by Suz deMello
The next few days were uneventful, with Alice surprised by how rapidly they traveled. She’d not been mistaken about the physical toll, however. The strain of staying on Mary through the long days of riding exhausted her, and every evening she’d rub her sore ankle, roll up in blankets with Dugald then fall asleep immediately, awakening at dawn. After a swift breakfast of cold bannocks left over from the night before, they’d ride for another long day, stopping only when nightfall made safe travel impossible. The men would roast oatcakes and catch a fish or two or three for dinner, which would be washed down with cold, clean stream water.
She was warm and cozy, though. Lady Kilbirnie had made certain that Alice’s clothing was ample and clean. Plus the effort she expended staying on Mary was sheer physical exertion. But as the days passed, her ankle pained her less and her muscles became used to the long hours of riding. She now sat Mary with ease, tiring only toward the end of the day.
One gray morning Alice awakened alone and cold, her cocoon of blankets covered by a soft powdering of snow. “Dugald?”
Boots crunched on icy ground as he approached, fully dressed. A few yards away, the men were rising, busily rolling up blankets and seeing to their mounts.
“Mistress.” Dugald kneeled and kissed her cheek. His lips were as chill as the morning.
She touched her palm to his face. “Are you feeling all right?”
He picked her up and set her upright, her stockinged feet protected by the blanket. “Och, aye. Soon we’ll reach the keep of milaird’s ward, my nephew Edgar MacReiver. From there ‘tis less than a day to Kilburn. Home.”
The quiet joy in his voice warmed her more than his kiss, and she hugged him tight. He flung his plaidie over them both, creating a protective cocoon within which they could touch privately all they wished. Opportunities for intimacy had been scarce since they’d left Kilbirnie Castle and she welcomed his love. A place inside her, once opened, had become desperate to be filled as often as possible.
She wondered about that feeling. Before she’d met Dugald Kilburn, she’d come to see herself as on the shelf, loveless forever. A woman caught between two worlds and welcome in neither, she’d accepted her lot, seeking only survival and p’raps a little occasional comfort. Now she wanted everything any other woman desired and knew that through her husband she’d enjoy a comfortable home, meaningful work and, p’raps, children to cherish.
To say nothing of Dugald’s love.
Her husband was the source of all joy and she worshipped him. But what did he feel?
Her, it seemed. He cupped her uncorseted breasts beneath the thin chemise and thumbed the nipples, hard with cold and desire. Sliding her hands into his hair, she shoved her tongue into his mouth and sucked hard.
He jerked his head away. “Whisht!” He laughed. “What kind of wanton have I created?”
“Your wanton, husband.” She reached down and gave his cock a playful tweak. Even through his heavy trews, she could find his length with ease.
He promptly hardened. “I doonae ken how ye do that, even in the falling snow. He ought to be slumbering, but when around ye, the auld fellow seems to come alive again.”
Alice snorted. “Auld fellow, indeed.” She took the member in question in a firmer grip and undulated toward him, pressing her mound onto his hardening tool.
He wrapped his arms around her and flattened his palms onto her buttocks. Squeezing, he drew her closer until his cock hit the sweetest spot. She sighed with delight before kissing him again. Wonderful to take pleasure in her husband’s embrace, where she belonged forever.
She rubbed his rod up and down her bump until her body started to weaken. “Help me,” she breathed, and he did, holding her upright.
She nestled into his arms, confident he’d never let her fall, and she let herself relax and again focus on the glittering lights, the weakness in her limbs, the heat in her body until she came, limp in his arms, glowing.
After a few minutes, he let her down and she swayed unsteadily.
He smiled at her and said, “Kneel.”
Responding to the command in his voice, she obeyed, her knees protected from the frozen ground by the crumpled blankets still surrounding them. Then his trews dropped past his knees, and she was confronted by his erect length in her face.
“Wha-what do you want?”
“Kiss me.”
She made to stand, but his hands on her shoulders kept her in place, where he wanted her.
“Kiss me. Now.”
Alice eyed her husband’s length. What, exactly did he want? Her mind flashed back to her wedding night. Oh. That.
“Please.”
“Uh, how?”
“Any way ye wish, mistress. The way ye did it before was…verra nice.”
She looked up. He smiled down.
“Oh.” She eyed his cock again then leaned forward and set her lips atop the rounded head of his shaft, kissing it. What had she done before?
She couldn’t remember. That night had been so tumultuous—first she’d been handfasted, then they’d talked about the mysterious Elsbeth, his first wife. That had been distressing enough, to learn that he’d previously been married but had not bothered to tell her. She still did not know how she felt about that.
Then her husband had tied her hands behind her back, spanked her bottom to tingling and then explored inside her bum. Then she’d kissed his member, but couldn’t for the life of her recall what she’d done.
Withdrawing, she scrutinized his length, puzzled, then resolved to try her best, but two no different objects could be found than Dugald’s mouth and his cock. One was a cave and the other a pillar. But…
Opening her mouth, she took him inside her in the same way her cunny would accept his length. Her tongue seemed to be in the way and she didn’t know quite what she should do with it. She wiggled it this way and that and was rewarded by a deep sigh followed by a happy groan.
That was good, so she licked some more then gave him a good hard suck, the way she liked to treat his tongue. Today, Dugald’s cock was like a tasty roasted sausage, hot and thick in her mouth. Would it steam if she withdrew?
She tried that and yes, it steamed in the frosty air. She giggled.
“What is it, mo dòchas?”
“I was wondering if you were going to catch fire.”
“When ye suck on me, aye, I do feel as though I will flame like a torch. Please, donnae stop.” He wrapped one big hand in her hair, and tugging gently, he controlled her, urging her to take him again.
This time she sucked and nipped, then sucked some more. Curiously, his pleasure seemed to heighten hers. She reached one hand between her petticoat’s waistband and groped, lifting her chemise to find her quim hot and flowing.
She rubbed her bump while she continued to kiss and lick his rod. She’d learned that one climax could lead swiftly to another but was distracted by the task Dugald had set for her. Kissing his cock was something that required her entire attention, because it was so big it threatened to overwhelm her mouth. Try as she might, she couldn’t get the whole thing in comfortably. Instead she pulled her hand out of her petticoat and wrapped it around the base of his cock, above his cods, and squeezed.
A hearty shout was followed by thick spurts of his seed in her mouth and, as before, she swallowed it all.
He crouched next to her and she cradled his lolling head to her breast. He sighed. “Och, mo dòchas, I wish we could stay thus all day long.”
“But time’s fleeting. I understand you wish to get to your home.”
“Yer home too, lassie.” He cocked an eyebrow at her.
She swallowed. Truth to tell, she was becoming more and more nervous as they approached the Kilburn lands, where she’d have to meet her employers—who were also her new family. What if they did not like her? What if she did not like them?
She rose. Dugald wrapped the plaidie over her and she began to dress.
* * * * *
The men seemed to have relaxed because th
ey were so close to their destination, even stopping for a midday meal near a stream. They filled up on bannocks, with Dugald explaining, “This eve, we’ll rest at MacReiver Castle, and ‘tis less than a day from there to Kilburn. So we can finish the remainder of the provisions now.” He munched on the last bit of sausage the Kilbirnie cook had packed and reached for a flask of ale, one of their last.
Wrapped in her red cloak, her back against a tree stump, Alice picked at the remains of an oatcake. The rest of the men were scattered around the clearing, some lying in the thin, meager sunlight, so rare in early November. She closed her eyes, thinking, He’ll rouse me before we need to leave.
She awakened stiff, sore and cold. A slight mist had gathered, and the remains of the sunlight slanted through the trees at an angle that told her that a couple of hours had passed. She hauled herself to her feet. Around the tiny glade the Kilburns still slumbered on, which she found odd. Why had everyone slept so long? P’raps because they’d eaten so much, but she rarely napped despite the rigors of the trail. She was certain without asking that Murdo, Blain and Dugald hadn’t indulged in an afternoon nap since they were small.
Dugald… Where was he? She looked around. The light was dim, even green, oddly dark for midafternoon. Because of the fog? She had never seen the like— the shade of virulent green was nothing she’d ever seen outside one of her father’s chemistry experiments, when he’d create orbs of green light and peculiar liquids that formed crystals—but p’raps the sun in this part of Scotland glowed green in the afternoon.
A chill raced up her spine, lifting the tiny hairs at her nape. Something wasn’t right. The light wasn’t right. Their excessive sleepiness wasn’t right.
“Dugald?” She looked around again and saw him.
He was standing at the opposite side of the clearing amidst the strange lights, which wavered, coalesced, then broke apart into writhing figures that surrounded him.
“Dugald!” she screamed.
He didn’t turn, didn’t make any gesture that showed that he heard her.
She ran across the dell, stumbling over tree roots and once falling over a body—Archie’s. She rolled him over and saw that his mouth was partially open. He was mumbling incoherently, “Baobhan-sith, baobhan-sith.” A long tendril of drool escaped from the side of his mouth.
Bava what? She didn’t know, and babble wouldn’t help their predicament, for she had become certain that something terrible and dangerous was taking place.
She stood and, gripping her long skirts in a shaking hand, advanced upon Dugald and the mysterious green glows. The shifting lights resolved into women, white-faced women with red-rimmed mouths. Alice was reminded horribly of Malcolm and Blain with the street whore, and of Dugald’s manner of killing the Beans. Their mouths had been red-rimmed, also—rimmed with red blood.
The women surrounded Dugald. One seized his head and dragged it to one side, exposing the big artery. Alice was now close enough to see his pulse.
The creature bared its teeth—its shiny, white, sharp teeth. Two were pointed like fangs.
She…it…sank them into Dugald’s neck.
“Not my husband, you…you monster!” Alice sprang at the creature, grabbed it by its glowing green hair and hauled it off him. Dugald fell to the ground and rolled over, panting, black blood dripping from his neck.
The creature turned and laughed, the eerie cry unforgettable. It extended clawed fingertips toward Alice, reaching for her hair. She clenched her fist and socked it in the midsection.
Already surprised by her own ferocity, Alice was doubly stunned when her punch seemed to shatter its icy body. She gasped and shook her hand, which felt as though it had been plunged into a frozen stream.
The creature screamed, bent over like a broken twig. Alice gave it a firm shove toward the pool. It tumbled in, shrieking. As she watched, it seemed to dissipate as though the water had dissolved its icy core. A green stain spread over the pond’s clear water.
“Who’s next?” Alice advanced toward the rest of the strange creatures, which seemed to melt into the forest. She turned back to Dugald.
He was on his hands and knees, coughing.
“Are you all right?”
He shook his head, and she knelt to examine his throat. Whipping out her hanky, she wiped the dark, sticky substance off his neck then stared, astounded, at his unmarred flesh.
The jingle of a horse’s harness diverted her attention and she raised her head to see four horsemen entering the glade.
Her astonishment increased, for their leader possessed an unearthly beauty. As his gray paced through a shaft of sunlight, his hair gleamed golden, even formed a halo. His eyes were as pure a blue as the summer sky, deep and soulful, and he had the most beautiful face Alice had ever beheld. Was he also a fae creature and a threat?
Dugald looked up. “Milaird Edgar, are you aware that your lands harbor a tribe of baobhan-sith?”
Alice relaxed. The golden-haired man was Edgar, Laird MacReiver, her husband’s foster-nephew.
He shook his head. “Sir, that cannot be the case, as no such fae creatures exist.”
“I saw them,” Alice said. “And they were…very odd. I do not know if they were fae, but they were quite peculiar.” She rubbed her chilled hand on her skirt.
“Milaird Edgar doesnae believe in anything he cannae see, hear or touch.” Dugald stood and brushed off his trews. He seemed quite unharmed. Around the clearing, the Kilburns were rousing themselves, greeting their friends—for the other mounted fellows seemed to be comrades—and seeing to their horses.
“Very wise, sir,” Alice told the MacReiver. “But I assure you, some unnatural creatures attacked us but a few moments ago.”
He dismounted and stretched, his open jacket exposing an immaculate, well-cut shirt that showed off his muscular torso. Alice averted her eyes. She wasn’t attracted to any man but her husband, but the laird’s otherworldly beauty fascinated her. She did not want to give an incorrect impression.
But he’d come closer, and she couldn’t avoid looking into his face. To avoid his gaze would be discourteous. Mother of mercy, those eyes. For a young man, he radiated unusual maturity.
“Mistress, this be Edgar MacReiver, the laird of these lands. And a good friend to the Kilburns. As ye know, he fostered with us. Milaird, my wife, Alice Derwent Kilburn.”
Laird MacReiver’s blue eyes widened.
“Milaird.” Alice bent her head and curtseyed as best she could.
The laird recovered his poise. “Mistress Alice, a pleasant surprise. You are most welcome. Come and stay overnight with us. We will talk of the fae and strange creatures you no doubt met on the road, for our Dugald is forever getting into scrapes.” He quirked a brow at Dugald.
Dugald raised his hands. “Isnae my fault! Ever!”
Laird Edgar laughed and extended a hand to Alice. “Where is your mount?”
Chapter Ten
Castle MacReiver consisted of a keep set on a slight hill and surrounded by a walled bailey, much of which looked like relatively new construction. The MacReiver men efficiently stabled their mounts while Laird Edgar led their party into the castle through great wooden double doors hinged with beautifully wrought iron. “Your usual room awaits you, sir,” he told Dugald.
Dugald nodded, smiling. Alice gathered that not only were the MacReivers and the Kilburns amicable neighbors, but a special bond existed between Dugald and the young laird.
She followed Dugald through an entrance hall and then up wide, stone steps to a circular room featuring several doorways, also wooden and latched with wrought iron. After entering one of the rooms, he flung himself down on the canopied bed and opened his arms. “Come, wife.”
She went, but found herself stiff in his embrace. After a few fruitless kisses, he raised his head and asked, “What?” He hauled her on top of him, her legs on either side of his torso.
She stared into his calm black eyes. “You know what.”
He sighed and crossed h
is arms behind his head resting on the pillow. “The baobhan-sith.”
“Ba-van-shee.” She tried the Gaelic with hesitance. “Banshee.”
“Aye.”
“I had been told that the banshees are old witches whose presence means someone will die.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “There are many legends about the fae creatures that live in the Highlands. Disregard what Laird Edgar said. He has much knowledge and good sense but lacks the experiences age will provide.”
“I know they exist. I saw them myself. I even hit one and shoved it into the stream.”
“Did ye now? I’m verra proud of ye, wife.” He tried to kiss her again.
She refused to be distracted. “You should be more than proud. That thing was drinking your blood. ‘Twas disgusting…grotesque. But what are they?”
He lay back again with a grunt. “They are fae creatures that live off the blood of the unwary. They prefer men.”
“They seemed to prefer you.”
“Mayhap.” His eyes shifted and he seemed to be gazing beyond her into the shadows lingering in the room’s corners.
“They weren’t attacking anyone else. The others seemed to be in a, uh, stupor.”
“I cannae say why.” He sounded evasive.
Alice scrutinized her husband. “Perhaps it’s the nature of your blood. ‘Twas—is—black.” She reached into her sleeve and took out her hanky, which was still stained with a dark, viscous substance. On closer examination, the blood seemed to be a very deep red, not black.
He took it, frowning, then looked into her face. In no mood to be placated, she gave back a hard stare. She wanted the truth.
He sighed. “Ye have noticed, I trow, that we Kilburns are not exactly the same as others.”