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Authors: Raven McAllan

Tags: #Erotic Romance Fiction

Secrets Dispelled

BOOK: Secrets Dispelled
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Table of Contents

Legal Page

Title Page

Book Description

Dedication

Trademarks Acknowledgment

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

New Excerpt

About the Author

Publisher Page

 

 

 

 

Secrets Dispelled

ISBN #
978-1-78651-025-9

©Copyright Raven McAllan 2016

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright April 2016

Edited by
Jennifer Douglas

Totally Bound Publishing

 

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

 

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

 

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

 

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

 

Published in 2016 by Totally Bound Publishing,
Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

 

Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

 

 

Warning:

 

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a
heat rating
of
Totally Sizzling
and a
Sexometer
of
1.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Diomhair

 

SECRETS DISPELLED

 

 

Raven McAllan

 

Book six in the Diomhair Series

Diomhair—Secret. What happens there stays there. Whether you want to learn or teach, be in control or controlled, Diomhair could be the place for you.

Nothing in life is easy.

Finn was a gamekeeper, not a sub…

Or so she thought.

Not only that, she had enough on her plate coping with a play-away boss and his sex life, missing sheep, and someone out to harm her.

As for a growing attraction for a man she hadn’t got time for?

There was no way she was going to examine, let alone act on, those feelings. She didn’t want a Dom, not even him. It was time to harden her heart.

Coll was a Dom, and he knew it. He also knew that given the chance, Finn would fly for him. Mind you, as she seemed to either threaten him with a shotgun or disappear whenever they met, he despaired that he would never get that chance.

However, when circumstances throw them together, it’s up to Coll to show Finn she’s a perfect sub, and he’s the Dom for her.

All the while keeping her safe from her enemies.

Not too much to ask, is it?

 

Dedication

 

 

To Jenny Douglas, a superb editor whom I will greatly miss.

All the best Jenny, in whatever you do.

Thank you for everything.

 

 

 

Trademarks Acknowledgment

 

 

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

 

Kindle: Amazon Inc.

Aga: AGA Rangemaster Limited

Google: Google Inc.

“Curiouser and curiouser”: Lewis Carroll

BMW: Bayerische Motoren Werk AG

 

Chapter One

 

 

 

Finula Baine sneezed and swore. Whoever said Scotland would be a better place to live and work than her homeland of Eire was wrong. Oh so very wrong.

Oh, the scenery was startlingly beautiful, lush and green. The loch waters deep and mysterious, the mountains high and majestic, and the glens tree-lined and full of secrets from the past. She often thought it was just as well she was pragmatic and not susceptible to flights of fancy, or she’d spend most of the time looking over her shoulder for kelpies and things that went bump in the night.

Not that she’d had a lot of time to assimilate the scenery or wonder about spirits of any kind. She’d arrived, worked around five weeks, then been called home to help her mum through her last months. Luckily her employers—her real employers not the waste of space who was her immediate boss—had held her job open for her, and here she was, almost a year down the line and one week into gainful employment once more.

And still cursing the waste of space, whom she’d deemed lacking before she left and had no reason to change her opinion about now she was back. The man who, no doubt, was at that precise moment in his warm bed with his girlfriend. While his wife was away with their children, and his sidekick—i.e. her—was standing in the sleet and rain and thinking dire thoughts.

Finn sneezed and flicked sleet off the end of her nose. What the hell were they doing with sleet and hail in August anyway? It was ridiculous. Oh, she knew the locals said one season’s frost didn’t finish until after the next seasons had begun, which was crazy, but sleet and hail? What next, a full-blown snowstorm? An earthquake or a volcano springing up in Loch Lomond?

She stamped her feet, amused at her fanciful thoughts, but not at her situation as she watched the icy droplets bounce up and dance around like dervishes whilst she cursed bosses, weather and sheep alike. What on earth was she doing looking for a dozen or so bloody sheep out of hundreds? Why didn’t she just wait out the storm in her cozy cottage with a cup of coffee and a good book?

Because I have a conscience.
And because she knew something was wrong, even if she had no tangible facts. Sheep might be stupid and get through so-called impregnable fences, but not to the extent they had been lately. As the quote went, something was rotten in the state of Denmark, or in this case, on the estate of Diomhair.

Last year pheasant poults had mysteriously disappeared and this year, just as she came back to work, it was sheep. Luckily for her, though not for the estate, the missing sheep had started to disappear before she returned. Finn was damned sure she wasn’t taking the blame for dirty goings-on. Hence she was standing in a sleet storm, sneezing and swearing about her boss, sheep and waterproof boots that weren’t, and unable to see more than three feet in front of her.

Finn sneezed again, cursed like a navvy and decided enough was enough. If someone were around and up to no good, she wouldn’t be able to see them anyway. She’d head home, have a warm bath and some soup, and if the weather cleared up, come out again before it got dark. If not? As it wasn’t something she’d ever mention to Donny her shit-faced boss, Finn couldn’t see why it would matter. Except to Finn and her conscience.

She swung onto the quad bike and after a few coughs and splutters, it roared into life. It seemed it liked sleet as little as she did. Of course there was a nice, shiny new bike in the shed at the farm, but according to the man himself, that was for Donny to use—if he ever decided to get off his butt, out of his bed and behave as a responsible adult should.

And that’s as likely as me winning the lotto
. She didn’t do the lotto.

Of course she could complain to Lachy, the head gamekeeper, about Donny, but really if she couldn’t pull up her big girl panties and sort it out herself, she shouldn’t be doing the job. Yes, Donny was an arsehole, but she’d dealt with them before, and would do again. If the sod ever reappeared.

The track was little more than a bog and even on her chosen form of transport, it was a difficult drive. The mud grabbed at the wheels as if they were its lifesaver and the bike slowed, slid and battled its way along slowly. By the time she reached the corner where the track met and crossed a slightly wider one, Finn was sweating under her waterproofs. She might be strong and fit, but the bike fought her every inch of the way. She shook her head and pursed her lips to blow yet another sleet droplet off the end of her nose. It was decision time.

The narrow track she had taken was a short cut to her cottage. However at the rate she was going, she could easily be bogged down. If she turned onto the wider track, it would take her past the castle where she could access the back drive of the estate, which was tarmac and easier to navigate. She could eventually reach her cottage that way. Longer, yes, but she was more likely to arrive in one piece.

It was a no brainer. She turned in the direction of the castle.

This track was a lot firmer. It was still slippery, true, but the muddy patches were only a few inches deep and she didn’t feel they were going to gobble her up and drag her down to be buried, never to be found until the spring.

Fanciful. I’m going to have to stop reading horror stories at night and remember I don’t believe in spooky stuff.

The castle loomed up out of the mist in front of her.

The Castle.

Diomhair, which was Gaelic for secret.

When she’d first started work on the estate, the name had intrigued her, so she’d Googled it. However apart from a few cryptic comments, any information was singularly lacking. Donny had mentioned it was used by weirdoes and told her if she clyped on him to Lachy or the high heid-yin—their overall boss, she assumed—he’d make sure she got her arse whipped there and they’d enjoy it. When she’d asked him what he meant and what she had to clype—inform—about, he’d gone red. Then muttered something along the lines of, ‘you’ll find out if you ever go there, the perverts,’ added, ‘bugger all to stitch me up with anyway’, and told her she was on pheasant watching duty during the nights.

The perverts and whipping caught her interest, but no one seemed to want to explain. Even Alexina, Lachy’s wife, had patted her shoulder, and told her she was a wee bitty young for thon goings-on. When Finn had asked her to clarify her statement, Alexina had blushed, said the castle was a private club and she was sure it wouldn’t suit Finn. And said again she was a wee bity too young for extremities.

That made Finn think of toes and fingers and she’d bitten back a giggle. A tiny article in the local paper, which she’d read on line when she was back in Ireland, had mentioned Diomhair and that the local forum for reform and rejuvenation or some such thing voted in favor of no action being taken over Diomhair. A private members club. Then with the help of her cousin Roisin, who was a lot more techno savvy than Finn, they’d found a tiny bit of information on the net which made her think the private members club just might have something to do with BDSM. That was enough for her to reach for her rabbit. She loved BDSM books and her Kindle was top-heavy with them.

BOOK: Secrets Dispelled
13Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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