Fields of Saffron

By Alex McBrann

Henley Campbell travels to Scotland as an exchange student to complete her PhD program. While she is there, she meets a young playboy, named Mac. They develop an exciting dominant-submissive relationship.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483680644

Alex McBrann

Alex McBrann is a writer who embraces creativity and loves experimenting with different styles of written expression. Alex is also an avid shopper and women's shoe enthusiast.

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Copyright © 2013 by Alex McBrann.

Library of Congress Control Number:                        2013914109

ISBN:                   Hardcover                             978-1-4836-8063-7

                             Softcover                               978-1-4836-8062-0

                             Ebook                                    978-1-4836-8064-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 08/08/2013

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She would scream if she had to sit through another orientation for the exchange student program. She had already done her research and spoken to two academic advisors. It was required that all exchange students take a course prerequisite prior to travel. Depending on the destination, the students were required to take a brief workshop on local culture and traditions.

"International graduate students from a partner institution who wish to come to University of California at Berkeley on the graduate exchange program must be nominated by his or her home university within the specified deadline. Students should contact their institution’s International Exchange Coordinator for information on the internal procedures.

Every year, the University of the West of Scotland is delighted to welcome new students from partner institutions across Europe and from the United States. The strong links that have developed between the schools ensures that exchange students will have a rewarding and exciting experience in Scotland and The Continent.

In addition to absorbing the beautiful landscape, you will also experience the breathtaking reality of a hundred pipers in unison. Despite popular belief, this isn’t an image from Scotland’s past: it happens every August at the Edinburgh Military Tattoo or on Glasgow Green. This is one of the most festive events in all of Europe.

What about the stereotypical notions of traditional Scottish fare? The haggis, bannocks, porridge and the legendary deep fried Mars Bar? Not anymore! Scotland’s new elite chefs are taking the country’s incredible natural produce, beef, venison and seafood and elevating them to starred levels.

Why on earth she would need to know anything about the elite cuisine? She was going as a student, not a Hollywood socialite.

And ladies, the kilt is making a comeback on the catwalk as designers like Jean Paul Gaultier, and Vivienne Westwood. It’s becoming more and more common to see strapping lads dressed in formal blazers, wool socks, and a plaid kilt. Is the saying true? Does a real Scotsman wear anything underneath his kilt?

And blah, blah, blah, blah, blah . . . .

She could care less if they wore Armani potato sacks. She was not going there for a fashion show anymore than she was going there for the top chef of the week.

Henley, as she preferred to be called, met her brother over at Schmidt’s Pub. When Rhys arrived, they both ordered their smoke and cappuccino.

Rhys fired up his pipe as they made themselves comfortable in one of the booths. The pungent odor of the Black Pearl carried the subtle aroma of berries. The smells of the various strains mingled with strong coffee.

He took a hit and then handed it to Henley. The server brought their coffee over along with a couple of honey cakes.

So, little sister, what on earth drove you to this decision? How long have you known? he asked pensively.

Henley coughed and handed him the pipe. I’ve planned it for the last eighteen months. Then I had a small window of time to submit my application by the time I decided. I was accepted just last week. I leave in three days.

Who is going with you? he wondered, knowing that Henley didn’t know anyone in Scotland, or anyplace else in Europe.

There were no other grad students assigned to Scotland. There are others going to Sweden, France, and Spain, she replied with a shrug.

Well you’ve never traveled anyplace outside of the U S except to Canada and Paris one time. Are you ready for that? he asked earnestly, then took another hit.

She sipped her strong coffee and wiped the foam from her top lip. I will be just fine. This is not like a high school field trip, you know. I’m a twenty-five-year old graduate student who is seeking a teaching position at Berkeley. This is all a part of my career journey.

Oh, I don’t have any doubts that you’ll tackle this challenge like you do every other one you encounter, he told her with obvious pride and admiration. What will be your area of study? History?

I’ve decided to use my photography skills to enhance my projects in European history, especially Scotland, Ireland, and England. My plan is to create and publish some articles on the economic and social history over there, emphasis on Scotland. The McNeill-Douglas family invited me to stay with them at Dunforth Castle. They are allowing me to finally research the history of Dunforth for the purposes of publication.

I wanted to attend the Edinburgh Festival Fringe this year. Perhaps I can fly over there to see you, he suggested.

It was one of the largest art festivals in Europe, founded back in 1947. Every August, people gathered from around the world to participate in performing arts, comedy, dance, music, and theatre.

Of course, I would love to see you. I’ll give you all my information after we leave here. I’ll be staying in a guest house on the property. I think it would be less intrusive if I did that.

He raised a brow. Sounds wonderful. Have you told Father and Mother? I’ll bet you haven’t.

Henley did not respond, which in essence answered his question. She just shrugged again and took another deep inhalation from the pipe. She was contemplating telling her parents by text message while she waited for her flight at the airport.

Rhys grinned at her as if he could read her devious mind. He shook his head and sipped his coffee. I will tell them. Please don’t send them a text saying that you’re running off to Europe for a year.

No, I will tell them. In person. How’s that? I will have them here for a weekend, she decided.

Mac was no longer attending to another one of his father’s long-winded speeches. He sat the study with his booted feet propped rudely on a short antique table. If the old man would hurry up with the lecture, Mac could get back out to the stables with his horses and go stay at either his place in the village, or better yet, his relatively new condo in Paris. Ross usually let him stay at his place in Paris, but Mac decided he wanted his own.

. . . the expectation was that ye start at St. Andrews in the fall, Alec. I’m being told that ye have been mucking about in the stalls all summer, Phillip McNeill-Douglas told his youngest son.

Mac looked at some invisible dirt under his fingernails, flecking it in the air with irritation. I am not goin’ to school this fall, Da. I told ye I wanted to take a break, he said without looking up at his father. Mac’s brogue tended to sound almost medieval when he was becoming upset.

Damn ye, Alec! I’ll no’ have anymore of yer insolence! the older man’s brogue also became heavier. "You will be at St. Andrew’s before the festival."

No one called him Alec, except his parents. Everyone else including his siblings called him Mac.

He took that as his cue to leave. He never argued with his father, or his mother. When he made up his mind about something, it did not matter what they said to him. I’ll no’ be home for supper. I’m stayin’ in the village at my own flat, he said calmly as he exited the room. He paid no heed to the flakes of mud falling from his riding boots to the expensive Persian rug.

Phil’s brow furrowed and his mouth thinned in to a tight line. He knew his youngest child very well. It was going to take a bit of persuasion to get him off to school. He didn’t mind that the boy had taken such a liking to animals, but it was time for him to grow up. He was mistaken if he thought he would spend the rest of the summer drinking, screwing around, gambling, and riding horses.

Phil poured himself a glass of Scotch and sat at his huge oak desk. He thought about how fortunate it was that at least two of his sons were somewhat interested in carrying on McNeill-Douglas Trading. The company had expanded over the centuries, with ports and offices all over the world. The second eldest son, Callum, was one of the family attorneys. The twins, Ross and Riley, were computer analysts. Riley’s specialty was graphic design and she also did contract work. Mac inherited a shipyard and a winery from his mother’s side of the family but he had no interest in managing any of it. The Firth of Clyde has one of the deepest sea entrances in northern Europe, and Jackie’s father left it to Mac in his will. It had been in the family for generations and he knew that because of its location and the heavy Naval presence, the McQueeny shipyard was quite a commodity. Mr. McQueeny also left him a winery close by on the Orkney Islands. Jackie was left a great deal of money and was thrilled that her youngest son was not forgotten. He was the youngest of the McQueeny grandchildren, but Mac was Jeffrey McQueeny’s favorite. After Jeff died a few years earlier, it was a source of contention amongst the rest of Jackie’s four siblings, the fact that her son inherited so much and he was still barely an adolescent.

These were Father’s wishes and he made it clear that if you contest the will and lose in court, you will forfeit your portion of monies and property, she reminded them in a meeting with their lawyers.

Two of Jackie’s brothers and their sons were appointed by the estate attorneys as managing conservators of both properties until Mac became age twenty-one. Neither of them were happy about the conditions of the will but decided not to contest; after all, each of them had been left very wealthy men.

Aidan, the eldest, decided to become an engineer and he worked for a petroleum company in Aberdeen. Of all the children, Riley and Mac were the most openly adventurous. Riley was the only girl in a house full of older brothers, except for Mac who was the baby. Ross was her fraternal twin and two minutes older. Everyone joked about the fact that Mac was ten years younger than Riley and Ross; he was definitely not planned. Jacqueline McQueeny McNeill-Douglas loved her baby boy and spoiled him to death by letting him get away with everything. He was not the needy sort of child, but he did always want to have his way. He was very charming and manipulative, but no one could hate him for it. All it took was one flash of those mischievous eyes and a serpentine smile curving his lips… he always got what he wanted.

Mac and Riley had always been close. They were kindred spirits. The two looked more alike than any of the other children, with their dark hair and hazel eyes. All the girls thought Mac was a young athletic playboy. Ross was the complete opposite of his twin in coloring and personality. He was just as good looking as Mac; a couple of people compared him to one of the local soap opera actors. Ross chose to be more secretive and conservative, by appearances. His private life was exactly that… private. Riley had no hesitation in encouraging her little brother to live his life to the fullest. And Mac had no hesitation in taking his sister’s lead in naughtiness. Both of them frequently walked around the village and the castle in the traditional Scottish kilts. People used to tease Riley about it, but it eventually became her signature. She had her share of scandals over the years, but managed to be more discreet as she got older. Mac just enjoyed engaging in all the outrageous behavior that had women all over Europe lined up to lift his kilt. He’d not even reached nineteen yet, and had already been on the cover of FHM.

He met his sister out in the stables. Their horses had been saddled for a long ride. Mac’s very spirited black gelding, Thanatos, danced in excitement as his master approached. He could not wait to run. Riley’s Leopard Appaloosa was just as eager. Phanes, the antithesis of the other horse, was beautiful white horse with artfully placed dark spots flowing out over her entire body.

They mounted the horses and led them to the pasture.

Father was yelling at you again? she asked him. Riley and the older boys had almost lost the Scottish brogue. Their speech was closer to the formal Britain English because only Mac had been practically raised by servants, so his speech was a mixture of brogue Scots English and formal English. The rest of the children had formal caregivers, tutors and private schools. Mac refused tutors until he was almost eleven years old. He liked attending class with the housekeepers’ children at a local boarding school.

Mac shrugged his broad shoulders. I don’t care whether he yells or not.

Why won’t you go on to St. Andrews? she wondered.

He ran his long tanned fingers through his spiky hair. I don’t want to attend school there. I want to take a year off and then go to either Columbia or the M.I.T. campus in Cambridge, he said with a frustrated sigh. He didn’t make any of you go to school in Scotland.

Riley chuckled. Mac, you know he does not trust you to be outside of Scotland. At least with you here, he can sweep up all of your little messes.

He frowned. I never asked anyone to sweep up anything, he said crisply, and then took off across the pasture.

Mac had no intention of telling her or anyone else that he had been recruited by Interpol in order to work collaboratively with Secret Intelligence Service about six months ago. He had been approached in Paris while he was vacationing with some of his friends. The man, who called himself ‘Mr. Smith’, asked Mac to meet him for coffee. Apparently, the agency had a complete profile. They knew that he had graduated early with honors from St. James, and completed a semester of correspondence courses at M.I.T. He spoke six languages fluently, and could read and write four of them, English, French, German, Russian, Portuguese, and Arabic. Mac had traveled all over the world. He was a very skilled marksman, martial artist, and athlete. Mac knew he was one of those ‘prodigy’ kids but he was not going to live his life in an academic arena. He had always been bored at school and he hated being around the ‘academic types’.

What do y’ want, Mr. Smith, now that ye’ve recited my biography? he asked dryly and sipped from his cappuccino.

Really not much more than you’re doing, Mr. McNeill-Douglas. You already live a James Bond lifestyle, with your wandering all over the continent. Perhaps if we guide you, some of that restlessness can be put to good use, he told him bluntly.

Mac had a feeling that the biography extended to not just his good deeds, but also his misdeeds. Please get to the fucking point. I need to take a piss… really badly.

When you return to the lobby of your flat, there will be a flash drive waiting for you. Follow the instructions, he commanded and immediately left after sipping all of his espresso.

Mac sat there and pensively considered how these agencies seemed to be profiling and recruiting from a younger and younger population. They must have been going around sniffing out baby geniuses from grade schools all over the world, and spying on them for years until just the right time to pounce. Not only were they not going to wait for him to graduate from college, they were going to guide his collegiate path. His father would be livid and his mother would just fall apart. So, there would be another Mac McNeill-Douglas secret.

*     *     *

"Mac, je me sens mal a l’aise, the woman told him as she pulled on the padded handcuff. Deliez moi, s’il vous plait."

Tell me what I want to know first and I’ll let you go, he bargained as he stood next to the bed dressing himself after their liaison. I asked y’ how long your husband has known.

Chantel was unhappily married to a much older political figure… one who could make Mac’s life miserable. She had approached Mac in Monte Carlo at a golf tournament where he and her husband were playing for charity. The affair had only lasted a month and Mac was done with her. He did not want the drama that would likely follow.

He hired an investigator and he has known from the beginning, she admitted. Mac sat next to her just out of her reach and watched her flushed naked body struggling on the rumpled bed.

He stood and smacked her on her thigh very hard. Chantel yelped. Why did y’ not say anything?

Remove the cuffs, Mac, she demanded, this time in accented English. The game is over. What goes on in my marriage is none of your concern.

Well, now y’ can tell him whatever ye want, he said dismissively as he approached the door of the hotel suite.

You’re leaving me here like this? she asked incredulously. You really are an adolescent toad!

And you’re a deceitful cunt, he retorted and left the room.

He hated when these foolish women lied to him or did anything to drag him into any kind of drama. That’s why his family always believed the gossip. It was never Mac who initiated any of the scandal. But he had to admit making poor decisions regarding sex partners. There were supposed to be spoken and unspoken rules. He was getting tired of playing games with women who found it difficult to follow the rules. Why was he the one who had to be the mature one and he was only eighteen years old? He started learning the rules of sexual discretion as soon as he lost his virginity years ago. There were even ways of ‘discreetly’ fucking out in public. Mac had perfected it.

Dunforth Castle, on the east end of the Central Lowlands, stretched from the Firth of Forth in the east to the Firth of Clyde in the west. This was the area which contained Scotland’s main industrial belt and the country’s two largest cities, Glasgow in the west and Edinburgh, the capital, in the east. Much of Scotland’s population was here. The landscaping was an artist’s dream, with the rolling blue-green grass, the cloud streaked blue sky, and the rocks. The firths, glens, lochs and serrated mountain ridges decorate the landscape in an artless manner. Smaller cottages flanked the structure, primarily in the valley surrounding the structure. The early summer days were generally mild, warm, and long, allowing daylight to linger until nine p.m. Sometimes Mac would stay gone from the mansion until well after dark, usually staying in his studio apartment. He enjoyed sitting out on the balcony smoking a cigar and gazing up at the star-flecked velvety sky.

Riley quickly followed him, allowing her horse freedom across the greenery. The feeling of the wind in her hair was exhilarating.

Did he tell you about the exchange student? she asked breathlessly when they slowed the pace to a trot.

No. He did not. I was hoping not to have anymore of them, he said honestly. That last one was sort of a bitch.

Riley laughed. You only think that because she refused to sleep with you.

He grunted. She may not have slept with me, but we did have fun.

And you lost the bet, she reminded him.

She gave me a hand job. That still counts, he insisted.

No, the bet was that you go all the way.

So I actually had to fuck her, he recalled dryly. Fine. I’m gonna do the next one.

You haven’t even met her. What is the wager? I want your horse, she dared.

You’ll not be gettin’ this horse, he promised. The bet is on, then.

Riley lost her humor suddenly. Mac, don’t hurt her.

I won’t do anything she doesn’t want me to do, he said esoterically.

Riley recently discovered her little brother’s sexual predilections; she had walked into his bedroom at the estate and found a naked girl blindfolded and bound to the settee. She had red welts on her thighs, and fanny. The girl called out when Riley entered the room because she thought it was her ‘master’ returning. She asked to be untied to go to the bathroom. Riley was shocked and disgusted as she went to loosen her binds. The girl was equally shocked, almost frightened when the blindfold was removed. Riley demanded that she gather her clothes and leave immediately. She was going to handle her brother. It wasn’t enough for him to be caught in flagrante delicto with someone’s wife, or out in public with someone’s mouth on his cock. According to him, it was all consensual.

Mac, I have a feeling this one is different. I looked at her dossier. She’s more academic than the others, it seems. She’s not just coming here pretending to get an education on her family’s money, like the last couple of them. It looks like this one is serious.

Whatever you say, he replied dismissively.

They raced across the pasture again.

Are you still seeing that slut you met in Monte Carlo? You do know her husband is a diplomat or something, Riley continued.

I’m done with that, he told her with disgust. Let’s not get into it.

Henley felt like a walking zombie when she arrived in Scotland. She grabbed her bags and slowly walked outside. Before she could even scan the area, a driver approached her.

Miss Campbell? he inquired. The man was wiry thin and appeared older than he probably was. He was pleasant though.

Yes, I’m Henley Campbell, she replied.

He reached for two of her bags. Welcome to Scotland. I’m Martin Davies, from Dunforth. Mr. McNeill-Douglas sent me.

How do you do, Mr. Davies?

Just call me Davies, lass, he insisted pleasantly. He had a slight Scottish brogue.

She smiled as he carefully set her luggage in the vehicle.

As they travelled to the estate, Davies proudly pointed out many of the establishments and landscaping. The landscaping was very diverse, including mountains, valleys, and lakes. Henley was in awe as she snapped a few pictures. All the photos she had seen of Scotland paled in comparison to the grandeur of seeing it in person.

. . . and this is another one called the Drochil Castle Luxury Farmhouse Bed and Breakfast… he continued as they passed the homey mansion full of Scottish tradition and heritage.

The driver gave her a list of bars, diners, and inns, for example The Liquid Room and Henry’s Jazz Cellar. Scotland also had thousands of activities for families and tourists, like mountain biking, cycling in the Flatter Islands, and the whale-watching on some of the island tours. If she had not been so tired, Henley would have jumped at the opportunity to get out that very evening.

Dunforth Castle was almost ethereal. The rain-washed sky and the greenery acted as an artless backdrop for the modernized medieval structure. Various species of willows, whitebeams, birch, and cherry trees grew alongside the winding stone driveway leading up to the castle. Henley could hardly wait to inhale the mingled fragrances of trees and flowers. It would be a feast for her senses, the sweet aroma of roses the bitter scent of thistle, and the fruitiness of the lemongrass. The Glittering Wood Moss hovered around the base of the trees, providing some shelter for the violet-colored Scottish Primroses.

Instead of going directly to the castle, the driver veered off to the east to what appeared to be a guest house. Henley always imagined a guest house being small and cozy, like a cottage. This one was more like a mansion from the middle ages, except the updated design in the arched bay windows. It had two stories and an attic. The staff quickly escorted her to her the master bedroom. Within an hour, she was unpacked, showered, and taking a tour of the house. It was a little uncomfortable having people doing everything for her. Why on earth did an exchange student need servants?

One of the housekeepers handed her an invitation. Ye’ve been invited up to the castle for supper, miss, she said with a smile. Mr. McNeill-Douglas and the missus want ye to join them your first night here.

Henley was exhausted, but she mustered up the energy and enthusiasm to accept the invitation.

Henley joined Jackie and Phil in an informal dining room. A five course meal was served including Crostini with White Truffle Oil, Oysters Casine, Italian Mix Salad Greens with a homemade lemon vinaigrette, Baked Lobster Tails, and Asparagus with Poached Eggs and Shredded Parmesan. The dessert of a rich molten chocolate cake with black cherry sauce, was served with a dark north African coffee.

They were a very handsome couple, both tall and distinguished looking. Jackie looked elegant and regal with her blonde hair styled in a neat French twist. She wore a lovely set of Japanese pearls around her neck that were probably three hundred years old. Phil’s salt and pepper hair did not seem to age him. He looked years younger than a man in his sixties.

They wanted to hear about Henley and her educational plans. She wanted to know more about their ancestral home and their family. They proudly talked about their children and many of the sites and attractions in Scotland. Only the twins and Alec lived on the Dunforth property. Aidan lived in Aberdeen and Callum lived in London.

Riley joined them during dessert and coffee. Henley did not get to meet Alec or Ross because they were not home. She found Riley to be a very amicable, charming young woman about her age. Riley said that she would