Celtic Mist Ch. 13

Soon thereafter, any doubts she had entertained as to the specific meaning of "went into" were laid to rest by the detailed and enthusiastic demonstration of the act of intercourse! Although the view had been but dimly illuminated and repeatedly interrupted by the officer's flexing buttocks, she had seen plainly that the cock most definitely penetrated a hole in the crevice and did not simply lay between the lips!

The hole had appeared to be at the more postern aspect of the slit, close to the bottom hole --- enlightenment followed as she recalled the reflection in the mirror of her own cunny: 'twas from said spot that the fluid had trickled...aye, there must be a tiny passage there...a passage that would be full opened when she was first mounted by a man! Aoife's needle hand faltered as a throb rose in the corresponding part.

Biting her lip, she drove the needle through the gathered fabric edge. Her mind again returned to last night's scene. In raw fascination had her eyes followed the motions of the couple's swollen, glistening, enjoined organs...even as the quivering ache had mounted and mounted between her own thighs. The maid's cunny lips had been so blatantly distended...by God!...how did that not hurt...that hefty column plunging into that wee article? The sounds of impaled girl's rapturous transports had indeed suggested the contrary.

Aoife's plight of shameful excitement had only been compounded by being squeezed into the tight space of the wardrobe with Declan. His arm had been pressed against hers...she had felt its tension and the rapid motions of his breathing and had guessed he was similarly roused by the spectacle before them. She was powerless to stop herself from stealing a glance down at the front of his breeches, but in the dark, she could not tell if there was that concordant physical manifestation that so awed her.

Images from her dreams flashed in her mind...then from her musings when she had opened her legs before the mirror and touched herself...the tremulous pressure expanding as she had imagined Declan gazing down at her spread lips, seeing their swelling and the telltale, priming fluid...then crawling over her, his staff rampant for the joining. In her innocence of the exercise, all her dreams and thoughts had terminated on the brink of engagement.

Now she ken what came next...at least visually...but her ignorance of the sensations yet remained.

As she had stood next to Declan in the dark cabinet, feeling the moist thickening between her legs, the mad thought had possessed her that their male and female parts were but two feet away from each other, and naught but some fabric stood between them uniting and disporting themselves according to Nature's sly scheme. She need only rotate, drop her garments, and present her naked bottom for him to serve her like the maid bent over the desk before them!

But of course, he thought her a lad...

...and she hated him.

By such reminders had she attempted in the moment to stifle her wanton weakness. The sudden shift in emotion with the overheard plan of the Yeomen's raid had been fortunate in this ironic regard. If the couple had simply left without that conversation, what would have happened when Declan and she stepped out of the wardrobe?

The second incident was the kiss between them just before being rescued from the cave. What the Devil had that been about?

Notwithstanding her suspicions about him, could she forgive herself this betrayal of her body in a moment of acute confrontation with her mortality? Aye, she had been threatened with rape, and had been vilely mauled by Bruckton, Blaylock, and his henchmen, but never before had she with such certainty faced imminent death.

Perhaps a state of temporary madness was usual...but was it madness to grasp at one's only source of comfort under such duress? Perhaps it reflected not a weakening of her ire towards Declan. Under the same circumstances, might she have embraced another lass...or a sworn celibate priest...or even Blaylock himself, if they had been the only other human there? Or perhaps her judgement had been yet affected by the scene of the couple fucking...

In the same manner that she had rationalized her amorous dreams of Declan, so did she now attempt to absolve herself of any partiality towards him suggested by the kiss.

And, pray, what was the explanation on Declan's part? Just before their lips came together, he had said something to her...something she could not hear over the ringing in her ears.

The first burning question was whether or nay he ken she was a lass --- either before or after the impassioned embrace. Could he have known before? Could she have compromised her disguise by some unknown faux pas? She combed through her memories of their shared moments over the past five weeks.

Had he spied her squatting in the woods to piddle one day at Fleetwood's farm? Had he detected through her clothes the binding of her bosom? She recalled her dream in which that very thing had happened whilst he was teaching her to fight with a knife. Mayhap she had failed to understand a jest among the men that any lad would comprehend...or she had failed to react properly when a pike handle smacked her in the groin?

If he had known, why had he kept the secret?

If he hadn't known, did his fervent embrace indicate that he was by nature inclined towards the lads...or in that moment of desperation did the instinctual desire for the solace of human touch impel him towards whomever was close by, in this case the lad Michael --- by the same reasoning she had granted herself?

If he took her to be a lad before the kiss, did he still? She relived the incident in close detail. His hands had been upon her head and her back but had not ventured further. Could he have felt the binding through her clothes or the roundness of her breasts against his chest when their bodies had pressed together? As modestly as she was endowed, and as smoothly wrapped as she was, 'twas indeed possible nothing amiss would have been noted. What of the flatness at her crotch when her belly was snug against him --- would he have perceived that in so fleeting a moment? 'Twas impossible to know. After being rescued, nothing in his manner advertised a revelation on his part.

The second burning question was of course if he knew she was a lass, did he know she was Aoife?

Even as she deliberated over these questions as dispassionately as possible, her mind strayed again and again to the astonishing moment of their embrace. Reeling from the utter blackness and pulsing echo in her ears, her body had been transfixed with the sensation of his touch...his breath tickling her ear, his bristles scratching her cheek, the soft strength of his lips...his lips that together with hers grew slippery and hot with their entwined tongues...his large, powerful body nigh crushing her in its embrace.

Aoife felt her cheeks warm and the pulse quicken between her legs at the intense memory. Surreptitiously she glanced up at her companions across the table, but they seemed oblivious to the tides of emotion fluxing in the quietly stitching Kitty.

Before heading for Rossnalough Manor that evening, she went to Market Square --- she had lost her hat in the cave below the mass house. That morning at the Militia garrison she had gone without, but could not chance it at the Yeomen's garrison where Blaylock might see her. In the square, she noted with unease that there were fewer hawkers' carts about, and those that were present had a noticeably limited selection of items for sale. Moreover, a pair of Redcoats stood observing the activity. She was fortunate to find a peddler of old clothes who had a wool cap for sale.

Michael's next stop ere leaving town was the O'Connor house to ask after the blacksmith Rory Redmond. Mrs. Redmond gratefully reported that the lad's unguent had held at bay the putrefaction of his lacerated back, and that the physician Dr. Woods had now seen him.

'Twas with some misgivings that Michael at last approached the gate to Rossnalough Manor. What would she discover there? Was Father Noctor being held there? The sentries were soldiers she had encountered previously, and the search of her person had become fairly rudimentary.

"Where's your knapsack?" one asked.

"Oh, I left it in the kitchen by accident last night." Michael nodded towards the mansion.

Once inside, she sneaked into the stable and hurried through the tunnel to collect her knapsack from inside the wall next to the parlour that she had entered last night. Since discovering the hidden passages within the walls, she had so far explored the first of the three parlour offices she could access. That it was not Blaylock's she determined from the correspondence on the desk --- but belonged to one Lieutenant Hunt. Nevertheless, she scanned the papers and noted any references to plans, missions, and troops that she could share with Fleetwood.

Then, yesterday, she had only just ventured out through the door in the wainscoting into the second of the three offices when she heard a thud from across the chamber. Diving silently under the desk she could only guess that she had failed to glimpse an occupant of the room when she scanned it through the hole in the panel. She had not had time to determine which officer was assigned this parlour. If the officer who had entered it with the maid was the present owner, then it was not Blaylock's office.

Now collecting her knapsack, she crouched and peeped through the hole in the panel at the empty chamber...a fluttery sensation tightening her belly as she eyed the desk and the wardrobe where had unfolded the extraordinary scene yesterday.

So unsettled was she by last night's events, that she otherwise demurred on further exploring the secret passageways tonight. In the kitchen and courtyard, no intelligence did she overhear about the Yeomen's raid on the mass house last night, or Father Noctor's whereabouts. The voices, laughter, and activity around the soldiers' tents were the same as ever.

Nevertheless, her evening was not entirely without interest. As she collected boots from under the grand stairs, Michael witnessed a group of officers pass by on the way to the dining room, among them an unfamiliar man dressed in the stylish garb of a civilian gentleman of means.

This was something new. She swiftly noted what she could. He was a man of good height and figure, though not as tall as Blaylock or Declan. His russet hair was thick and wavy, and fastened in a queue at his nape. Although he was young --- about thirty --- his face had a harsh angularity about his brow, nose, and cheeks that reminded her of a bird of prey. He was conversing with an officer at his side, and with their shifting positions as they walked, Michael soon realized the officer was Blaylock.

The moment she recognized him, Blaylock's alert eyes swept the hall and noted her presence. At once she dropped the boots, tugged her cap off and bowed, keeping her face lowered till the men passed out of sight into the far hall.

*****

"Kitty, make haste and fetch your large embroidery frame and thread!" Mrs. Sutton called the next day, briskly entering the workroom from the front of the shop. Aoife, accustomed to her mistress's matter-of-fact orders, promptly set aside the garment she was sewing and turned to one of the cabinets along the wall, retrieving her basket of embroidery supplies. She stretched up on her toes to grab the large, rectangular frame from a hook on the wall.

Turning back, she beheld an elegantly dressed man standing behind Mrs. Sutton in the doorway between the shop and the workroom --- his eyes were fixed upon her.

She knew him! 'Twas the civilian dinner guest she had seen last night among the Yeomen officers at Rossnalough Manor! That russet hair and hawk-like face were instantly recognizable. A long sword hung at his side. To her discomposure, he continued to study her with an appraising expression. Had he recognized her as the dirty boot black in the hall?! Concealing her panic, she endeavored to pay heed to Mrs. Sutton.

"Kitty, this is the Magistrate of Enniscorthy, Captain Archibald Jacob."

Aoife bobbed a curtsey. "Sir."

"Captain Jacob has commissioned additional embroidery to the cloth on the judges' bench at the courthouse. Here is the design."

Still sensing the Magistrate's eyes upon her, Aoife stepped up to the table to examine the drawing Mrs. Sutton was explaining. 'Twas a coat of arms.

"Have you the thread colors for this?"

"Aye, I have. Is this the final size of the piece?"

"It is. Let us make haste, then. Captain Jacob had been so kind as to offer a personal escort to the courthouse."

Aoife gathered her supplies, stealing a quick glance in the looking glass. Was there something amiss with her appearance that was attracting his notice? Could he have recognized her as the lad? Her lilac gown was tidy and clean, and the white neckerchief was primly tucked in the bodice over the swell of her breasts. The brown color of her hair and eyebrows was intact. There were only the scratches on her face that were at all remarkable, and light as they were, they were hardly even that.

Still mystified, she followed the pair out onto the sidewalk. Captain Jacob offered his arm to Mrs. Sutton and they set off at a dignified pace down the street, the two of them chatting as Aoife walked two paces behind carrying her embroidery frame slung over her shoulder and her basket on her other arm.

Magistrate, was he? She was vaguely familiar with this position: a government official who served as an emissary between the written law and its enforcement --- between the Castle and courts and the enforcers such as Militia, Yeomen, constables, and watchmen. That accounted for his presence at the Yeomen's garrison last night.

Nothing good had Aoife ever heard of these officers of the law, and she had not high hopes for this Captain Jacob, but she would observe him closely. For now, she listened to his conversation with Mrs. Sutton for any tidbits of note.

It appeared that their acquaintance was one of some duration, for initially the conversation consisted of inquiries after family members and mutual acquaintances --- Susanna, Samuel's apprenticeship, Captain Jacob's father and sisters. Mrs. Sutton reported to him that someone named Emma would soon be marrying.

Presently, Mrs. Sutton asked him about the situation in the county --- she had by now heard the tidings of the Catholic mass house burned in Davidstown and was brimming with questions.

"A Catholic rebel group was hiding guns inside. To destroy the cache there was no choice but to demolish the church and arrest the priest. No worries, my lady --- the Yeomen have admirably controlled the situation and will get the names of the other conspirators out of him."

To Mrs. Sutton's concern about the dwindling wares at the market, the Magistrate advised her to instruct her cook to stock up as much as possible since increasing numbers of military units in the county would soon be taxing the supply of provisions.

They arrived at the courthouse, a large brick building with a columned portico, surrounded by a wrought iron fence that on one side enclosed a garden. The trio proceeded up the front steps and through an imposing carved door.

Immediately inside, they were in a cool, dark, high-ceilinged vestibule some ten feet deep and extending along the breadth of the building. The floor was polished stone, and the walls were lined by a row of decorative marble columns, between which hung paintings of haughty looking gentlemen, variably standing with an arm resting upon a fluted pedestal, holding a book, or holding a document. Among them, Aoife recognized a portrait of King George of England.

To the far right in the vestibule was a writing desk adjacent to a stair leading to the second floor. Currently the desk was occupied by a clerk conversing with two well-dressed, wigged gentlemen standing before it. At their entry, the clerk stood, and all three men acknowledged the Magistrate with short bows. Marking them with a nod, Captain Jacob opened the double doors directly in front of them.

"The court is not in session till three, so you have some time." He led them into the courtroom proper, which was at present unoccupied.

Aoife looked about in curiosity, never having seen a courtroom. 'Twas a large, open chamber with a sculpted plaster ceiling far above. The judges' bench was directly opposite them at the far end. The jury box was on the left, and behind it sunlight streamed in through four tall windows that overlooked the garden that she had noted from the street. The right side and back of the room were lined with wooden galleries of seating evidently for spectators. In the middle of the room before the judges' bench were several desks, for the solicitors Aoife guessed.

Her gaze returned to the judges' bench as she followed the Magistrate and Mrs. Sutton. It was comprised by a long table --- perhaps four feet deep and eighteen feet long --- facing the courtroom. Five tall-backed chairs facing the room were arrayed along its length, all distinguished by intricate carving and elegant upholstery --- the center chair even more regal than its neighbors. The wall behind the bench bore a stately wood panel carved with an elaborate rendition of the crown and the initials G and R.

Aoife now surveyed their target: to the front of the entire span of the judges' bench was affixed a dark blue silk cloth panel that hung to the floor, where it was trimmed with a gold fringe. In the center, in front of the most grandiose chair, the cloth was embroidered with several coats of arms --- Aoife supposed they might represent the noble families prominent in and around Enniscorthy.

"This is where it should be placed," Captain Jacob said, touching the cloth with the toe of his boot.

Aoife crouched and picked up the hem, drawing the cloth out flat like a table as she stood up.

"Here, sir?" She pointed to the left of the coat of arms at the end of the row.

"Yes. It should be the same size as the others, spaced similarly, and aligned top and bottom."

Aoife nodded and placed the paper design upon the indicated spot, planning her approach to the task. A moment later she felt something nudge the back of her knees and glanced round to see that the Magistrate had produced a chair for her.

"Here you are, my girl." His hand with a light touch upon her shoulder signaled her to sit.

"Thank you, sir." As she sat and pulled the cloth into the embroidery frame, his withdrawing fingers grazed over the nape of her neck, prompting a silent hope that it had been inadvertent.

She drew the chair into a more suitable position, facing the judges' chairs across the table. Her frame was approximately two feet wide by eighteen inches tall, and she positioned the cloth inside it to include one coat of arms on the right edge for reference. Stretching the fabric taut, she tightened the clamps on the frame. Now bracing the wooden rectangle between her lower ribcage and the edge of the judges' bench, she formed a fabric table over her lap. Thus situated, she began basting guidelines with white thread, adding a linen backing to support the design.

From behind her, she heard Captain Jacob and Mrs. Sutton speaking in low voices that receded as they ambled back towards the doors from whence they had entered. By and by, when Aoife glanced over her shoulder, she saw them through the open doors, standing in the vestibule engrossed in conversation. Not having received further instructions as to whether they were staying or leaving, she continued to work.

Aoife quickly created a grid of thread lines where the new coat of arms was to be embroidered. In her basket she collected the colors of floss she would need, matching them to the drawing Mrs. Sutton had given her. With one hand underneath the cloth and one on top, she started with the crimson of the center shield, her fingers soon falling into a swift rhythm passing the needle up and down through the blue silk.