The Laird and the Sassenach
By Ashe Barker
#eroticromance #ashebarker #discipline #dominance #spanking #Scottishromance #Highlanders #historicalromance #meninkilts
Tag Lines
- Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Laird
- A highland warrior with a score to settle
- She faces justice, truth, and a Laird’s vengeance
Blurb
After her half-brother attacks the kinsmen of Blair McGregor, Lady Roselyn of Etal is brought before the stern highland laird to answer for her reluctant, unwitting role in the crime. Once she has told her story, she throws herself at his mercy.
Blair soon realizes that Roselyn is as much a victim of her half-brother as anyone, but his people’s demands for justice cannot be ignored entirely, so he strips the young Englishwoman bare and chastises her firmly with a switch applied to her naked backside.
The painful, humiliating punishment both assuages Roselyn’s guilt and leaves her yearning to be even more thoroughly mastered by the handsome laird. Though Blair makes it clear that she is free to return home, she instead chooses to remain with the him in his castle… and in his bed. Their passion soon blossoms into romance, but can the highlander protect his beautiful Sassenach when the villain who caused them both so much pain tries to tear her away from him?
Publisher’s Note: The Laird and the Sassenach includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.
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Blog post Introduction
The Laird and the Sassenach is a story of a man with justice to mete out, and a dilemma to face. Sometimes the truth seems to stare us in the face, at other times it may be not so clear where the blame lies. In the middle ages, of course, matters of crime and punishment, guilt or innocence were simple enough. The social hierarchies of the time placed authority and power in few hands and there were no qualifications required which entitled the privileged to rule. They were just handed the job and the common folk had to hope their leaders would turn out to be wise and fair. Sometimes they got lucky, and The Laird and the Sassenach is a story of one such instance.
I love to write historical stories. I am especially drawn to Highland fantasies, and why not? Who can resist the soaring Scottish scenery and sexy men in kilts. I find myself fascinated by that heady cocktail of honour and lawlessness, the atmospheric sensuality of the time and the way an all-powerful laird will reveal his soft centre just when it matters. But the Sassenach in the story also has her little quirks and faces some unique challenges. And look out for an unlikely star of the show. Freya the wolfhound has her part to play and I absolutely adored her.
I hope readers enjoy The Laird and the Sassenach as much as I loved writing it
Author Interview
This is entirely optional, but if you want to make a more individual post, please feel free to select up to 6 Q&As to include – your choice which ones you use.
- So, tell us a bit more about Blair. He’s stern and sexy, with a twitchy palm, but what else is there to know?
Well, I think you just about covered the basics there. Blair has a strong sense of duty, and of justice. He knows that he has to satisfy the demands of the McGregor clan who expect to see justice done but he is unwilling to do so at the expense of an innocent woman. Blair is determined to know the truth and to apportion blame where it should lie, but he is also an implacable enemy. If he discovers that Roselyn is to blame he will not hesitate to make her answer for her crimes.
- How many books have you written? Are they all historical or spanking fiction?
I have over forty titles out now, and they are all erotic stories. About a dozen of them are historical novels. Some have more of a BDSM vibe going on and some are spanking/domestic discipline. At first I wrote just contemporary stories, then I started adding a few historicals and sci-fis. I love the variety.
- Why do you enjoy writing historical fiction?
History was my favourite lesson at school, though some periods are more fascinating to me than others. I always preferred the medieval or even earlier times, though the Victoriuans were an interesting bunch too. In many ways life was simpler in the past, if a lot more brutal, and of course some of the moral issues we would have to deal with in a contemporary setting don’t apply. Inequality was the norm. Women were expected to obey – or else. A spanking author can have a field day.
- What advice would you have for writers who decide to try their hand at erotica?
I’d tell them to have a go, but to have a decent thesaurus to hand. And an internet connection. Youtube is the erotica writer’s friend.
- Do you see writing as a career?
Yes. I try to be fairly ordered about it. I like to be at my desk (well, more accurately the kitchen table) laptop fired up and coffee to hand, by nine in the morning and I tend to write for most of the day then. There are also a lot of related tasks to keep on top of, mainly to do with promo or research, or keeping in touch with readers and other authors. It’s definitely a full-time job for me.
- Do you recall how your interest in writing originated?
I think it was always there, though I only started writing properly about three years ago. I have always tended to plot stories in my head though, often when sitting in traffic jams on my daily commute. I now work at home so all that time spent inhaling exhaust fumes is finally paying off.
- If you could have been told one thing that you weren’t told when you were a teenager, what would you like to have heard?
I was given lots of advice as a teenager, much of it unsolicited and not especially good. I think we all have to make our own mistakes, but hopefully I haven’t made the same mistake to many times. That would be sad.
Looking back, I think the most important thing I picked up along the way was that we all have choices, all the time. We’re entitled to choose our own way in life, but we should also be ready to own and accept the consequences of our decisions.
Someone once invited me to cast my mind forward to a time perhaps sixty years from now when I’ll be long-gone and my daughter (currently eighteen) is herself entering old age. Imagine she’s talking to her grandchildren, telling them about me. What would I like her to be saying? My actions now, today, will dictate what those obituaries might be so don’t leave it until later to be the sort of person you want to be remembered as.
- If you had to describe yourself using three words, it would be…
Resilient. Creative. Calm.
- What would you do if you were the last person on this earth?
Turn out the lights.
- If you were to write a book about yourself, what would you name it?
I think at some level or other they are all a little bit about me. I could never write a book about a heroine I didn’t actually like or identify with in some way. Or a hero I couldn’t relate to and wouldn’t want to meet. Maybe I’d call my autobiography Made a Difference, because I hope that would be true. Perhaps that should be on my gravestone rather than a book cover, come the day.
Excerpt 1 (PG)
“I shall have to trouble you to remove your gown, Roselyn. And your shift. I require you naked to the waist.”
Her eyes darkened to a shade close to violet. “I cannot. You cannot ask that of me.”
“I am not asking. It is not a request, it is a command. You will remove your clothing, or I shall summon a couple of my guards and they will remove it for you.” He stood and reached for her thin shoulder. Apart from offering her his arm to lead her into the solar this was the first time he had touched her and he was oddly pleased that despite her predicament and obvious fear she did not shrink away from him. He squeezed gently. “I do not intend to harm you, Roselyn, and this will be easier for you if just the two of us are present. If you require assistance I shall be pleased to aid you.”
She turned her face in his direction. “You really believe there might still be bruises.”
“It is possible, aye. Shall we find out?” He deliberately gentled his tone, sensing that she was willing to do even this if it would help to bolster her case.
There was a brief pause. She chewed on her lower lip and twisted her fingers nervously. Moments passed, then she raised her face to grant him a tremulous smile. “Very well, my lord. Thank you.”
“Thank you?”
“For your offer of aid. I believe I shall require it for my hands are shaking.”
Fuck. He took no pleasure in that knowledge, though why he should care was beyond him. Blair turned her to face him and with a few deft movements untied the laces which held her kirtle closed at the neck. The garment was simple enough and practical. He was glad of that as he separated the two halves and slid it off her shoulders and down her arms. Beneath she wore just a woollen leine, loose enough not to require any fastenings. The lower portion disappeared into the skirts of her kirtle, still held at the waist by her belt made of plaited leather. Blair loosened the belt to free the fabric beneath, then pulled the leine up out of the confines of her outer clothing. Despite her acquiescence, Roselyn made a grab for the garment as he started to lift it higher.
Blair paused. “Roselyn?”
She released her grip on the soft wool and raised her arms obediently in order to allow him to draw it over her head. She was naked beneath.
She was his enemy, but that was no reason not to speak his mind. Blair made no pretence of not observing what was displayed before him.
“You are quite lovely, Lady Roselyn.”
She gulped and laid her hands over the plump mounds. “Please…” she whispered.
He leaned in to murmur in her ear. “Do not be afraid. I mean you no harm here. I will touch you now, and if I hurt you, you must say so. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Her lovely eyes were closed and she continued to worry her lower lip between her small white teeth. Despite his reassurances, she was plainly terrified. The view was delightful but even so, he opted to conclude their business as quickly as he might.
“Turn to the right, if you please, to better catch the light from the window.” Not that he particularly required the benefit of improved illumination; the yellows and faint purplish smudges on her skin were plain to see. Blair was familiar with injuries acquired in battle and in training. He had sustained enough himself and had no difficulty in recognising the remnants of a severe battering. Both sides of her slender torso were similarly marked from just below her arms almost to her waist. He could not accurately date the original attack, but saw no cause to dispute her account of it.
He stroked the contours of her ribs on her left side, careful to exert no pressure. Even so, she winced. “Does it still pain ye, lass?”
“Your hands are cold, my lord.”
Blair chuckled. “Ah, I apologise.” He stepped around to better examine the right side also. This time when he laid his fingers on her she remained still.
“Are there bruises, my lord?”
“Aye, there are.”
“Then this will prove my account? You believe me?”
“It helps, without doubt. ‘Tis a pity we have no witness to support your story, though I daresay I could dispatch men to Kelso to question the Reverend Mother.”
“You would do that?”
He was surprised to realise that he would. Indeed he would, for he found he badly wanted to prove the mitigating circumstances which might help excuse Lady Roselyn’s actions. He was not a fool, Blair knew his people well. He would have to present convincing evidence of coercion in order to satisfy the members of Clan McGregor who would demand retribution for the deaths of their kinsfolk. As matters stood they would expect him to hang the English wench and would consider that a merciful end. It might yet come to that, but despite his earlier intentions he now found he had no real stomach for heaping his vengeance upon this fragile wench.
Excerpt 2 (18+)
“Will you beat me again?”
“Aye, if you deserve it. For disobedience or disrespect. I am master here and that will apply to all. But you would not find me cruel. Indeed, I believe you would find pleasure in what I offer.”
“Pleasure, my lord? I do not quite take your meaning.”
“Will you not own to the slightest stirring? You may deny your arousal but your body betrays ye, Roselyn. Your nipples are swollen, your eyes have darkened as you consider my offer. I believe if you were to spread your thighs for me now I would find you wet.”
“Wet?” She drew in a shuddering breath. “My nipples… it is chilly in here.”
“Nay, it is not. I banked up the fire afore I woke you. Stop making excuses and open your legs for me, Roselyn.”
“I will not.”
“Yes, you will, and you will do it now.”
“I…”
He trailed his fingers the length of her body, tracing a path between her breasts and across her flat stomach to her mound. There he teased the auburn curls which protected her most intimate place.
“Open for me.” He leaned in to whisper the words into her ear, his familiar male smell overwhelming her senses. He was spice, and he was musk, heather, pine, and something mysteriously unique, an essence which was only his.
Roselyn was lost, mesmerised. She rolled fully onto her back, even managed not to wince as her weight settled on her punished buttocks. Bending her knees a little, she allowed him to tease her thighs apart. His slid his hand between her legs and stroked her moist folds.
“Ah, so deliciously damp. Roselyn, you do indeed delight me.”
“My lord…” She was lost, her words buried under the waves of pure sensation. “What are you doing to me?”
“I am pleasuring ye, sweetheart. Be still for me, and open wider.”
As though in a trance, wrapped in fog of unaccustomed sensuality, Roselyn obeyed. She arched her back and let out a sharp cry as he slipped one long finger into her wet channel.
He paused. “Did I hurt ye?”
She shook her head. “No. It was… oh, please do that once more if you would.”
He thrust his finger into her again, then added a second digit. Unfamiliar sensations assailed Roselyn, both confusing and exciting. And intense. It was incredible, unbelievable. Her head whirled. She felt tight, stretched, yet at the same time she wanted nothing other than to spread her body open, to welcome this intrusion. He was right, this was about pleasure. It was a strange sort of joy, but she craved it nonetheless.
“That feels good, my lord.”
“My title is laird, not lord, but I believe we are on first name terms now. You will use my given name, most particularly when my fingers or indeed any part of my anatomy is lodged within your sweet cunt.”
“Oh, God…”
“Nay, just Blair will do.” He withdrew his fingers and resumed stroking her outer lips. He found a spot which brought Roselyn’s hips right up from the mattress. “Ah, now I see I have your complete attention. Perhaps you might like to practice using my name.” He paused in his sensuous rubbing and Roselyn moaned her need.
“Say my name,” he urged.
“Blair.” She whispered it.
He resumed the torturous caress. “Again. Say it again. Louder.”
She raised her voice a little. “Blair.”
“Better. And you will scream my name when you find your release.”
“My…?”
He took that most sensitive nubbin between his fingers and he squeezed. Something clenched within, deep in her core, and Roselyn longed for his fingers to be inside her tight channel again. She yearned to be filled, stretched, owned.
“Could you…? Blair, I need…”
“I know.” He continued to roll her sensitive flesh between his fingers, whilst he used his free hand to open that most secret place and plunged two digits into her again.
It was too much. Roselyn could no longer speak, could not even form a coherent thought. She could only feel as irresistible shudders rocked her slight form and her inner walls clenched helplessly around his fingers. She arched further, lifting her hips, pleading for something, anything…
“Oh, Blair. Blair, Blair, Blair!” She let out a keening wail as the sensations peaked and her body convulsed, then, gasping, she stilled.
Excerpt 3 (18+)
An hour later Blair ascended his private stairs leading to his solar. Roselyn had gone up some twenty minutes earlier, at his bidding. She should be ready for him by now. Aiden had also completed his allotted task and the products of the man’s labours now awaited the laird, suitably prepared and soaking in a bucket of water in the hallway outside his chamber door.
Blair halted to check the switches. Aiden had done his work well and Blair could detect no sharp edges which might cut Roselyn’s delicate skin. He crossed the solar to the door which led to the smaller chamber where he slept.
Roselyn had obeyed his instructions to perfection, particularly considering that this was the first time he had required her to be naked in his presence. He had been tempted on many occasions and as his prisoner, there would have been little she could do had he decided to take advantage of her vulnerable situation. When her very life hung in the balance his innate sense of honour would not permit him to stoop to such an act, but all had changed now.
She turned her head as he entered the room. “My lord…?”
“You will not speak, Roselyn, unless I ask you a direct question. You may of course scream—indeed, I believe my people will expect it.”
She nodded and bowed her head.
He paused for a moment to peruse her slim body. Had there been the slightest mark remaining, any residue of her beating at Kelso, he would have insisted that this issue between them be deferred. There was not.
Very well then, we continue. He strode past her to fetch the bolster from the head of the bed and moved it to the foot. Blair considered the arrangement for a moment, then took a length of folded plaid from a chest and added that to the pile. It would do. He turned to regard Lady Roselyn.
“I shall require you to lie across the foot of my bed where I have placed pillows which will lift your bottom up for me. I expect you to remain still and in position until I am finished, and I have no doubt that you will find that difficult. If you move I shall be obliged to start all over again, so to avoid disappointment to both of us I shall tie you in place. Your wrists shall be secured, and your ankles.” He moved to stand immediately in front of her and tipped up her chin with his fingers. “I will hurt you, Roselyn, for that is what I intend, but I will do you no lasting harm. Do you understand the difference?”
“I… I believe so, my lord. You are not at all like my brother.”
“No, I am not. So, may I help you up?”
She nodded and reached for his hand. Blair helped her to her feet then paused to peruse her naked form. “You are quite lovely.” He meant it but now was not the moment to pursue that disruptive line of thought. Instead, he brushed his lips across her forehead then led her to the foot of the bed. “Lean forward and rest your body on the pillows. You may take your time to get settled, and when you are ready I shall tie you in place.”
He stepped back to allow her the space to move, and moments later he was rewarded by the sight of her upturned, naked buttocks presented prettily for his punishment. His unruly cock stood to attention as Blair admired the vision before him. For several moments he did not move, but then he heard her whimper. She was afraid, utterly terrified. He should conclude this as quickly as he might and ogle her later.
“Spread your legs as wide as you are able, Roselyn. I shall secure your ankles first.”
He crouched and fastened her delicate feet to the bedposts, his actions both swift and deft. He used leather straps, sufficiently flexible not to cause undue discomfort, but neither could she escape or kick. He had every confidence she would do her utmost to achieve both before they were done.
Next he moved to her side and took her right hand in his. He pulled it into the small of her back, then drew her left to join it. “I shall bind your wrists like this.”
She lay still as he finished his preparations, her breathing rapid. Satisfied that she would remain quite still during the proceedings and not wishing to prolong her ordeal unnecessarily, Blair returned to the outer solar to select his first bundle of switches.
Excerpt 4 (18+)
Roselyn opted to settle back on the bed beside him, though her sole focus was the hard length of male potency now cradled between her hands. She had nothing with which to compare, but if she wrapped just one fist around it her fingers would not meet so she judged him to be large. She ran her hands the length of him, from the base of his cock to the rounded, smooth head, then back down again. He let out a long sigh which she interpreted as indicating approval. Accordingly, she repeated the action, then again for good measure. Blair’s cock lurched in her hands.
Roselyn was startled. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Nay, lass. That was good. Mind, should you be moved to reach a little lower and cup my balls I should not complain over much.”
Ever a diligent scholar, Roselyn was quick to heed his direction. She sought his balls and attempted to hold them in one hand though they seemed to possess a will of their own. Even so, she commenced a slow, steady massage whilst continuing to pump her other hand up and down the length of his shaft. She quickly realised that the head, that bulbous and smoothly rounded cap, was weeping with cool, slick liquid and becoming wetter with every stroke. Roselyn ran her thumb through the gathering moisture to spread it everywhere she could and she assumed that Blair’s moans signified his approval of that strategy.
His aroma enveloped her, the air redolent with the scent of arousal. Was it his, or hers? She could not be sure but it did not matter. The musky tang clung to her and she bent toward him to better inhale. The odour was heady, addictive… she needed more.
An idea occurred to her. He had said he would taste her, but why should she not know his flavours too? The scent sang to her of spices and freshness, but with a quality, she believed to be uniquely male. She would know it better, understand this new experience more completely if she were to make use of all her senses. It was practical, prudent even… She grasped him firmly in her hand and leaned down even more.
At first, she was tentative, just drawing the tip of her tongue through the wetness which coated his cock.
Blair muttered that Gaelic word again, adding in several more before he wrapped a great hank of her hair around his hand. He did not pull on it, though, nor did he force her head forward. He simply held it, held her.
Gaining in confidence, Roselyn savoured the salty taste on her tongue, then she parted her lips. She took him in, just the head at first. His cock stretched her mouth, but she managed. She sucked on it as though it were a sweetmeat, and decided the similarities were striking enough. The taste was exceptional, a spicy tang which grew stronger as she increased the suction. She turned her face to the side so the head slipped into the pocket of her inner cheek and she was able to take more of the shaft. She used her hand to pump that portion remaining outside, at the same time squeezing the heavy orbs which nestled against her other palm.
Blair tightened his grip on her hair, which heightened her arousal. She was powerful, in control of what was happening between them, but only so long as he permitted it. At any moment he could haul her off or ram her face down, forcing her to take him deeper. He did neither, though he twisted more of her hair around his hand.
He thrust up with his hips, not hard, but enough to signal that he wanted more from her. Roselyn found added momentum, squeezed a fraction harder, sucked that little bit more.
“Sweetheart… you need to stop now.” His tone was muffled, pained almost.
Roselyn released him from her mouth. Had she done something wrong?
“Continue with your hands, harder, faster,” he growled. “Yes, like that. Just. Like. That.”
He jerked violently in her hands. “Let go of my balls and lay that hand over the top, right at the end.”
She obeyed, just as a surge of hot, viscous liquid spurted across her palm.
“Oh!”
“Dinna stop. Not yet…”
She didn’t, and more of the fluid coated her sticky fingers. The aroma was even stronger, headier, and without thinking Roselyn slipped her fingers into her mouth to lick them. Rich flavours exploded on her tongue, sweet and zesty flavours with a piquancy which spoke to her of intimacy, of heat, and of erotically wicked pleasures.
Blair’s grip in her hair relaxed. He stroked her head as though to soothe away a hurt he had not caused. For long moments neither spoke.
Blair broke the silence. “Next time, you shall take my essence in your mouth and swallow it. All of it. For now, though, and since you so particularly wished to explore, I thought it best that you discover what you could expect to happen when you suck a man’s cock.”
“Thank you, sir. It was a most salutary lesson and I appreciate your… your…”
“My generosity?” put in her helpful tutor.
“Yes, that is it. Your generosity. Now, though, I believe I may be in need of a cloth.”
“I shall summon Meggie.”
“No!” The prospect of being discovered naked in The McGregor’s bed, her hands covered in his semen, was not one she could quite face. Not yet. “I… I believe I might contrive to manage for myself.”
He laughed. “And I believe you to be shy. Allow me, then.” In moments he had produced a bowl of water, regrettably cool, and a cloth. He proceeded to wipe the remnants of his semen from her hands, then, she supposed from himself. There was a soft splash as he dropped the cloth back into the bowl. “I need to leave, and I will not press you for an answer at once regarding your plans. I hope though that I have managed to demonstrate that your role as my mistress would not be unduly onerous.”
Roselyn could come up with no suitable answer for that, save a somewhat bemused, “Yes, Blair.”
More about Ashe Barker
USA Today best-selling author Ashe Barker has been an avid reader of fiction for many years, erotic and other genres. She still loves reading, the hotter the better. But now she has a good excuse for her guilty pleasure – research.
Ashe tends to draw on her own experience to lend colour, detail and realism to her plots and characters. An incident here, a chance remark there, a bizarre event or quirky character, any of these can spark a story idea.
Ashe lives in the North of England, on the edge of the Brontë moors and enjoys the occasional flirtation with pole dancing and drinking Earl Grey tea. When not writing – which is not very often these days – her time is divided between her role as taxi driver for her teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, tortoises. And a very grumpy cockatiel.
At the last count, Ashe had over forty titles on general release with publishers on both sides of the Atlantic, and several more in the pipeline. She writes M/f, M/M, and occasionally rings the changes with a little M/M/f. Ashe’s books invariably feature BDSM. She writes explicit stories, always hot, but offering far more than just sizzling sex. Ashe likes to read about complex characters, and to lose herself in compelling plots, so that’s what she writes too.
Ashe has a pile of story ideas still to work through, and keeps thinking of new ones at the most unlikely moments, so you can expect to see a lot more from her.
Ashe loves to hear from readers. Here are her social media links:
Or you can email her direct on ashe.barker1@gmail.com
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