Their Private Arrangement Read Free

caressed his thick, dark hair before roving down to his shoulders, so muscular under his hands. As Duggan devoured his manhood and his release built, he gripped those shoulders tightly. Yes, for Duggan, he would make things right. For Duggan they would find a way.
    Â 
    It was a week later and the menfolk—as Morag now thought of them—were together once again. Duggan had arrived sometime earlier. Morag had seen him striding across the hillside toward the inn as she opened the downstairs door. The upstairs entrance was already unlocked, and she made ready to dart up the hidden staircase and linger awhile. Alas the alewife had called her away and told to stop gaping.
    â€œWe are paid well to turn a blind eye, Morag. Don’t peer at the gentleman so.”
    â€œYes, Mistress Muir.”
    The alewife frowned, but took a moment to peer at Duggan herself before turning away and ushering Morag along with her.
    Morag stepped behind her employer. As much as she wanted to see him, she was not eager for a telling-off.
    â€œTimes are hard all across Fife,” Mistress Muir added, “and we must give thanks for every coin that comes our way, and not put it at risk.”
    â€œYes, Mistress.”
    Some time later, however, Mr. Grant called her name from the landing above and asked her to bring a bottle of good claret. Morag collected the bottle from the alewife and mounted the staircase to the lodgings with some curiosity. It was unusual for Mr. Grant to request services when he already had company in his rooms. Once that door was shut, she could only speculate what went on between him and Duggan—and speculate she did. Her nights had been quite restless, thinking on it this past week.
    But now she was on her way to Mr. Grant’s rooms, and after the stolen kiss Duggan had given her two days previously, Morag approached the task with a light and eager step, knowing that he was up there. The embrace had also occupied her thoughts greatly. It was a long time that she had admired Duggan. As far back as she could remember she had looked fondly upon him whenever she had seen him at the market and at the kirk. Then she walked over the hills at the age of seventeen to seek work at the Drover’s Inn and she saw him laboring in the fields. She wondered then if he had a sweetheart. When he started to visit with Mr. Grant at the inn several times a week, she never once thought that he would show her any attention, but now that he had she was eager to encounter him again.
    When she knocked, Duggan opened the door and leaned one elbow against the frame as he looked her up and down.
    â€œMr. Grant requested a bottle of claret,” she stated.
    He nodded and his mouth lifted at one corner. Lust simmered in his eyes and the sight of it made Morag’s breathing grow hampered. A moment later he pushed the door wide open but made no effort to move, which meant that she had to sidle past him to enter the room. So close was she that she felt the heat from his body. The place where his chest was bared at the opening of his shirt captured her gaze. It made her want to put her hands inside his shirt and measure the breadth of his chest.
    Several candles lit the room and she noticed immediately that one was placed near to the four-poster bed, where the curtains had been tied back securely. Mr. Grant sat in his winged armchair close to the fire, which was low in the grate. Morag hastened over to where he sat and set the bottle of claret down on the wine table at his elbow. Stepping over to the cabinet, she sought out the fine crystal glasses that he kept there. He’d previously told her he carried them everywhere, for the wine tasted better from crystal than pottery. She extracted two of the glasses from the cupboards and put them next to the wine. Brushing her hands on her apron, she dropped a quick curtsy. She knew she should leave, but there was a strange feeling in the room, as if both men had something on their