Happy confined Easter, dear readers!
I hope you'll enjoy the next installment of this story, and if you do feel free to give me some stars and voice your opinion with a comment.
Stay safe and healthy and good reading!
***
On my first Scottish morning I woke up disoriented. Everything around me was foreign, the room, the furniture, the cold. The drop in temperature from my native Texas was brutal.
It took me several minutes to get my bearings, my brain reeling from jet lag. A shower later, I remembered that I didn't bring extra clothing and proceeded to explore the wardrobe. Nothing.
Shivering, I tightened the belt of my robe and dug out the flight's complimentary slippers. Unless Eoghan's boss intended for me to remain naked, leading to a swift death by hypothermia, there ought to be something for me to wear in the multiple packages stored in the pantry.
Luckily, I was right. I climbed back the stairs charged like a mule, and dropped my burden on the bed. After tearing the wrappings open, I seconded Eoghan's opinion. His boss was indeed a nature obsessed freak.
Nothing but natural fibers, of all sorts. A profusion of organic cotton, linen, wool and even silk, the latter under the form of elegant lingerie and nightwear, sexy yet classy. Uneasiness crept over me at the thought of this unknown man selecting undergarments for me. Hopefully, he dropped the chore on a personal shopper.
There was no plastic, no metal of any kind, no elastic bands. Buttons were horn or mother of pearl, panties had bikini ties or drawstrings, and bras were laced at the front. Shoes were leather, with the exception of a pair of kaki green garden boots in real latex. This was really pushing it to the extreme.
I found a bag of organic beauty products, which I used, and picked a basic set of undies, a tee-shirt and a jean. I added a cream jumper and woolly socks, and savored the thawing of my limbs.
My first attempt at cooking porridge ended up with a boiled over puddle on the cooker and a watery sludge in the pot. The taste was horrendous, the texture even worse. My father used to say I could burn water. He was mildly exaggerating.
The second try yielded better results. I ignored the recipe on the bag and improvised, using milk instead of water and adding ground almonds and honey. It turned out quite nice, so once my offering in place, I made a plate for myself. It wasn't as good as my usual cereals, but it was warm and filling. By the time I figured out the coffee maker, Eoghan was walking in.
"Hi there, care for some leftover porridge and freshly brewed coffee?"
"No thanks, I already had breakfast. Mary would divorce me if I ate another woman's cuisine." He winked and I stifled a laugh. He dipped a finger in the pot and licked it. "Now girl, I don't know what this is, but it ain't porridge. You're gonna spoil those brownies rotten, and I'll have to deal with their disappointment after you're gone."
This time I couldn't stop the giggles. "You'll survive. Have Mary cook it. They'll love it."
"She won't. She hates the stuff. Meet me outside when you're ready, I want to introduce you to the herd. Don't forget your gloves!"
***
I gawked at the dozen horses, frolicking in a field overlooking the beach. All males, with shiny coats ranging from cream to dark grey, matching mane, no markings. As I tiptoed closer, I noticed an ugly bald areas, saucer sized, on each left shoulder. What had been done to these beautiful creatures?
They froze at our approach, neighing, one of them beating the ground with a hoof. Eoghan raised his hands and whistled. They seemed to calm a little and inched towards us warily, ready to bolt at any sudden movement.
"Easy boys, easy," he said softly, "come meet our new friend."
I remained as immobile as I could, trying my best to look inoffensive. I smiled at them and spoke sotto voce: "I've got treats for you, can you smell them?" I had taken the time to dice a carrot and two apples, and the bite-size bribes filled the pockets of my windbreaker.
Carried by the breeze, a rhythmic sound diverted my attention, faint at first, and growing louder. Over the hill appeared a black stallion, hooves drumming a frantic tattoo as he barrelled towards us.
I should have been afraid, yet I could only watch in awe as the majestic beast threw himself between his kin and us, rearing and showing teeth.
"Wow, you are beautiful!" I stared at him, agape, perfectly oblivious to the danger.
Eoghan wasn't though, and he stepped in front of me, eyes never leaving the enraged animal. "Come on, we are no threat, no need for the drama. This is Moira and she won't hurt any of you, all right?"
Why Eoghan bothered reasoning a horse, I had no idea. It's not like he could understand any of it. Yet something, the sound of a familiar voice or our relaxed, definitely- non-threatening posture, seemed to register, as the furious animal progressively calmed down.
"He is very protective of them," Eoghan explained in a whisper, "they are his sons after all. He is their leader."
I looked at the dark giant, now edging towards me, nostrils flared. "I think someone is hungry," I smiled, plunging my hands in my pockets and pulling them out with a bit of carrot in one and apple in the other. I offered my gloved palms to the fast approaching muzzle. "So are you more of a fruit or veg fellow? I won't judge, I swear."
Eoghan stifled a laugh while the stallion huffed hot air on my face, before picking the apple.
"Sweet tooth, hey?" I scratched behind his ear with my empty hand. He neighed and ate the carrot. "Or are you a meal-in-reverse type? I don't mind, you are perfect. Look at you, so tall and strong and this amazing mane..."
"What's his name?" I asked Eoghan, my eyes on the chewing marvel before me.
"He doesn't have one, and stop stroking his ego, he already has quite a high opinion of himself."
"I'll call him... Storm. It suits him, all dark, powerful and ominous. Yep, Storm it is. Do you like it, stud?" Another puff of air hit me. "And don't listen to the mean man here, you are magnificent. I'd be proud too, if I were you."
Storm shook his head and left to join his... sons?
"You didn't tell me they were related yesterday?"
"I gave you the short version," Eoghan shrugged. "See how big 'Storm' is? A breeder was trying to recreate the extinct Old English Black breed. He started with Clydesdales and worked his way towards removing white markings, and adding several coat colors. This one was genetically engineered, but the fillies he covered only produced males. Not good for reproduction. They couldn't make a female like him."
I shook my head. It really wasn't great.
"And then, there was the issue of temper. Unlike Clydesdales and their Old English ancestors, our guys are feral. They are no good for riding or working. So the breeder cut his losses and sold the lot to a lab. Thanks heavens, my boss got them out."
"I agree. It would be a pity losing such beautiful animals, just because we can't use them. They are much better here, free and happy."
Eoghan grinned. "They still love the attention, on their terms. If you bring brushes or a hook, they'll let you detangle their mane and tail and clean their feet, when they feel like it. Just never touch them with bare skin, all right?"
"Yes dad, I'll remember."
"Good. Now let me show you the access to the sea."
We stepped down a rocky path to a long stretch of wet sand, running along the end of the horseshoe shaped bay.
"Check the tides' timetable before you start a walk, it's the only way back and the water comes up to the rocks at full height."
I smiled. "Don't worry, I can swim. And cold baths are good for your health, I heard."
Instead of laughing, he frowned. "It's not funny. This place is nicknamed Corpse Beach for a reason. Nobody swimming here ever came back. This is a favorite place for suicides, and a death trap for stupid tourists ignoring the signs. The name is misleading though. The bodies are never found, the undercurrent drags them far into the ocean. Enjoy the sand, but stay clear of the water. Understood?"
"Yes sir. Mind the tides, no dipping, skinny or else."
His good humor returned. "Not everything here is deadly. You have a good couple of hours before the tide starts flowing, so if you want to stretch your legs, now is the time. I can give you a more exhaustive tour of this estate this afternoon, or tomorrow if you're tired."
"Thank you, I'll take you up on the offer."
While a walk on the beach seemed less appealing in the light of its history, I still slipped off my boots and socks and followed the water edge, toes digging in cold sand. I had a growing feeling of being watched, and as it became more and more acute I turned around. There, mane floating in the breeze, was Storm.
***
The sun wakes me up. The windows are closed, and yet the room smells of the sea, fresh with a salty hint of wind and waves and wet sand.
The candles have burnt out and I can't believe I let them; I'm lucky the whole place didn't go up in flames. My mind is so messed up.
I stand up and wince at the soreness between my legs, sticky proof of a deal done. There goes my wish that last night was a nightmare. It DID happen. And I enjoyed it. My body did. Still, I feel violated.
A little jar on the side table catches my eyes; a thick envelope lies underneath. It's old style paper, the kind made out of fabric. The calligraphy of the letter I pull out is a thing of beauty.
The text, not so much.
"Sweet Moira," it reads, "You may want to use this ointment liberally, so that we can resume our couplings tonight. I am truly sorry for the unavoidable discomfort. I will not ask you to endure more than one daily impregnation, but it is imperative that we repeat it for the five fertile days of your cycle. Candlelight and red silk compliment your beauty, please keep setting the room accordingly. D."
