Scots Grey, Book 1

What follows is a prose confection, intended to amuse rather than horrify, to perhaps distract from worldly cares rather than prompt deep rumination. It is inspired by Victorian adventure romances, and in style the author hopes to evoke those classic tales. Mature themes are explored, notably the willing submission of one woman to another—the two being of different stature, age, and class—as well as leathery pony-play. In keeping with the vintage style, scenes of intimacy are presented without explicit detail.

The text is accompanied by a set of charming illustrations created by the artist, Formant. These images were commissioned by the author, Mr. B. Fann, who shares them here by right. The formatting of this edition has necessitated that some of Formant's water-marks be removed, but all credit for the illustrations should remain with that talentedartiste.

Many thanks to Macktosh, MissJenny54, and Tanis Steele, who generously reviewed early drafts and offered comments, corrections, and encouragement; Without the latter this project likely would not have been completed. The author is entirely to blame for any flaws that remain.

For a more vintage reading experience, the author recommends setting Font Face to 'Times'. -B.F.

To her hidebound aristocratic relatives, Lady Boudica Gordon is something of a scandal: She is anadventuress.Now in her middle thirties, yet apparently disinterested in marriage; she has traversed Alpine passes and scaled pyramids in Egypt, ridden elephants through the jungles of India and crossed a desert on a camel. An avid sportswoman, Lady Gordon has taken game on four continents—and shot men on two, in self-defence.

Regarded with suspicion by more conventional ladies, Boudica prefers the company of young men—more often younger than herself, as the years go by—among whom she's known as quick-wittedraconteuse;as a bold, skillful horsewoman, and crack shot with rifle or gun; and, by a chosen few, as a captivating lover.

At the Lady's sprawling manor house in the English Midlands, in a quiet room well removed from the grand spaces at its core, Miss Anabelle Smith resides. Ana had been born at the old Gordon estate in Scotland, a child of rustic folk: her father was a hulking blacksmith who'd bent iron at his laird's forge; her mother a housemaid with hands roughened by domestic work.

Deprived by tragedy of her parents while still in her tender years, little Ana had been sent south to be raised in England under the protection of her lairdess. In those days, young Lady Gordon was seldom in residence—being more often far away on some globe-trotting adventure—but she ensured that her ward was well looked after, and brought up as a gentlewoman. In keeping with Boudica's modern ideas, Miss Smith has been afforded a fine education, in the course of which she has developed a particular interest in botany and revealed a gift for singing opera.

She trembles at the suggestion of performing on a stage. Educated alongside English girls who had been born into a higher class, the red-haired orphan is frightfully shy, and quite embarrassed by her unladylike stature. As Anabelle grew up—and up, and up, eventually achieving a tick above six feet in height, and with a robust frame that recalls less the willow than the oak—the tall-but-timid girl had admired Lady Gordon from afar, dreaming that she might someday find the courage in herself to live so daringly.

—

—

14 February, 1904.

At the Midlands manor where Lady Gordon generally resides while in the Home Isles, the walls of the study are covered with maps. The first had been hung by her grandfather, upon his relocation from the ancestral Gordon seat in the Scottish Highlands to this English manse, to display his holdings throughout Britain. Her father added several more, of the several territories around the globe where he'd had the privilege of serving Her late Majesty, the Queen. Since coming into her inheritance—now some years ago—Boudica has contributed some of her own maps to the collection, stuck with pins to denote her wide-ranging expeditions.

Standing in her study amidst all the maps and books, before a leaded window that looks out over acres of snow-draped lawn; Boudica Gordon breaks the seal on a valentine that she's received from 'A Secret Admirer'.

One of those cheeky, vigorous lads!She grins, warmed by recollection of pleasurable company. One particular chap comes to mind as the note's most likely sender: a fresh-faced new lieutenant in the army, as proud among his fellows as a strutting cock—Yet in private, still so wide-eyed and eager.

But the card within the envelope is of unexpected style, being elaborately decorated with pressed flowers; The poem scribed in flowing ink is so bitter-sweet...

She has no time to puzzle out the sender, as with a gentle knock her maid announces Anabelle. Lady Gordon had summoned her ward to impart news that a young man seeks to court her. As Miss Smith enters, Boudica tosses the valentine lightly to her desk; Anabelle's eyes track the card's flight anxiously.

The maiden's apprehension tempts Boudica to smile.

As tall and sturdy as an Amazon,she thinks.Yet shy as a dormouse. 'Little Ana' has grown into a young woman of uncommon charm!

After exchanging pleasantries, she turns to the matter at hand.

'I have made inquiries into the family of this young gentleman, and while of modest means they are of solid honour. He's a great, strapping, broad-shouldered fellow, too. I fancy you might make a handsome couple on the dancing floor.'

Miss Smith appears to be studying the intricate patterns of the carpet, while chewing her plump lip.

Boudica continues. 'It is your decision, Ana, of course. You may rest assured of my continued protection regardless. But if you were to ask my counsel, I would suggest that you begin to explore the joys of life as a young woman. I'm told that since returning from school, you've not entertained a visitor, and scarcely left the estate.'

Anabelle quietly declines to receive the gentleman. When asked for a reason, she stammers, before bursting forth with a confession:

'I have prayed, Milady... that my poem would speak for me. But if I must say the words aloud... My heart is not my own to give to any swain, for it is committed already and eternally to my Lady's possession!'

With her secret revealed, Anabelle's composure fails, and her speech unshackled from restraint flows in a tearful torrent.

'Well do I know,' she sobs, 'that such love is forbidden! And that one of such low birth as I dare not presume to stand beside a noble Lady in any role but servant. Yet I am Cupid's helpless plaything, nonetheless!

'I do not doubt this suitor's worthiness. But any home outside your own would be, to me, an exile! I beg instead for some position in Milady's household. If a duke were to offer marriage, rather would I spend my life in chaste service, if only you'd be sometimes near. Even if I were allowed to muck out the stables... Indeed, gladly would I share the quarters of Milady's horse!'

Surprised but never flustered, the Lady comforts her distraught ward; the stable-talk she brushes off as lovesick hyperbole. As Anabelle weeps on her shoulder, Boudica's gaze falls to the valentine card—its authorship now clarified—and those dried blossoms pasted on.

It's February, with the garden banked in snow... Those flowers haven't bloomed in nearly a year. The poor girl might have been planning the gesture of affection for at least that long.

Her heart swells with sympathy for Miss Smith's affliction. Boudica finds herself flattered by the infatuation, too... and intrigued.

Over the years Lady Gordon has, on occasion, been discretely intimate with other women. That her Secret Admirer is of her own sex is not shocking. As fair Anabelle sobs in her comforting embrace, she cannot help but sense how the tall, well-built young woman embodies both voluptuous femininity and a great, latent physical power. In this combination, Boudica discovers a unique attraction.

She rejects temptation. Free-thinking but kind of heart, the Lady would not take advantage of a smitten girl.

—

—

After her confession poor Ana becomes withdrawn, lamenting her impulsiveness and overcome with shame. As Winter ice softens toward a promise of Spring, she pines most piteously, causing servants to speculate in whispers on the cause of her distress.

Having seen so little of Ana previously that she might barely claim to know the girl, Boudica believes that Miss Smith must be in thrall to an idea of 'The Lady Gordon' that her imagination had concocted, whilst the living person was far away or inaccessible. Better familiarity, she expects, will gently break the spell. And so the Lady sets time aside to cultivate an acquaintance with her ward: inviting Ana to afternoon tea in the solar, and to stroll about the landscape that surrounds the manor house. In the course of these encounters, Boudica sees that the vulnerability the young woman projects is no performance but a true reflection of her tender nature.

The Lady discovers, too, that beneath her demure reserve Anabelle is more thoughtful and perceptive than she had perhaps credited. As they walk in the garden, which is just beginning to swell into springtime bud, Boudica is impressed that Ana seems to know every stalk and twig in the walled acre by name—both their common and their Latin appellations. When asked, the girl is able to predict nearly to the day when each stem will bloom or unfurl its leaves.

Miss Smith is reticent. While grateful for her education, and treated always by Boudica as a young lady, Anabelle will not forget that she had been born into service. Dutifully respecting the deep chasm in class that had divided the two at birth, she receives each kind word her mistress offers as though it were an undeserved gift.

Anabelle cannot conceal, though, the effect that Lady Gordon has upon her. Boudica's mere entrance into a room causes her to brighten, as if the curtains had been flung open to admit the Sun!

These glimpses of Ana's happiness gladden the Lady's heart.

Weeks pass, until, late on one of those March evenings when the skies are too stormy to allow sleep, the women in night-dress may be found seated at either side of the fire in a snug sitting room. Flames cast dancing shadows upon the wall, as Lady Gordon recounts some of her adventures in Africa and the East.

Her stirring tales of danger set Anabelle a-tingle with excitement! Boudica is charmed in turn by the rapt wonder she sees in Miss Smith's large, guileless eyes, as green as the wild Caledonian forest.

When she proposes, though, that Ana might someday see such sights for herself— Rather than anticipation, the sheltered girl is filled with fear.

'Oh no, Milady! My heart flutters at your mere description of those wild jungles.'

Then, embarrassed by her cowardice, the tall beauty attempts humour: '...And the giraffes might be dangerously offended, to see a young lady standing with them eye-to-eye.'

Boudica Gordon finds self-deprecation tedious.

'Come now!' she admonishes, gently. 'Why rue the gifts of Providence? Your stature makes possible deeds of which others could not dream. I might like to see myself how the world appears from your height!'

A playful light sparks in the Lady's eyes, and she sets down her toddy.

'As I recall,' she smiles, 'you once offered to take the place of my horse. I would now see that promise made good! Stand up, dear.'

Miss Smith hesitates but would not think to refuse.

Milady is only teasing,she thinks as she rises.Chiding me for being such a sour apple. She wouldn't—

But with confident agility, Boudica steps up on Ana's chair, and climbs onto her back! Alarmed, Miss Smith quickly wraps her arms under the Lady's legs and clutches them tightly. She can't allow her mistress to fall!

'It is a remarkable perspective,' the Lady pronounces smoothly, with her lips close behind Anabelle's ear and thighs clamped around her waist.

She instructs Ana to step forward, and then around the room. Miss Smith finds the weight of the petite noblewoman not too great to bear; Descended from generations of stout labourers, and with the ancient blood of Highland warriors in her veins, Anabelle possesses a natural strength befitting her size.

My graceful Lady is so light!she thinks.Almost like an angel.

It is strangely thrilling to feel her love's body pressed close to her own—but anxiety is Miss Smith's governess.

'Milady, please... Allow me to set you down safely.'

'Nonsense!' Boudica replies, in voice inflected with melodious delight. 'To the pantry, Ana! I'm feeling a bit peckish.'

Minding her balance, and treading carefully, Anabelle steps out into the wide wood-panelled hall, where generations of stern Gordon patriarchs glare down upon her from their portraits on the wall.

Then she blushes, mortified, as the Lady's imposing Sikh valet approaches.

'I heard unfamiliar footsteps, Mem.' The footman rumbles in baritone. His grim, scarred visage is expressionless. 'Is anything amiss?'

'Not at all, Balbir,' Boudica replies withnonchalancefrom her perch on Ana's back. 'It's just a splendid evening for a ride! I appreciate your vigilance but all is quite well. You may retire.'

'As you say, Mem. A good evening to you, then. And to you, Miss Smith.'

With a tip of his turbaned head, the valet leaves them—having evinced no reaction to the oddness of the scene.

Proceeding again along the hall, Anabelle begins to warm at last to the humour of the game. A smile dimples her plump cheeks, still rosy with embarrassment.

'Giddap,now, Ana!' Boudica commands playfully.

As Miss Smith quickens her pace, both women laugh out loud!

In the dim and quiet pantry, just as Ana's endurance threatens to fail, Lady Gordon finally grants permission for the girl to set her down. Still merry, Miss Smith rubs her arms, marvelling at her own strength as she watches Boudica deftly pit a peach. It is the first of the season, sent by a friend in warmer Kent.

'Mm!' The Lady exclaims upon sampling the succulent flesh. 'The first harvest is the best, I've often found.'

She offers a slice to Anabelle, who reaches for it—

'Tut!' Wearing a pixie grin, Boudica pulls the fruit away. 'A pony, even one so fair, must take her rewards directly from my hand.'

She lifts the peach slice higher, not quite to the tall young woman's mouth. Miss Smith's green eyes widen, as misgiving flutters beneath her ribs—or is it an excitement unfamiliar?

Uncertain, but obedient, she leans forward. Pink and plump her lips tremble, as they brush the Lady's highborn fingertips, and Ana takes the juicy morsel in her teeth.

The fruit is sweet indeed, perfectly ripe: tender, yet not too soft, with its flavour enlivened by just a hint of acidity. It might be the best peach she's ever tasted.

Ana accepts a few more bits of the heavenly fruit, and by the time the pair has consumed it sugary nectar has coated Boudica's fingers. When she licks them clean, Miss Smith giggles at the sight—a bit nervously. It feels so odd to share such a casual moment with her noble lairdess!

As she carries Boudica back toward the Lady's private chambers, Anabelle laughs again—though all has changed, and is still changing, in ways that she finds thrilling if not yet fully understood.

Back in the firelit sitting room, she sets her mistress down at last. Beneath her modest night-dress, Miss Smith's ample breast swells with the deep breaths of her exertions.

Reaching up to lift a hair from the girl's lovely, cheerful face, the Lady purrs softly.

'I must say, Ana. A glow of perspiration quite becomes you.'

With a hand light upon the young woman's curving hip, Boudica is moved to draw their bodies closer—

Struck by a sudden fright that makes her shiver, Miss Smith leans back from the embrace. Though the separation, even by an inch, seems to tear her heart, the inhibitions in which she's been steeped forbid such intimacy! Ana's brow, pale and smooth as milk, creases now with doubt and fear.

'Milady!' she gasps, a breathless whisper. 'To be enfolded in your arms is my sole desire! But...'

Below the fretted brow, in Ana's emerald eyes Boudica can see the girl's desperate longing—a need that the Lady, in this moment, can see no reason should be denied.

Minutes ago, she had conceived their pony-play as a casual amusement: a jolly game to share with someone who she's come to think of as a friend. The fearful desire glittering now in Ana's eyes transports the Lady back to her own youth, to those secret encounters when, with heart beating quick, she'd first pioneered the twisting maze of intimacy, uncovering its delectable treasures. She delights now to see how the handsome young woman yearns for her touch—and finds that she craves, with rising passion, Miss Smith's touch too.

'Oh, Ana,' she soothes, holding her ardor in check as she caresses the girl's blushing cheek. 'Sweet Ana. You've learned your lessons well. Yet your teachers were but hirelings, in my employ. Their edicts are mine to countermand.'

Lady Gordon proposes another game. Audacious, but patient and caring too, with Ana's trembling acquiescence she binds the young woman with ribbons of soft cloth. Once unable to resist, the maiden is absolved of shame; In bondage Anabelle finally is able to savour all the aspects of her love.

—

—

As Lady Gordon's intimate companion, Anabelle lives in bliss! From the moment when they greet the morning sun together, she looks forward to spending every moment with her lairdess, her love. Seated beside her at the table, or just waiting at the side of a room, properly and quiet as the Lady receives social guests and visitors on business—Miss Smith rejoices merely to be welcome in her presence, and exults when blessed with her warm glance.

Their daily walks in the garden become adventures of shared exploration. The women sometimes sit on the lush springtime grass, or even lie prone, propped up on their elbows without a care for stained blouses as they marvel together at the emergence of new growth from the soil.

Anabelle is overjoyed that her mistress takes an interest in the botanical study that had filled so many hours of her often solitary youth. Even as her intimate, Ana regards the Lady with an admiration that approaches reverence. Lying beside her on the grass, explaining the life-cycles of herbaceous perennials while Boudica listens attentively, Anabelle is filled with joy near to overflowing.

It's as though a goddess has descended to Earth, with concern for my smallest affairs!

One evening after supper, in a private sitting room Boudica prevails upon Miss Smith to sing. Too timorous of crowds ever to consider public performance, the young soprano dares to hope that trained vocal talent might, perhaps, be a gift worthy of her lairdess.

Standing before an audience of one, Anabelle pours all her soul into the rendition of a tragic Italianaria.As her final note fades, and a glistening in the Lady's eyes reveals that she's been moved by Ana's art, Miss Smith's own tears flow: Tears of joy, streaming with the knowledge that she's pleased her beloved.

With Anabelle's personality blooming into flower, Boudica finds the company of the young woman—talented, intelligent, and kind, with a poet's eye for beauty and heart pure as fallen snow—to be a refreshing delight. When in her Lady's presence, Miss Smith radiates a joy so bright that Boudica feels her own spirit renewed.