A Scottish Tale

All these thoughts raged through my head like a whirling maelstrom of images and feelings. All these thoughts erupted in my mind instantaneously and lasted only a few brief seconds before I found myself battling to regain control of my own mind.

Eithne was looking at me. I supposed she was wondering what my reaction would be to her kiss and I'd done nothing. I'd stood there, seemingly stoic.

As I regained my senses, I tried to speak but didn't know what words to say. My mouth gaped as I sought the words to explain my feelings and concerns.

She saw my expression and I think she became afraid of my response because she whirled and ran from the shed. I saw her running up the hill to the house and suddenly my legs sprang into action. I ran after her.

I entered the house to hear her door slam shut and I raced to her room.

As I went through the kitchen, I realized that the cook was watching. The woman had helped raise me after my mother died. She taught me to read. She taught me to cook. She taught me that because I was born into more fortunate circumstances than most, it did not mean I was a better person.

And now, here she was, watching me chase a young boy through the house.

I stopped, immediately realizing that I had to come up with an explanation.

"I, ummmm, was showing ... David, " -- I almost forgot the name we had agreed on -- "around and managed to hit his hand with a hammer. I need to make sure he's okay."

"That was pretty good," I thought, congratulating myself for thinking up such a plausible event.

I knocked on the door and got no answer so I pushed it open just a little and peered inside.

Eithne was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from me. I entered her room and expected her to look up at me, sobbing with tears streaming down her face.

She looked at me and, though her eyes were red, she wasn't crying.

"I'm sorry," we both said at the same time.

I kept speaking, taking control of the conversation.

"Don't be sorry. You don't have anything to be sorry for. And please don't cry over me"

She looked a bit exasperated and said, "I wasn't crying over you. I was crying because I just made a complete ass of myself and I'm mad."

"Oh," I replied.

I had to admit that it was kind of a blow to my ego that she wasn't crying over me. I hadn't really wanted her to, but I had halfway expected her to.

I sat down on the bed next to her and tried to take her hand in mine. She pulled it away.

"Look," I told her, "you didn't make an ass of yourself. I wanted to kiss you too. I just hadn't gotten up the nerve to do it. I've been dreaming about you for weeks now but I didn't tell you because I'm just supposed to be a way for you to get some schooling. I'm not supposed to think of you the way I do, but I can't help it."

She eyed me suspiciously.

"Does that mean I should leave?" she asked.

"No. God, no. I want you to stay. I want you to go to school and I want you to learn and I want you to come back here. I want you to consider this your home."

With that, I put my hands on her shoulders and turned her to face me. She started to speak but I cut her off with a kiss. I pulled her to me and pressed my mouth against hers and kissed her deeply. I raked my tongue across her teeth and I could feel her breath rush into my mouth. I breathed in, taking the air from her lungs into mine. It was then that I realized that I wasn't noble or altruistic at all. I was in love.

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Eithne had been transcendently furious with herself about that kiss. Of all the idiotic things to do! And there was an entirely different level of frustration as well, she had to concede -- she didn't look attractive. A foot of her hair was gone (at least it was almost down to her breasts, as an unkempt boy might wear it), her clothing was baggy and unattractive, she'd clothed herself to appear as little like a female as possible --and THIS was the time she'd chosen to make advances.

Brilliant. It boded so well for her intellectual aspirations. Just brilliant. She ran.

So the surprise was doubly that, and doubly pleasant, when none of that turned out to matter. The kiss made her dizzy, made her melt, made her dissolve into Will, as if they were combining into a single person. Nothing could feel better than this kiss. Nothing --

There was a determined noise from the kitchen. A loud noise, demanding to be noticed. It threatened consequences.

But Will leaned over, unbuttoning the homespun shirt, cupping her breast. His lips touched her breastbone and she was lost again, a prey to ecstatic sensations, practicalities cast aside. Until the clatter outside the door became more peremptory and decided.

"Will!" she closed her shirt reluctantly.

"The cook!"

Please don't let her come in, she thought. All would be lost. Will looked up, one eyebrow just a little raised, a little wicked.

"And me without my claymore."

I stood, tearing myself away from an embrace I hoped would last forever. Damn cook.

"I ... ummm ...," I stammered. "Don't go anywhere ... I mean, of course you can go wherever you want. Just don't run off. I want to ... I mean, I'd like to ... Hell."

I gave up trying to craft words and leaned down to plant one last kiss on her tender lips. Then I turned and left her room, trying to hide an erection that caused a noticeable spreading of the pleats in the front of my kilt.

Shutting the door to her room, I stood, leaning against the wall for a few moments, trying to regain my composure.

Then I entered the kitchen and found Molly, the cook, stirring a pot of something. While it burbled happily, filling the kitchen with a wonderful combination of smells, she stood there, seemingly oblivious to my presence.

I'd been through this enough to know that I was expected to wait until she was ready to speak. I may have been the lord of the manor, but Molly was its heart and soul. Throughout my childhood, she had served as teacher, friend, confidant and even, occasionally, partner in crime.

She helped me grow into the man I had become and I hoped I'd made her proud.

Now, as she stood here in the kitchen, I thought she had never looked more lovely. Her coarse gray hair was pulled back tightly and fell in a long braid down the middle of her back. Her broad hips waggled almost comically as she stirred the pot. Molly was fat, but I loved her.

I'd spent countless hours cradled on her lap as a child as she soothed skinned knees, twisted ankles and real or perceived hurts.

And while she was significantly older now, beauty still shone from her deeply-creased features and her blue eyes still sparkled with a wisdom that was older than the hills.

She continued stirring, her back to me. She took a sip of the bubbling mixture, considered it for a moment and then tossed a handful of some sort of herb into the pot. She sighed as she stirred it in and I knew that meant she was about to speak.

"So how is your young charge?" she queried. "He seemed rather upset about something."

"Oh," I said taking a seat at the rough wooden table, stained and scarred from years of cutting and cooking. "He's fine. I just wanted to make sure nothing was broken."

Molly turned to face me and I realized that in my position, my state of arousal was still obvious. Her eyes stopped briefly on the significant bulge in my kilt and I saw her processing the information for the briefest of moments. Her gaze moved up to my face and her eyes caught mine.

She walked to the table and sat down, wiping her hands on her ample expanse of lap as she sat.

"May I ask you, sir," she said, leaning forward, "why you took this lad in. It was quite a surprise. After all, you don't need the help and it seems as though the boy hasn't many skills, at least none that are apparent a yet."

As she said this last bit, she looked me in the eyes and raised one eyebrow ever-so-slightly.

It became immediately apparent to me what her inference was. She assumed that I had taken this youngster in as a personal plaything or pet project and that I was enamored of young boys.

I stifled a laugh. Did I look like Alexander the Great or something?

"I saw in the lad quite a lot of myself. He's a gifted boy and I wanted him to be able to receive an education at St. Andrews or Edinburgh."

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Eithne buttoned her shirt with shaking hands and threw a jacket over it just in case her nipples were too prominent. Pulling her hair back into a neat tail, she straightened her trousers a little and made herself presentable for cook's inspection. But she couldn't leave the room just yet. Her heart was beating too wildly, her face was too flushed. God, what was she going to do?

She'd be pregnant in a trice if she kept on this way. Her whole body yearned toward Will in such a way that she knew she was incapable of saying no to him. In fact, it was rather evident that her body was intent on making the advances if Will wasn't fast enough. What to do?

She'd heard that Will's cook had a reputation as a local wise woman. They knew about such things. Perhaps she could pretend she had a slightly wicked sister? She'd have to make a decision quickly. Will didn't look to be the waiting kind, and nor was she.

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Somehow I was sure that Molly was quite unconvinced that my intentions were completely altruistic. I knew she was confused about them, however. She knew from years of experience that I preferred the feminine form to the male of the species, but she also knew there was something else at work here.

I felt confident that Molly, had she known the truth, would have kept the secret. I wasn't sure how she would feel about my plan, though. As much as I cared about Molly, I occasionally found myself aggravated by notions that I sometimes considered antiquated. Molly saw little need for any sort of formal education, particularly among the Scots.

Education, in her opinion, was the source of most of our troubles. The moneyed upper class constantly squabbled over territories and titles and Molly saw that as a product of their educated ways. While they bickered with each other, life went on as usual for the rest of Scotland. Most Scots tended their flocks and grew their crops and worked the same way they had for generations.

But, as Eithne had said at our first meeting, sometimes education was its own end and knowledge was a commodity to be prized.

That evening, as we gathered around the table for supper, Eithne began to make her presence known. Molly engaged her in conversation and was immediately captivated be her sparkling wit.

Eithne – I needed to stop thinking of her as Eithne. I had to remember that she was "David." – talked about how she wanted to attend school to find out the answers to questions that had always puzzled her. What made people do the things they do, she asked. Why did most of the nobles actually think they were superior? How could anyone believe in the divine right of kings when there was no proof of any kind of divinity? Was there a reason that things existed? Why did we laugh at funny things? Why did find joy in the misfortune of others? As Eithne questioned the human condition, I saw Molly studying her and I suspect that she concluded that it was the impetuousness of youth that gave Eithne an impulse toward such peculiar ideas.

We finished dinner and Eithne excused herself, returning to her room. Molly and I both watched her go. Molly, I suspected was still trying to figure out just who this young whelp was and why 'he' had come into our lives. I watched her go, admiring the subtle movement of hips whose curve was almost entirely concealed beneath a baggy shirt and lumpy trousers. I longed to peel those clothes from her form and see her in her natural state. I longed to pull her close to me and admire the cool, soft touch of her flesh against mine.

I retired to the main hall and lounged in front of the fireplace, considering what work had to be done. Soon we would need to make the trip to St. Andrews to contact the headmaster of the school and try to get Eithne a spot at the University. That was, after all, the entire point of our ruse.

We would need to set up some sort of living arrangements while she was at school. Although most students lived in a dormitory-type setting, I wondered if it would be too difficult for Eithne to maintain her illusion of maleness.

Eithne ventured into the main hall and sat in a chair facing me. Even in her boyish garb, she looked stunning and I wondered how it would be possible to fool anyone into thinking she was a boy. The firelight danced across her face, highlighting her cheekbones and illuminating the various tones of gold and brown in her hair. She looked radiant and I wanted her now more than ever.

While I pondered these thoughts, the clattering of pots ceased in the kitchen. Molly had finished her evening chores and had retired for the evening. She had a small cottage away from the main house and, though I had offered her a room in the main house on many occasions, for the first time I was truly glad she maintained a separate residence.

Eithne stood and said she was going to bed and wished me a good evening. She walked to me and leaned over and for a moment I felt sure that I would take hold of her and pull her into my lap and kiss her. She paused, looking in my eyes for a second and then gave me a quick peck on the cheek and dashed off to her room.

I wondered if I should follow her. I considered it thoroughly. I knew that if I pursued her, it would change things. No longer would she be a boarder who was just her for an education. She would become my lover and would I then be able to send her away to school? Would I be able to live without her once I'd had her?

I decided that I should tell her that I wouldn't want to begin a relationship with her that I had to hide and her schooling was more important than satisfying my physical urges and I suddenly found myself at her door.

I stood there, motionless in front of her door, not even realizing where I was going.

I knocked and heard Eithne tell me to come in.

I opened the door and saw her. She was still wearing those rumpled woolen trousers, but her shirt was gone. She stood next to the bed. She'd wrapped several layers of muslin around herself, flattening her breasts against her chest.

I forgot all words and crossed the room with a stride that was almost coldly calculating and urgent.

I took her cheeks in my hands and kissed her hard, not even giving her a chance to protest.

I pressed my mouth hotly against hers and I could feel her teeth behind her lips. I ran my tongue along her lips and her mouth opened. A sigh escaped from her mouth and into mine and I devoured it. My tongue raked across her teeth and my hands slid down her sides and pulled her against me.

I felt her hands on the back of my neck as she returned my kiss, holding my face to hers. Our tongues danced. Tasting each other and ourselves and savoring the combination.

I pushed her away, my hands on her shoulders and this time, rather than expressing logic and caution, I was consumed with passion. I pulled the muslin strip where she had tucked it in at her cleavage and I let it fall to the floor as I unwrapped her. I saw her shiver as more of her skin was bared.

As the last bit of cloth dropped to the floor, I was stunned at her beauty. She was more beautiful than I had imagined. I pushed her back on to the bed and pushed her legs apart with my own. Placing myself between her legs, I loomed over her and she looked at me with anticipation. I kissed her lips softly, then her cheek, then her neck and down to her shoulders. My hands caressed her sides and slid from her narrow waist over the curve of her hips and I kissed my way to her breasts.

I kissed down her cleavage, feeling the subtle swell of her breasts against my cheeks. I dragged my tongue across one of her nipples and felt her shudder beneath me.

I felt one of her hands reach forward and slip beneath my kilt. She wrapped her fingers around my shaft and stroked me, pulling me closer.

I wrapped my lips around a nipple and sucked, feeling it harden and grow more erect in my mouth. My hands sought out the waistband of those damned trousers and began pushing them over her hips.

She pushed me away and for a moment I was almost panicked at the thought of being rejected but then she slid her trousers off and I saw a triangular patch of hair and wetness glistening on the moist folds beneath.

She slid off the bed onto her knees in front of me. I watched her hands slide up the front of my kilt and loosen it. She began to unwrap it, just as I had unwrapped the fabric around her chest. I began to pull my shirt over my head and felt my kilt fall to the floor and then felt her take me into her mouth.

My knees almost buckled as I felt her lips close around my shaft and her tongue slide along the ridge.

I pulled my shirt off and looked down to see my shaft sliding into her mouth. I heard her moan slightly and felt the vibrations in my shaft. I pulled her to her feet and pushed her back onto the bed again. Kicking off my boots, I climbed up onto the bed beside her. She kicked her shoes off to clatter onto the floor and I crawled between her legs.

Laying on top of Eithne, I felt myself throbbing against her. I kissed her deeply and felt her reach down and guide me between her labia. I felt myself inching forward, slipping slowly inside her.

She arched her back and moaned as the head slid into her and I began to fill her with my shaft. I stroked slowly in and out. With each stroke a little more of my hard rod eased into her.

When I found myself fully inside her, she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me down to her. We kissed furiously and I began to move my hips, withdrawing almost completely before pounding myself back into her.

We made love ... no. We fucked with the fury of repressed lust finally released. I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her as I thrust in and out. I felt her fingernails on my back, scratching downward as her hands went to my arse and she pulled me into her even more forcefully.

Then, with a quick twist, she flipped me onto my back and was sitting astride me. She rocked backward and forward, my shaft still embedded in her. I reached up and fondled her breasts, rolling her nipples between my fingers.

She moaned and writhed and slammed herself down onto me and I felt her muscles spasm as she reached orgasm. She collapsed on my chest, her hips still grinding and me still thrusting in and out of her. I reached around and grabbed her arse and held her there while I plunged into her as deeply as I could and I felt my own orgasm begin to build and then explode in a shuddering climax.

I sounded almost animalistic as a low, rumbling growl issued from my throat and I held her tightly against my body, feeling myself twitch and spasm as I filled this beautiful woman ... my Eithne.

As our orgasm subsided, we looked into each other's eyes.

"I love you," I told her.

"I know," she replied. "I think I've always known. And I love you."

"Well, I guess separate beds are no longer necessary," I told her. "Would you please sleep with me tonight?"

"Yes," she answered, rolling to my side and resting her head on my chest, which is how we fell asleep and how we awoke the next morning.

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Eithne lay in his arms, still shaking, feeling a live pulse between her legs. Tomorrow, she told herself, drunk with sensation, barely holding on to a vestige of reason. Tomorrow she's consult cook about how to keep bairns at bay. Tomorrow. not tonight.

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I really hadn't intended to spend the whole night with her. I knew I had to be back in my own room when Molly came in and started her usual clattering of dishes and humming incessantly.