Free Their Private Arrangement by Saskia Walker

 
    Fife, Scotland, 1715
    When Morag heard his footsteps echoing up the staircase from below, anticipation lit inside her. It was always that way. At the appointed time she would unlock the secret entrance—a door at the rear of the building and a hidden staircase that led into the upstairs lodgings at the Drover’s Inn—in preparation for Duggan Moore’s arrival. Once she had prepared his route and assured herself no one else watched, she was supposed to return to her chores in the inn, but she would often linger in the shadows hoping to catch sight of him. On this occasion she had a good excuse, because she had a tray of provisions for the man Duggan had business with. The tray was out on the landing. She waited in the dressing room where the staircase emerged, eager for a glimpse of Duggan, for he was a man who always stirred her womanly desires.
    His tall figure loomed up from the gloomy stairwell, his handsome face coming into view as the light from the candle in the sconce reached him. Instead of moving rapidly on to the landing and beyond, as usual, he paused and peered over at the shadowy corner where she stood, his eyebrows drawn low as he studied his observer.
    Morag’s hand went to her chest. Would he chastise her for being there?
    â€œMorag,” he said as he closed the panel behind him, hiding the evidence of the secret entrance. The candlelight wavered as it clicked shut, casting shadows across his rugged features.
    He knew it was her. Her breath caught in her throat. “Sire, forgive me. I did not meant to startle you, I have a tray for Mr. Grant.”
    He stepped closer then drew her out of the shadows and into the fall of light from the candle, looking down at her with curiosity. Breathlessly she looked up at him. He was a fine man, built large and sturdy, with thick, dark hair to his shoulders and a broad forehead and cheekbones. With his hands around her waist, he held her easily.
    â€œAnd why are you here in the shadows,” he asked, “and not taking that tray to him?”
    â€œI…” What reason could she give? “I wished to see you.”
    â€œYou have a message for me?”
    Curses . She had made matters worse. Heat burned in her cheeks.
    He cocked his head on one side, awaiting her response.
    â€œNo,” she admitted.
    With an insinuating smile he drew her right in against him, trapping her there.
    â€œMr. Duggan,” she whispered, astonished.
    â€œCuriosity, was it?” There was mischief in his eyes, and he had the look of a man whose passions had been stirred.
    Emboldened, she lifted one shoulder, eyeing him from under her lashes. “Perhaps.”
    Morag had been enjoying pleasant daydreams about the handsome field worker, but she was astonished at his forthright approach. Although he often scrutinized her, Duggan would usually make haste to Mr. Grant’s rooms, in case he was seen by anyone else and questioned about his presence. What they had been told was that Mr. Grant wanted to keep their business private. The alewife, Mistress Muir, had whispered her suspicions to Morag. Duggan Moore and James Grant were secret lovers, an arrangement that would cause uproar and condemnation were it to be put about. It took Morag a little while to understand exactly what it meant—that they came together in carnal congress the same way a man and a woman would. At first the notion made her giggle, and then when she pondered it some more, she found her curiosity grew and that the idea of it stimulated her. Both Morag and the alewife were paid well to hold their tongue, and whenever Morag observed Duggan’s arrival she noticed that he strode to the Drover’s Inn in haste, as if he was eager not to be seen.
    This time, however, Duggan didn’t hurry on to his destination. He seemed more intent on pausing to idle a while with her. With one hand he held her close to him, and with the other he outlined her figure around the curve