Celtic Mist Ch. 13

After several minutes of sewing, the silence was broken by what sounded like a muddled whisper --- her head lifted, and she quickly surveyed the room. She could have sworn that she heard the name "Michael" softly uttered, but no explanation did she find. It must be the weeks of strain of maintaining two disguises, she concluded, returning to her task.

"Aoife!" now came a distinct whisper.

In terror her eyes flew to the left from whence the sound had come. There in the window closest to the judges' bench was Declan Quickfist Muldowney O'Toole! She stared at him, her mouth agape, her upraised needle hand frozen. He was sitting in the open window, one foot on the sill with his forearm on his bent knee...grinning at her.

"Kitty! Are you in need of something? I'm back here," Mrs. Sutton called from behind her.

Aoife's head swiveled in panic over her other shoulder. "Oh -- no mum! I-I was just stretching my neck."

But when she turned back there was naught but a view of the garden in the window, the pink blooms of an azalea shrub nodding in the breeze. Her bewildered eyes fixed on the empty window --- were the recent incidents playing tricks on her mind? She could have sworn she was after seeing Declan in the window --- had she imagined it?

A moment of deliberation later, she returned her flustered attention to the embroidery.

Some five minutes passed; she had exhausted one thread and was beginning with a new strand, when she nigh shrieked as something touched her foot under the table. On the brink of jumping out of her chair, a hand grasped her hand that was underneath the cloth, halting her flight.

Stock still she sat, her heart pounding in her chest, knowing now that she had not imagined it --- Declan had been in the window! And now he was under the judges' bench, crouched before her knees, hidden by the tablecloth!

Beneath the embroidery frame, her trembling fingers pulled from his grip and explored the unseen hand...aye, 'twas the large, powerful hand she had oft noticed...her fingertips felt the distinctive callouses on his knuckles.

Realization came all at once: Declan had called her Aoife! And Michael! He knew that Kitty and Michael and Aoife were one and the same! But the confused tangle of questions in her mind dissolved under the onrush of shivering sensation where their hands touched.

His hand moved with hers, their fingers several times interlacing and slipping apart...then the warmth of his broad paw cradled hers, turning it palm up. The next moment she felt the fingers of his other hand...oh so lightly scratching over her palm, the tickling making her jump. Now he was brushing her palm with one finger...only to lift it away a moment later. When it returned, the pad of his finger moved with purposeful pressure upon her skin.

In a flash she understood that he was tracing a letter in her palm. Her unfocused eyes were fixed upon the embroidery before her as her mind transcribed the motions of his unseen finger underneath.

I...L...O...V...E...Y...O...U

All her defenses...all her zealous interrogation of her feelings and bolstering of her dislike for this lad were unequal to the startling turn of events. Her body responded ere her mind did, her heart pattering and her cheeks warming. Furtively she shot a glance behind her, confirming the Magistrate and Mrs. Sutton to still be far behind her in the vestibule.

Declan was now pressing kisses into her palm and upon her fingertips --- involuntarily her fingers caressed his strong, full lips, feeling them move and part against her skin...then softy her fingers dragged through the new bristly hair growth on his upper lip and jaw. He turned his face into her hand, rubbing his cheek against it...

Her lower lip quivered in a rush of emotion. Endeavoring to blink clear her nervous confusion, she managed to simulate a stitching motion with her hand that was above the cloth. Declan's arms wrapped round her skirts, hugging her legs, and his head rested upon her knees under the table. To her surprise, she discovered her fingers weaving in his thick, short hair, touching his ear and the soft skin behind it. His head shifted and she felt him kissing her knees through her gown.

There was no slyness...no forcefulness when his hands that had been wrapped round her calves began to tug her hem up...just a candid eagerness that tested her reaction even in their urgent movements.

Her heartbeat accelerated and a fluttering rose deep in her belly as he drew her skirts above her knee. The cool air swirled round her uncovered calves, then his lips were upon her bare knees above her gartered stockings. Her conflicted body shook...oh, pray! What should she do?

All past teachings and admonitions told her that she should kick at him...should push his head away...should stand up...or cry for help. Her reason told her that she should object...not only because it was unchaste, but also because he was the lad whom she despised!

But she did none of these things --- she sat rooted to the spot, her legs tensed, her hand under the cloth hovering uncertainly above his head.

And when, like a man possessed, his lips wildly traveled up her thighs, covering them with kisses as he pushed her skirts up and bared her skin, she still protested not. A fluxing ache grew between her legs as his mouth drew nearer and nearer to her center, and she pressed her thighs together in shame. His approaching head bumped into the stretched fabric within the embroidery frame above him, and the brief, intruding bulge in the cloth workspace on her lap was blushing proof indeed that this was truly happening and was no dream!

Aoife bit back a gasp as his strong hands curled round her knees and abruptly opened them. The next moment his wide shoulders were wedged between her thighs and his calloused palms were burrowing along the outsides of her hips to grasp her bare bottom and drag her forward to the edge of the chair.

Oh God! He'd spread her legs! He was touching her naked bottom!

Even as one ear stayed attuned to the vestibule behind her, her frantic eyes darted from one side to the other of her lap. Her wide-splayed knees were concealed under the tablecloth draping down from the embroidery frame, and his hands clasping her buttocks were hidden under her gown.

Then he moved not --- just beneath the wooden frame and fabric she sensed his head between her legs. What in Medb's name was he doing?! What was she doing? Could he see anything under there?

His breath grazed her upper thighs. In mortified excitement she realized her vulva was wantonly spread right before his face, nakedly pulsing...she felt the betraying, thread-like tickle of fluid connecting her cunny to her bottom hole. No doubt could there be that even if he could see it not, he must assuredly be able to detect her roused scent.

Her agitated eyes followed the motion of the embroidery frame that, braced against her ribcage, was sliding up and down against the edge of the table with her rapid breathing. Helplessly, she continued her sham working.

Oh, what the Devil was happening? Momentarily forgetting all her remonstrations against him, Aoife trembled at the impossible thought of that he was preparing to mount her. How could that even happen? Why, he would need to drag her under the table, so he would!

She started when his lips touched the inside of her thigh --- one side, then the other --- oh how delightfully tickly it was! Then she smothered a squeal when his warm breath flowed over her exposed privates. To her astonishment, she now felt his lips pressed to her mound, nuzzling in the patch of curls, kissing and kissing it...oh, God...what was he doing?! She had never heard of such a sinful thing! Just an inch below his mouth, the insistent morsel was swelling with longing...she closed her eyes in fuddled embarrassment...what if he discovered it?

But coy Nature granted no reprieve to her abashed innocence --- as surely as if guided, his lips shifted lower and pressed against that indecent spot...here he lingered for a moment, softly kissing her turgid bud...then 'twas as if a floodgate burst. In a frenzy his mouth and tongue were all over her split --- his hard grip on her bottom holding her fast, his beard scratching her inner thighs as he ravenously rubbed his face in her wetness.

Oh sweet Medb! Oh! He was kissing and licking her bare organ, the wicked lad! Oh, God...oh, the wondrous pleasure! She was reeling with the exquisite revelation! His lips pressed and sucked whilst the strong, velvety muscle of his tongue alternately swabbed and probed between her lips and stroked and tickled the tormented pip up front.

The voluptuous sensations mounted rapidly, and she was unable to control the salacious tightening in her thighs and buttocks that instinctively opened her wider yet...lewdly arching her against his lapping tongue. All pretense of sewing was abandoned --- 'twas all she could do to prevent the embroidery frame from clattering against the table, to keep her head from tossing side to side, and to smother her panting --- all whilst her hand beneath the cloth pressed his head closer and her fingers entwined in his hair.

From a distance, her outward appearance might only be that of a diligent seamstress, but as the inward tumult burgeoned, there flashed in Aoife's mind the image of the scandalous act transpiring that very moment under the embroidery frame --- her skirts bunched about her hips, her pale thighs obscenely akimbo, and Declan's moving lips fused to her naked privates, the raw contrast of the dark stubble round his mouth delving into her red fluff.

Her heart pounded and her hips strained as the aching yearning grew tighter and tighter under his ardent lips and fluttering tongue...the pressure expanding beyond the point of fear that had always stopped her before.

Oh pray! She was going to piddle on him! She was going to --- Oh! Oh!!! Her buttocks rose off the chair in his hands, her body stiffened, and her eyes closed as heat flowed in a torrent from her belly to his mouth --- a small cry escaping her lips as her cunny rhythmically rode his face in waves of most astonishing...Oh God!...heretofore unknown pleasure...

Even as she yet silently whimpered and spasmed, Declan's mouth opened wide over her palpitating wet sex, and his hot breaths came faster and faster, inhaling her for several seconds till his panting abruptly stilled --- one large hand clenched her buttock and Aoife felt a spatter of warm droplets upon her inner thighs...once, twice, three times in quick succession.

The embroidery frame slowly eased against the table edge and her eyelids drooped in bliss.

"Kitty! Are you ill?" Mrs. Sutton called from the vestibule.

Aoife instantly repaired her stunned sprawl. "I-I just pricked my finger with the needle, mum." As footsteps approached behind her, she thrust a finger in her mouth. Under the tablecloth, Declan swiftly smoothed her skirts down, then she felt him no more.

"I was afraid you were having a fit."

Aoife mumbled round her finger, "'Twas a fearsome stab, so it was." She kept her flushed face tilted down.

"Well, this might be a fine time to stop for the day. We don't want any blood to mar the fabric. You can return tomorrow to continue."

"Aye, mum." Aoife gathered her supplies and released the tablecloth from the embroidery frame. Following Mrs. Sutton out of the courtroom, she stole a glance backward at the judges' bench. The cloth hung sedately along the front of the table as if nothing untoward had there occurred. Was Declan yet crouched under it?

Aoife scarce recalled anything of the rest of the afternoon, so transported was she by the epiphany of Nature's mystery. When at last she was alone in her room, she drew up her skirts and discovered in wonder the dried pearly splashes of what she deduced was Declan's spunk upon her thighs and chemise. Using the mirror, she beheld the traces of his oral devotions high on her inner thighs: the faint rosy marks from his beard stubble. No other alteration was there in her privates to hint at the miracle that had favored it today.

*****

IF I had six horses, I would plough against the hill

I'd make Roisin Dubh my Gospel in the middle of Mass

I'd kiss the young girl who would grant me her maidenhead

And do deeds behind the lios with my Roisin Dubh!

--- 16^th century Irish ballad "Roisin Dubh"

He was soaring...he was singing...he was grinning with jubilation...but all inwardly. So complete was Declan's happiness as he walked from the courthouse that he was for the moment impervious to the sights that usually would have caught his attention: the mounted Yeomen riding through the square, the Militia Redcoats by the castle, the cluster of civilian Orangemen on the bridge.

His heart was overflowing with Aoife!

Two nights ago, when trapped in the cave under the mass house in Davidstown, his life had been thrown into upheaval by the extraordinary turn of fate, ironically gifted to him on the brink of his demise.

In his twenty years on this earth, he had been homeless, freezing, and starving...he had lived by his fists, facing formidable opponents in and out of the boxing ring...and now for weeks he had been readying himself for a deadly battle against the Crown. As for the lasses, he had fucked three and kissed a fair number more. But nothing in his young life had prepared him for the broadside of that wee lass's kiss!

In full knowledge of his identity and his past ignominious connection with her, Aoife had met his embrace...no sham kiss this time, but with lips and tongue as heated and eager as his own. The transcendence of love had possessed him full force. Please God, let her share his feelings and let not the incident simply be an act born of desperation!

Yesterday --- the day after the Davidstown events --- he had continued in a state of heightened emotion: his rage at the destruction of the mass house and arrest of Father Noctor alternating with his exhilaration at the embrace Aoife and he had shared.

In the afternoon he had stopped by the O'Connors' house to receive a guarded report on the blacksmith Redmond.

Next, he had taken himself to the Golden Arrow tavern across the street from Penelope Sutton's shop, hoping to catch a glimpse of the maiden who had captured his heart. No longer could he continue the pretense of not recognizing her either as Michael or Kitty...his heart pressed him to speak and know her verdict.

In the tavern, he had conversed with the barkeeper Will --- his rival (unbeknownst to Will) for Aoife's affections. Will, true to his professed interest in the cause of freedom, had indeed come to Foley's tavern after their conversation and had met with Colin. Colin was still assessing the lad but was so far favorably disposed towards him.

As Declan had kept watch through the tavern window, he listened to Will's recitation of his few sightings of Kitty...jealous that the other lad lived just across the street from her. Again, Declan had felt the awkwardness of the situation --- he had no prior claim to Aoife, the decision was hers to make. There was no purpose in confronting Will or undermining his suit.

Alas, lovely Kitty McDonnell had appeared not. When Declan had returned to Foley's, he had endured with equanimity the teasing of Brian Foley and the other lads about his new sweetheart.

Today, however Fate had been kinder...how much kinder, Declan had yet to discover.

He had been sitting in the Golden Arrow --- Will's father tending the bar --- when he spied Kitty emerging from the shop in the company of a couple. One had been the older woman who had summoned Kitty inside the first time Declan had been watching --- the woman whom he had supposed to be the proprietress, Mrs. Sutton. The other had been a gentleman with a military bearing and carrying a sword but dressed in elegant civilian garments. The trio had set off down the sidewalk, the couple arm in arm and Aoife walking behind. Hastily, Declan had paid his bill and slipped out of the tavern to follow them at a discreet distance.

His purpose he had not quite determined...at that moment he had simply been enjoying the pleasure of seeing her. From several paces behind, he had taken note of Aoife's graceful, unaffected stride, the delicate strings of her white cap secured at her tender nape, the basket on her arm, and, with curiosity, what appeared to be an empty picture frame slung over her shoulder.

Their destination had proved to be the courthouse, redoubling his curiosity. After they disappeared inside, Declan had hesitated outside on the portico for several minutes ere he noticed a modestly dressed man enter and realized that it was a public building. Cautiously, he had proceeded inside.

Finding his bearings in a solemn vestibule, Declan had sighted the trio through the open doors across from him --- they were in the courtroom proper and a few moments of covert observation resulted in the swift understanding that Aoife was there to make an alteration to the cloth upon the judges' bench, and that the rectangular frame was for embroidery work. As Aoife had situated herself at the table, Mrs. Sutton and the man turned and headed back in his direction.

Casually Declan had rotated away and pretended to be engrossed in a notice board by the front door. The couple had stopped a few paces behind him in the vestibule, and as Declan's eyes scanned announcements of Enniscorthy's new curfew hours, the changed fee schedules for public house and malting house licenses, and new regulations on commerce with Militia corps, he had eavesdropped upon their conversation which unfolded as follows:

Man (with humor): "What are the marks on her face? I do hope you're not beating her."

Mrs. Sutton: "Of course not. The silly girl climbed on the roof to rescue a cat."

Man (with a sly chuckle): "An adventurous maid who likes to play with her pussy? How can I resist?"

Mrs. Sutton: "She's spirited, no doubt, but I expect not in the manner you're hoping. This one came to me from a convent."

Man: "Covent, you say? And you said she came from a farm originally? Could it be? A fresh, unspoilt country lass...my mouth is watering with anticipation."

Mrs. Sutton: scoffing noise

Man: "In all seriousness, scratches or no, she is a lovely little creature...there's a most unusual quality about her. I am quite enamored. Do make some arrangements so that we may become better acquainted. Send her to my lodgings --- I'll commission some new drapes or bed hangings or some such thing."

Mrs. Sutton: "Captain Jacob, I do wish you would cease purloining my assistants for your mistresses. 'Tis no easy task finding skilled seamstresses. And Kitty is exceptional --- I will suffer exceedingly without her."

Man: "My dear Mrs. Sutton, the fault is yours entirely for hiring such comely girls.

Mrs. Sutton: sniffing sound

Man: "Come now, have I not been a good patron of your shop for some years now? You know I like to see my mistresses handsomely turned out. Yes? So, permit me the opportunity to make my offer to her."

Mrs. Sutton: "To a poor young girl, the opportunity to be provided for by a handsome young man such as yourself is nigh irresistible, despite the...ahem...disadvantages. But I wager this girl's virtue will withstand your attractions."

Man: "A wager? This is sport indeed! What will you wager?"

Mrs. Sutton (coyly): "If she refuses your proposal, you forfeit twenty pounds."

Man: "And if she accepts it?" (pause and chuckle) "Trouble yourself not, dearest lady --- if I rob you of your incomparable assistant, I will commission from your shop an entire wardrobe of the finest gowns for her. Such a charming little figure...I am all eagerness to dress it to advantage. Although, I must say, nothing would be more intriguing than to see her in naught but a few scraps of lace and ribbon."