A Knight to Remember

A Knight to Remember

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 horse to a walk just inside the outer bailey. The castle loomed dark and mysterious before him. Dismounting, he tethered the horse to a nearby bush. From this point on, he would have to travel by foot.

After a few minutes, he found the hidden 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 nineteen stones up and forty stones over. Pressing hard, he heard more than felt, a section give way. Saints bless whichever old laird who'd constructed these secret passageways!

Coming to the door at the end, he swung it open. Then he 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 hidden 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 women 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 hidden from the prying eyes of the others at court. She was English, he was Scots, and 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 hook her leg and 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 was hot on her slit; his tongue like liquid silk on her skin. He darted his tongue out and touched her clit. She flinched at the sudden contact. He stroked it in small, slow circles, increasing the pressure ever so slightly 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 sucked 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 mound 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, he pushed her shift up 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 sucking on the nipple with a fast rhythm. It was torture. And it was bliss.

When he felt he'd given her breasts enough attention, he slowly stood and lifted 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 horse 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 glazed 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 himself 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 big he was and 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 drawing 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 straight, 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 slick 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 erupted 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 three times 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, Lenora knew Iain was gone before she even opened her eyes. She sat up lazily and surveyed the room. By Jove's holy rood she was sore! 

Not a trace was left that anyone other than her, or her maid Enrica, had been there... except for a single red 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 ten 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 young 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 young 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 father 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 young Lady Fiona was one.

She got up and started pacing now. Her hurt 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 father or Lord Magnus and confess that he has ruined me and insist on marriage. My father 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 girl 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 old 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.

Cameron motioned Lenora inside with a wave of a gnarled hand and bade her sit in a chair in front of the fire. The old woman, who looked as if she'd seen ninety winters, leaned on a cane and listened while Lenora spilled out the whole story.

"So, lassie. Yer wantin revenge 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.

Lenora  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."

Cameron 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, and pulled a white powder from it to sprinkle in the circle. 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 old woman scooped up some of the gold powder, deposited it into a different pouch and closed the drawstring.

Cameron placed placed the pouch in Lenora's hand. "Now, listen closely lassie cause ye get no second chance...."

---

Lenora 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 and refrained from licking her lips. It felt tingly, but the old 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 breasts 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's assistance, she struggled out of her clothing and left it piled on the floor, while 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.

Lenora pulled out a golden-colored realistic-looking 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, sculpted shaft as she blew out the candle and slid naked between the crisp sheets.

The End

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