This is my own work and creation so I am invoking all
the usual copyright mumbo-jumbo on it. Feedback is greatly
appreciated and you can mail me at:
femNOSPACEecrivain at netdot dot com
or use the handy form on my website: http://www.asstr.org/~Souvie
WARNING: Part(s) of this may squick those of the male persuasion
(and possibly a few females). I'm just letting you know so you can
exercise caution.
"A Knight to Remember"
by Souvie
copyright 1999
The knight rode swiftly through the dark Scottish highlands. He
didn't care that he was gambling with fate; he would see his
'heartling' and not even the fabled creature that dwelled in the
loch could keep him from her.
He slowed the to a walk just inside the outer bailey. The
castle loomed dark and mysterious before him. Dismounting, he
tethered the to a nearby bush. From this point on, he would
have to travel by foot.
After a few minutes, he found the gate just where she'd
said it would be. Mercifully it swung inward with only the barest
of creaks. He had no time to stop and admire the profusion of
flowers in the garden within; time was of the essence. Feeling
along the castle wall, he counted 19 stones up and 40 stones
over. Pressing hard, he heard more than felt, a section give way.
Saints bless whichever laird who'd constructed these secret
passageways!
Coming to the door at the end, he swung it open, and stood there
staring across the room, his breath catching in his throat. She
was seated on a stool before the hearth, brushing her hair. Clad
only in a linen shift, the light illuminated her from behind,
showing the curves beneath. She continued brushing,
oblivious to his presence in her chamber.
She was as beautiful as the first time he'd seen her. It was
almost a month ago, and he had come with others of his rank, to
swear fealty to Lord Magnus. She was sitting at the high table,
a vision in white. One of seven who had been sent to
Magnus' household to be fostered, she was the youngest, and by
far the prettiest.
After the oaths of fealty were given and the banquet had started,
he'd managed to arrange an introduction to her. From the
slight blush on her cheeks to the demure fluttering of her long
lashes, he had known he would have to woo her gently. But he was
convinced it would be worth it.
Over the next couple of days, he'd pursued her with the same
determination that had served him so well on the battlefield.
Flowers, poetry, bolts of cloth - he'd showered her with gifts,
but careful, always careful, to keep his intentions from
the prying eyes of the others at court. She was English, he was
Scots; he had no illusions that her father, or even Lord
Magnus, would welcome a suit by him.
They'd made love for the first time only three days after their
first introduction. She had stolen away from the solar and gone
for a swim in a secluded pond. She'd been shy and hesitant at
first, as he'd known she would be, but in no time at all, her
moans had echoed through the glade, mingling with his huskier
grunts of satisfaction.
They had managed to steal time together, only once after that.
the new squires. An errand to a neighboring lord had kept him
away for the past two weeks. His mission complete, he'd hurried
back to her, posthaste.
Quitting his musings, he crept forward on silent feet. He slipped
up behind her and reaching around, covered her mouth with his
palm. Before she could call out or try to bite him, he leaned
down and breathed in her ear, "Do nae make a sound, sweetling."
As recognition took hold of her, she relaxed and spun around to
face him. A look of disbelief spread over her face. "But what are
you doing here? It's too dangerous..."
He shook his head and pressed a finger against her lips to quiet
her. "Still do nae listen do ya? Ya should know that there is
nothing that would keep me away from ya." His heated gaze raked
her body and made her feel as if she were already naked. "Has it
really been a sennight since I last saw ya? It seems like
forever."
He drew her close, pulling her fully against him, and lowered his
lips to her. He loved kissing. Was quite good at it, or so he'd
been told. And Lenora was receiving the full benefit of his
years of practice. His tongue slipped past her teeth and plunged
gently in and out of her willing mouth. One minute teasing and
gentle, the next rough and fierce.
She thought that nothing could surpass this...this liquid heat
that was seeping through her, languidly, from head to feet. She
had missed this; missed him with all her being. Only he could
make her body purr like cook's fat tabby cat, Flourmill.
Tearing his lips from hers, he seated himself on her stool and
bunched her shift in one hand. Raising it to her waist, he used
his other hand to pull her closer. He looked up at her, his mouth
just inches from the juncture of her thighs. At the erotic image,
she closed her eyes. He placed tiny kisses on the inside of her
thighs; first one, then the other. When his tongue moved to her
hidden lips, she gripped his shoulders as her knees went weak.
He licked up one side, then down the other. Oh so slow and
methodical. Maddeningly slow. She thought she'd burst into
flames. His free hand came around her waist to hold her to him,
his breath hot on her slit; his tongue like liquid silk on her
skin. His tongue darted out and touched her clit. She flinched at
the sudden contact. He stroked it in small, slow circles,
increasing the pressure ever so slightly with each time around.
He could feel her muscles starting to quiver, and he grinned in
satisfaction.
With his face, he nudged her legs farther apart. Holding her
swollen nub gently between his lips, he tenderly and
pressed his tongue against it. Her soft mewling sounds of
pleasure only increased his desire and made him want her more, if
that was humanly possible.
Moving his arm from around her waist, he took his hand and
inserted two fingers into her warm, moist slit. He established a
steady rhythm in counterpoint to the motions of his tongue.
She gripped his shoulders so hard, she knew he'd have bruises in
the morning. She was past caring; that familiar fire was crawling
throughout her body, centering, swirling...preparing to sweep her
away.
When he felt she was on the edge, and about ready to tumble over,
he stopped. Withdrawing his fingers he gave one last kiss to her
swollen and slick clit and looked lazily up at her. Her eyes were
still closed and he could tell she was trying hard not to show
her disappointment. He was a tease. She knew it and loved it. Her
feign of displeasure was just for show. Oh the power he had over
her!
Slowly rising and kissing his way languorously up her body, past
her navel and to her rosy-tipped breasts, he suckled and kneaded
first one, then the other. They were a bit on the small size, but
fit in his hands as if they were made just for him. He focused
his attention on the peaks, alternately licking the tip with his
tongue and on the nipple with a fast rhythm. It was
torture. And it was bliss.
When he felt he'd given her enough attention, he slowly
stood up the rest of the way, her shift up and over her
head. Tossing it to the floor he traced the outline of her lips
with a finger. She bit him playfully and he groaned. Dipping his
head he kissed her again, letting her taste herself on him. He
knew that was another thing she loved. Truthfully there wasn't
much he didn't know about her - without her ever saying a word.
It was uncanny and one of the things that drew her to him in the
first place. His incredible good looks were another.
He broke the kiss and stood before her while he undressed. He'd
left his armor with his so as to make as little noise as
possible, but brought his sword. A knight, a good one, never went
anywhere without it. Giving her just enough time to run her eyes
up and down his naked frame, he took her hand and led her to the
bed. When she would have climbed in, he stopped her. She looked
at him quizzically but he just grinned. Turning her to face the
bed, he instructed her in a low voice to place her hands on the
bed. Just her hands.
Understanding dawned in her golden eyes and they clouded over
with the thought of what he was about to do. She bent over and
placed her hands atop the coverlet. Nudging her feet a bit
further apart, he positioned himself behind her.
Placing his hands low on her hips, he angled his hips forward and
placed his cock at the opening of her lips. He rubbed it up and
down and in circles, teasing her again. She growled low in her
throat and he chuckled. He rubbed against her clit and the growl
turned into a moan. She was so slick and wet for him. Just for
him.
Without warning, he plunged into her. She gasped. She always
forgot how huge he was; how much he filled her. Her body
accustomed itself to the intrusion and stretched to accommodate
him.
Tonight there was nothing slow or gentle about his lovemaking. He
pounded into her, over and over again, varying the rhythm, but
keeping up the intensity. He wanted to possess her; show her who
was master. After this night, there would be no more doubt in her
mind.
Her breathing increased and her hips started moving backwards to
meet his thrusts. He leaned forward and one hand squeezed a
breast while the other one slipped around and found her clit.
Without breaking stride, he rubbed that swollen nub in fast
circles. Counterclockwise for a little, then clockwise. Building
up the pleasure inside of her - and himself.
"Ohhhhhhhh...." she moaned again, and rotated her hips.
Nudging her legs even further apart, he drawled, "That's it,
love. Yer mine, and I'll never let ya forget it."
Shuddering as his lips blazed a trail of kisses up her spine, she
could feel herself edging ever closer to that dark precipice. She
closed her eyes and ran her tongue over parched lips.
He could feel her muscles start to contract. She threw her head
back and he whispered in her ear, "Give it to me. Let yerself go
'mo cridhe'. Now!" His balls were tightening and up. He
was breathing like he'd just run from Edinburgh to London. He
intertwined his hands in the fine, burnished-brown hair cascading
over her shoulders. She gripped the covers in her fists and her
head fell forward as she felt the first of cascading orgasms
overtake her. Back bowed and her knees locked, she bit her lip to
keep from screaming out with the force of her release.
With a groan through gritted teeth, he pushed himself faster in
and out of her tight passage. Her spasms became more fierce and
the clenching and unclenching of her powerful muscles was his
undoing. His erection grew and throbbed and he came with such
force he wanted to throw his head back and howl with the sheer
elation of the feelings that bombarded him. His seed shot into
her over and over as his strokes grew shorter and calmer and his
breathing finally slowed.
Sweat coated them both and Lenora didn't think she could form a
coherent sentence even if she wanted to. Glancing over her
shoulder, Iain looked as spent as she did. His dark brown hair
was plastered to his head and was so wet, it gleamed pure black
in the firelight. Her eyes caught his and he leaned forward to
kiss her tenderly.
Slipping reluctantly out of her, he pulled the covers back and
climbed in the bed with her. Tucking her close beside him he
kissed the top of her head and stroked the hair back from her
flushed face. The fire had long died out by the time her
breathing grew even and steady, and he knew she was asleep.
***
Rising the next morning, she knew he was gone before she even
opened her eyes. Sitting up lazily (By Jove's holy rood she was
sore!), she surveyed the room. Not a trace was left that anyone
other than her, or her maid Enrica, had been there...except for a
single rose lying on the pillow beside her. She picked it up
and rubbed the downy soft petals against her cheek. Humming a
sprightly tune, she bounded from the bed, certain that nothing
could mar her happiness.
***
"M'lady, I must needs speak with you."
Lenora looked quizzically at her maid, but motioned her inside
the chamber and shut the door soundly behind her. "What is it,
Enrica?" The woman had been with her for 10 years and she'd
never known her to be so nervous or speak so forthrightly.
"The knight, m'lady, the one ye've been seeing on the sly. I
know ye think ye've been cautious but well...I notice things.
I'm yer maid so I'm supposed to."
Now Lenora really was uneasy. "Hurry on with it!"
"He...he's betrothed to another!" She flinched as if the words
had caused her physical pain.
"He loves me! He promised to marry me!" Her hand flew to her
mouth and she shook her head in denial. "You lie!"
"Nay, lady! I was fetching linens and overheard Lord Magnus
talking to him. Iain is betrothed to Lady Fiona. 'E has been for
some time now, from wot I heard." She tried to keep the pitying
look out of her eyes. She'd been a lady's-maid for twenty years
and she had seen just about everything, so she liked to think.
She could tell her mistress that she wasn't the first lady
to be taken in by a handsome face and kind words, but from the
tears welling up in Lenora's eyes, she knew now was not the time
for a lecture. She wrapped the woman in her arms and
rocked her as her tears flowed freely.
Once her tears were spent, she sat up and wiped a hand across her
face. She spoke to herself, outloud. "I've seen Lady Fiona. A
bit horsey-faced I always thought, but she's an only child and
her dowry is twice as large as mine. Plus, she's not 'English'."
She said the last with a slight bite in her voice. She resented
her sending her to a Scottish household to be fostered,
but he was a border Lord and in the interest of peace, he'd
deemed it necessary. She had tried to get along with the other
ladies in Lord Magnus and Lady Shea's household, but some had
never thawed in their hatred of her; the Fiona was one.
She got up and started pacing now. Her had subsided and
anger had replaced it. "He can't do this to me! No, he can't! He
knows I cannot go to my or Lord Magnus and confess that he
has ruined me and insist on marriage. My would sooner
lock me away in some convent than see me wed to a Scotsman, even
if he did compromise me." She stomped her foot in vexation. "But
I can't just let him get away free! It's not fair that he marry
that trollop after dallying with me; making promises to me;
declarations of love!"
Enrica watched her mistress pace and mutter to herself. She was
glad to see the had spirit. Got that from her mum. "Umm,
m'lady?"
Lenora turned and looked at. She'd probably forgotten the maid
was even there.
"If ye are serious 'bout wantin to see Sir Iain get wots his,
well...I may know a lady can help."
"Go on."
"The widow Cameron, she's the lady wot lives in the woods at
the edge of Lord Magnus's property. 'Tis rumored in the village
that she consorts with the devil and that she can make things
'appen. Bad things."
Lenora's eyes glinted with determination. "Fetch my cloak,
Enrica."
***
The Widow Cameron's house wasn't so much a house, as a shack. She
motioned Lenora inside with a wave of a gnarled hand and bade her
sit in a chair in front of the fire. The woman, who looked
as if she'd seen 90 winters, leaned on a cane and listened while
Lenora spilled out the whole story.
"So, lassie, yer wantin on yer handsome buck, eh?" She
moved as she spoke and drew a circle in the dirt floor with her
cane.
"Yes, ma'am." She nodded her head, firm in her resolve. She
reached into the folds of her cloak and drew out a cloth. When
she unfolded it, a necklace of gold and emeralds winked back at
her. She held out her hand; the woman took the payment and
pocketed it.
"Verrah well." She picked up a knife off a nearby shelf
and in a move that caused Lenora's heart to skip a beat, chopped
off a lock of the girl's hair. She dropped it in the center of
the circle and spat on it. She instructed Lenora to spit on it
as well. Next she took a bag that was hanging around her waist,
pulled a white powder from it and sprinkled it in the circle,
also. She slowly knelt beside the circle and used a bony finger
to mix the spittle, hair and powder together. Lenora could hear
her muttering under her breath but the words were so low and
spoken so quickly there was no hope of understanding her.
Lenora watched in fascination as the white powder gradually began
to sparkle and turn a dusky gold color. The woman scooped up
some of the gold powder, deposited it into a different pouch and
closed the drawstring. She placed in it in her hand. "Now,
listen closely lassie cause ye get no second chance...."
***
She arranged to meet him in the glade that night, beside the
pool, the scene of their first coupling. She smiled at the irony
of it. She pulled the pouch out of the top of her garter and
dipping a finger into the powder, rubbed her finger around her
lips, coating them with the gold color. She secured the pouch
back and refrained from licking her lips. It felt tingly, but
the woman had said that might happen. Remembering the rest
of the woman's instructions, she allowed herself a small chuckle
which she quickly smothered as she saw Iain entering the
clearing. He was as handsome and virile as she remembered and
she fought to remind herself of his perfidy.
"I've missed ya, my sweetling," he said. He dropped his cloak on
the ground and moved as if to gather her for a kiss.
She danced out of his reach and shook her head playfully. "I
have a treat for you tonight, my love."
"Oh?" He raised his eyebrows and leered at her. "What did ya
have in mind?"
She took measured steps up to him, until her barely
touched his chest. She smiled up at him and he only had a moment
to wonder about the gold glittering on her lips before she was
kneeling in front of him, her head disappearing under his kilt.
Minutes later, his legs tensed and his cry refrained through the
woods.
***
"They say he was afflicted with the pox..."
"I heard that she rejected him..."
"Nay, he was the one that rejected her. Struck with grief and
sent home, she was..."
"Either way, he certainly disappeared quick enough, didn't he?"
Lenora smiled smugly as she caught snippets of the conversation,
centered around the abrupt departure of Sir Iain. When she
reached the stairs, she ran up to her room and shut and barred
the door behind her. She collapsed against it in a fit of
giggles. Let them think whatever they wanted to. *She* knew the
real reason Sir Iain had left so suddenly during the night.
Without waiting for Enrica, she struggled out of her clothing,
keeping up a running monologue. "Oh yes, my darling, Iain.
You had to run, didn't you? Your darling Fiona wouldn't have
you after I finished with you. I made sure no woman will ever
again reap the rewards of your viperous tongue."
She crossed to the bed and slid her hand under the pillow. She
pulled out a golden colored phallus and stroked it lovingly. "As
a matter of fact, I will be only woman that will enjoy your
'endowments' ever again." Moonlight streamed through the high
window and sparkled off the lustrous member as she blew out the
candle and slid between the crisp sheets.
THE END...
***Copyright 1999 by Souvie
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