "they are his sons after all. He is their leader."

I looked at the dark giant, now edging towards me, nostrils flared. "I think someone is hungry," I smiled, plunging my hands in my pockets and pulling them out with a bit of carrot in one and apple in the other. I offered my gloved palms to the fast approaching muzzle. "So are you more of a fruit or veg fellow? I won't judge, I swear."

Eoghan stifled a laugh while the stallion huffed hot air on my face, before picking the apple.

"Sweet tooth, hey?" I scratched behind his ear with my empty hand. He neighed and ate the carrot. "Or are you a meal-in-reverse type? I don't mind, you are perfect. Look at you, so tall and strong and this amazing mane..."

"What's his name?" I asked Eoghan, my eyes on the chewing marvel before me.

"He doesn't have one, and stop stroking his ego, he already has quite a high opinion of himself."

"I'll call him... Storm. It suits him, all dark, powerful and ominous. Yep, Storm it is. Do you like it, stud?" Another puff of air hit me. "And don't listen to the mean man here, you are magnificent. I'd be proud too, if I were you."

Storm shook his head and left to join his... sons?

"You didn't tell me they were related yesterday?"

"I gave you the short version," Eoghan shrugged. "See how big 'Storm' is? A breeder was trying to recreate the extinct Old English Black breed. He started with Clydesdales and worked his way towards removing white markings, and adding several coat colors. This one was genetically engineered, but the fillies he covered only produced males. Not good for reproduction. They couldn't make a female like him."

I shook my head. It really wasn't great.

"And then, there was the issue of temper. Unlike Clydesdales and their Old English ancestors, our guys are feral. They are no good for riding or working. So the breeder cut his losses and sold the lot to a lab. Thanks heavens, my boss got them out."

"I agree. It would be a pity losing such beautiful animals, just because we can't use them. They are much better here, free and happy."

Eoghan grinned. "They still love the attention, on their terms. If you bring brushes or a hook, they'll let you detangle their mane and tail and clean their feet, when they feel like it. Just never touch them with bare skin, all right?"

"Yes dad, I'll remember."

"Good. Now let me show you the access to the sea."

We stepped down a rocky path to a long stretch of wet sand, running along the end of the horseshoe shaped bay.

"Check the tides' timetable before you start a walk, it's the only way back and the water comes up to the rocks at full height."

I smiled. "Don't worry, I can swim. And cold baths are good for your health, I heard."

Instead of laughing, he frowned. "It's not funny. This place is nicknamed Corpse Beach for a reason. Nobody swimming here ever came back. This is a favorite place for suicides, and a death trap for stupid tourists ignoring the signs. The name is misleading though. The bodies are never found, the undercurrent drags them far into the ocean. Enjoy the sand, but stay clear of the water. Understood?"

"Yes sir. Mind the tides, no dipping, skinny or else."

His good humor returned. "Not everything here is deadly. You have a good couple of hours before the tide starts flowing, so if you want to stretch your legs, now is the time. I can give you a more exhaustive tour of this estate this afternoon, or tomorrow if you're tired."

"Thank you, I'll take you up on the offer."

While a walk on the beach seemed less appealing in the light of its history, I still slipped off my boots and socks and followed the water edge, toes digging in cold sand. I had a growing feeling of being watched, and as it became more and more acute I turned around. There, mane floating in the breeze, was Storm.

***

The sun wakes me up. The windows are closed, and yet the room smells of the sea, fresh with a salty hint of wind and waves and wet sand.

The candles have burnt out and I can't believe I let them; I'm lucky the whole place didn't go up in flames. My mind is so messed up.

I stand up and wince at the soreness between my legs, sticky proof of a deal done. There goes my wish that last night was a nightmare. It DID happen. And I enjoyed it. My body did. Still, I feel violated.

A little jar on the side table catches my eyes; a thick envelope lies underneath. It's old style paper, the kind made out of fabric. The calligraphy of the letter I pull out is a thing of beauty.

The text, not so much.

"Sweet Moira," it reads, "You may want to use this ointment liberally, so that we can resume our couplings tonight. I am truly sorry for the unavoidable discomfort. I will not ask you to endure more than one daily impregnation, but it is imperative that we repeat it for the five fertile days of your cycle. Candlelight and red silk compliment your beauty, please keep setting the room accordingly. D."

Hardly a love poem. If he finds me attractive, why the fuss about the decor? Clearly, I am not to his taste. I might be offended, were my attention not focused on the mammoth in the room. Five days? I will not survive four repeats of last night! How could anyone? I have been so busy trying to cope with the moral issues pertaining to the act that I didn't consider I would have to submit to it more than once. I refuse to think of it. I can't cope with it right now. Not without a steamy mug of coffee and a solid breakfast.

My robe is dangling off a deer head's antlers by the door. I duck walk and wrap myself in fluffy terry cloth. My thighs are wet and cold, I'm leaking fluid faster than an old car. I hit the shower just before the first drop soils my slippers. I'm nauseous. I need to wash him off. The world can wait until I'm clean.

***

The unguent reminds me of a forest in spring, damp earth and wet leaves, and it's efficient. By the time I reach the kitchen, my gait feels pretty normal.

Eoghan is already there, sipping a cup of tea. He glances at me and smiles.

"Hello there, sleepyhead. I take it you had a good time last night? You missed your breakfast exit by a mile..."

I grimace and look away. "What time is it?" Time. And weather. That's all I'm willing to discuss as I rummage the cupboards for ground beans. English people and their tea. Disgusting.

He frowns. "It's 10 a.m. Something wrong?"

I ignore him while I pack the filter. I slam the coffee machine closed and start it. "Did you feed the brownies?" I inquire as I open the fridge.

"Yep," he quips, "quite the hungry little fellas today. Didn't leave a drop. Gave them a second serving. You should give them bigger portions, you know. Big castle like this, that's a lot of work."

I roll my eyes; he sees only my back, so the effect is lost. "Sure. Will do." Rodents in this place will soon be suffering from morbid obesity. Animal welfare societies might sue me.

"Doesn't answer my question though. How are you feeling, lass?"

I pour the heavenly smelling brew and drop on the bench, facing him. I nurse my mug, warming my cool hands. Despite global warming, Scotland is no tropical island. It's not the temperature, it's the dampness. Seeps into your bones. And the wind. The never-ending wind. This Texan girl wants her heat back.

"Moira?" There's a concerned crease on his forehead.

My mind is in turmoil. I can't tell about last night. I can't face what his boss did, how I responded. What it might say about me.

"If I asked you to drive me back to the airport, would you do it?" I'm not sure I want to leave yet, not considering the damning penalties. Small prints. Bolting now would double our debts. But it sure would be nice to have the option.

Eoghan studies me, his expression unreadable. "Of course. Do you need me to?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. I don't know anymore." I bury my face in my hands, wishing for this awful dilemma to disappear. It doesn't. I hate my life.

He gets up and pops into the pantry. He comes back with a tin box and places it in the center of the table. When he takes off the lid, a delicious aroma tickles my nose.

"Muffins. Home baked, still warm. I hope you like blueberries."

"I love blueberries. May I?"

"Help yourself."

I pick one and bite off the top. Can you have taste buds orgasms? I swear I just did. The dough is not only mixed with fruits but filled with a dollop of blueberry flavored cream. "Tell Mary she is the best goddam baker in the world. And thank her." The words come out jumbled. I stuff my mouth with cake. A whole section of the sin of gluttony must be devoted to Mary's cooking.

"I agree. That's one the reasons I married her." He winks at me and takes one for himself. I want to bite his hand. These babies are mine.

He laughs at my murderous glare and pushes the box towards me. "I reacted the same when I first tasted her recipe. There are more at home waiting for me. These are all yours."

I blush and lick my fingers. "Sorry..." What's wrong with me today? I behave like a total idiot.

"No problem. I'm glad I managed to lift your spirit. You were all doom and gloom, you had me worried."

I have another serving. This is a double muffin situation, possibly a triple. "It's just... I'm overwhelmed, I guess."

"Take your time. Think about it. If you run, there will be no return. It will count as a betrayal in his books, and he doesn't forgive those who abuse his trust. This is vitally important to him, Moira. I don't know what he did to you, I don't even want to know, and if it makes it impossible for you to stay, I will support your decision. But you have to be certain."

I nod. "No offense, but I don't want to discuss it with you either. It's a female issue."

"Would you like a chat with Mary? She is a good listener."

"I might take you up on the offer, later. First, I'll have a walk on the beach. Air my mind a little. Make sense of all this."

"Good. I'll be around if you need me."

He leaves his cup in the sink on his way out. I finish my coffee and another muffin before getting my coat, hoping the fresh air will do me good.

***

I have barely stepped foot on the sand that Storm is by my side. The wild giant and I have become fast friends, and he loves roaming the beach around me, galloping in sea foam and revelling in my indignant squeaks when he sprays me. Eoghan pretends the horse has a protective streak, but I rather think he is a prankster. I'm certain he laughs at me in horsey language, knowing I'm too busy fawning over him to deny him treats. Greedy huge bastard.

I usually enjoy the company, but today I'm particularly glad for it. I find that to put my thoughts in order, it's best to speak them out loud. Having an audience makes me sound less of a lunatic.

Offering Storm a piece of apple, I run my fingers through his mane. "Here boy, there's more where this came from, but you'll have to pretend to listen. Can you do that for me?"

He swallows his bite of fruit and blows on me. I take it as a yes and start walking. He follows me closely, nostrils tracking the rest of the food.

"I'm in trouble, you know. There's this guy, he lent us money we couldn't repay, and then my father attempted suicide and I had to sign this crazy contract. To put it in terms you'll understand, I'm paid to be his broodmare. How did it feel for you when you had to cover all these fillies, hey? I mean, I'm sure they somehow enjoyed it, them being in heat and all. But they didn't consent, didn't they? So technically you raped them, although you had no choice either."

He shakes his massive head and dives for my pocket. I sacrifice half a carrot to his greed and rant on. "I don't know where I stand, you see. I'm getting money and I came here and I did the deal with him last night. My body liked it, a lot. Am I a slut for it? A whore? Both?

I said no and I didn't want it and he did it anyway, was I raped? He says I wasn't, because I agreed beforehand, but legally I was. At least, I think I was. I don't know anymore.

There's all that mystery around him. He hides his face, his name, everything. He is so cold, so impersonal. All business. I can't be like that. I can't just... fuck. For me, sex is something I do with someone I really like. Someone I want to be with. Not some stranger.

And he is big, crazy big. He stretched me so much, I was so sore afterwards. He is going to destroy me. I don't think I can take it again tonight, and the night after, and the night after that... I'll need surgery, for sure."

Storm neighs for more treats. I bribe him again. "What would you do, boy? Should I just run and take the consequences, even though it might kill my dad? Should I stay and lose my self-esteem and maybe my sanity? Those tricks this man is pulling, they are weird. Some sort of mind control, music-hall magician kind of stuff. It's freaking me out..."

The horse finally gets tired of my ramblings. He trots ahead of me, stops, and lies down. I approach him with caution. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

He stares at me placidly. He doesn't seem in pain.

"Do you want me to ride you?" I've seen this trick before. It's taught by some trainers to help small or disabled people climb in the saddle.

Storm doesn't move. He awaits my decision.

I'm wary of him. Eoghan insisted he cannot be mounted. Will the stallion throw me off if I try? He seems pretty willing.

I haven't ridden in two weeks and the temptation is hard to resist. I cave. My trousers are safely tucked in my boots, I have long sleeves and gloves. Only my face is exposed. I won't touch him with bare skin. I hop on Storm's back.

He gets up as if I weighed nothing and starts walking. I grip his mane as he accelerates, until we are thundering down the beach. The wind blows back my hood and messes my hair. I grin like a fool.

We reach the end of the bay and turn back. The tide is coming in. Storm stays on track, knee deep in churning water, hooves splashing. He is so powerful it doesn't slow him down. His wide frame is so comfortable I believe I'm flying.

In the distance, someone is waving at us. Eoghan, certainly. I'm sure he is mad I didn't heed his advice. He'll get over it.

We are beside him in no time and I jump on the sand, landing on my butt. I'm not used to horses this tall.

Eoghan is furious, close to foaming at the mouth. "Are you out of your mind, lass? Was I not clear enough? You could have broken your neck, or drowned, had he thrown you off. This is a feral animal, not a pet farm pony!"

"I am aware, but he asked for it, and nothing happened. I'm a good rider, it's not so easy to get rid of me."

Eoghan throws his hands up and closes on Storm. "And you, lad, you should know better. Don't you remember what you are? Are you so sure you can resist your urges? It's in your blood, you big oaf! You should be ashamed of yourself."