The Angels' Share (19 page)

Then came the hand on my shoulder.

‘I’ve done a terrible thing.’ Dominic appeared grey, like a ghost from the past, which quite suited the old-fashioned stately look of the room. I didn’t say a word, trusting him to come out with it himself. ‘If I was a Catholic, I would seek out a priest right away.’

‘But?’ I urged, sensing this could take a while.

‘There is no one I can admit my crime to.’

I hadn’t got a clue what he was talking about and guessed that, being rather fed up with the party preparations, Dominic was nudging me for a few naughty games. Beneath the doleful expression, I spotted a spark of mischief.

‘If it’s that bad, then you’ll most likely need severe punishment.’

A little colour returned to his cheeks, accenting the several days of stubble growth that roughened his skin. For the first time I noticed how the colour of his eyes was graduated in deepening tones of brown, almost black. Surely no one could possess such intense eyes without bearing the burden of an equivalent secret? I shuddered and shook such serious thoughts from my head.

‘You’d better come with me.’ In case he protested and in case I changed my mind because of flashes of Connor and what might have been, I gripped Dominic by the arm – his strong, hard-working arm – and dragged him to the door of the library. The door that was always locked.

‘Got a key?’ I knew he would have.

‘I’m not sure that –’

‘I’ve already seen what Kinrade has done to my father’s library. Is he likely to disturb us?’ That feeling again, spreading through me as surely as the fingers of sunlight grip the horizon on a clear day.

‘He…he’s out. He won’t be back for a while.’ Then the stammer again, this time accompanied by an eruption of perspiration on his top lip, which would mean nothing to me until much, much later.

‘What are you waiting for then? Open the door.’

Dominic grappled with a number of keys until he found the correct one. He slowly pushed open the door to reveal the room that I had seen several days before, only this time my view was from another angle and I saw even more of Ethan Kinrade’s kinky handiwork.

‘Who
is
this man?’ I muttered inaudibly. I stepped across the wooden floorboards, which creaked underfoot, and trailed a hand over the swathes of black and scarlet satin lining the walls. I presumed the bookshelves were still concealed behind the drapes and paraphernalia. ‘I don’t know what half this stuff’s for. Do you?’ I turned to Dominic, who didn’t seem able to answer my question. I took his silence to indicate compliance and he didn’t even protest when I plucked the keys from his hand and sealed us in what can only be described as a bondage parlour.

It didn’t matter to me any more that I felt this way. The sizzling and searing inside me that accompanied the strange situations I had found myself in since returning to the island were beginning to feel normal. In fact, I was thoroughly enjoying the thrill of experimenting with Dominic’s need for submission and Liz and Lewis’s desire to share. And in a small, heart-rending way, it helped to overcome the realisation that all was lost between Connor and me. Any possibility of a life together had dissolved the day I left the island fourteen years ago. It was fate. Heavy-handed fate. I had to accept that the past could not be reclaimed, if indeed we were ever on the path of true love in the first place.

‘Strip.’

Dominic hesitated, as if he expected me to say something completely different. Exactly what, I don’t know. With our silent track record and our current surroundings, it was impossible to believe I would have said anything else. But that hesitation, his relieved expression…

Naked in the garishly decorated room, Dominic looked desolate. I was reminded of a winter tree alone in the hedgerow, the stiff boughs of his limbs completely leafless and the trunk of his body fixed firmly in the ground.

‘On you get,’ I ordered and gleefully watched Dominic’s buttocks separating slightly as he folded his naked body around the hard surface of what looked like a higher than usual hall table. The difference was that tan leather straps hung from five different places on the wooden frame and these, I supposed, were for me to secure him with. ‘Breathe in,’ I said and tightened the first and largest band around his middle. The stiff leather nipped at the skin of his back and cut a firm line across his girth. I saw the striations of tensed muscle, developed from years of hard physical work, struggle against the restraint, and, as I shackled his wrists and thighs to the spanking frame’s sturdy legs, Dominic let out pitiful whimpers. It was a perfect display of weakening strength.

‘Perhaps this will teach you not to do bad things.’ The truth was, I didn’t care what he’d done. If he’d broken a glass, then I was happy to watch as his buttocks flushed from the sting of a tawse slapping across his unmarked flesh. I selected a suitable instrument from half a dozen that hung from a rack positioned conveniently near the spanking frame. Kinrade had designed the layout of the room very carefully, ensuring that everything was in easy reach. It gave me another insight into the workings of his mind: the mind that I would be challenging in only a few hours.

‘Maybe this will help you remember exactly what it is that you’ve done.’ I raised my arm and delivered a small, sweet whip to his skin with a black riding crop. Quite suitable, I thought, for a man of the country.

Dominic inhaled sharply but didn’t make a sound. His buttocks clenched in readiness for another swat. This time it was harder and the crop left a pale pink line on his skin.

‘Am I jogging your memory?’

Dominic shook his head at which I stung him again and again with the tip of the leather crop until I could see the dark outline of his balls quivering between his legs. Unable to resist, I drew the crop up between his legs, brushed it across the soft skin of his sac and watched in delight as he strained against the strapping around his wrists and thighs. He moaned loudly and turned his head to the side.

‘Is it coming back?’

‘Oh yes,’ he admitted. ‘But I’m too ashamed to confess. Punish me as much as you will but you won’t get it out of me.’

I walked around to the side of the wooden frame and knelt down. Dominic had developed a sturdy erection despite his predicament.

‘I get the impression you’re enjoying this and that was not the intention.’ I touched the crop to the end of his penis, picking up the bead of moisture that had erupted. ‘If you continue like this, I’ll be very, very annoyed.’

Dominic acknowledged what I said but I don’t think he took me seriously as the more I whipped his bare buttocks, the more determined his erection became. I decided to untie him and address the problem in a different way. In the middle of the room there was a tall, metal frame, again with shackling points that would allow me access to Dominic’s most sensitive areas – the parts that seemed to be thwarting his attempt at absolution. I steered him to the contraption and cuffed his wrists and ankles, both stretched wide apart so that I could deal with the problem freely.

‘This’ – I pointed to his cock, which surely couldn’t get any harder without unloading the pressure – ‘is the root of your problems.’

Dominic shook his head. The man was genuinely filled with – was it? – guilt. I paused a moment and studied his narrowed eyes. Their natural darkness had deepened, and gentle but pained lines had formed at the outer corners. His mouth was curled, as if he had tasted something sour, and his head was tipped to one side as if his neck was unable to support it. I approached him and stood close, his face a few inches higher than mine.

‘You really are eating yourself up, aren’t you?’ I didn’t know I was doing it until I felt the warm, silken skin in my hand and the irregular stubble on his chin scouring my lips. I stroked his erection, pulling it to painful limits while I teased his mouth with mine. My body pressed against his flat, firm belly, touched with a light covering of hair from his navel down, and I felt him tense as the rhythm of my hand increased. His breathing became jerky and forced and a frown pinned his eyebrows together.

‘Stop!’ he cried and the vehemence of his demand made me back away instantly. ‘If you carry on, I’ll come and that’s not right.’

Now I didn’t know what to think. I had assumed, perhaps wrongly, that the kinky scenario was designed for pleasure and that when I had brought him to orgasm, I would demand that he do the same to me. It was only fair.

‘You don’t like me?’ I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

‘Look what you’ve done to me. Of course I like you.’ Dominic’s voice was gravelled and strangely filled with regret. I didn’t understand so, lacking any other ideas and unwilling to return to my cleaning duties, I knelt and took Dominic’s still erect cock between my lips. It wasn’t as if he could do anything to stop me, even if he was drowning in guilt from something I knew nothing about.

Because I was unsure whether Dominic would oblige and push his mouth between my legs and ease the heat that was welling there, and because I couldn’t be certain that he would kiss me or touch my breasts the way I liked, or even try a flick of the crop across my own naked bottom, I slid my jeans down and worked a couple of fingers into the wetness that had virtually soaked my panties. It was as if I had completed a complicated electrical circuit – the lightly-veined cock filling my mouth and nudging my throat, and the tender touch of my own finger – and all over our bodies thousands of silent volts shocked us into a series of spasms as we climaxed.

With Dominic’s slackening penis still entrusted to the warm cocoon of my mouth, it was fortunate for him that his guilt remained private. The temptation to bite would otherwise have been too great.

I thought Steph would have insisted on my preparing for the party with her at Connor’s cottage, especially as she should have been trying to make up with me for stealing my diary, not to mention the man I could have loved. But she was obviously still mad at me for nearly kissing Connor although, strictly speaking, I should be angry at her. Strangely, though, as hard as I tried, my irritation was now limited to the inconvenience and frustration of not being able to add to my journal rather than the obvious embarrassment associated with losing it. That, coupled with her likeable cheek, made it very hard for me to loathe the girl, even though, on another, deep-rooted emotional level, I should have been clawing her eyes out. It was obvious that she had won Connor over completely.

So I bundled up my dress and at least persuaded her to give me a lift to the cliff top before darkness came so that I could boil some water for a wash.

‘It takes ages,’ I told her, thinking of how easy it would be to slip into Connor’s bath.

‘But I bet it’s quite exciting, washing standing up.’ That wasn’t the reply I was hoping for.

‘You obviously haven’t tried it then.’

‘Hey, I’ve been travelling for months and put up with some pretty grim facilities at hostels along the way. I’m no stranger to hardship.’

I glanced at her while she pulled the Land Rover onto the verge at the top of the beach track. ‘Of course you’re not,’ I said with a full helping of sarcasm. ‘Thanks for the ride.’ I opened the door.

‘This is for you.’ Steph caught my arm and presented me with a large toiletries bag. ‘You might find some of this stuff useful.’

‘Thanks.’ I tried to sound grateful as I stepped out into the wind that had whipped up from the north. My hair lashed around my face and I had to fight to hold onto the dress as its skirts billowed.

‘See you later!’ And Steph crunched the gears through a three-point turn and tooted as she drove back to the estate. Back to Connor.

Thankfully, the fire was a brilliant bed of orange with small flames still licking at a crazed and ashen log. After a quick poke and more fuel I was able to remove my coat without a deep shiver setting into my bones.

I hung up the dress, which had fortunately survived the windy walk to the beach cottage, and filled the iron cauldron with water. My father had once used it to boil shellfish and I smiled as I recalled popping the rubbery whelks and cockles into my young mouth. I had spat them out immediately. I heaved the large pan on top of the fire and tiny bubbles soon began to fizz at its bottom. While the water was heating, I took a look inside the flowery bag that Steph had given me. An attempt, I supposed, to get back on my good side, although I wondered why she was bothering.

A floral scent wafted out as I studied the contents. There was a packet of soap petals that really smelled of sweet summer roses, a bottle of body lotion and a tub of moisturiser plus more practical items such as deodorant, a razor and shampoo. I grinned.

‘Thanks, Steph,’ I said and then stopped short when I pulled apart the clip on another compartment of the large bag. Aside from a selection of make-up, perfume and nail polish, Steph had included some beautiful jewellery – an antique necklace with a huge jade pendant hanging beneath ochre-coloured droplets, and a matching bracelet and several rings – but also, wrapped carefully in layers of tissue paper, an ornate tiara that looked more like a crown than a hair decoration. I stared at it. It would look stunning with my gown and tears started as I realised that my father had never seen me in such an outfit. The thought made me more determined to shame Ethan Kinrade in front of the island’s entire social elite. And for that I had to look my absolute best.

I began at the bottom and worked up. Steph had thought of everything and I was able to give myself a quick pedicure and paint my toenails a shameless scarlet. I shaved and exfoliated and massaged body lotion into my skin so that, with the remains of my Spanish tan, I was smooth and glowing. Sadly, though, I knew that tonight was the one night when no one would have the chance to enjoy my pampered body. I would be too preoccupied with overthrowing Kinrade to give thought to any naughty antics. Besides, Connor would be there as my date, and if I couldn’t have him…

The water began to simmer and I added a splash of cold so that when I drenched the sponge, again from Steph, and added some bubbles I was able to give myself a decent all-over wash. I lathered my hair, soaked it in an intensive conditioner and wrapped it in a towel. After drying my body, I put on the stunning red lingerie that Liz had given me and gently eased the sheer stockings up my legs. Before putting on the gown, I sat huddled in my outdoor jacket and carefully painted my fingernails the same shocking red as my toes. Already I was taking on an air of superiority which I knew was vital in my attack against Kinrade.

I couldn’t think about food. My stomach swirled and churned like the blue-black sea that dumped weed and driftwood and the occasional tin can onto the shore. It was getting dark so I lit all the candles and pulled the grubby curtains across the window to block out the worsening weather. I thought about my imminent journey. It was tough enough in regular clothes, in the ball gown I didn’t expect to make fast progress across the rocks.

By six o’clock I was nearly ready. I had fought with the skirts of the dress, continually stepping inside the wrong layer and terrified of tearing the vintage fabric. I was nestled within the bodice and, with the help of Liz’s boned basque, my breasts rose above the low neckline in gentle and tempting hillocks. It was my hair that was proving difficult to style because it was still slightly damp so I pulled out all the pins, released the chignon and mussed my hair by the fire. Then my cheeks turned red from the flames so I cooled them with a chilled sponge, which messed my make-up so I had to redo that. At seven o’clock, I inserted the final grip into a very professional hairstyle – a tight twist rolled high on the back of my head with several seductive tendrils winding down my cheeks – and took a candle into the back room of the cottage to inspect myself in the cracked mirror that was hanging crookedly on the wall.

The yellow glow provided an eerie light, making me wonder if what I was seeing was real. The mirror was frosted with over a decade of dust and salt, which gave my reflection a timeless quality. I saw not myself but a society woman from several centuries ago. The crown twinkled in the flickering light and, when I put on the feathered mask, I knew that Ethan Kinrade would surely crumble when I revealed who I was and stated my intentions.

‘Nice job!’ I gathered up my skirts, gave myself a wink in the mirror for luck, put on my walking boots and warm jacket and stuffed the high-heeled shoes into my pockets.

As I left, I took one last look around the beach cottage and I’m sure I caught sight of Connor and me as kids, chasing each other around the old furniture while my father mended his nets. I heard our excited squeals as we were promised a trip on his small fishing boat and saw the delight on our faces when my mother arrived with a picnic basket hooked on her arm. The happiness, the laughter and all the potential that went with my memories would keep safe in the little cottage, fuelled by the flames that flickered in the grate.

I closed the front door and stepped out onto the shore, where my breath was taken away by the stinging north wind.

Frustrated by my slow progress, I scrunched my skirts high around my thighs so that my legs were free from the swathes of antique fabric and I was able to navigate the treacherous rocks. Also, I was terrified of ripping the dress because paying for it would have been way out of my reach. Besides, I had absolutely no need for such a gown after the evening was over.

I arrived at the cliff top panting, perspiring beneath my jacket even though the night had brought a temperature of only two or three degrees, and I had bruised my shin on a jagged rock. My hair, thankfully, had mostly resisted being torn down by the wind that was steadily increasing, although I didn’t hold out much hope for its survival as I still had a long walk along the road ahead. My cheeks smarted from the cold.

‘Would madam care for a lift?’

Suddenly, the barren scene was floodlit by two bright cones of car headlights and I had to shield my eyes.

‘Connor, is that you?’

I felt an arm around my waist, guiding me to the source of the light. A strong arm which, when we reached the vehicle – a white limo! – removed my old jacket and replaced it with a scarlet velvet cape trimmed with snow-white fur. My escort was dressed in a similar robe and wore a velvet and gold crown, beneath which was a black mask. Only the firm lines of a nose and clean-shaven jaw remained visible along with several strands of heart-warmingly familiar bronze-coloured hair poking beneath the crown. It had to be Connor!

‘My queen,’ he said and held open the door of the limousine. ‘We have a ball to go to.’ I grinned inanely and climbed in as gracefully as I could.

Once inside the warmth of the car, which was silent apart from the gentle hum of the engine, I unfurled my hitched-up skirts and settled into the plush leather of the seats. Connor slid in beside me and tapped on the glass that separated us from the driver. I was relieved to be free of the tormenting wind whipping at my skin and the incessant crashing of the waves.

‘It’s a pity that it’s such a quick journey by car up to Creg-ny-Varn.’ I trailed my hand over the door leather and opened and closed the drinks cabinet in front of me. ‘Amazing,’ I said, dumbstruck, having never been in such a vehicle before.

‘We have one stop to make along the way.’ Connor removed his mask to reveal his intense grey eyes. They flicked over my body continuously, studying every detail. ‘You look beautiful, Queen Ailey.’ And he took my hand and kissed it.

I couldn’t speak. None of this made sense. Perhaps it was the dress transporting me back into a fairytale time or maybe I’d fallen and hit my head on a rock and I was lying on the shore, the tide creeping over me, and I was lost in a dizzy fantasy world that could never be. Either way, I felt deliriously happy and, for once, free from the adrenalin rushes that had plagued me all day at the prospect of confronting Ethan Kinrade.

‘Your majesty,’ I giggled and before I knew it we were turning into the driveway of Creg-ny-Varn. ‘I thought we were making a stop along the way.’

‘We are.’

In a moment, we had bypassed the big house, which looked resplendent with fairy lights strung across the façade and through the winter trees. Numerous flares illuminated the driveway and already guests were starting to arrive. The limousine came to a stop at the entrance to the Glen Broath distillery.

‘Follow me. There’s something I want to show you.’

Connor took my hand, leaving one free to grapple with my skirts, and we walked across the damp cobbles and into the distillery. It was cold and the sickly sweet smells somehow seemed different in the dark, even more cloying than usual. I was thankful when Connor led me right through the main distillery, past the copper mashtuns and huge fermentation vats, not even stopping at his office but going deeper into the ancient building to the very heart of the whisky-making process.

‘This is where we mature the whisky in oak barrels, sometimes for up to twenty-five years.’ Connor guided me through the door into a pitch-black, extremely damp space and I was relieved to be still wearing my walking boots as I noticed the floor give under my feet. I was standing on wet earth. I couldn’t understand why we were there.

‘That’s really interesting.’ I already knew all this but didn’t want Connor to think I didn’t appreciate his impromptu tour of Glen Broath. It seemed an odd time to choose, though, as Kinrade’s ball was about to begin. I fumbled in the dark for his hand, not enjoying the oppressive atmosphere and virtual blindness. His fingers entwined with mine as he led me deeper into the store.

‘Some of these barrels have come from France and some from the United States. Many contained bourbon or amontillado and oloroso sherries before the whisky.’ Connor pulled me on, guided by a faint light seeping under the door. Then he stopped, fished something from a shelf and lit a candle which gave off just enough of a glow for me to realise that the cold room went on forever. As far as I could see in every direction were racks and racks of ginger-coloured barrels.

‘That’s impressive,’ I said, truly meaning it. The sleeping barrels, some undisturbed for several decades, represented the very essence of Connor’s being.

‘We have many blends as well as pure single malts. My father taught me well and I pride myself on creating the finest spirit I can.’ He held the candle under my chin. ‘I have something special for you to taste. Come.’

We walked down the avenues of barrels, the soft earth breathing a fusty sigh as our footsteps disturbed its surface. Connor set the candle on a small table that had obviously been prepared earlier. It was decorated with a white linen cloth, a single red rose in a slim vase and two tulip-shaped glasses. Two chairs were pushed neatly under the table and Connor pulled one out for me.

‘What’s this?’ I smiled, completely bemused, but sat down anyway.

‘I want you to taste a very special whisky. It began life fourteen years ago.’

‘When I was twelve,’ I said with a laugh. When I left the island, I thought silently.

‘My father brought it into being at the request of Patrick Callister.’

‘Dad?’ I chilled and my skin erupted in a thousand goose bumps at the thought. I could almost feel him, watching, holding his breath as Connor retrieved a bottle of golden liquid from behind a nearby barrel. He removed the stopper and slowly poured two measures into the glasses. He then sat in the other chair.

‘This is for you,’ he said seriously. ‘
Really
for you.’ His hand reached out across the table and gripped mine as I clenched the glass. I noticed a slight tensing in his jaw, a flicker underneath his left eye, but most of all I saw the sincerity in his eyes and for that brief moment I forgot why I had returned to the island. My mind was completely free of Ethan Kinrade.