Celtic Mist Ch. 16

Even now, merely sitting here, her heart pattered in her chest and between her legs as she thought on their last joining, and one part of her urged her to slip away whilst Declan peacefully slept...to avoid meeting his eyes after their shocking act of copulation. But the wicked, defiant part of her was stronger, sitting unmoving whilst she once again eyed his naked body.

Ever since their embrace at the waterfall last night, Aoife had fought off the sense of impending doom, and in Declan's arms she had for most of the day managed to blot out her despair. With the sheer weight of him crushing her, his powerful arms encompassing her, his engorged cock filling her, and his breath buoying her, she had felt safe for the first time after all the vagaries of her young life.

But now as she sat alert upon the hillside amid the lengthening shadows, the image returned to her of her brothers and Hugh McDonnell grimly smiling and waving as they rode away to battle.

And Aoife knew that no matter how oft or where she took that instrument of Love's bliss into her body...no matter how much spunk with which he plastered her insides, they would inevitably say farewell in a few hours...and Declan would march into battle.

Declan stirred on the ground, his eyes opening as he languidly stretched and turned his head on his folded arms...smiling at her where she sat cross-legged a few feet away. "How are ye fairing, Aoife O'Farrell?"

Aoife shrugged. "I'm fine." She observed him as he rolled from his belly onto his back, folding his hands behind his head. Furtively she peeked at his organ, worried about its possible state after what they had done. But to her relief, his now soft cock was remarkable only for a glistening coat of unguent in which were comically adhered several shamrock leaves. As Aoife stifled a nervous giggle, Declan raised his head and glanced down. He grinned.

"Have ye shamrock up your bum, little faery lass?"

Aoife ducked her face to hide her embarrassment.

"Aye, it stands to reason that your bottom hole is as patriotic as the rest of you." He rose to a sitting position, draping a forearm over his raised knee. "Christ! You've worn me out, so ye have. Neither lad nor lass has ever accomplished that before."

Her brows lifted, and she looked at him from under her lashes. "I would have thought that you enjoyed many a like bout with the lasses when you were in the Duke's employ...what with being a guard and prizefighter."

Declan plucked a blade of grass and chewed upon it. "So would a rational person suppose --- and be correct, at least in the case of many of me comrades. But despite my victories in the ring, I always was a bit of a sapscull round the maidens...too serious-like and quiet...for the ones I met anyway." He nodded slowly. "Aye...in the past day alone, I've had more relations with you than with all the other maids in me life, combined."

She arched a curious brow at him.

He shrugged ruefully. "Till last night, I hadn't lain with a lass for...nigh a year and a half now."

Aoife was surprised.

"After I met ye, I didn't want to with anyone save you," he explained.

"Well, that accounts for the last eight months," she teased.

His smile was unaffected. "Before I met ye, I didn't want to with anyone save you. I was already in love with you...I just hadn't met you yet."

The low afternoon sun illuminated the green of Declan's eyes so intensely that Aoife's heart hurt as he looked at her...his irises were even more vibrant than the shamrocks decorating his cock, she thought with forlorn humor. Swallowing the lump forming in her throat, she diverted her gaze to the absent-minded motions of her fingers pleating and unpleating the hem of her shirt upon her bare thigh.

The wind stirred the pink cuckoo flowers and purple milkwort about them. "Did you ever do...what we just did...before?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"Not meself. I'd heard tell of it, but I will admit that I had suspected the truth of such tales. Indeed, for a moment there, I was skeptical of the enterprise succeeding at all." One corner of his mouth lifted in a sly grin round the grass blade.

Aoife blushed.

The heat fluctuated in her cheeks as she felt Declan's eyes studying her. Smoothing the creased linen of her shirt hem upon her thigh, Aoife's shoulders lifted in a brief sigh. "Well, I had supposed that murder would most considerably enliven my next confession, but I daresay that confessing to that other 'enterprise' will prove even more stimulating to the priest...if he's anything like the last one to whom I confessed."

Declan's eyebrows quirked sharply. "Of what are ye speaking?"

"When I was in the convent...a priest at St. Andrew's asked me most detailed and mortifying questions about how...how I touch meself."

Declan's eyes flared. "The bastard! I'll bloody well punch him in the face, so I will!"

Aoife shook her head. "I dinna think you can punch a priest. Anyway, 'tis no matter anymore." She sighed and hunched forward, her elbows upon her knees and her chin on her hands as she looked at the ground. "'Twas a shameful, wicked thing, what we did."

Declan scooted closer to her and gently touched her knee with his fingers. "I dinna hold with shame and wickedness in such matters...Nature gave us these bodies and gave us pleasure...that's all I know. That, and that I love ye so, Aoife...this wicked lad loves you so and wants to do everything with ye that lovers can do." He took her hands.

Aoife raised her face and at last managed to meet his earnest eyes. For several moments, their gazes wordlessly held as they sat cross-legged facing each other --- he naked, she in her shirt --- their legs touching, their hands joined.

All at once Declan's brows drew together, and his eyes clouded. "Damn!" he muttered.

Aoife tensed. "What?"

He shook his head slowly. "I was so overcome, I plumb forgot --- about getting ye with child."

Her face froze, mouth open. Aye, she too had been so overcome that she had not considered that repercussion of their unabashed couplings! After a few seconds, she murmured, "Well, 'tis an unavoidable risk, so it is."

"Nay...not wholly unavoidable." Declan's expression seemed chagrined. "I could have drawn out and spent over your belly instead of inside ye...and if I'd had me wits about me, I would have."

For some time, Aoife stared down at her hands that lay gently upon his upturned, calloused palms, idly noting how large his hands were --- the length of his fingers and size of his palm exceeded hers by over an inch. Under her fingertips she felt a faint pulse...whose it was she could not tell.

A blue butterfly flitted between them.

At length she inhaled. "'I dinna think I would have liked it so well if ye had." She met his searching gaze. "'Twas Fate that brought us together...I shall trust Fate in this as well."

Declan's fingers squeezed hers, and his lips pressed in a soft line of unvoiced emotion.

Feeling the knot in her throat again, Aoife shook herself. "I need to bathe."

Declan nodded. "I as well. Have ye still two pieces of soap?"

They repaired to the nearby stream where they washed several paces apart --- Declan kneeling in the stream bed, Aoife on a submerged stone with her shirt tied under her breasts. She crouched at first, then surrendered to the flow, sinking to sit upon the rock with the cool, gurgling water up to her waist, soothing the enflamed parts between her legs. In the clear water, the glutinous spunk was visible spiraling from her twin openings. She winced slightly as she cleansed the tender flesh.

"I'm sorry I hurt ye, lass."

Looking up, Aoife saw Declan's concerned expression.

"Faith, it seems that all reason flees me head when the wanting for ye comes over me," he said in a remorseful tone.

Aoife shook her head. "The true pain will be when I no longer feel the touch of ye upon me."

His smile was somber. "Aye, for me as well."

As they continued their ablutions, Aoife's eyes stole to Declan. Kneeling with his legs slightly separated, the water came up to his mid-thighs, and in shy fascination did she observe him sluicing his flesh and hair. How purposefully he handled his privates, tugging on his cock and lathering his ballocks! Mayhap her touch had been too hesitant and delicate...she yearned to play with the wondrous toy once more.

Once bathed, they returned to the cromleach and, with Declan's matter-of-fact comment, "'Tis time we head to Fleetwood's farm, I think," they began dressing.

After several silent minutes, Aoife asked, "Will anyone have marked your absence last night and today?" She fastened her stockings below her knees with the ribbon garters.

Declan, seated upon a low stone, was leaning forward to repack his knapsack between the spread of his legs. "Aye, I warrant so. The Foley family, no doubt. What of you?"

She nodded. "'Kitty' should have worked in the shop today."

"Do you mean to return there? What will ye do now?"

Aoife bent to buckle her shoes, forcing a nonchalant mien. "If today's truancy hasn't cost me my position, then 'tis a good enough place for bed and board. If I'm dismissed...well, I understand that the Magistrate Jacob is eager to fill a position in his household." The next moment she squealed as Declan pulled her down onto his lap.

"The Devil, ye say!" he growled, giving her a laughing shake with his arms about her. Then his expression grew serious. "You need to steer clear of that man --- I dinna trust him."

She nodded, laying an arm round Declan's shoulder. "Nor I." Her eyes searched his face, now level with her own, and a moment later she raised her free hand, turning his face to examine his wounds.

"I need to put more...unguent on these," she said, her voice faltering as their eyes fixed upon each other. She saw his throat move as he swallowed, and he raised a hand to brush a stray lock of hair back from her face.

"When we arrive at Fleetwood's, who will ye be?" he asked. "Do you want to wear me cap?" He tweaked one of her short braids. "Are you still Michael...who strangely was dyeing his hair?"

She pondered the matter. "I suppose I'm meself now. I intend to persuade Captain Fleetwood to put me to use in whatever manner will best serve the cause...whether as a lad or a lass...whether on the battlefield or behind the scenes."

Declan's countenance grew bleak and his arms tightened about her. "I -- I wish there was some place where I knew you would be safe."

"I wish there was some place where I knew you would be safe," she countered.

Their wistful gazes held each other. Declan cleared his throat. "'Alas, no such place exists on the island till Ireland is free."

For several moments they simply held each other.

Before long, Aoife recalled the hidden pocket in her knapsack --- she jumped from his lap. "Oh Declan! I made something for the company. I want to show you!" Squatting by her bag, she used her dagger point to cut a few of the thread stitches and tore open the pocket.

Declan stood with a quizzical expression as she turned with the bundle of green silk. The stack of folded neckerchiefs she set upon the boulder next to her, then shook out the remaining piece, raising her arms above her head to keep the nigh six-foot-long rectangle from dragging on the ground.

Declan bent to pick up the lower corners, and they held the sturdy silk horizontal between them. His face was a mix of wonder and pride. 'Twas the green flag of the United Irishmen with the gold harp of Erin Go Bragh that she had sewn to the center on both sides. In the late afternoon light, the emerald and gold were luminous.

"You made this?!"

She nodded. "Do you think 'twill be of use to Fleetwood's company?"

"By God, ye dearest girl! I canna imagine a more stirring inspiration than this magnificent green flying above us in battle! The men will be right proud, so they will."

She smiled, her lips quivering.

"What are those?"

"I made neckerchiefs from the remaining fabric. Since the men dinna have uniforms, I thought some might need the colors."

Declan nodded. "Perfect."

Between them, they refolded the flag. As they stepped close together for the final fold, he cleared his throat. "When we get to Fleetwood's...may I introduce you as me bride to be?"

Aoife's eyes lifted to his. Why, the lad was serious, so he was! She nodded, and Declan's face came over with an elated grin. "Once the lads learn you're a lass, 'twill keep them off ye, so I hope."

Aoife rolled her eyes. "Well, in that case, I won't hold ye to it. Come here now and sit for a moment." She reapplied unguent to his wounds, both of them reddening at the sight of the little pottery jar that had been a party to their last lewd romp.

At last, there was naught to do save sling their knapsacks upon their backs and take their leave of the enchanted standing stones that had witnessed their transports of love. As they began to walk down the hillside, Aoife was newly aware of the tenderness between her legs.

Declan appeared likewise affected, for his usual loping stride was more ginger, and in a moment, he observed, "Jaysis, me privates are battered and sore! Yours too, 'twould seem." He regarded her gait with a wry smile. "By God, we're a handsome pair! If it were not for these bruises on our necks and me face, the lads would ken right well what we've been getting up to."

Aoife felt the stinging pressure behind her eyes. "I -- I hope we didn't sap your strength for...tonight," her voice choked.

"Nay. With a little walking to stretch me legs and some sustenance, I'll recover me forces, no fear."

Stepping past a blackthorn tree, they startled a pair of lambs, sending them scampering downslope to their mothers.

Unbidden, the hot tears were suddenly spilling from Aoife's eyes and streaming down her cheeks. Declan stopped short, and the next moment she was wrapped in his sturdy arms, her small form molded to his powerful body, her face pressed to his wide, warm chest.

"Oh, love!" he murmured, holding her tightly as she shook with silent sobs. "Dinna cry, me sweet, brave lass!"

Aoife's arms clung fast round his waist, feeling the thump of his heart under her cheek. Large, strong hands clasped her head and tilted her face up to his. Through the blur of tears, she beheld the torment he was struggling to hide. His shining, green eyes bore into hers. "Do you ken how rare and fine ye are to me, Aoife O'Farrell? Alongside Ireland, there's nothing that I love so well."

Aoife hiccupped and sniffled, endeavoring to stem her tears.

"--- and I need you to stay stalwart, come what may."

Her head nodded in his hands.

"Know this certain, me faery lass: we'll be together, and we'll live in a free Ireland." His head bent and his lips pressed to hers...for several seconds their breaths melded as their mouths opened in tender accord.

"I love you, Aoife," he murmured against her lips.

"I love you, Declan."

When they separated, she wiped her eyes and nose on her sleeve. Simultaneously they noticed they were standing next to the newly erected beehive, and their grins turned into laughter.

Declan took her hand as they tramped down the hill to head towards Fleetwood's farm, the sun setting before them over the live, green land they loved so well.

.

Oh, then tell me Sean O'Farrell,

Tell me why you hurry so.

Hush me Buchall hush and listen,

And his cheeks were all a-glow.

I bear orders from the captain,

Get you ready quick and soon,

For the pikes must be together

By the Rising of the Moon.

By the Rising of the Moon,

By the Rising of the Moon,

For the pikes must be together

By the Rising of the Moon.

Oh, then tell me Sean O'Farrell

Where the gathering is to be.

In the old spot by the river,

Right well known to you and me.

One more word for signal token,

Whistle up the marching tune.

With your pike upon your shoulder

By the Rising of the Moon.

Out of many a mud wall cabin

Eyes were watching thru' the night.

Many a manly heart was throbbing

For the coming morning light.

Murmurs ran along the valley,

Like the banshee's lonely croon,

And a thousand pikes were flashing

By the Rising of the Moon.

There beside the singing river

That dark mass of men were seen,

Far above their shining weapons hung

Their own beloved green.

Death to every foe and traitor,

Forward strike the marching tune,

And hurrah me boys for freedom,

Tis the Rising of the Moon.

--- John Keegan Casey

*** THE END***

.

EPILOGUE

Only one of Declan's two predictions came to pass.

Beginning at dawn on May 24th, 1798, risings broke out throughout much of Erin's isle. Of all the counties, the United Irishmen and Defenders were most successful in Wexford, with significant rebel victories at Oulart Hill, Enniscorthy, and Wexford town that led to the establishment of a brief-lived civilian republic in the county.

But the Rebellion of 1798 was ultimately doomed --- outnumbered, disorganized, and betrayed by spies, the rebels were suppressed by the forces of the Crown by the fall of the year.

Only temporarily thwarted, the fight for Irish citizens' rights and Ireland's freedom continued throughout the 19^th century.

Neither Declan, nor Aoife, nor their children lived to see a free Ireland. It was not till 1922, in the lifetime of their great, great, great grandchildren, that Ireland won its freedom from the United Kingdom.

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading and for the feedback.

I put together a playlist for this series, consisting primarily of traditional Irish/Celtic music. Some of the songs are contemporaneous to the time of the story and were quoted in the text. Most of the others are decades to over a century old but are in keeping with the spirit of the story. Numerous great renditions are freely available at many sites online.

If interested, here is the list of the song names, with my favorite rendition indicated. This list is also assembled as a public playlist (ie. I make no money from it) on a music streaming service. If you already are a member of a music streaming service, you may be able to find the list by searching the title of the story: Celtic Mist.

Tale of the Celtic Warrior (Paul Curtis)

Roisin Dubh (Innisfree Ceoil)

Chorus Jig (Celtic Music Voyages)

Star of The County Down (The Irish Rovers)

Hurling Boys 69 (Sean Softley)

The Next Market Day (Patricia Daly)

Wearing of the Green (The Wolfe Tones)

The Roseville Fair (Patricia Daly)

Snowy Breasted Pearl (The Wolfe Tones)

Callirus (Adrian Von Ziegler)

The Morrigan (Heather Dale)

Bodhran (Young Dubliners)

Erin Go Bragh (Kate Burke and Ruth Hazleton)

Dirty Old Town (The Dubliners, Paddy Reilly)

The Barleymow (The Irish Rovers)

Black Velvet Band (The Irish Masters)

Up Among the Heather (The Irish Rover)

Courtin' in the Kitchen (Thomas Makem)

Lusty Young Smith (The Merry Wives of Windsor)

Greensleeves (Phyllis Sparks)

Arthur McBride (Andy Irvine)

Whack Fol the Diddle (the Clancy Brothers)

The Fields of Athenry (Paddy Reilly)

Workers' Song (Dick Gaughan)

Down the Bray (Ivan Smyth)

Orange and the Green (the Kreellers)

Irish Soldier Laddie (Celtic Warriors)

O'Reilly's Daughter (The Comedy AllStars)

A Gentleman Soldier (The Dubliners, Luke Kelly)

Waxies Dargle (Young Dubliners)

I'll Tell Me Ma/Belle of Belfast (The Irish Rovers)