The Scribe rode through the gate of Raven's Roost a citadel high on the slopes of Glenfruin, a summer lodging for the Clan Straith.
It was early spring and only the advanced party had arrived, the main party would arrive in a few weeks bringing with it the large herds of beasts to graze on the lush mountain vegetation.
Lachlan had already brought up a few choice fillies that he was setting the stallion to, ready for them to go out on the hills once they were impregnated.
A small group of the serving wenches had gathered on the fence of the pen that housed the horses, giggling and pointing at the large phallus that hung between the stallions legs as it sniffed the mares hind quarters.
As one of the mares stood, the stallion took the opportunity and mounted it, thrusting its elongated cock into the mare which squealed at the sensation of the bulbous head entering her.
Shrieks of laughter came from the maids, earning them a dirty look from Lachlan who had taken months to get the mares ready to be sired and was in no mood to have the process disturbed by a bunch of wanton harlots, which he made plain as he chased them off swearing at them.
They ran off pulling their tartan skirts up and waving their naked behinds at him "Take me Lachlan, show me your hard cock" they teased.
One of the wenches noticed The Scribe on his horse and gave him a cheeky grin before flashing her behind at him.
"Fuckin hell" moaned Lachlan "It's the time of year! They are all in heat, if only the mares were as slutty as that lot!"
The Scribe gave him a wry smile and a nod of his head as he guided his horse to the stables.
In his chambers The Scribe had thrown off his cloak and riding gear, dropping them on the chair by the bed along with his saddle bags. By the door he dropped his long brown boots that were clarted in mud from the ride up the glen.
At his desk sat a large comfortable chair that was positioned so he had a good view down the glen, standing at the window he could watch the comings and goings in the courtyard as well as Lachlan caring for his horses in the pen.
He lent against the windowsill stretching out his legs to get the tightness out of them from the long ride. He heard the door clunk open and one of the maids backed in carrying a large bowl of steaming water for him to wash himself in, he knew it would be too hot to wash in so turned back to the window letting the maid set out the bowl and wash gear on the bench in the corner turret.
Closing his eyes he let his mind reach out feeling the breeze carrying the scent of the fresh heather up the glen, the call of the buzzards soaring in the sky, stags on the hillsides called to their hinds and the sounds of life in the castle as it was woken from it's winters slumber.
He gave a slight gasp of pleasure as he felt the back of his kilt move and a cool hand wrap around his manhood giving it a squeeze which started the blood pumping into it.
He didn't turn round, only spread his legs a bit further allowing the hand to stroke his hardening cock, fingertips traced the paths of the engorged veins, stroked his balls and pulled back his foreskin so they could tease the tip of his cock.
Now he felt a warm pressure against his back as the maid lent against him reaching around with her other hand and slipping it into his shirt to run her fingers through the hairs on his chest. Her pelvis rested against his hip pushing rubbing against the bunched material as she pleasured herself.
The Scribe could imagine her naked pussy under her skirt being rubbed by the course woollen material slowly swelling and dampening.
"OUCH!" her fingers had found his nipples and had given one a twist "you little bitch!"
The Scribe spun round catching her by the throat, for a moment there was panic in her eyes as his strong hand clamped around her windpipe.
