Celtic Mist Ch. 06

At a large flat stone, Declan sat and drew Grace upon his lap, with one hand holding hers and the other round her back. He looked at the reflection of the moon in her eyes. The faint sound of the music from the fair floated upon the cool night air and the river burbled next to them as their lips met --- instinct instructing innocence. Then an outraged shout behind them abruptly jolted them apart. 'Twas her brother Conor with a lass, apparently there for the same purpose. Conor ran down the bank at him.

The fight ended like the previous one with Dervla's father --- Declan victorious, but out of a home and job. Wryly he pondered whether he would ever learn from his experiences...it seemed that once he was in the company of a bonnie maid, rational thought was nigh impossible.

Over the long months of winter, Declan sustained himself in town with his imagination. A few kisses were to be found here and there, but, meditating on the plight of lasses in abject poverty...on the ever-present lecherous predation upon destitute females...and males for that matter...Declan never wanted a lass to mistake a romantic gesture on his part for a proposition of a quid pro quo wherein he would provide them protection or food in exchange for their favors.

One such situation arose quite by accident. Declan was sleeping in a doorway in an alley one night when he awoke to the sounds of screaming. In the darkness a few paces away, he saw a man pummeling a struggling woman, shouting abuse at her in the vilest of terms, whilst she hollered and cried. The man was larger than him, but Declan did not stop to contemplate the mismatch. He leapt to his feet and threw himself upon the villain.

'Twas a brawl of some fifteen minutes, in which each knocked the other down several times, and blood streamed freely from both noses. At last Declan with a vicious thrust of his left fist, felt the crack of the man's cheekbone and satisfying squish of his eyeball. Down the man crumpled, insensible and bleeding profusely from lacerations of his brow and cheek.

Declan straightened, panting raggedly, to behold the young woman gaping at him in wonder. "Och, yer hurt, so ye are!" she gasped. She grabbed his arm and hastened him from the alley. "We must hie away afore he wakes." As she led him through the lantern lit streets, Declan perceived that she was a pretty wagtail of about twenty, her face at present the worse for the beating she had taken.

"Who was that blackguard?" he asked her.

Her eyes darted to the street behind them. "'He's my flashman."

"Why the devil was he serving ye so?"

For several moments she spoke not, then at last she spat, "He always gets so when he's cupshot! He's unhappy with me work --- thinks I'm not drawing in enough custom." A choking sound escaped her lips. "No more...no more! I can abide it no more!" At this juncture, she stopped before a wretched looking hovel. "I must fetch me things."

Declan followed her down a flight of sagging stairs to a tiny, miserable cellar room, and watched as she frantically stuffed a few items into a satchel, muttering, "He'll come find me and murder me for certain, so he will. I must flee."

"Have ye anywhere safe to go?" he asked, taking the bag from her as they climbed back to the street.

They began walking, she pondering the question for a while. "There's me uncle's farm, but 'tis a fair piece away."

"I'll go with you and see you get there safe," Declan promised.

'Twas a walk of nigh an hour along a road through the countryside, at last ending at a farm somewhat more prosperous looking than average, with a larger farmhouse and a barn. May, so the lass's name was, demurred waking her aunt and uncle at this hour, "...looking like this," she murmured, nodding at her gaudy gown.

Instead, they crept into the barn and made a nest of straw to sit upon. From her satchel, May produced a handkerchief and wetted it in a water bucket, offering it to him.

"Ta."

She watched him as he wiped the blood from his face. "'Tis I who should be thanking you," she said. "'Twas a rare, brave thing ye did, fighting that bastard. He would have killed ye, so he would...I was afeared he was going to kill me."

Declan shrugged. "Sure, anyone would have done the same --- come to your aid."

She shook her head. "Nay. No one would have. No one has ever done such a kind deed for one such as meself. Thank ye, Declan." Her voice was soft as she gazed at him.

As he wiped his face dry upon his sleeve, Declan's eyes were drawn by the movement of her hands lifting aside her shawl. In a trance he observed her fingers reach for the fastening of her bodice. "Will ye not let me thank you proper?" she said.

The temptation of her offering was undeniable, but the thought of accepting it did not rest easy in his heart...not like this. "Stop!" he croaked before she could undo the garment. "Please...May. You owe me nothing. You're so lovely, but I helped ye freely."

She sat motionless, studying him, then gathered her shawl over her shoulders, saying teary-eyed, "Yer a rare, good lad, Declan."

They slept in the straw --- the remainder of the night passing uneventfully. In the morning she sent him on his way, opining that the reunion with her family would go better without the presence of a stranger.

*****

There was yet one more chapter in this phase of his life --- a chapter that unfolded after harvest season had drawn to a close.

His body now that of a man, his strength secured him work as a blacksmith's assistant in a good-sized town. The position fortunately included lodging --- sharing a small room with the blacksmith's formal apprentice.

Not many days had he held this new position when Declan experienced the rare sensation of being in possession of spare coins and done with work for the afternoon.

He wandered about the town in search of diversion, presently coming across a bakery. Lured in by the tantalizing aroma, he stood at the counter and contemplated the exciting prospect of having a treat. A voice sounded from a back room. "Brid, there's a customer." In a moment, footsteps approached, and a maiden near his age stepped behind the counter.

"What will ye have, then?" said she. She was a comely thing with shiny black curls, pale skin, and a lovely, curved figure. Declan glanced distractedly between the sweetmeats on the counter and the sweetmeats under the crisp white apron bib pinned to her bodice. A blue neckerchief was tucked into the top of the gown.

Realizing that her greenish-brown eyes were regarding him with amused curiosity, he cleared his throat and asked for an apple tart --- the first thing that came to mind. He ate it as he slowly walked along the street, his equilibrium confused by his sudden attraction to the girl and the haunting, delicious taste of the apple tart. When had he last had an apple tart? He could not recall.

After that, every Friday when he received his wages, he hastened to the bakery to buy a sweet...and see the lass Brid. The second time he entered, the proprietress was behind the counter with the girl, and there was another customer --- a man sitting at a small table by the window taking tea and biscuits --- the circumstances thus conspiring to undermine Declan's intent to address her.

The third time, the lass was alone behind the counter, but the same customer was present, again in possession of the window table. Declan was too tongue-tied to speak any words beyond "Apple tart, please."

There was a low chuckle from the table behind him, then a sly voice: "So you like her apple dumplings, do you?"

Unintentionally, Declan's eyes fastened upon the lass's rounded bosom, then flew up in chagrin to her sparkling eyes. He flushed and hurried out of the shop with his tart.

That evening he wandered morosely among the merrymakers in the streets, convinced he had made an ass of himself during his one opportunity to talk to the girl. There was a fair underway, and lads and lasses of the town were dancing in the square to lively music. He stood watching the dancers for some time, jealous of the lads with a lass to hold in their arms.

The first time the oddness occurred, Declan thought he had imagined it, but the second time that a tiny misty cloud briefly shimmered before his eyes, he shifted his focus and raised his hand --- a powdery white substance dusted his fingers. In confusion he looked about --- there behind him he discovered the black-haired maiden from the bakery. A spread handkerchief lay over her cupped palm. Before he could think of what to say, she took a pinch of something from the handkerchief and sprinkled it before his face. A fine white powder puffed and drifted away.

"What is that?" he asked, raising his face into the cloud.

By way of answering, the lass wet her forefinger in her mouth, pressed it in the powder in the handkerchief, then returned the powder tipped digit to her lips. She sucked it clean, her hazel eyes mirthful as she gazed at him. In wonder he watched her lips drawing on her finger, his cock stirring involuntarily. When she held the handkerchief out to him, he mimicked her actions, tasting the sweetness as he licked his finger.

"'Tis sugar," she said and winked. "Sometimes I sneak a wee pinch from the bakery."

She was no longer wearing the white apron and cap from the bakery, and her comeliness had an unfettered quality. Declan hastened to speak whilst she still stood by him. "Your name is Brid, is it?" he asked, trying to appear more composed than earlier in the day.

"Aye. What is yours?"

"Declan."

"Declan," she repeated, licking her finger again.

In a rush he asked, "Will ye dance with me, Brid?"

Smiling, she folded up her handkerchief and pocketed it. "I dinna mind if I do."

'Twas a joyous evening after all, dancing with pretty Brid --- holding her hands, putting his arm round her waist, and seeing her nimble feet and slim ankles under her swirling skirt. His pleasure was intermittently suspended when she danced with other lads, but at the end of the night she allowed him to walk with her back to the bakery, where she shared a room with the housemaid in the garret.

From that evening on, Declan sought out Brid when he was done with his day's labors at the forge. Sometimes he was able to see her, but other evenings, to his frustration, she went walking with other lads or was not at liberty. When together, they would stroll through the town, in search of amusement.

Brid, like himself, was on her own. But whilst Declan knew nothing of his own family, Brid had run away from hers nigh a year ago. Her father had been a carpenter in another town but had become a right fuddlecap after her mother died, eventually becoming too sick with drink to work. As their circumstances had inexorably declined, her father had begun to press her take on men in exchange for coin...his shameful campaign culminating when he brought home a stranger who had paid him a tidy sum for her maidenhead. Brid had bolted. Initially, she had struggled to make her way alone, nigh being forced into the very life that her father had desired for her. But she had managed to secure a respectable position as the baker's assistant.

Declan soon came to discover that Brid's merriness was but the surface of a more deeply mischievous bent. Indeed, she was a bit of a hoyden. One of her favorite pastimes was walking behind the town watchman and the other dignitaries of the town silently mocking them with absurd faces and gestures, only to assume a wide-eyed, innocent expression when they turned about.

Another time Brid and he were in the square when a gentleman inadvertently dropped a shilling as he sorted through his coin purse. Brid stepped close by and covered the coin with her foot --- to gleefully claim it after the gentleman continued on his way.

She proved to be an accomplished pickpocket to boot, although her activities as such were largely confined to pranks such as switching her victim's handkerchief from one pocket to another or slipping acorns or pebbles into people's pockets. Occasionally however, Declan did observe her keeping a coin here and there that she filched from someone's pocket.

No ill judgement on Declan's part attended her light-fingered pranks --- he was too much in awe of Brid's daring. For himself, he had always striven to be inconspicuous with respect to those in power, so 'twas a thrilling novelty to witness her subversion. Besides, anyone who lost a coin to her dexterous fingers was a prosperous looking man who could well afford it. Rarely was she caught...and her ready ploy in such circumstances was to rapidly flutter her long lashes, pull her neckerchief from her bodice, and pretend that she had something in her eye. Without fail, one glance down at the suddenly exposed plump breast tops swelling from her gown made her victims forget the little hand that had just been at their pocket.

For some three weeks Declan courted Brid, uncertain as to his standing with the lass since there were several other lads vying for her attention. On a Friday night after walking her home, they at last shared a kiss...'twas a most pleasurable, lingering kiss...not fervid, but not quite innocent either...and Declan walked home to the forge in a well-heartened mood.

The following day was one of much excitement in town: there was to be a hot air balloon demonstration in a nearby field. Most of the shops closed early so that everyone could attend. Brid rushed into the forge to fetch him, her face alight. "Make haste or we'll miss it!" she squealed.

Hand in hand they ran down the street. The launch site was already a sea of chattering townspeople surrounding the splendid blue and gold painted silk balloon, nigh three stories tall, swaying in its tethers. The pilots, two Englishmen, were giving a demonstration of the mechanics of the contraption.

"I canna see," Brid fretted, jumping up and down, trying to get a view over the crowd. "Will ye lift me up?"

"Here, sit on me shoulder," Declan urged, squatting. She placed her hip and part of her arse upon his left shoulder, and he rose to standing, clasping her legs against his chest.

"Oh, 'tis much better!" She grabbed his other shoulder and head for balance.

Declan soon stopped attending the pilots' description of the fire heating the air as his attention was diverted by the intriguing sensations of Brid sitting upon him so. Her hip was pressed against his neck, and through her skirts, he could feel her buttock on him...the end of his shoulder was wedged into the soft place between her legs. Lower, his hands touched her calves through the dress fabric. From the corner of his eye, he especially appreciated that his face was mere inches from her cunny --- a realization that was keeping his cock a-tingle.

At last, the pilots made ready to depart, climbing into the basket, whilst several men on the ground freed the mooring ropes. Brid's bottom wriggled upon his shoulder, and Declan unconsciously squeezed her calves. There was a roar of flame like a dragon's breath --- the enormous globe billowed and shook voluptuously, then rose from the ground. The crowd cheered.

Once it was above their heads, Declan crouched and set Brid to the ground, whereupon they joined the others skipping through the field waving handkerchiefs --- following the amazing object as it drifted south.

As it floated on, the hollering weans continued to follow it, whilst the older folk mingled in the field, or headed back into town. Declan and Brid remained for a while in the field watching the magical balloon before making their way back.

Impromptu gaiety had broken out in the square with music and dancing. Between dancing and dining, the two occupied the remainder of the afternoon till the sun set. They both partook of mugs of cider, and the tart spirit heightened the feverish excitement of the night.

Brid pulled out her handkerchief for a dab of sugar, then offered it to him. As he raised his sugar-coated finger, she grabbed his wrist and drew his hand to her instead. Declan gazed at her agog as she covered his finger with her mouth...shuddering at the sensation of her warm, wet lips and velvety tongue sucking upon his digit. When she released him, Declan avidly returned the favor with his strong lips and tongue upon her wee finger. For several moments they stood staring at each other, then clasping hands, they began walking through the streets --- all urgency but no place to go.

Presently they came upon a rowdy group of men gathered round a small table on the street before a tavern, cheering on two contestants facing off in a competition of strength with their arms. Declan and Brid paused to watch. He recognized one of the men as the cooper, a lean, wiry chap with notably strong arms...no surprise given his occupation. When he emerged victorious to many shouts and cheers, another man took the seat opposite him, and Declan realized that man after tipsy man was putting up a halfpenny to challenge the cooper.

In fascination, Declan and Brid absorbed the sight of the men grunting over their clenched arms. At length, when yet another defeated man rose from the stool, Brid called out, "Me sweetheart can best ye, so he can!" Her eyes were shining as she drew Declan forward.

The men all turned to see the next contender, and the cooper examined him with an appraising expression. Roused by the challenge and Brid's referring to him as her sweetheart, Declan expanded his chest and squared his shoulders. The cooper motioned to the table. "Have ye a halfpenny?" Declan slapped down the coin, doffed his coat, and straddled the stool opposite him. The man took a swig from his pint and grinned.

Elbows were put to the wood and they interlocked hands --- on the count of three they set to. Declan had never wrestled so, but quickly learnt the game --- his strength in a rush was fortified by the exhilarating fact that he was not immediately defeated. Indeed, 'twas a right fair match. For some time, their upraised, sinewy fists migrated a scant inch back and forth in purgatory --- their faces red, their grunts drowned by shouting, gesticulating spectators.

Eventually, as he struggled to maintain his ground, Declan raised his gaze and confronted the cooper's furious dark blue eyes and hard, flexing cheeks --- in that moment he found a buried reserve of strength. His arm shaking, Declan forced the issue past the critical angle and slammed the man's hand to the table.

The halfpenny reward paled in comparison to Brid's shrieking embrace at his triumph. Hand in hand they hastened from the tavern, Brid bubbling. "Oh, Declan! I knew ye could do it! You're so wondrous strong, so ye are!"

Round the corner, he embraced the wiggling lass, then buoyed by joy, he crouched and bid her climb upon his shoulder once more. Laughing she complied --- but this time, to his astonishment and delight, she got behind him and straddled his shoulders. When he straightened, one thigh was on each shoulder, her legs hanging in front of his chest. He was giddy as he clasped her ankles and began walking...she giggling and holding his head. Her skirts were bunched up, exposing her stocking clad calves, and against his neck on each side Declan could feel the warm bare skin of her inner thighs.