The Laird Of Glenbrackie

Supernatural and Sexy
2,978 words

Fiona MacKenzie was a romantic, revelling in her Celtic ancestry even though her family had lived in Australia for nearly two hundred years.  She was strikingly attractive with a mane of red gold hair, a slender but well developed figure, sparkling blue eyes and a dusting of freckles across her cheeks.  Her wide, soft mouth seemed always set in a warm but rather introspective smile.  Fiona was very popular with her male friends, but never succumbed to the temptations of a permanent relationship as she clung to a secret dream.  Fiona’s ideal was a rugged Celt, a handsome, dashing warrior, a generous provider as well as being a skilled and exciting lover.

By the time she was thirty, Fiona had decided to visit the ancestral home, Glenbrackie Castle on the shores of Loch Brackie in the Scottish highlands.  Her family thought this was just a foolish whim, but Fiona was very determined; a bequest from her grandmother eventually gave her the funds to explore her fantasy.

Fiona had discovered that Glenbrackie Castle had been converted into a small tourist hotel, and she arranged to stay at the hotel for a few days as part of a tour of the Scottish highlands.  One April morning, Fiona farewelled her family at Sydney Airport to fly to London.  She spent a day sightseeing in London, practising with her new camera, a slightly indulgent gift from her parents.  That evening, she caught the Caledonian Sleeper to Fort William in the highlands, from where she caught a slow, lumbering bus that wound through the rugged, desolate countryside.  Fiona was fascinated by the gloomy grandeur of the mountain backdrop and the heather and moorland bordering a series of lochs.

The bus dropped Fiona outside the appropriately named Castle Hotel, built almost on the shore of the loch and a short distance from Glenbrackie village.  Fiona was spellbound and stood drinking in the glory of the scenery against the setting sun.  She was aroused from her reverie by a small, round bustling woman who reminded Fiona of a little brown bird.  She announced with a strong Scottish accent, “Welcome, my dear; you must be Miss MacKenzie; I’m Mrs Mac, the housekeeper.  We have few staff in the off season, but I’ll make sure you’re warm and well fed.”  With this, she bustled Fiona into the hotel and took her to a first floor room, leaving with the injunction, “Dinner is at 7.30; now I’ll leave you to unpack.”

Her room had a magnificent view over the loch to the hills behind and Fiona stood almost hypnotised by its beauty.  She gave a deep sigh of contentment, showered, changed and went down to the dining room.

Fiona spent the next few days exploring the village of Glenbrackie and the surrounding countryside.  She spent a lot of time (and money) in the combined café/curio shop/antique store, whose proprietor, another Miss MacKenzie, took great delight in recounting the legends of Glenbrackie.  Fiona learned that all the lairds of Glenbrackie were given the name ‘Dougal’, a confusing but convenient tradition.  As Fiona was from Australia, Miss MacKenzie took special interest in recounting the story of the fifth Dougal MacKenzie, “a great ladies man, or so they say,” who got the daughter of a senior clansman pregnant but who refused to marry her.  “This caused a great deal of conflict, and they do say that this led to fighting and even some deaths,” Miss MacKenzie finished with a grin.  “His father, the fourth laird, had to pay a substantial sum of money to the girl’s father, on condition that they left Glenbrackie and never returned.  Legend says,” Miss MacKenzie continued, with a sideways glance at Fiona, “that after staying in London for a while, they were among the first free settlers to travel to the new colony of New South Wales.”  This started Fiona’s mind racing with ideas of redoubling her efforts to trace the family genealogy.

Two days before she was due to leave, Fiona again visited the old church and its family memorials.  She was surprised by the sound of the church door opening, and turning, she saw a tall figure in a kilt standing in the doorway silhouetted against the midday sky.  She walked towards the newcomer and as he came into view Fiona gasped with surprise.

As a fully paid up, card carrying romantic, Fiona believed strongly in love at first sight and in living “happily ever after”.  The newcomer was tall with rugged good looks and a smile that lit up his face.  His dark copper coloured hair fell almost to his shoulders and was complemented by smiling blue eyes.  Almost unbelievably good looks completed what Fiona saw as a mouth-watering package.  He smiled at her and introduced himself, “Dougal MacKenzie, laird of Glenbrackie at your service.  And you are?”

“Fiona MacKenzie of Sydney, Australia, at yours.”  She felt tongue-tied in the presence of this almost overwhelming stranger, whose voice was deep, warm and soft.  ‘Rather like listening to chocolate,’ Fiona thought to herself.

“I see you have no wedding band, Miss MacKenzie, so might I be so bold as to invite you to take a walk with me?” the laird enquired confidently.

“Of course, I’d love to,” Fiona replied, hoping she didn’t sound too gushing, “Should I call you, laird or sir?”

Dougal laughed, a rich, warm chuckle that Fiona felt she would love to hear in much more intimate circumstances.  “No, no, Dougal will be just fine.”  It was then that she noticed that he was missing almost half of his left hand.  Fiona expressed her sympathy, but Dougal dismissed it as, “Just a little accident a few years ago.  It doesn’t hamper me too much at all.”

They walked out of the churchyard in warm spring sunshine and along a track that led up the hill bordering the glen in which Glenbrackie stood.  Fiona found Dougal an amusing and charming companion, and her romantic nature started to override commonsense.  In other words, she believed that, in spite of only having just met, she was falling in love with this handsome stranger.

Further up the path, Fiona stumbled, and Dougal caught her, holding her briefly in his strong arms.  She felt a thrill pass through her as he held her, his warmth and strength almost causing her knees to buckle.  They continued on, with Dougal keeping his arm around her waist until they came to a patch of level, soft grass where they stopped and sat down.

“Miss MacKenzie,” Dougal started, but Fiona interrupted him, “Please, call me Fiona,” she smiled and he returned her smile, taking her hand.

“Fiona, you are so beautiful, and I am so tempted.  Would you think it terribly forward of me if I were to kiss you?”

Fiona laughed with delight.  “Please, Dougal, give in to temptation—and I would be really delighted to return the compliment.”

They leaned towards each other and Fiona thrilled at the feel of his lips, warm and soft but so self-assured against hers.  Initially just a brief exchange, their kisses soon became more intense and exciting.  Their tongues touched, tentatively at first, but excitement built quickly and they clung to each other in a passionate embrace.

Fiona gasped as they broke, and her pleasure intensified as Dougal’s hand reached for her breast.  He moved across her, pinching her nipples through her clothing.  “Oh god, Dougal, don’t stop,” she sobbed as he undid the buttons on her blouse and unclipped her bra to give him better access to her aching, swollen breasts.  She whimpered with desire as his warm, strong hands cupped and caressed her and his fingers pinched and twisted her nipples.

In reply, Fiona moved her hand under his kilt, realising with a gasp that the old story was true; he wore nothing under the kilt.  As if reading her mind, Dougal laughed, “Aye, it’s absolutely true, my love, nothing is worn under the kilt—it’s all in perfect working order.”  Then he gave a deep groan as her hand found his engorged cock and squeezed it gently, causing him to moan and again kiss her passionately.

This time their kiss was open mouthed, full of longing and unspoken desire, their tongues dancing and duelling as they lay locked together in a burning embrace.  Dougal then reached down and stroked over Fiona’s mound, working himself gently against her vagina.  Fiona moaned deeply, writhing against his touch, gasping as he started to open the zip on her slacks.

Their idyll was rudely shattered when they both heard a shepherd farther down the glen whistling and calling to his dogs.  They broke apart, Dougal swearing—fortunately in Gaelic, which Fiona didn’t understand.  She looked deeply into his eyes, saying, “Oh Dougal, I need you so much; I so wanted you to take me right now, but with other people around it is just too risky.  Please come to me tonight, my darling; I’m in the corner room on the first floor, overlooking the loch.”

Dougal kissed her fiercely leaving Fiona dazed but ecstatic.  He just said, “Yes” before they got properly dressed and walked back arm in arm towards the hotel.  Dougal left her, saying that he had business to attend to, and Fiona returned to the hotel with her head in the clouds.

She stayed in this blissful state through dinner and returned to her room to prepare for what she hoped would be an ecstatic and lust-fuelled evening.  She had longed for this moment for so many years, and now it was here, she could barely contain herself.  She showered and dressed in a long black negligee that supposedly covered her whole body, but revealed to the discerning eye much that needed further investigation.

Around nine o’clock there was a soft knock on the door and Fiona admitted Dougal, dressed much as he had been that afternoon.  “Well, hello, Miss MacKenzie, you look totally entrancing.  I don’t know how I am going to keep my hands off you!”

Fiona blushed, then replied, “Oh Dougal, please don’t even try.”

With that, he swept her into his arms and kissed her passionately, untying the simple bow that pretended to secure her negligee around her neck, causing the flimsy gown to fall to the floor.  Fiona felt a wave of unrestrained lust sweep through her, and she returned Dougal’s kiss, her tongue invading his mouth and her small sharp teeth nipping at his lips.

“Bad girl,” Dougal responded with a laugh.  “You need to be punished for that,” and picking her up, deposited her, squealing with a mixture of excitement, anticipation and apprehension across his kilted lap.  He spanked her beautifully curved bottom with a cupped hand, creating a satisfying sound but not too much pain.

Fiona was astonished, not only that Dougal should spank her, but that she responded with a warm glow in her bottom that transmitted itself directly to the centre of all her pleasure.  She knew that she was now leaking love juice over Dougal’s lap, and as he stopped the punishment, she stood and attempted to apologise.

He laughed.  “No, my love, that just shows you are ready for me.  Now come, sit on my lap.”

Fiona did so, and he pinched her firm nipples, causing her to cry out in a mixture of some pain but much more pleasure.  More so as he pulled her nipples outwards, making her breasts stand out from her chest in cones of excited flesh, causing Fiona to gasp and moan at the stimulation that almost caused her to climax.

“Please, Dougal, please let me see your body.  I want to know all of you,” she gasped.  He released Fiona who stood naked in front of him as he removed all his clothes.  She whimpered when she saw his cock, hard, pulsing and jumping as he deliberately clenched and unclenched his buttocks.

“So beautiful,” she whispered, then dropped to her knees and licked slowly up the straining shaft, taking the head between her soft clinging lips.  Fiona sucked on Dougal’s magnificent cock, causing him to groan deeply and to call out in Gaelic, words which Fiona knew instinctively were about lust and desire.

Fiona could sense that Dougal’s climax was building fast, but before she could take this any further, he pulled her head gently away, picked her up and laid her on the bed. His hand moved softly down across the warm, silky skin of her abdomen, then over her mons, easing a finger into her warm, inviting pussy.  Fiona moaned with excitement and the thrill of his closeness and almost overpowering maleness.

“Oh god, Dougal, please take me now.  Make me your woman now and forever,” Fiona moaned as the intensity of her pleasure built rapidly.  He needed no further encouragement but knelt between her outstretched legs and with one slow but deliberate thrust, entered his beautiful, sobbing companion.

Dougal started a slow, deliberate thrusting, moving in and out of Fiona’s love tunnel.  She groaned and cried, revelling in the powerful sensations of his cock stroking against her clit and driving her towards her climax.  Almost before she realised what was happening, Fiona screamed and went rigid as Dougal’s plundering cock drove her over the edge of a wonderful climax.

But that was not the end.  With one movement, he took Fiona’s hips and with a single twist, turned her onto her hands and knees.  Moving behind her, he again plunged himself into Fiona mounting her like a highland stag taking his mate.  Fiona must have felt the same way as she cried out, “Yes, Dougal, yes, I’m your doe, mount me, my stag; do me hard and impregnate me.”

Dougal responded like that same stag.  He roared his dominance and plunged mercilessly into Fiona’s soaking pussy.  She whimpered and moaned, again feeling her body sweeping her towards a blissful peak.  Even better, she could feel Dougal’s cock start to swell inside her, and they both came in shattering orgasms

Dougal rolled off Fiona’s back and they lay in each others arms, caressing, kissing and whispering sweet words of love.  Eventually the time that Fiona most feared came as Dougal said, “Well, my love, I must leave you; it would never do if I was found in your room tomorrow morning.  Mrs Mac would be most disapproving and I don’t want to cause you any embarrassment.”

“I don’t care, Dougal, please stay with me,” Fiona begged, but he remained quite firm.

“No, my love, I shall spare your blushes.  I must go now, but you will see me tomorrow.”  Dougal kissed her gently and left as quietly as he had arrived.

Fiona wrapped herself in a golden haze of joy and enchantment, and soon fell into a heavy sleep.

She woke the following morning, remembering every second of her time with Dougal.  She drifted down for breakfast, and afterwards caught up with Mrs Mac in the main hall.

“Oh Mrs Mac, I am so very happy.  Yesterday was a dream come true, and I’ve found the one man I’ve been searching for all my life.”

“Is that so, my dear?” her companion commented.  “And who is this wonderful man, may I ask?”

“Of course, Mrs Mac, I spent yesterday with the laird of Glenbrackie and we consummated our love.”

Mrs Mac’s face took on a compound of uncertainty and dismay.  “Och, my dear, I hardly think so.  Sir James MacKenzie is a seventy year old businessman who lives in London and rarely visits Glenbrackie.”

It was Fiona’s turn to look puzzled, but her face cleared as she said, “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear; he is the laird of Glenbrackie, and I understand that every laird is christened Dougal, so who is Sir James MacKenzie?”

“Oh well, that really is a sad story.  The previous Dougal MacKenzie died in an accident when he was quite young.  Sir James acceded to the title, but his son is called Dougal although he now lives in Canada.”

“Mrs Mac, I know it was Dougal MacKenzie, the laird of Glenbrackie; look, I have photographs of us that I took yesterday.”  So saying, Fiona turned on the digital camera to show her companion the pictures.  She had taken two of Dougal by himself and one of them both together, the camera resting on a wall.  To Fiona’s amazement there was no image of Dougal in either of the solo photographs, but more alarming, the picture of them supposedly together showed only Fiona, bending slightly sideways as if she was leaning against something—or somebody!

“Oh,” Fiona gasped.  “There must be something wrong with the camera.  All the pictures were there yesterday. And he told me he would see me again today.”

“Yesterday,” Mrs Mac reflected.  “I see.  Exactly what did he say about seeing you today, my dear?

Fiona thought for a minute, then said, “He told me, ‘You’ll see me tomorrow.’”

Mrs Mac sighed deeply, then said, “I think you’d better come with me, Fiona—but tell me; did your Dougal have anything wrong with his hands?”

“Why, yes, Mrs Mac, he’d lost half of his left hand in an accident.”

Mrs Mac led Fiona into the library, normally kept locked, and took her to a large portrait of a highlander.  “It is true; now you can see him again.  Look at him, my dear; what do you see?” she asked.

Fiona turned deathly pale and screamed slumping into a nearby chair; it was obviously a portrait of her Dougal, confirmed by his maimed hand.

Mrs Mac continued.  “Not an accident; he lost half his hand in the fight over the wee lassie that he’d made pregnant and whose family migrated to Australia.  The legend is that the ghost of the fifth laird can be seen in Glenbrackie every ten years, on the anniversary of his death.  Dougal MacKenzie, the fifth of Glenbrackie died two hundred years ago yesterday!”