Their Private Arrangement (Taskill Witches 1.50)

Morag took another quick look. It was quite true. Mr. Grant appeared to have an impressive erection himself, for his fine breeches stretched tightly over his groin, straining under the apparent size of his member.

Duggan’s smile had taken on a mischievous glint and his eyes flashed as he looked over at his friend. “Come now, James, don’t be shy. Why not afford yourself a bit of pleasure while you watch me having mine?”

Without awaiting response, Duggan returned his attention solely to her.

Morag had scarcely recovered from the release she’d had at his hands moments before, and when he locked eyes with her and began to move his hips, pressing his solid length between them, she was startled. He gazed down at her with possessive eyes. Her breath caught in her throat. The longing that she had felt for him took root deep within her and grew.

“Are you ready to receive me?” Again he pressed his erection against her tender spot, and she moaned aloud.

Need pounded inside her. Shifting so that her feet were flat to the bed and her knees lifted either side of him, she pushed her hands down his back, inside his loosed breeches and scratched his bared arse. “I think you know the answer.”

He directed his cock to her opening and pushed. Her willing flesh gave way easily.

The broad head of his cock stretched her open and she cried out, her back arching against the bed, her feet lifting from the mattress. “Oh, Mr. Duggan!”

As he pushed deeper, filling her, the muscles in his neck stood out and his eyes narrowed. Morag locked her ankles at his back, arching up to meet him.

He paused only to tug her bodice from her breasts, nodding when she pulled her nipples free for him to see. Their eyes met, and understanding passed between them. Then he began to ride her, and it was hard and fast and she relished every moment of it, moaning wildly and urging him on. As her release built once more, she fell loose in his grip and writhed under him, her body taking him, letting him mold her to him, savoring every thrust he had for her.

In the background, she was aware of Mr. Grant. He appeared to lurch forward in his seat and when her head rolled that way she saw him fumbling with his breeches quite urgently. A moment later he had his member in his hand and was stroking it rapidly, his free hand locked around the base and sac.

It hit her strangely, to see one roused cock being so lewdly handled while another claimed her at her very center, and she spilled moments later, after which she was rapidly joined by Duggan, who responded to her rhythmic grasp on his length by feeding her more of it, cursing as if thwarted, then pouring his hot seed into her.

Morag grabbed him to her, chuckling, as he loomed over her in his delirium. “Oh aye, you’re a fine man, Duggan Moore, I always knew you would be.”

Less than a week later the Drover’s Inn was surrounded by men from Dundee. They came shortly after dawn, shouting for people to rise from their beds to answer the

m. They carried muskets and torches and were leaving no stone unturned in their hunt for the wrongdoer they sought. Morag felt fear grip her heart. They were the bailie’s men and they had come to dispense justice. Morag flitted through the inn, watching where they went. Several of them quizzed the alewife, whilst some hunted through the cellars and others took on the outhouses and barns.

Morag had scarce ever moved so fast, spreading word as quickly as she could, warning those who should be on their way. Then she went to the scullery, where she kept a watchful eye on proceedings, her heart racing. She steadied herself with one hand on her chest as she bided her time. She wanted to go to Duggan and Mr. Grant, who she knew to be slumbering together because she had passed part of the evening before with them. But since she had appeared in the scullery, one of the bailie’s men had her in his sights, and it would look suspicious if she ran off. She knew who they were after, and she had already done her best to see that their hunt was thwarted.

A shout rang up from the outhouses and several almighty booms followed, the sounds of weapons being discharged. It sent a fearful shiver down Morag’s back and her palms grew clammy. When the bailie’s man headed outside to investigate, Morag darted away from the kitchen and up the stairs. As she went, she prayed they did not find their quarry.

Lifting her skirts in her hands, she hastened to Mr. Grant’s rooms. Rapping quietly on the door, she rattled the handle. Mercifully, the door opened a moment later. It was Mr. Grant who stood there, and when his eyes lit on her, relief filled them. “Morag, hasten inside.”

Duggan was still there, dressed and standing by the fire, head turned in her direction.

She urged Mr. Grant to lock the door.

“We heard shouting,” Mr. Grant said uneasily.

She pressed her back hard to the door. “Aye.’Tis the bailie from Dundee and his men—they are hunting for a woman who is charged with witchcraft.”

Mr. Grant paled. “The bailiff from Dundee?”

Duggan rose to his feet, as if making ready to protect her. Anger flickered in his handsome eyes.

Morag did not like to see him with such a dark expression. “No, the woman is gone, and the men are following after her now.” Her belly tightened, for the woman they hunted had been good to her and Morag hoped the men would not find her, or her protector. Morag had done her best to warn them and hurry them on their way. “I came to tell you, lest they come back here to question you about her.”

“Is it the black-haired lass, Jessie Taskill, who they seek?” Mr. Grant asked, as if surprised.

Morag nodded.

Duggan came to her side and took her hands in his. “We heard the men, and for a moment we thought…” He glanced in Mr. Grant’s direction, but he did not complete his sentence. Instead he lifted her hands in his and kissed them, first one and then the other. “Thank you, sweet Morag, for coming here to warn us.”

Morag realized that they thought the bailie had come for them. She had not thought of that, but now it made her think on it. Both men were tense, and her concerns renewed. Danger lurked close by for these two—who she now thought of as her menfolk—and that disturbed her greatly.

There was a proud but wary look to Duggan’s expression and beyond him Mr. Grant paced the room, a frown darkening his expression. “If they demand entry now,” he said, “I beseech you to say that Duggan has come here to meet with you, Morag, to protect him.”