tagNovels and NovellasLady Cecelia Ch. 01

Lady Cecelia Ch. 01

byHawkerDeHavilland©

There is a joust.

Among the ladies of the court, there is the lovely Lady Cecelia. I am William of Edenbridge son of the Earl of Edenbridge and Knight to King and Country.

My turn in mock mounted battle awaits ...as the gallantry before me makes their runs at each other in the full regalia of sporting combat. Armored horses and knights charge each other separated by gold and royal banners. Pennants snap in the breeze from the viewing stand where the Lady Cecelia is seated attended by her ladies. The assembled beauty of the court is arrayed beneath the canopies being served their goblets of honey wine and grapes, but my eyes find room only for Cecelia.

The clash of shield and lance has left the field strewn with unseated riders , broken shafts and bent shields. As the armorers clear the remains of battle from the turf my turn comes. Accompanied by a bearer; I trot a sable warhorse to the viewing stand...armor glistening in the sun, the red cross and white field of St George is my shield...a crimson scarf brought to my tent by a shy Lady-in-waiting and affixed as a flourish to the peak of my helmet by my armorer matches exactly the color of Lady Cecelia's Barengaria gown.

She stands as I approach mounted. I bare my head and walking forward of the court, she greets me at the rail. In her hand is a garter, the colors of her family crest.

I bend solemnly towards her, rise and place my eyes on hers: dark, sparkling, expressive. Beneath a tapestry-band of woven flowers that circles her head...Lady Cecelia's dark hair flows beneath it towards her shoulders and she leans forward to whisper.

" Ride for me today, my love," she says softly, " win this victory and you shall win my heart as well!"

"Today I do combat in the holy name of Saint George ....and for you: my fair Lady Cecelia " I swear to her.

She straightens, the gold of her blouse shows beneath the crimson gown, and slides the garter over the point of my lance. I touch the fingertips of my chain-mailed glove to my forehead then to my lips without taking my eyes off hers. Anxious for the charge, my warhorse struggles under the weight of his armor, steps and snorts his bulging eyes bright with expectation. I slide on my steeled helmet and look once more into my Lady's eyes before closing my visor and wheeling my horse towards the field of battle.

Trotting towards the gauntlet end where my pennants fly and the monk waits to bless me, I pass my opponent shoulder to shoulder. He fails to meet my glare instead exercises his weapon in useless air. I shall win this combat. I feel it. My mount champs his bit and my armorer fights with two hands to hold him back. I reach my post to turn and face the long bannered line barely noticing the monks sign of the cross chanting his Celtic prayer for I am due my victory this day.

Far down the line My opponent rears his mount and lurches to his post facing me opposite and suddenly it is quiet save for the banners in the wind. I hear my own breathing inside my headgear..I feel my heart pounding beneath my chest armor. My boy hoists the shield and straps it to my forearm while my fingers grip and ungrip getting the mesh of chain mail seated on its handle. He lifts the battle lance towards me so I may rest its butt end on the iron sheath molded to my hip armor: ten lonf feet of lance point towards the sky. On its tip is my Lady's garter.

I grasp its weight...turning ...turning.. Trumpets blare...they blare again.

The flagman drops his marker and I spur my horse. For seconds all thats heard is the labored equine gasp in the scramble to charge. and then hooves, pounding, pounding all 17 hands of him lurching head to the fore! My target is in view and all but the red dragon painted on his shield has my sight . I drop the lance slowly as our gallop meets its limit. To hit the shield at the claws of his painted monkey means to drive through the shoulder. I'm squared up. He's onto my aim...coming...coming....

With a crash my lance finds its mark! As if he has stopped dead in his tracks it takes my opponent off his horse in a flash of dust splinters and falling iron.

I reach the end of the circle and turn. My opponent has regained his feet and raises his arm. I have won the day: this one event of many. My visor goes back. the review stand is politely clapping but my Lady, my Lady Cecelia, is on her tiptoes both hands in small fists at her chin and I raise my hand to her direction.

Large tournament tents are marked with banners and shields. With my mount stabled, I stand within the filtered darkness of my field quarters why my armorer and a page strip the mail off my body piece by heavy piece. Down to leggings, a wide waterfilled bowl stands nearby and I dip a cloth into its coolness, twist it out and wipe the dust and sweat from my skin. the glancing blow I had taken began to leave a bruise and I was smoothing my abdomen when a heard a young female voice clearing her throat. The heads of my servants turned towards the tentflaps. It came again.

" See what she wants."

The page was back. "Sir William, it is Lady Cecelia's lady-in-waiting. She asks if Lady Cecelia may see you."

"Tell her to tell her Lady that I will be ready in some minutes as soon as I dress"

He left. There was much discussion outside the flaps of the tent until the page returned, flustered He came back in.

" The Lady wishes to see you now, sir."

I paused. "Leave me. Both of you. Tell the Lady to enter."

Moments later Cecelia enetered this man's domain tentatively, searching these new surroundings: eyes bright with passion. Her eyes became used to the light and she stood hands clasped before him staring. The ground length crimson gown she wore was held to her with a band of embroidered gold cloth swooping around her hips to a V at her front where it opened to a lining in layers of gold . Matching bands at her elbows marked the billowing sleeves. The cape she had worn earlier was gone revealing the porcelain skin of her bustline, ample, pure, delicately pushed upwards ...revealing..ravishing...a gold cross hung from her neck nestling in her cleavage.

" Forgive my state of undress, m'lady, " I apologized, "I was unprepared to have ...."

In two steps she was in my arms. Her mouth crushed to mine. I felt the heat of her against the nakedness of my chest, her arms clinging to my shoulders and sliding down my back finding the musculature until lower her fingers found the seam of the leggings , traced my hips then filled her hands with my butttocks .... pulling me to her torso. The smell of her filled my senses. One hand came front and openly roamed across the muscles of my chest. Her touch was tender arousing me completely.

" ...you will take me here, sir.." she whispered, "I can wait no longer." She held me at length furiously unfastening buttons at her back attached laboriously by some handmaiden earlier. Failing this she turned her back to me,

" William.... help me...quickly." She tossed her hair to the side to clear the way for my fingers to release them . There, inadvertently, she was offering her delicate throat and as I fumbled with this mystery of female garments I couldn't help but kiss its sweetness.

Her hand came up to cradle my head pressing me closer and for the moment her dress was forgotten while I pressed myself to her from behind. My lips found her neck. Her head thrown back against me, I was treated to the glorious sight of her breasts slowly coming unbound. I watched their fullness exposed.

I returned to her dress,freed it from her shoulders, turned her to me , pulled away the cotton undershirt to paw clumsily at the lacing of her bodice. My face was in Cecelia's hands, her kisses covering my cheeks, my eyes and my mouth. Between them came the whispering want of her for me and I, desperately, of her.

The beautiful dress of crimson and gold lay in a billowy tangle around her legs as she pulled at the remaining undergarments. I'd freed the last strand from the last eyelet. The bodice fell away and the loveliness of her breasts thrust towards me, nipples hardened with anticipation. Creamy white and exquisite: they were irresistable and I fell to my knees before them taking them in my grasp. Her hands took my head and guided me to them first one then the other savoring my smothering kisses.

"Take them, William..." she whispered, " they are yours....yours alone."

I felt her catch her breath as I let the stiffened cone of her nipple slip between my lips. Opening my mouth wider I felt it warm against my tongue and sucked lovingly: first one than the other as she held me. The last piece of clothing covering her was pulled away. I felt the mound of her womanhood press against my chest straining itself wetly against me. I held her there, feeling its pressure, rocking itself onto me.

A cot and chair were the spartan accoutrements of this simple tent. A blanket thereon would be our only requirement. But even that was ignored and we fell upon the tangle of her clothing. It became our bed. My leggings were off. She grasped my manhood. Pulsing in her hand. With it she drew me to the ground, opened her legs with her heels against my calves and worked it up and down the wetness between.

I held myself aloft and gazed into her eyes while she guided it with slow retreating and increasing inches. I was soon within the warm darkness of what she'd saved for me. Almost at its depth, I began to rock myself into her. Her hand came up and both encircled my neck to pull me down.

" fuck me, sir." she whispered into my ear, " fuck the Lady out of me."

I took the full course of action necessary; for it was my sworn chivalrous duty, yet more so...my glorious reward.

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