Their Private Arrangement (Taskill Witches 1.50)

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.

“You’re ready for me,” Duggan stated hoarsely, as he eased his hand inside James’s breeches, caressing the hot skin of his distended cock.

James shuddered and gave a slight nod, his head lowering. Subservience washed over him in a heady rush, the eager servitude he felt for this treasured lover who wished to claim and use him well.

Duggan walked him toward the bed, directing him, then pushed him down upon it. James landed on his back there with a grateful sigh, his erection poking up from his open breeches. The sight of Duggan standing there—so tall and attractive with his ruddy good health—looking down at him with lust in his eyes while he was so lewdly exposed made his ballocks tighten and throb.

Duggan grinned then bent over him, hands planted either side of James’s hips on the mattress, and took the crown of that upright manhood into his mouth. James’s eyes flashed shut as rapture surged through him, his whole being centered on the immeasurable pleasure.

This was worth every moment of danger, every sacrifice. His back arched and his chest swelled. Whispering his words of affection, James locked his hands around his lover’s head and caressed his thick, da

rk hair before roving down to his shoulders, so muscular under his hands. As Duggan devoured his manhood and his release built, he gripped those shoulders tightly. Yes, for Duggan, he would make things right. For Duggan they would find a way.

It was a week later and the menfolk—as Morag now thought of them—were together once again. Duggan had arrived sometime earlier. Morag had seen him striding across the hillside toward the inn as she opened the downstairs door. The upstairs entrance was already unlocked, and she made ready to dart up the hidden staircase and linger awhile. Alas the alewife had called her away and told to stop gaping.

“We are paid well to turn a blind eye, Morag. Don’t peer at the gentleman so.”

“Yes, Mistress Muir.”

The alewife frowned, but took a moment to peer at Duggan herself before turning away and ushering Morag along with her.

Morag stepped behind her employer. As much as she wanted to see him, she was not eager for a telling-off.

“Times are hard all across Fife,” Mistress Muir added, “and we must give thanks for every coin that comes our way, and not put it at risk.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Some time later, however, Mr. Grant called her name from the landing above and asked her to bring a bottle of good claret. Morag collected the bottle from the alewife and mounted the staircase to the lodgings with some curiosity. It was unusual for Mr. Grant to request services when he already had company in his rooms. Once that door was shut, she could only speculate what went on between him and Duggan—and speculate she did. Her nights had been quite restless, thinking on it this past week.

But now she was on her way to Mr. Grant’s rooms, and after the stolen kiss Duggan had given her two days previously, Morag approached the task with a light and eager step, knowing that he was up there. The embrace had also occupied her thoughts greatly. It was a long time that she had admired Duggan. As far back as she could remember she had looked fondly upon him whenever she had seen him at the market and at the kirk. Then she walked over the hills at the age of seventeen to seek work at the Drover’s Inn and she saw him laboring in the fields. She wondered then if he had a sweetheart. When he started to visit with Mr. Grant at the inn several times a week, she never once thought that he would show her any attention, but now that he had she was eager to encounter him again.

When she knocked, Duggan opened the door and leaned one elbow against the frame as he looked her up and down.