Gather The Children (Chronicles of the Maca Book 2) by Mari Collier Page B

hear potatoes plopping into the hot grease and wished he was helping Martin.
    MacDonald released him and began to undress. “Take yere clothes off.”
    “The hell!”
    The next thing Lorenz knew his britches were down around his ankles, his shirt and hat removed, and his butt hit the ground. MacDonald yanked his boots off and pointed his finger at him.
    “Dinna move.” He then continued to disrobe.
    Lorenz sat with his knees up to his chin, once again thoroughly humiliated. He hoped like hell Martin and James hadn't been watching. He sensed MacDonald folding his clothes and was rudely raised from the ground by the hand under his arm.
    “This, laddie, tis called soap. Yere mither has spent long hours preparing it. If ye drop or lose this in the water, I twill consider it open rebellion. Do ye ken?” The bar was but three inches from his eyes.
    “Reckon,” he muttered sullenly while half looking at the man and stopped to gape. Never, never in his life had he seen such a build. The man was solid, corded muscle. Normally a man of such girth had flab for a stomach or was stocky fat: not MacDonald. He had rope cords for an abdominal wall, biceps ran into triceps, even the calves of his legs were hard, rolled muscle, and unlike most white men, the body was practically devoid of hair, even in the genital area. “My God, y'all ain't fat nowhere,” slumped out of his slackened jaw.
    “Thank ye, laddie.” The man's eyes twinkled in amusement. “Now 'tis time ye joined the ranks of civilization. Walk.” He pointed towards the river.
    Defiance snapped back into Lorenz's eyes. “The hell!”
    MacDonald's hand was on his shoulder again and he thought the better of saying more obscenities. He walked. When the water was up to his thighs, the pressure stopped. Once more the soap was held directly in front of his face, a faint whiff of lavender greeting his nose.
    “Now, ye are to wet yere hair and rub this into it and soap yere body. Remember what I said about the hours it took to make.”
    Lorenz remained standing. The huge hand went around his neck and a knee hit behind his. His face and upper torso were completely immersed and he was shaken like a rag flapping in the breeze He came up sputtering, water running from his long hair into his eyes and mouth.
    “Now, ye take the soap and begin at the top of yere head and finish with yere toes, or by Gar, I'll do it for ye, and nay too gently.”
    Lorenz did as he was ordered. He hoped the Rolfe's were all busy elsewhere and not watching his final humiliation. He thought seriously about pounding on Martin if there was so much as a snicker when they got back. He fought desperately to hold onto the soap. He figured MacDonald was just waiting for the chance to belt him again, and this time there would be an audience. He was about to hand the soap back when MacDonald checked him.
    “Ye have nay finished. Ye move the skin back like this,” he said as he demonstrated with his own dick. “Or ye twill nay be able to make bairns when ye are a man.”
    Lorenz gazed at him dumbfounded and wondered what the hell the man was talking about this time.
    MacDonald grinned. “Bairns are babies, wee ones. Wash.”
    Lorenz half-way choked, turned his back, and half did as he was told. He was afraid that MacDonald might carry out his threat to wash him personally, and he wasn't giving that Big Bastard any excuse to touch him. Stiffly he held the soap out.
    MacDonald extracted the soap. “Rinse off while I do myself.”
    Lorenz slipped into the river and dog paddled furiously. The water was warm and soft, and it floated away the soap on his body and part of his agitation. Could he out swim the man? For what? He was naked and weaponless. Did he have time to get back to the bank and unhobble a horse? Rolfe was already out of the water and had a rifle. Would the man shoot? Probably. He stopped and stood while the water swirled chest high. He saw MacDonald throw the soap up on the bank and slide easily