The Harlot

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Dundee, 1715The first thing that Gregor Ramsay noticed about the harlot was her delectable buttocks. It was hard to avoid the sight, revealed as it was while she engaged in a ferocious catfight with another wench on the sawdust-strewn floor of a squalid Dundee inn. It was not, however, the sight of her attractive rump that made him consider her the ideal accomplice for his task. The notion came later on in the course of events, but the vision certainly caught his attention, forbidding him to walk away.Gregor had sought only a swift draft of ale, to begin with. The noise that emerged from the inn indicated trouble was afoot, and he almost turned away. But when he caught sight of that view—that perfectly rounded womanly cushion with its enticing cleft—he pressed on through the raucous crowd."Stand clear," someone shouted, as the two women rolled across the floor, intent on tearing viciously at one another, skirts flying, bodices torn, breasts all but completely bared to the onlookers.Coins were being passed to a man who stood on the far side, the crowd laying wagers on which woman would win. Meanwhile, on both sides of the challenge, insults were flying. The wench with the attractive arse seemed to relish the fight, taunting her opponent."Scrawny hoor," she accused, tossing back her unruly black hair. "A man likes a woman he can hold on to." She slapped her hip and chortled.The redhead hissed. She was much less to Gregor's liking.His attention kept roaming back to the raven-haired woman, who was determined to get her opponent on her back and keep her there. Once she had done that, she pinned the redhead down with the weight of her body, legs kicking. Then she rested her knees either side of the redhead's thighs, bent over her opponent and bit her shoulder. As she did, her skirt and petticoats flew up again. The sight of her bared thighs and bottom—as well as her plump mound and dewy cleft— brought another cheer from the onlookers. It was indeed an enticing sight, and it made Gregor wonder what it might be like to plow her furrow, to ease his cock into that alluring niche. One glance at the men gathered around the scene assured him that he was not alone in that thought. They gaped and lathered at the view."What is the quarrel about?" Gregor inquired of a nearby patron, a toothless man in a dirty shirt and torn breeches."Eliza," he said, nodding at the redhead, "accused Jessie—" he pointed at the raven-haired woman "—of luring a customer from her. Jessie, oh, she's a wild one." He lowered his voice. "They call her the Harlot of Dundee." He gave a significant nod and paused before he continued with his explanation. "She said she would fight Eliza for the man's custom.""The Harlot of Dundee," Gregor repeated. "And what has she done to deserve such a grand title?"The man chortled. "'Tis on account of her spirit. She's not one for just lying there and collecting the coin, if you understand my meaning."A spirited wench. How intriguing. Perhaps it was luck that had brought him to this particular establishment? Here by the harbor the inns were full to heaving, and he could easily have gone elsewhere. His trip to Dundee had been necessary in order to see off his ship, the Libertas, without him. A strange task and one he had not done before. The nature of the venture ahead and the absence of his familiar world made him tense, and ale was needed before he crossed the Tay back into Fife.Now he was glad he had paused, for the spectacle was most entertaining. The Harlot was fierce in her attack, with apparently no regard to her appearance. Straddling her victim's thighs, she locked one hand around her opponent's bared nipple, and with the other she poked and tickled her puss through her skirts, prodding at her between her thighs. Gesturing with her hand as if it were a cock, she moved her hips back and forth, a lewd reference to fucking the woman who she had on her back. She was sha