Three weeks passed, during which Isobel started her training and Frang was working hard to catch her up to the others. She still worked with a basic stick and her footwork. She was squeezing her seed bags in the evening, although her sewing was also strengthening her fingers. The good and hearty food and Ailene's constant urging to eat had added about fifteen pounds to Isobel's frame and she looked more lovely each day.
There had been no sign of MÃ iri and Ailene worried constantly. The family hadn't heard anything either and Ailene continued to send enough money for food and medicine to assuage her guilt. They'd sent a cart of food each week to the McTavish place for the people there and another wagon of homespun for clothes for some of the more raggedly dressed.
Ailene and Isobel had been working on her Midsummer festival dress. It was as daring and baring as she believed it would be and she had to add additional material to the bodice or it would have been utterly scandalous, almost exposing her nipples. Stuart had not seen it yet. She hoped to surprise him on the day of the party, now only ten days away.
Because of how closely she and Isobel were working together, Thorburn and Frang seldom had opportunity to be alone with her. While they might make a quick comment in passing, they were as polite and conscientious of her standing as they ever were, although she knew they were somewhat frustrated by their lack of access.
Every one was preparing for another market day. More sheep had been sheared and they had several carts of raw wool that was waiting to be sold. Thorburn was thinking about the widow Mackintosh and her unspoken invitation to partake of her charms. Given that he'd limited opportunity to be with Ailene, he was thinking that a woman would come in right handy at the moment. Isobel and Ailene were talking about what kind of dress and color material that they should get for Isobel. She'd held the red brocade against her skin, but it washed out her lovely hair. Ailene thought a green color that brought out the color of her eyes would be nice. Isobel thought perhaps a pale yellow, but was still worried about the Cameron's paying for her dress. She didn't feel like she was doing enough to help justify a new dress, despite Ailene's assurances that she could not have made her dress without her help. She was willing to modify an older one of Ailene's. Frang was looking forward to more gambling, while Stuart was concerned about getting ready for the festival. They needed to buy more stores to be prepared for the guests. Several nearby landowners had been invited and he worried about making a good impression.
The day arrived and they went with a large contingent of men, five carts of wool and another of other items they produced to sell. When they arrived in Dervaig, Thorburn and Stuart went to sell their goods, Frang left to find some gambling, Isobel and Ailene went to the millinery, all accompanied by a contingent of men. Thorburn sent a messenger to Teárlag's residence asking if she would be available to call upon later, offering her lunch at the Inn. He received a prompt response asking him to pick her up at half past noon.
He arrived at the appointed time, sending his six escorts to wait across the street and knocked upon her door. Instead of the butler opening the door, it was opened by Teárlag herself, and she quickly pulled him into her home, dressed in nothing but a semi-transparent dressing gown.
"I thought you'd be dressed to go by now," he said.
"Oh, lunch at the Inn would be so dreary and tiresome. There would be others there and we wouldn't have an opportunity to really get to know one another. Not like we can now."
"Aren't you concerned about your reputation, Mrs. Mackintosh? Won't your servants talk?"
"The reputation of a twice married widow? I'm not sure how much of a reputation I still have. After they prepared lunch for us, I sent the servants away. They may know why, but not with whom. Being married twice, and neither time to a man considered in the prime of health; I found that I enjoyed the process of coupling when they were feeling lusty enough. Unfortunately, that was never often enough for my taste. If you don't mind, I would greatly like to spend some time with a man who might be able to mount me more than once a month. I hope that's not too forward of me?"
"I've always considered myself the hunter, Mrs. Mackintosh. You make me feel more like the prey."
"As long as it doesn't interfere with our afternoon of entertainment, you can be whatever you want to be."
"Am I overdressed for the occasion?" Thorburn asked.
"At the moment, but I'm sure you're hungry for more than what I'm dying to fully show you."
"It's all pretty clear at the moment," making reference to the light dressing gown that covered next to nothing.
"Let's make it perfectly clear," and she dropped the wispy dressing gown to the floor. "The food is set up in the dining room. I'll give you something to give you a little stamina, my Lord." She pulled him toward the dining room.
The table had two place settings, right next to each other. There were was a platter of three different meats, beef, pork and pheasant, all cold. There were cooked sliced beets, roasted potatoes, hot bread, a fish soup with peas, celery and onions. He recognized a couple different tarts and even lemons and a similar looking fruit, though orange in color. He'd had lemons while on military campaigns in Spain and Italy, though he had not had any for several years. The prices of just one was prohibitive to all but the richest people. She must have more money than he had first believed.
She waved her hand around the table and said, "Help yourself. With more notice, the meats would be fresh off the spit, but I was limited by time. I have wine, whiskey or beer to drink should you prefer alcohol, or I have fresh spring water."
"It looks splendid, Lady Mackintosh."
"Call me Teárlag, please Lord Cameron. Given how I'm dressed, Lady Mackintosh seems much too formal, don't you think?"
"Aye, you might as well call me Thorburn as well. Can you tell me what that orange fruit is next to the lemons?"
"Something from the same family, I believe, given the insides look similar, but much sweeter, called an orange. No originality with that name. I have some ideas of how it might be enjoyed after we've eaten. Please, sit down. I'll be happy to serve."
"It's been a long time since I've been served food by one so naked or so lovely. Either seat?"
"Of course."
Thorburn removed all of his accoutrements save his kilt and shirt and took a seat.
"Tell me what you'd like and I'll get it for you, Thorburn. Try not to eat or drink too much, though. I wouldn't want you getting too sleepy. I have big plans for you later."
"I'll try some of the soup, some beef and pheasant, potatoes and beets, the butt from the bread. That should do for starters, Teárlag."
"And what would you like to drink?"
"Some water and a bit of the whiskey would be fine."
She put a selection of food on his plate and set it down before him.
"Is there anything else you see that you'd like to eat?"
"I think there will be as soon as I've sampled some of the other fare."
"Perhaps I can find some way to stoke your interest while you have some food?"
"What did you have in mind, Teárlag?"
She didn't say anything. Holding his gaze in hers, she sank to her knees in front of his chair. She lifted up the edge of his kilt, sliding it up his massive legs. When she lifted it over his cock, she glanced down to see what she'd uncovered.
"Oh, my. You're big in more than one way aren't you. Why don't you enjoy your food. I've found what I want to eat."
She opened her mouth and took his growing cock in her mouth. That's exactly what he did, enjoying a lovely meal while she knelt at his feet and caressed his cock with her lips and tongue. Nice and slow, never hurrying or rushing him to finish, stopping when she felt he was getting close to release. Waiting until he'd settled down, then continuing to stoke his furnace, allowing him to eat. When his hands dropped his knife and fork and reached for her head, she knew he was done eating and ready for some serious fucking. Her mouth descended as far on his cock as she could and still swirl her tongue around the big, blunt head filling her mouth. He thrusted up off the chair in increasingly frantic movements and Teárlag knew he was getting close.
Blackthorne had not wasted his time with her each week. He demanded that she learn to take his cock down her throat and despite Thorburn being substantially larger than Calum, the techniques he'd forced on her served her to good stead. Her mouth descended on his prick until her mouth and throat fully engulfed his phallus. She stroked his hairy balls and she felt his cock twitch between her lips just before she felt a torrent of his cum flood her mouth.
When the spate of his climax eased, she swallowed the last of his load and looked up at him, smiling.
"Did you enjoy your meal, Lord Cameron?" She asked. "I certainly enjoyed mine."
"I can truthfully say I've never enjoyed a meal more, Teárlag. Your hospitality exceeds all bounds of generosity."
"Perhaps now I can show you how we might enjoy those oranges, my Lord."
"If it was like the rest of the meal, I can barely contain myself."
"Let me help you get the rest of your things off. I'm sure you won't need them for awhile."
She stood and helped him remove the balance of his clothing, his cock already becoming firm again.
"I dearly love a man who can rise to the occasion, my Lord," she said, fondling his heavy member.
She reluctantly let go of his organ and grabbed a couple oranges from their bowl. She cut them both in two, pushed the dishes aside and seated herself on the table in front of him, handing him one of the half oranges and eyed him appreciatively.
"They are quite juicy," she said, taking the other and squeezing the juice over her breasts, the nipples stiff and firm. "If you would lick the juice, you will find it is quite sweet, though retaining a touch of tartness."
He did as she suggested and found how correct she was. The juice was sweet, and the fact that he was licking it off her breasts made it all the sweeter. As he lapped the juice from her, she squeezed more out of the fruit and she moaned as she encouraged his oral caresses. She threw the empty rind aside and suggested that he might take his and squeeze the juice out lower on her body. He held the fruit above her sex, her lips spreading from her arousal and squeezed out a little, lapping up the sweet juice, now mixed with the taste and scent of her own arousal. He crushed it some more, and his tongue delved deep to lap every drop of nectar from her cunt. She moaned deeply.
