Roistering & Revelry Ch. 02

Scotland: 1557.

Colin MacLean pulled up his horse in his castle’s courtyard and looked around. In the bustle of servants and hunting dogs, he caught sight of Fiona, his current favorite, coming out of the great hall.

“Greetings My Lord,” she called enthusiastically. “Had you luck with the hunt?”

“Aye!” he called back with raucous good humor, “and the night’s not yet full upon us!”

She ran toward him as he vaulted from the saddle. He swung her up into his arms for a hearty kiss. She was of low birth, so not to be considered as a wife, but she was a merry, comely lass, lively in the bed chamber and undaunted by his coarse gests. Holding her in his arms, his hands roamed freely over her body, squeezing her breast, her waist, her hip.

“Run along to my chamber and await me,” he said into her ear. “I’ll be requiring your assistance with my garments before supper in the Great hall.”

He nibbled her earlobe and rubbed her nipple through the cloth of her gown, then kissed her cheek. Despite a volatile temper, he was a man of good humor and he found it easier and more pleasant to be polite to women. Of a certainty, it was not necessary in order to bed them, but it generally meant that women came to his bed willingly, which he greatly preferred.

He bent to scratch the ears of his favorite golden-brown wolfhound Fen. Watching Fiona’s pleasing form as she ran to await him, he sighed gustily.

“Ah it will go hard to rid myself of the lass,” he said regretfully to his hunting companion Owen Ap Reese. “But with my convent reared French bride arriving in days, it wouldn’t do to have one such as Fiona about. Did I not so urgently require the military assistance of my bride’s kinsmen against the accursed McGuiness, it mightn’t matter so much. Until I can broach the topic with them however, I suppose I must restrain myself, and be content with the Frosty French Margarete, lest her family come to think me indiscrete.”

“I fear many ladies, and other women of the castle, will be in need of consolation during your self-imposed marital Lent.” Owen laughed good naturedly.

“Perhaps,” Colin replied energetically, “But not this night! With only a few days of debauchery left me, I’ll not leave any lass in need of consolation!” Colin thumped Owen’s back with a comradely grin. “Ready yourself to sup, I’ve arranged for some ladies and other women from the village tavern to entertain us this evening.”

He left his friend and sworn man, and went to his chamber. When he had closed the door behind him, Fiona stepped to the middle of the room and flung off a sheet in which she had wound herself. Brazenly naked, she stood smiling mischievously.

“My Lord did say he needed help ridding me of my garments did he not?”

Colin took in the sight of her pert, enticing form and flowing red hair as he went to the table and poured himself a goblet of wine.

“You’re hearing is poor lass,” he said, “But you make up for it with imagination.”

He drank deeply, then held the cup to her lips. He tipped the cup and she tilted her head, gulping the wine.

“Is My Lord attempting to ply me with drink, then ravish me?” she asked with mock concern.

“Certainly not!” he answered, “I’m going to ravish you first, then ply you with drink and ravish you again.”

He set the cup down and grabbed her up to toss her on the feather bed. She laughed excitedly as he leapt on top of her covering her with a flurry of hard kisses and urgent hands. He was quickly hard. He pushed her legs apart with his knees and found her opening. As he thrust powerfully inside her, he crushed her breasts in his hands. He went up on his knees and squeezed her nipples between his fingers as he continued his strong thrusts. She was crying out with each plunge into her, and her cried drove him on. His climax was sudden and fierce. It exploded from him with a grunt that was almost surprise. He collapsed on top of her and kissed her cheek fondly. Rolling onto his side, he said softly, “I’ll miss you sorely lass.”

He had explained to her why she must go, tolerated her tears, given her a gold trinket, and told her she must be brave and cheerful. She was a practical girl and gave him no difficulty. As he drifted off into a brief doze, he reflected that, in truth, he had begun to tire of her company. For the convenience of a ready and enthusiastic bed mate, he had endured much inane chatter. Lately, this happy balance had begun to tilt in the wrong direction.

He slept, gathering his strength for the demands of the rest of the night.

Lise had been lucky. The solitary ride from where her mistress rested with the marriage procession had gone smoothly, though she had spent most of it with a hand on the hilt of her dagger. Reaching the village near to Lord Colin’s estate, she had found a troop of traveling performers willing to let her join them for a night or two. Though she had lived for four years as a servant in a noble house, the ways and manners of such folk came back to her with ease and she was able to gain their trust.

They had been called to perform for the Lord, and two of the troop’s women were glad to let her take their place. Lord Colin’s approaching marriage was common knowledge, and Lise heard it said openly that any woman who wished to avoid importunities had best stay away from Colin’s Great Hall for the next few days.

Lise had no wish to avoid importunities, in fact, that was why she had come on this risky venture. Her mistress Margarete was soon to wed the Lord Colin and for reasons of her own, required crucial information that only Lise could give her, i.e., how his bride could best please him in bed.

Skillfully deflecting questions, about herself and her travels, Lise accompanied the players to the Great Hall. As she enacted a simple comic scene with members of the company, she scanned the hall. Protected by her player’s mask, she observed how Lord Colin and his sworn man, a handsome Welshman, laughed, drank, jested with the serving women, and eyed the female performers. She anticipated no difficulty in maneuvering herself into Lord Colin’s bed chamber. The silver she would earn would not be unwelcome, but more important, she would discover what Margarete so desperately needed to know.

She was relieved to see that Lord Colin was no burden to look upon. He had the red hair so common here, but his features were strong and regular, his physique that of an active man. Good: her task might be a pleasant one.

She turned her full attention back to the comic scene. She threw herself into the performance with conspicuous sensuality, using her body and pleasing voice to draw the Lord’s attention to her.

When the scene was finished, he summoned the players to the High Table.

“Diverting indeed!” Colin exclaimed. “Forgive me if I don’t rise.” He held a serving wench on his lap and fondled her with one hand while he took a draft of whisky. She was playfully trying to undress him and he slapped her hand away.

“Patience woman!” he expostulated, “That’s scandalous conduct before guests! Sit.” He commanded the players.

As Lise sat near him, she wondered whether the wench’s eagerness was lust, or the thought of the silver to be gained by lying with the Lord. Lise placed herself deliberately so that he could touch her if he wished, but not easily see her face.

When he invited her to take off her mask, she answered in a low, rich voice, “But surely it is this My Lord most wishes to see.” Leaning back, she ran her hands lightly down her body to her hips. “Of what importance is a woman’s face to a man so near to his wedding day?”

Owen, on her other side, burst into raucous laughter. “My lady speaks truth,” he said, placing a large hand on her thigh.

“Owen and I grow weary,” Lord Colin said with an exaggerated parody of a yawn. “We were just discussing an early retirement with, perhaps, a last cup of wine in my chamber. Some of these dedicated lasses have consented to accompany us. We have been drinking steadily you see,” (he was staring directly at Lise’s full breasts) “And it is likely we’ll require aid.”

“It would be unpardonable if you were to injure yourself so close to your wedding,” Lise replied warmly. “I will do my utmost to assist you Lord.”

As the men rose, it was clear that, if they had been imbibing steadily, they were well practiced at it and able to hold their drink. There was much laughter and bawdy jesting as the two men, Lise, Fiona and two women from the tavern made their way to the Lord’s private apartments.

Once inside, Lise stepped behind the curtain, muttering something about relieving herself. The truth was that she needed to observe Lord Colin, and if she did not absent herself briefly, she would too soon be a participant. She was not here primarily for money or pleasure, though she expected to acquire both. Her primary goal was to learn.

Squatting over the chamber pot, she heard sounds of undressing, approval, kisses and laughter. Re-entering the room, she saw that Lord Colin wasted no time. He had the red-headed Fiona bent over the bed and was sliding rhythmically in and out of her. He was taking his pleasure of her, moving his hands possessively over her hips, then grasping her pelvis firmly in his hands, pulling her back against him with each thrust. His face, in the lamp light, wore an expression of utter self-absorption. Lise could see that, though the girl laughed drunkenly as her hands slip on the uneven surface of the feather mattress, Colin was oblivious, speeding up toward his climax. He came with a groaned, covering the woman’s body as he pushed her flat on the bed. He pulled out and slapped her bottom playfully.

“That’s my bonny Fiona!” he said with jocular satisfaction.

Lise hovered at the edge of the light. Was such treatment what awaited her virgin mistress? Still, watching them had aroused her.

She looked to Owen. He lounged on a padded bench while the petite, black haired tavern woman crouched before him, taking his manhood into her mouth. Lise well remembered her days at such work and how men had demanded this attention from her. Remembering the feel of his strong, kind hand on her thigh, she entered the circle of light and approached him.