I stumbled and thought feverishly before I was capable of an answer. "Old Edwin, my mentor in the Guard, used to say that all noble and married women made a sport of cheating on their husbands. It would be the custom. So cheat on your husband with me!"
"You would tolerate my sleeping with another man?" Isabelle was surprised.
"If I have the choice of never seeing you again or only being able to call on you in bed from time to time, I choose the second option."
Isabelle's gaze became soft and tender. She lifted her blanket and spoke very softly. "You are so sweet. Come here, mon jeunot! I won't resist any more. Go on, however!"
As we stripped off our linen shirts, I asked her softly, "Does this mean I can accompany you to France - as your humble servant?"
Isabelle groped for my rock-hard prick and brought it into position. "Yes, it does," she gasped as I plunged between her wide-open thighs. "Oh God, George!" she cooed cautiously. "What you've grown in the last few years!"
Our mouths met in a kiss as our bellies touched. At last there was no longer an invisible barrier between us. My beautiful countess gave herself to me completely and no longer tried to maintain control. We had to slow down endlessly as the bed creaked treacherously with every movement and we didn't want to wake old John. However, this stalling only fuelled my arousal all the more and almost made me slip into ecstatic delirium. I had everything I wanted in the world right here in my arms. I was literally in the seventh heaven and prayed that this moment would never end. Finally, after I had poured myself on her belly - being the man of honour that I was - we lay together for a long time, unable to keep our hands off each other. Again and again I kissed my great love and swore eternal fidelity to her.
Chapter 25
"My bottom still hurts," Isabelle whined the next day as our carriage rumbled down the bad road, her face contorted in agony.
"I can well imagine," Jean-Loup chuckled from beside us. "I feel the same way, if you know what I mean."
"My bottom hurts too," Jean-Joel now chuckled.
"And mine too," Natheniel now joined in the conversation, provoking a general laugh on our bench.
"I'd like to know what's so funny about that," the Puritan became incensed and glared at us. "I have to put up with you for two more days, then there's an end to the silly anecdotes from the tailors' guild. No one can stand that."
Jean-Loup, who felt personally attacked, immediately countered: "Well, we want to remain polite! If you're not interested in our exciting stories, just don't listen! Master Ingram and young George are all the more interested. Am I not right?"
Isabelle and I nodded in sync.
The day dragged on agonisingly. I kept nodding off and when I was awake I would talk to good John and tell him what had happened to me over the years. Time and again the old man would comment on my tales with remarks like, "yes, yes, this damned weather," "yes, yes, these damned Musketeers," or "yes, yes, this damned clover." Every time he uttered the word 'damned', the Puritans glowered at him crossly, but without interfering. Either they had respect for John's age or had given up trying to lecture us.
In the evening we reached Canterbury. As it was market day in this old and traditional city, all the guesthouses were overcrowded. So we had to spend the night in a barn. But my wild fantasies of hot love in the straw were shattered when I realised that the barn was also hopelessly overcrowded and we had to sleep close together with the Puritans and other guests. The night turned out to be difficult and uncomfortable. I could only dream of Isabelle.
Early the next day we left for the southeast. Dover was only a day's journey away. You could already smell the refreshing scent of the sea. The road soon became much more comfortable. The horses set a good pace and the landscape flew by. We had already run out of things to talk about, which is why we mostly kept quiet during this day of travelling. But then we had a change of pace that I would have liked to do without. Two black shadows flitted past our cabin. Loud shouts were heard, then the carriage slowed and slowed and finally stopped.
"Jesus Christ, protect us!", Esther immediately offered a shouted prayer. "I hope they're not bandits."
"If they are, I'm prepared," Jean-Loup reassured her. "I may be a peace-loving person, but when it comes to my purse, the fun stops." With that, he showed us a small wheellock pistol he kept concealed under his coat. The Frenchman was always good for a surprise.
"Please get out!" came voices from outside. "Don't worry, you won't be robbed. This is just an inspection."
I felt sick to my stomach and Isabelle seemed to feel the same, as her face had gone pale. But what could we do but comply with the request? So we left the uncomfortable cabin and found ourselves face to face with two riders dressed in black, whose travelling clothes seemed elaborate and noble despite the dust. Handguns were stuck to the saddles of their black horses. They leapt from their horses, their hands on their rapiers, as duelists were wont to do. Tension was in the air.
"We will not trouble you long. We are on a mission from His Majesty."
To prove it, he strode past us, who were standing in a row, and presented a gold signet ring with the Stuart coat of arms. As he did so, he eyed us critically from top to bottom. I was not at all comfortable with the penetrating stares.
"Secret police," Jean-Loup whispered to me. "They are under the direct command of the King and are usually on the lookout for high traitors."
"We are looking for a Lady who intends to leave the country unnoticed," one of the men now spoke in a dark, unpleasant voice. "Lady Isabelle de Morante. Did she possibly travel with you? Black curly hair, pale skin. Did you perhaps see her at one of your stopovers?"
Natheniel spoke up. "The only ladies we have seen lately are these French cloth cutters here in their feminine robes. But none of them answers to the name Isabelle."
One of the black-clad chuckled softly at the joke, while the other had less humour. "Watch your tongue, Puritan. Or I'll cut it off! We are King's men and will not be made a laughing stock of. So, does my description ring a bell in your memory or not? It may well be that she has disguised herself and is travelling under a false name." With that, he walked down our row again, examining each passenger closely. He stopped a little longer with me and eyed me critically. "You look like you know something, boy. Come on, speak up!"
My heart was beating up to my throat. What could, what should I do? Drawing my rapier bare was perhaps not the worst idea, but I was also aware that the two men were certainly excellent fencers.
At that moment, one of the horses neighed loudly and the carriage started to move. All attention followed the spectacle. I heard the coachman call out. "The horse was just frightened by an adder." Then the carriage came to a halt. The secret policeman turned back to our group and seemed to wonder where he had just stopped. His gaze lingered on me again, then he muttered more to himself, "Oh, what would the brat know? What a waste of time." He looked at Isabelle, who wore her hat low on her forehead. "Look at me!" he demanded. The moment of truth had come. Slowly, Isabelle looked up. A closer look would immediately reveal the painted beard. So I got ready. My hand slid to the hilt of my rapier. For the first time since France, I would fight again. I sent a quick prayer to heaven, then my muscles tensed. At that moment, Isabelle beside me let out a violent belch and immediately remarked in a believably deep voice: "'Scuse me, men! I guess my morning ale was bad." At this, she scratched her imaginary balls in a less than charming manner.
Disgusted, the black-clad man turned away, gave the merchants and Puritans a derogatory look and finally said to his mate: "Let's ride on! Directly at Dover we may yet have luck, if she is at all looking for the quick passage to France."
The other man nodded his agreement and a little later only a cloud of dust could be seen where the two creepy figures had disappeared.
"Can we finally move on?" asked Isaac, annoyed, of the coachman. "We are expected in Dover."
***
As the sun disappeared on the horizon, we final
ly reached the port city that had always been considered the gateway to the continent. Under the Tudor rulers, who had been in constant fear of invasion, the city's fortifications had grown. The mighty Dover Castle perched on a hill above the city and was surrounded by a massive wall that nipped any thought of a siege in the bud. The town centre at its feet still consisted mostly of old half-timbered houses, winding alleys and streets.
We reached an inn called 'The Flying Clam' where we said goodbye to our coachman. Isabelle pressed another tip into his hand, then we stopped in to fill our hungry stomachs. The stockfish tasted excellent and the ale quickly went to the heads of our Puritan friends, for Isaac was soon bellowing throughout the taproom, "Damn England! Damn that King! Let him go to hell, that fart on a throne!"
Isabelle looked at me and made a placating gesture. The secret police had put me off too, but insulting the King so publicly went right against the grain. What did it say about me if I tolerated such behaviour?
I rose and approached Isaac. "What was that?" I inquired angrily. "How do you speak of His Majesty?"
Puzzled, he looked at me. "Master George, what business is it of yours what I call this theatrical clown on a throne? Are you not yourselves on the run from his henchmen? Do you think we are blind and have not noticed that Master Ingram is a woman?"
" Whaaat?" yelled Jean-Joel in the background in utter surprise.
I swallowed hard. Our cover had been blown all of a sudden. Actually, it had to be considered a miracle that we had maintained it for so long. "No need to make such speeches. Moderate yourselves!", I still managed to bring out while assessing the new, dangerous situation. Basically, they had covered for us during the road check. In return, I now criticised their speeches. But what I had said, I could no longer undo.
"Or what?" Natheniel crowed, drawing his sword. "Are you going to teach us some manners, you brat? I'm going to spank you. A spanking is just what you need, you naughty brat." With that, he jumped towards me and clumsily swiped at me with his rapier.
At that moment I was already drawn and had parried his powerful blows effortlessly. The old Puritan was a laughing stock as an opponent, but now Isaac and Job came to his aid, also drawing their unadorned blades and charging furiously at me. I dodged backwards, jumped over a bench onto a wide wooden table and defended myself as best I could. From my elevated position, this was quite possible, although after only a few parries, a violent blow injured my arm. The wound bled profusely but did not restrict my movement. I signalled Isabelle and John to flee and stalled the Puritans for another two or three parries. Only when I knew my companions to be safe did I dare to lunge, deliver a well-aimed stab at Job's shoulder and leap over him. My boots found his back and I pushed off with a leap to escape the encirclement of the God-fearing men. I gave the stunned Isaac a blow on the skull with the pommel of my rapier, then sprinted to the door of the taproom, rushed out into the open, closed the door behind me and quickly slid a wooden stake in front of the handle to stop my pursuers. "Long live the King!", I still shouted loudly to incite the men's anger, then I ran around the next corner where Isabelle and John were waiting for me.
Chapter 26
"What now?", I asked out of breath. Isabelle looked at me with shining eyes. "Off to the docks! We'll get a room and John will get us some tickets for a passage to Calais."
A little later we had found a really posh inn. John was on his way to organise our passage when we entered the large, nobly furnished room. The concierge lit a few candles on a chandelier, which he then cranked up to the ceiling. He then discreetly closed the curtains and wished us a good night. After he left the room, Isabelle quickly locked the door and gave me a greedy look from her emerald eyes. "The way you just fought there, George, that was so ... how shall I put it, so exciting and so classy. I guess those bigots deserved the beating. Seeing you so fearless made me all fuzzy. But look, you're bleeding!" Hectically she came over to me and stripped the tunic, doublet and shirt from my upper body. Fortunately, the cut was only on the surface and was only bleeding slightly. Isabelle pulled out a handkerchief and expertly wrapped it around my upper arm. Her closeness intoxicated me. Just the tender touches on my arm ignited in me the desire to fall all over her right here and now. Isabelle seemed to guess my thoughts (you didn't have to be a clairvoyant to do that), for she glanced at the bulge in my trousers with a smile. "You're too weak now, George," she purred in my ear. "As much as I'd like to feel you on top of me right now, you need to rest so it doesn't bleed any more." With that, she had ushered me to the bed. Leaning my bottom against the wooden bedstead, I felt Isabelle loosen my belt. I wanted to reach for her, to pull her against me, but she stubbornly refused. She looked me in the face with a snide grin. "Just let me do it, George! You've earned some rest." Unasked, she now went for a dive and pulled my harem pants down to the back of my knees. I hardly dared look down, but felt Isabelle begin to kiss me without hesitation. Her lips touched my belly. Her tongue wandered down my loins, tracing a wet trail across my thigh. She must have seen exactly how aroused I was by her actions and it made me blush with shame. I had certainly made love to Isabelle many times before, at Longhill Castle I had spoiled her to the point of unconsciousness with my tongue more than once, but she had never done me this honour in return - after all, even in our most intimate moments, I had only ever been a servant to her. The fact that she now went down on her knees before me and tenderly took my manhood into her mouth meant something. She perceived me as an equal and now served me. The feelings her soft mouth evoked in me are hard to describe. From second to second I became harder and even though Lady Isabelle proceeded very gently and slowly, I began to twitch uncontrollably after only a few movements. "It ... I'm ready!", I stammered desperately to warn my pretty countess, but instead of moving to safety, she just kept going. Only when the first harbingers of my petit mortes touched her tongue did she move to safety. While I wet the carpet, she watched me with a curious look and full of fascination. There was no disgust in her expression, only boundless devotion.
Now she got back on her feet. I realised that she was still fully clothed while I presented myself bare in front of her. An outsider would have mistaken us for poofs again.
She now looked into my eyes and I recognised in the green lakes the deep desire that is only inherent in people who have just fallen in love and which drives them to want to give themselves to each other at every opportunity. Our faces were only a few inches away from each other. The scent of her hair floated towards me like an enticing invitation. I inhaled the familiar fragrance deeply. "I hope you enjoyed it, mon jeunot," she whispered.
I wanted to reply that I was no longer a boy, but I wisely refrained. One did not contradict a woman who gave one such a lustful look.
I felt her searching fingers on my still erect privates. Yet the intense eye contact remained unchanged. She put on a mischievous grin. "Now that the initial pressure is off, hopefully we can take a little more time. From the way I feel, you don't need a break." With that, she gave my manhood a playful pat and finally moved away from me a little.
Now she slowly began to uncover herself. I saw the buff coat, doublet, shirt and trousers slide to the floor and enjoyed the view of her white, tender skin that was now becoming visible. In the light of the chandelier, Isabelle looked scrumptious. The sway of her hips and the breasts, heavy and ripe, awaiting me, excited me immensely. I admired the fine fabric of her panties and the fact that, despite the garment, I could see that nest of curly black hair I had explored so often. I was completely captivated by the sight. I finally wanted to feel Isabelle with all my senses and she seemed to sense my thoughts. She stepped towards me and grasped my hand. "Do you still like me?" she asked, and there was an uncertainty in her voice that I found quite touching.
"You like to joke," I returned as I hugged her and pushed her down on the bed at the same time. "You are incredibly beautiful," I gasped as I slid down and pushed her knees apart with gentle pressure. Like an enchanted garden, her de
lta now presented itself to me. I inhaled deeply the specific, familiar scent as I set about exploring her womanhood with my hands, lips and tongue. The pristine white fabric of the panties rubbed against my ears right and left. Such a garment, revealing only the most intimate regions, was already very practical. I felt my uninhibited action pleasing Isabelle. Soon she began to moan tentatively as I rhythmically dragged my tongue through the wet petals. My thumb drummed ever more intensely on this little lump where my countess suspected the centre of her lust. It only took a few moments, then Isabelle curled up ecstatically and bit the pillow to keep from crying out loud. Her juice ran down my chin like sweet honey and wetted the edges of her panties.
Unrestrained, I now came over her and took her deeply and possessively. Quickly and full of verve, I pushed her into the mattress. We were alone in the room and didn't need to take anyone into consideration. This circumstance inspired me and even made me elicit a deep, throaty moan. The bed squeaked and creaked as if it was about to break apart. Thanks to the previous interlude, I lasted much longer now. Her fingers were between our legs again, where she sometimes stroked herself and sometimes played with my testicles. My countess had stepped away and closed her eyes tightly. But she also seemed a little absent. Could it perhaps be that I was boring her? I couldn't think about it any longer, because at that moment I felt myself reaching the second time. I withdrew from her and only saw a shower of white love juice wet her belly and breasts.
A little later we were lying next to each other breathing heavily and staring at the ceiling.
"That felt so different, George. You've become a real man, ruthless and possessive."
"And you like that?" I was slightly taken with myself.
The Caledonian Race: A Pulp Adventure (George Glen Series Book 2) Page 15