Aprons for Gayle

Okay, so, as much as I tried to fight Scooter Titenbum, I must admit he is right, dag nabbit!

I was worried about this chapter, but Scooter says to mention that this is more of a filler—specifically a tour of Hamish's castle.

Please, please keep reading! He promised chapter 4 is a major improvement with a bath and some ...

Thanks for the votes!! They definitely make me smile.

CHAPTER THREE

Turning over in bed, Gayle awoke suddenly when she felt someone watching her. She sat up and looked around, but no one was in the room with her. Collapsing back down on the bed, she sighed in relief but it still felt like someone was in the room. A chill coursed through her, so she bundled the covers up tightly under her chin. The feeling slowly faded away.

The room was barely lit through the arrow-slit of the window. Because she wasn't wearing a watch she had no idea what time it was; there wasn't even a clock, and she wondered how she'd wake up in the mornings without one. She hoped Hamish hadn't come to wake her and she was still out cold. Already having a sour taste of his authority, she didn't want a repeat.

Her eyes burned and her eyelids were still swollen from exhaustion, and she wanted to go back to sleep. But glancing at the suitcase, she figured it wouldn't hurt to empty it. Maybe it would keep her mind pre-occupied from her situation.

After stretching her body with a long, loud yawn, she slipped out of bed and gasped at the cold, stone floor. It was only August. She was dreading how cold it would be by November. She wished then she'd thought to bring a robe as one of her two personal items.

Throwing the suitcase on the end of the bed and opening it, she pulled out the pen and note book she was planning on using as a journal of her trip, and set it on the nightstand, followed by the over-stuffed make-up case on its bottom shelf.

The second to last item she got was her favorite picture of her family posing on the beach at Nags Head in North Carolina when she was 15. She smiled as she looked over at how happy her mother was then. It was a far cry from how she was now. Moisture filled her eyes as she remembered the sand castle they'd built just feet from where they stood. Her mother was a perfectionist at everything she did, and the castle had to be just right. Gayle had given up helping because it had to be done a certain way. She chuckled when she realized she was one step away from being just like her mother in that regard.

Taking out a third forbidden item, she placed Stephen King's million-pages long novel 'It' on the bed. She was hoping she'd find a good place to hide it, considering she was only allowed two items. She was playing with fire, and she knew it, but she needed something to keep her mind off her family if she ever had trouble falling asleep.

Pulling out the winter jacket, she secretly wanted to slip it on to keep warm since she'd taken off the outfit before her nap; she hoped there would be warmer clothes in the armoire. Opening the door, her jaw hit the floor when she saw several outfits hanging neatly -- actually, they appeared to be hanging by a few strings due to the complete lack of material.

She flipped through a few of them and realized they were the aprons she was to wear during her different duties. Most were black; a few black and white; one kind was cotton; most were lace or satin. Attached to each were either black or white stockings.

"You have GOT to be kidding me!" she exclaimed.

Shaking her head, she closed the doors and turned to the bed when there was a loud, heavy banging, making her jump. "Ms. Boyce. Time to get up."

"Come in, Sir," she said as she sat on the bed and covered herself with the bed sheet. Only then did she remember the book, which sat on top of the comforter at her feet. Her stomach churned knowing she'd been caught.

When the door opened, Bessie ran in and jumped on her bed, pulling the sheet away from her breasts. Gayle put her hands on the dog's head and petted her; she couldn't help but giggle. "You're a pleasant surprise to wake up to, poochers!"

Bessie started licking her chin and lips, and Gayle turned her head away. "No, no. Eeww." The dog obediently stopped but stayed where she was. "Good girl."

Then she noticed Hamish standing in the doorway looking around from the book on the bed to the nightstand, where the notebook and photo were. She prayed he wouldn't say anything, but more importantly that he was in a more tolerant mood.

Ha! she thought. His tolerance depends on my attitude and servitude. God, I hate my life.

"Rest well?" he asked, though he didn't sound angry.

She nodded but replied, "Yes Sir. I could still go back to sleep. But I do feel better. Thanks."

Looking at the lovely sight of her topless, he couldn't help but comment, "Think I will train Bessie to remove the bed sheet on a regular basis."

Ignoring his chauvinistic comment, she stretched toward the suitcase and handed him a manila folder. "Cherrydale information is in there and my doctor's letter stating I'm clean."

"Brilliant. Thanks." He took the folder and put it under his arm.

"Sir? I saw the aprons in the armoire. If I may ask, you want me to wear those around the house? I thought the outfit you gave me was just for the lake. I get no normal clothes?"

"Yes. When we go out you will be dressed accordingly." His tone wasn't harsh, so maybe he had calmed down a bit from when she'd sassed him.

"Okay. But I'm confused, Sir. If I am to wear your aprons for dinner, Mrs. Harrower will see me. And what above David?"

"Good question. You will be appropriately dressed. She doesn't come in until five to prepare dinner and never ventures beyond the banquet hall, which only she cleans, by the way. And David, well, he won't be interested in your naked bits at all, remember? Now, let me show you the rest of my home." His tone wasn't harsh, so maybe he had calmed down a bit from when she'd sassed him.

Standing by the bed, she watched as Hamish went to the armoire and opened it, going through a few before he pulled one out and showed it to her. It had a tiny sheer, black bra with a thin strip of white frilly lace and a bow in the center. There definitely wasn't enough material to cover her breasts. There were no panties, only a garter with the same lace trim at the top with a lace apron in the front.

"Do you fancy wearing this one?"

Not really, but I'm sure you do, she thought to herself. Instead, she answered, "Yes Sir." She wasn't about to refuse him.

Taking the outfit from him, she waited for him to leave while she dressed, but he didn't. She sighed and slipped it on. The garter barely covered her hips; the hem ended just below her crotch. The apron lace was completely covering her pubic area but it was still see-through.

Trying to tie the bra in the back she found it difficult, and she struggled for a few seconds. "Let me get that for you."

She didn't argue. Holding her breath, he took the two strings and tied them together easily. His fingers brushed against her back several times, and her skin broke out in goose pimples from the contact, which surprised her.

Only when he was done did she finally breathe. Looking down nervously, her fears were justified. The sturdy top of the bra exposed her breasts completely, though they were supported well enough, and her nipples had grown erect. She figured she'd have permanent nippleus erectus, as she playfully referred to them, the entire winter from the cold if she was going to be dressed like this, or undressed, as the case was.

She put her hands on her hips then trailed them to the crack of her ass to see how much was covered. Her stomach churned when she realized her entire ass was showing.

"Turn around," Hamish growled.

Taking one long, deep breath she did, but couldn't look him in his eyes. Even so, she could still see the smile on his lips. Putting his forefinger under her chin he forced it up. "Ms. Boyce, look at me."

It was difficult, but she managed. She was expecting him to look at her predatorily, like he would take her right then and there. But his face was soft and his eyes were gentle. Smiling, he said, "Perfect."

"I guess so." She shrugged her shoulders.

"You doubt me?"

"No Sir. I doubted how I would look in it," she replied as she slipped on the heels with a soft hiss.

"I see you are quite the prim and proper lady. Give me time. I will have you confident and proud to show off your perfection. Let's go."

I highly doubt that, Hamish, she thought then followed him down the stairs to the door closest to the front door. "This is the formal reception room."

She ran the tips of her fingers over the carvings in cherry wood door of flowers, plants and vines. "This is beautiful. Did someone in your family do it, Sir?"

"Yes. Niall Duncanstone in 1357."

"Wow!" He cleared his throat and his eyes bore into her. "Sir."

After he opened the door she walked in and looked around the room. The floors were wooden planks and appeared very aged. On cream colored rugs with blue designs were two sitting areas with furniture that looked more than two hundred years old. The whole room could fit at least thirty people.

The fireplace was in the center to the right and huge. She could only imagine how much heat a fire that size would bring to the room. The other side had large plate glass windows; one was a beautiful stained glass of Adam and Eve surrounded by animals. Looking up, she admired the straight wooden beams, but they weren't stand alone. There were more beams vertically, giving the ceiling a checkerboard appearance.

"Sir? Do you entertain a lot?"

"Not much, but when I do I entertain big." He then led her to the second door. "This is the small drawing room, where I spend most of my time when I'm not in the library."

After he opened the door and stepped through she commented, "I love this room, Sir."

The room might have been smaller than the formal one, but the fireplace was no less elaborate. A couch, love seat and two chairs sat in front of the fireplace, which was adorned with a tapestry of a beautiful, petite woman sitting by a water fountain. It looked vaguely familiar.

Turning to Hamish, who had a quizzical grin on his face, she asked, pointing to the tapestry, "Sir? If I may ask, is that of your garden?"

"You are free to ask questions. And yes, it is. She is my 13th great-grandmother, Charlotte in 1534 just after she married Oliver."

"Holy crap! That is so amazing, Sir."

He grinned at her comment as she turned her attention back to the room. The ceiling appeared to be much older wood beams than its neighbor. The beginning of each curve of the wood was joined by an ivory sconce with the faces of various animals. In the corner to the right was a small bar area. She walked around the room and admired each portrait, all seemingly covering many, many generations.

"Most of the portraits are fairly recent, but there are a few that remain of the Duncanstones. They're in the banquet hall."

As they stepped into the foyer again, she asked, "Sir? Why do you keep the doors closed?"

"It's a necessity in winter. I hope you like the cold, Ms. Boyce. It gets pretty parky around then. And the door is the main entrance to the banquet hall. I'm saving that for last."

"Oh. Okay. I don't mind the cold at all, Sir, especially snow," she replied as she followed him past the stairs to the back hallway. "Besides, it's always easier to put on clothes than it is to take them off."

"That depends on who you ask," he chuffed.

She ignored him because she knew he'd prefer her clothes taken off. "Do you get a lot of snow here, Sir?"

"Usually it averages no more than ten inches a season."

Just as they passed a door on the left she peered out at the garden. "Oh, Sir! The garden is wonderful!"

"It is. You've come at a good time to enjoy it."

They continued to walk. "Only ten inches of snow, Sir?

"Only? Lass, two inches closes the entire area for two days. At its worse the North winds blow in causing five to six feet snow drifts, which isn't uncommon. Add in the wind chill factor and it takes the temperature down to minus 10-15 Celcius."

"OK, you're the winner on that one. The worst we've gotten, according to Dad, was snowmageden two years ago, I think it was. It shut us down for a week. We had over thirty inches, and it piled up so bad it was a week before they plowed the streets thoroughly. Even then they plowed over the curb onto the sidewalk. Catelyn was so excited she dug tunnels in the backyard. Our snowball fights were epic. Even Mom and Dad got in on the action."

"Bloody hell! I don't know which area is worse. Whatever the case, I'd stay in the Canary Islands for the winter given the chance."

They came to a small foyer; at the far end was a narrow closed door. To the right was a bright room with large plate-glass windows and to the left was another closed door. Just to the right of that was a set of curtained French doors that must have led to the garden.

Hamish stepped to the right. "This is the morning room. It's where I sometimes eat breakfast and read the newspaper."

Walking through the doorway, she noticed this room was much brighter than the others. Two plate glass windows were set on both sides of the fireplace across from the door; the fireplace was fairly small, but the ivory that surrounded it gave it a regal appearance. The mantel was carved as were the sides, but she didn't get close enough to see what the designs were.

There was a modern couch, love seat and two chairs sitting in front of the fireplace set on a burnt orange carpet with a turquoise design. There was a beautiful, intricately carved table with family photos sitting on top. She made a mental note to look at them when she cleaned the room. There was a two-seater table and chairs set in the alcove with a large plate-glass window.

Lastly, she noted the ivory sconces of cherubs on the walls just inches below the ceiling, then fanned out to a rounded shape before it straightened and connected to the next beam.

"Ms. Boyce, why do you take such interest in the ceilings?"

She looked at him sheepishly then grinned. "I don't know. The wood beams are the original timbers, aren't they, Sir?"

He nodded. Back in the foyer, he said, "This is my library, where I sometimes bring clients, but not too often. You will not be cleaning this room at all. As a matter of fact, it will be locked at all times." He opened the door and let her through.

Walking past him, she nodded, not really thinking a thing about why it had to be locked. The walls were entirely of wood paneling eight feet high; there the panels met in multiple sections, each filled with a single, multi-colored slate blocks that met the ceiling. The flooring was the same colored wood planks as the walls.

The wall to her left was nothing but shelves for his huge book collection. The farthest wall had a fireplace with the same wooden mantel and hearth. What caught her attention was the portrait above the mantel of a man sitting in a chair with a dog between his knees. From the color of his hair and his rosy cheeks she thought it might be Hamish's father, but she wasn't going to ask him. To the right of the fireplace was a wooden clock that resembled the German clock her mother bought when they were in the Black Forest in Germany.

Gayle watched Hamish as he went to his desk in the space opposite the door and put the manila folder she'd given him on the desk. The front of the beautifully carved back of the desk was almost hidden behind two leather back chairs. The desk was centered between two windows and two crystal chandeliers hung above chairs. In the corner to the right was a table with a Tiffany lamp with several drinking glasses and even more bottles of liquor. In the center of the wall was a flat-screen, 60" TV.

"Well, Sir, this is a man cave if I've ever saw one," she commented.

He frowned. "What's a man cave?"

"It's where men go that women aren't allowed so men can watch their sports undisturbed by their wives."

"Hmphh, then I guess it is my man cave."

He left the room and stood in the hall for Gayle to come out. When she walked through the door he locked it and she went to the French doors that led to the garden.

"Sir? May we go outside for a bit?"

"Certainly. You may leave your shoes at the door."

She silently thanked him and removed them then they stepped outside onto the same plush green as the front. Bessie went running off, but Hamish didn't holler after her.

The garden was a fairly small, square area but the size of it fit the size of the castle. There would be no long walks around it; it was more to sit outside in the sun and relax.

In full bloom were anemones, azaleas and rhododendrons which dotted the landscape, each in sections in the white gravel pathway. The far left wall was one long, narrow and perfectly pruned yew hedge, about four feet high; the top was slanted. The farthest wall had two full and round hedges in a dome shape; they were both about six feet high. Underneath both was a two-foot high, square-shaped hedge the same length as the taller ones.

To the right were two smaller, circular gardens with various herbs and vegetables, which were almost ready to be harvested. In the very center was a square patch of grass in which sat a three-foot high, stone octagonal columned stone barrier with a small water fountain.

Following Hamish, Gayle grunted and groaned as the gravel bit into the bottom of her bare feet before sighing in relief when she stepped back onto the grass.

As he sat down on the barrier facing the center, she looked at him horrified that he was sitting on something so old.

"Ms. Boyce, I assure you it is quite alright to sit on this."

She nodded and sat down beside him, looking at the cherub spewing water from its mouth. The sun beating down on her bare skin felt much warmer to her than it had earlier. While it felt good, she also found she wasn't as self-conscious as she was when she was by the lake.

Bessie suddenly appeared with a well-worn and chewed up Frisbee in her mouth and sat at Gayle's feet. They played catch for a few minutes before the dog had enough; she lied down in front of Gayle and let her pet her a few times.

While they'd been playing, she'd been thinking of her behavior only hours earlier. "Sir, I'm sorry about what I said ... earlier. I get really cranky when I'm overly tired. It's no excuse, but --"

"Cranky? Is that what you call it?"

"More like bitchy."

"We are the same in that regard. I am quick to anger but forgive just as quickly. Just watch yourself."

She simply nodded.

Bessie heard something in the garden and went off running barking. Following her direction Gayle noticed a squirrel climbing up a small tree to safety. The dog had her paws on the trunk and was barking non-stop.

"Bessie! Get over here!" Hamish hollered.

She soon paddled over, begged for a pat on the head and sat on her hind legs at her owner's feet.

Looking at Gayle, he said, "From your reaction earlier I take it you weren't expecting a dungeon."

She hadn't realized she was so easy to read. "No Sir. Well, yes, but not a real torture chamber." Her voice quivered a little.

"I never said it was a torture chamber. It can be used for both punishment and pleasure."

"Yes Sir," she replied. Punishment and pain she could understand, but dungeons never had a pleasurable reputation in the least.

"Oh, lass. Do not fret at what I will do with you. I will take it easy on you for a bit. As we go on you must remember to communicate with me; that is the most important thing between a Dom and their submissive."

That was the first time she'd heard him reference their relationship as such. She hadn't thought of him as her Dom, only his employee. "I've never been able to express myself very well, Sir."