Aprons for Gayle

CHAPTER TWO

FRIDAY, AUGUST 2nd, 2013, 7:06 p.m.; BWI AIRPORT, BALTIMORE, MARYLAND

Gayle finally got settled in the economy section of the Virgin Airlines 747 and stared out the window watching men carelessly throw passenger's luggage onto the conveyor belt leading to the bowels of the plane.

They would be arriving at Edinburgh, Scotland at 6:35 the next morning, and she knew it was going to be a long night. She hoped she'd be able to sleep because she wanted to be sharp and rested when she arrived.

Hamish had instructed her to wear his favorite outfit, apparently: a low-cut blouse, black mini-skirt and four-inch heels, no bra nor panties. The first thirty minutes walking around the airport was fine, but after that her feet were killing her. She'd thought about defying his order by wearing a flannel shirt, jeans and sneakers. But not knowing what her punishments would be she wasn't willing to take the chance.

She watched the route of the plane from the screen secured to the seat in front of her. They flew up north over the coastline, into Canada then east over Newfoundland. All she could really see was the vastness of green in several different shades. When they were over water it was nothing but desolate blue.

So she stared out of the window at the clouds below her, and the sky changed from a light blue to yellow, orange, red then a deeper red. The cloud cover was even more beautiful. They were whiter than she'd ever seen at home and so billowy they looked like huge cotton balls. She wondered if this is what heaven was like.

Then she wondered what she would do with herself on her afternoons off or whatever else Hamish had in store for her.

Then she slept for a few hours but was hardly restful. She simply worried some more.

Before she realized it, the captain made an announcement that they were flying over the Emerald Isle; the temperature in Edinburgh was 61degrees; rising sun with clear skies; and an arrival time of an hour. The time on the screen said that would be 6:30, five minutes early.

Butterflies violently erupted in her stomach. She was tempted to start biting her fingernails, but Hamish had instructed her to get a manicure and pedicure. She did have them done but wasn't about to mess them up and start her first day off with an immediate punishment.

Right on time the plane landed on the tarmac. She was now officially a foreigner and a minority, something she found hard to comprehend. Procrastinating as long as she could, she sat in her seat and watched everyone else exit the plane. When her time had run out, she sighed heavily and said a little prayer for strength to make it back home in one piece.

After she went through customs, which took an hour of standing, she limped out into the huge terminal looking for a man holding a sign with her name on it, as pre-planned by Hamish. It didn't take her long to see her name in big, bold letters being held over a tall, thin man, probably in his early 50s, she ascertained.

She walked up to him, forced a smile and said tentatively, "Hi. I'm Gayle Boyce."

"Well, hello. I'm David Hodges, your driver for the day." His accent was much thicker than Hamish's, and he spoke much faster, but she could still understand him.

"It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise. Let me take that bag for you," he said, holding out his arm.

"Thank you."

As they walked the terminal for the exit David was quiet. She just assumed Hamish was as strict with his other employees as he was with her. After standing in customs for so long and the ten minute walk, her feet were beginning to scream at her.

What made it worse was the fact that the blouse was thin, and it was difficult walking in the heels without her breasts bouncing up and down or swaying back and forth. One thing she was surprised about was the fact that her nipples were erect. It wasn't excitement over seeing Hamish, far from it, actually, but it was the way the material brushed against them that brought them to attention.

Looking around while walking behind David, she suddenly bumped into his now stationary figure; he had stopped without warning. Then she saw they were at the car, and she was disappointed not to see Hamish. She thought he would at least have the common courtesy to meet her at the airport.

David opened the boot, put her small suitcase in the back then slammed it shut, staying where he was. Gayle waited by the back door, wondering if she should wait for David to open it for her. She lifted each leg to alleviate the pain, but it did little to help.

A moment later the rear passenger side of the car opened and Hamish stood up, turned and looked at her before walking around the back and stopping next to David. They mumbled something between them, but she couldn't hear what they said.

She noticed Hamish had gotten his hair trimmed, and his beard was still neatly shaven. He wore a long-sleeved white shirt with an Argyle jacket and blue jeans, a far cry from his stiff-upper-lip attire in Virginia. Of course a man in a business suit can be sexy, but she had to admit he was easy to look at.

"It's lovely to see you again, Ms. Boyce," Hamish greeted with a small smile.

"Sir," she replied anxiously.

What made her instantly nervous and tense up was the fact that he slowly looked her up and down scrutinizing her before his eyes settled on the almond-sized nubs poking through the blouse. His smile grew. She pushed her shoulders inward in a poor attempt to hide her tittie hard-ons, not just from him but from David.

Hamish shook his head and tsk'd, lost his smile then grabbed her shoulders, pushing them back slightly. "None of that while you are in my employ. Let's get going," he said, stretching his arm out toward the back car door. "We have an hour's drive ahead of us."

As Hamish opened the back door she saw David walk to the passenger side and sit in the front. She was surprised Hamish would be driving and she'd be left alone in the back. Why did David even come? she wondered.

Gayle then hesitated because she wasn't sure how she was going to sit and scoot over without showing her crotch to her boss. She was sure Hamish was hoping for a peek. Taking a deep breath, she pushed down her skirt as far as it would go before slipping onto the seat; she kept her knees locked the entire way.

Looking in the front seat, she saw David put his hands on the steering wheel in front of her. She laughed to herself when she forgot Americans drive on the right while Brits drive on the left.

After Hamish sat beside her and closed the door, Gayle was afraid to say anything. It wasn't that she didn't want to. She just didn't know if Hamish would allow it.

As the car pulled away from the curb and out into traffic Hamish asked, "Did you have a good flight?"

She'd remembered his short answer to her question once before and wanted to reply just a curtly as he had, but that really wasn't who she was.

"I guess so. It felt longer than a six-hour flight, though. The food sucked, one woman chatted non-stop with her friend, and the old woman beside me kept farting."

Hamish chuckled. "Sorry to hear that. But I think you are forgetting something."

She thought a moment. "Oh, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir." "Better."

Staring out the window, the landscape whizzed by in a blur. Her swollen and aching feet began to aggravate her. She wanted to slip off the heels but hesitated. The time for her complete submission was upon her, and she was willing to play the game.

Not thinking it would hurt, she asked, "Sir, all the walking and standing has really hurt my feet. May I take my heels off?"

He looked over her face. "Of course, and I am glad you asked because your welfare is of paramount concern to me. You will allow me to massage them for you."

Her eyes flew open, and she stared at him. Is that a question or a statement, Hamish? she asked herself. "I don't like my feet messed with, Sir. I'm very ticklish. I almost kicked the lady doing my pedicure."

"That will be an excellent punishment, then, I should think."

Her heart sank. She was giving up her weaknesses to be used against her later. She'd have to learn to keep her mouth shut.

"Yes Sir." Slipping off her heels, she sighed softly. "Thank you, Sir."

He turned his body to face her then patted his knee. She mimicked his posture, leaned her back against the door and gently placed both feet on his knee. Watching him carefully as he massaged her feet, she soon found herself moaning from the loosening muscles. She put her head back against the window and closed her eyes. She wondered why she argued with him in the first place. The man was amazing with his fingers.

"Hmm. That feels nice, Sir. My feet are no longer on any limit list," Gayle mumbled.

Hamish chuckled. "You're easy to please, I see," he commented as he continued to manipulate near the base of her toes.

Five minutes later she groaned louder and picked her head up. "Sir, they're better. Thank you very much."

He smiled at her and tapped the bottom of her foot. She put her feet down on the floor and sat back in the seat, though he stayed in the same position.

"Are you still hungry after the horrible grub on the plane?"

"Yes Sir, if it's not a bother."

"I've asked Mrs. Harrower to make us brunch. You will meet her tomorrow morning. She will be making breakfast for us then. I was thinking after we eat we could take a walk around the lake. Then I'll show you around my home, if you're still awake, that is."

"Yes Sir. I'd like that. Dad said I should stay awake as long as I can. We have a bet I'll be asleep by six."

He loved that she was a betting woman. "How has your mum settled into the facility?"

The mention of her mother made her remember something. "Sir, I promised Dad I'd call when I got in."

"I was going to insist you did."

"Thank you, Sir. We got her in July 7th. She was confused as to where she was at first, but with therapy and a change in her meds she's a little more responsive than she was before, but not much."

"That's fantastic news, really."

She nodded. "Sir, I don't think I've properly thanked you for --"

"Gayle, there's no need for that."

She was taken aback that he'd called her Gayle. She'd wondered when or if he'd ever call her by her first name. Maybe his wall is coming down, she thought hopefully.

"Ms. Boyce," he started.

So much for the wall, she thought.

"I will be honest with you. When I told you at lunch I'd lost my father that was the truth. What I didn't mention is that I will lose my birth-right as first-born to inherit my family's castle and land if I do not marry in a year, my 30th birthday."

"Mr. McDougal, Sir, I don't ... I can't be ... I will not be your wife."

"Ms. Boyce, I wouldn't consider asking you to be my wife. I simply need my house kept in order until I find one ... one that is ...suitable."

Gayle was very confused over his reasoning. "May I ask something, Sir?" He nodded. "Why didn't you just hire a maid locally?"

"I am very ... particular. The agency came with a referral, and I don't have the time to flaff around looking for a submissive housemaid."

It made sense to Gayle, except the 'flaff' part. One question remained. "Then why have sex with me?"

He scowled at her. "First of all, you have two punishments coming to you. Secondly, I do not have to explain myself

"What? Sir, I --" She wracked her brain trying to think of what she'd said that made him angry or what she'd done wrong. Then she realized she hadn't used his title.

"As you know, I will be somewhat lenient with you on your punishments your first few weeks. But something as simple as not addressing me as I asked, well, I didn't think that would have been that difficult, and it is not acceptable. And I believe what you're asking is why have sex with you if I'm looking for a wife? Am I correct?"

She nodded, though sorry she even brought it up.

"I don't believe I owe you an explanation." Hamish didn't allow her to respond and handed her his cell phone. "Call your father. Let him know you got in safely."

"Thank you, Sir."

The phone call was short and sweet, ending with a promise to email with more details in a few days, if she was allowed that kindness. Talking with her Dad had made her grow sullen, and she stared out the window, as did Hamish.

Aside from the fact that it was incomprehensible to be riding on the 'wrong side of the road,' there was nothing but fields upon fields of farmland alongside the M90. It was the same after they took the roundabout to the A92 in Dunfermline.

She tried to wrap her head around that confusing, multi-lane roundabout. She'd seen the sign for St. Andrews, and the directional arrow pointed to the left. But the car turned right as it entered the roundabout to the inside of the three lanes then merged outward before they took the exit. There were roundabouts in residential areas at home, but one lane, not three. She was just waiting to bounce off another car.

Hamish's cell phone rang, and he talked most of the way. She was thankful for the lack of conversation; it allowed her to see the scenery change. Unfortunately, it didn't change at all, really, not until they'd been on the A92 for quite a while. There were fewer fields and more trees, though it wasn't the rolling hills she had hoped. Occasionally they'd pass a pub, and to her it seemed like it was hundreds of years old, much older than anything she'd seen in the States.

The A914 was much like the back roads she'd driven at home, but the farmlands had returned in plenty. They took another exit but she didn't even bother looking for the route number. Her eyes were becoming heavier and heavier with the soft, steady humming of Hamish's voice, slowly lulling her to sleep. She shifted positions a few times to keep herself awake which never worked.

"Ms. Boyce," Hamish spoke, waking Gayle up in an instant. "We're here."

"Wha'? Oh. Sorry, Sir. I didn't mean to fall asleep," she mumbled as she sat up.

She was suddenly aware her legs had parted, and the skirt had slipped up to the very top of her thighs. She tugged at it until she heard him moan. She looked at him shyly.

"You Americans are such prudes. You won't have to worry about that in my home."

"I'm not a prude, Sir." She wasn't awake enough to let his second comment sink in and question him.

He was looking at her with an amused expression. "You snore."

She smiled shyly. "Sorry, Sir."

"It's quite alright. I've been known to wake the dead."

Gayle smiled just as the car stopped. Looking out of the window, the gate at the end of the driveway slowly opened. As they drove through she saw an old stone plaque that read 'Duncanstone.'

She was about to ask when the scenery caught her attention. The graveled road was outlined with tall, lush trees, and the angle of the rising sun cast the road in an eerie shadow. Past the trees were the rolling hills she'd hoped to see with about two dozen sheep munching on the grass.

"Wow. This is breathtaking."

"It is. And that's three."

She swallowed hard. Looking at him, she said, "Well, Sir, that's normal for me. I do everything in threes."

He smirked wickedly, his left eyebrow rising. "You do everything in threes?" His tone rose when he repeated 'everything.'

She blushed then giggled like an idiot. Exhaustion was definitely setting in. "Almost everything, Sir."

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "Lass, I will have you cum so many times you will lose count ... eventually."

Yeah, you're pretty sure about that, aren't you, you pompous dickhead, she thought and stared out the window again.

They crossed a small, narrow stone bridge. "The creek leads to the lake on your side, the other to the North Sea."

"North Sea, Sir?" She looked at him expectantly. "How far are we from there?"

"About a fifteen minute drive. Why?"

She smiled and made her face as charmingly adorable as she could. "Sir, you've talked of punishments. Do I get any rewards?"

"Do you think by batting your eyelashes and giving me that look that I'd cave in and allow rewards?"

"Well, Sir, I was hoping it would work. It's just I've swum ... swam, whatever, in the Caribbean, Gulf of Mexico and the Pacific, so it would be cool if I could dip my toes in the North Sea while I'm here, Sir."

"I'll take it into consideration."

"Thank you, Sir."

As she looked out of the window again, and when the castle came into view, she was incredibly overwhelmed. Mrs. Monroe had said it was a small castle, but it was far from it as far as she was concerned. It sat at the bottom of a small, rolling hill set on a neatly manicured patch of the greenest grass she'd ever seen.

On the inside edges of the grass there were misshaped stones about two feet high that stretched about ten feet toward the other end of the castle then ended abruptly.

"Sir? Did the curtain wall surround the entire estate?" She caught him looking at her reflection curiously through the window.

"You know your architecture."

"I studied architecture and archaeology in college. It's more like a hobby."

"Impressive. And yes, it did. The grassy area was the inner courtyard. The ruins there were destroyed during Cromwell's civil war in the mid-1600s. It was the original Tower House."

"When was it built, Sir?" she asked excitedly as she turned to look at him.

He narrowed his eyes at her but wore the smallest of grins. "You ask too many questions."

"Yes Sir. I've killed many a cat, too."

"I'll answer all of your questions once you're settled."

She smiled. "Thank you, Sir."

Looking back at the house as they drove closer, more than half of the building seemed to be liveable, while the other half looked like it was nothing but stand-alone walls, ruins of what it had once been. To the left was a small building with a round-domed roof connected to a longer building with a slanted roof. The entranceway was huge with a dark-wood door carved with something, but she couldn't see what the design was at that distance. To the right were two other sections then a round, three-level tower with a blue and white crossed flag waving above it.

"Sir, is the flag your family's crest?" she asked.

"No. It's The Saltire, Scotland's national flag."

She looked back out the window. The ruins on the far, east side at one time had been the same length as the big, livable section, but all that remained was one wall with a large space where a window had been and two or three long walls with ragged and uneven height levels of brick.

The long driveway forked to the right which led to the circular driveway to the main door. But they went straight and parked at the west end of the castle. After slipping on her heels, Gayle reached for the door handle when it mysteriously opened on its own. When she saw David standing there she smiled and slid out, again pushing her skirt down.

"Hodges," Hamish said as he stepped beside Gayle. "Please take her bag into the maid's quarters, and you may leave for the day."

David gave him a little bow. "Yes, Master," he said then walked away.

Hamish put his hand in the small of her back and led her to the side door. "Would you like a cuppa?"

"Um, cuppa what, Sir?" she asked confused.

He grinned. "A cup of tea or coffee. Maybe when it gets colder hot chocolate if you have been good."

"Oh, yes, please, Sir. Coffee would be wonderful," she answered as they walked through the door.

She was expecting a foyer but it was the kitchen. The dome-shaped room had five-sectional walls, and where they met were wooden beams that fanned out to meet in the center of the ceiling in a spider-like shape. Each section had shallow alcoves filled with the stove and oven; refrigerator; covered neatly with pots and pans; a large sink; or a floor-to-ceiling cabinet. In the center was a small, black slate island.