This is a fanfiction from the 1995 film Rob Roy. It is set after the events of the film and features the Marquis of Montrose, as requested by a guest user.

Some trivia for history fans. The real Montrose, James Graham was only 30 years old in 1713, which is the year the film is set. He was happily married to Christian Carnegie, with whom he had 10 children. His title was raised to a Duke in 1707, but in the film he still holds the rank of Marquis/Marquess.

John Hurt was around 55 when he portrayed Montrose, so I went along with this.

REUNION

“This is the spot is it?”

Montrose had been dreading this moment. “Yes. Over there.” He indicated an unmarked grave.

The hooded woman sighed. “Oh God. Where did I go wrong? I raised Archibald well…”

Montrose took a deep breath. “Do not reproach yourself.” He stood, stone-faced, with his arms behind his back, not displaying any visible sign of emotion.

“I sent him to you in the hope he might’ve become of good character. Lord knows, the trouble he caused back in London. His crimes were shocking. I had no idea. Folly indeed to hope he might redeem himself up here. I’m sorry for the wickedness he burdened you with.”

Montrose felt his lip quiver. The biting Scottish wind chilled one’s bones, and he was willing to return to his estate. “What’s done is done. There are those who are beyond help, no matter how many times the hand of righteousness is offered.” In truth, he was relieved that his murdering, bastard son was dead. It had solved all his problems, not least the feud with the MacGregors.

“Archibald was a bad seed…” Lady Cunningham paused, and started weeping. “But he was still OUR son!”

Montrose reluctantly extended his arm round the grieving woman. She immediately clung to him and buried her face in his chest, taking him by surprise.

“Come, my lady,” he said at last. “I feel the need of a cup of tea. With some awkwardness, he added, “you are most welcome to join me.”

They headed out of the graveyard and to where Montrose’s servant was waiting with their horses. Montrose stopped a moment and glanced back, wiping a single tear from his eye.

“Damn this wind,” he muttered to the servant. “It makes one’s eyes water.”

Montrose had never been more grateful to see a roaring fire. The young black servant boy entered and bowed. “Tea, my lord.”

“Ah, good.” Montrose replied, as the boy set the tray on the table. “You may leave us,” he said, gesturing with his hand. The boy stooped low in a second bow, before hurrying out of the room.

“Here,” Montrose said, offering Lady Cunningham a teacup and saucer.

“Thankyou,” she replied, sitting down opposite him. “I really should be making plans to return to London.”

“The journey back is a long and unforgiving one. You’re welcome to stay at my estate as long as you wish,” Montrose said. He wasn’t normally this accommodating, but given the circumstances, even his hardened heart had yielded a little.

After a while, they both relaxed and began to enjoy each other’s company. Inevitably, the Duke of Argyll cropped up in the conversation, and Montrose wasted no time in sticking the knife in.

“Argyll is drawn to the Jacobite cause in the same manner that flies are drawn to shite. I would still put bets on it.”

Lady Cunningham couldn’t resist a smile. “Oh James. Your wit hasn’t blunted over time, I see. I’m surprised you haven’t cut yourself with that tongue of yours.” She should have had nothing but contempt for this devious old lord, whom had taken her virginity all those years ago and got her pregnant. He’d scarpered back up to Scotland as soon as she’d announced she’d been with child, though he had sent her regular amounts of money over the years. And letters. That rogue charm of his was still there, and once again, she found herself drawn to him.

Montrose reclined slightly in his chair. “I have drawn blood on several occasions.” He replied. In the flickering firelight, he had the opportunity to observe Lady Cunningham once more. She’d been seventeen when he’d seduced her. He was nearly fifteen years her senior, and had been married at the time. She was young, beautiful and naïve. Now forty, the passing of time, several other pregnancies and the death of her husband had aged her, but to Montrose, she was still beautiful. Her pale blue eyes. Such lovely eyes. Archibald had inherited those. Which had been the only good thing about him.

“You’re looking well, Anne.” He blurted out.

“My my, James. Praise indeed. I was bracing myself for one of your caustic insults. There are days when I feel ancient.”

Montrose suddenly felt a blush creeping across his face. The ease at which she’d penetrated his unforgiving exterior, stunned him.

“Well, ancient or not, you’re ageing better than I am.” He glanced down at his long, bony hands. “Of course, I was never blessed with good looks to start with.”

She put down her teacup and stood up. “It wasn’t your looks that won me over the first time round.”

He straightened in his chair as she walked over to him. “My way with words?”

“Yes. Along with something else…”

Montrose raised an eyebrow. “Why my lady, whatever are you referring to?”

Lady Cunningham chuckled and sat in his lap. This time, he did not hesitate to put his arms round her.

“Do you remember how it was?” she whispered, playfully running a finger through the curls of his long wig.

“I remember everything,” he murmured, planting kisses along her neck and jawline. One of his hands slid round and inside her low-cut gown. Montrose cupped a breast, gently squeezing it, pinching the nipple. Lady Cunningham moaned at his sensual fondling. A powerful desire deep within Montrose began to stir also. He was pleasantly surprised at how painfully hard he quickly became, and his prick ached to be freed from his restrictive breeches.

Lady Cunningham’s lips met his and their kisses grew ever more Hot and demanding. Her hand slid under his long waistcoat and brushed his crotch. Even through the thick and heavy fabric, there was no hiding the bulge of his arousal.

“Oh James…” she said, rubbing it. He let out a moan. “Perhaps we could relocate to my bedchamber?”

“It’s too far. I cannot wait a moment longer,” she whispered back. She unbuttoned the lower buttons of his waistcoat and started on his breeches. Resigned to his fate, Montrose happily reclined in the chair.

“As you wish!”

Lady Cunningham wrapped her fingers around his prick and gently stroked it. “Emboldened more than ever,” She whispered.

“You all the time did have that effect on me, Anne.” Montrose answered, his voice trembling at the sensations from her fingers. “It’s been quite a while since it last saw any use.” He added. Montrose had been widowed for several years.

Lady Cunningham moved down between Montrose’s legs as he sat up slightly with a cushion behind his back. She took his cock in her hands and while she looked into his dark brown eyes, she began licking and sucking the thick shaft. On her knees so she could get the entire length in her mouth, one hand holding his balls gently. Soon her head was bobbing on Montrose’s prick, the shaft wet and glistening.

Montrose was in heaven; groaning in ecstasy as Lady Cunningham worked his member. The one thing he’d never been able to persuade his late Wife to do was to fellate him, and now he relished every second of this sweet pleasure.

“James, I have to convince myself to stop licking and sucking it, and fight the impulse to have you spend in my mouth.” Lady Cunningham said, as she stopped. “I want your problem in my quim.”

“God, you’re so gorgeous, Anne. I want you. Despite the risks…”

“Of fathering another bastard? Well that’s a risk I’m prepared to take.”

Without further hesitation, Montrose rose from the chair and led her over to his desk. He didn’t even bother to push his papers aside as he heaved her up on the oak surface, lifting up her dress and pushing her backwards. His tongue ran long, hard strokes up her inner thighs. He shoved her clothing up more, exposing her hairy mound to him. Lady Cunningham lifted a leg over his shoulder, giving him full access. He lapped her outer lips, tasting her tantalising wetness. What a quim! It was as divine as he remembered.

She gasped and curled her fingers in his wig when he slipped a finger inside her folds. Whilst his bony fingers worked their magic, he sucked on the nub at the top of her Sex. A low moan escaped Lady Cunningham’s lips. Montrose hurriedly cast off his heavy jacket and pushed his breeches down to his ankles. He grabbed her hips, his prick finding her waiting passage. Lady Cunningham wrapped her legs around his arse and pulled him into her.

Montrose filled her completely. His thrusts started soft and gentle, almost loving, but then his pace quickened. He kept an intense rhythm, hammering in and out of her, with the vigour of a much younger man. Lady Cunningham screamed as she climaxed, burying her face in his shoulder. Moments later he spent, filling her with his pearly issue.

Lady Cunningham sat up, feeling his seed leak from her as he slowly pulled out. Her hand fell to his deflating member, cupping him.

“If the offer still stands, James – I’d like to stay here at your estate for quite a while.”

He chuckled, and kissed her again. “Of course. I’m sure we can discover many innovative methods to pass the time…”