tagNovels and NovellasDonal' Ch. 01

Donal' Ch. 01

bykendo1©

The sun had set and a steady drizzle now fell from the darkening skies. He had first sighted the boar a half-mile back down the glen but it had spooked at an untimely breaking of a twig as he had approached. Donal' had cursed and carried on with his hunt, taking more care of where he placed his feet.

A sudden flash of lightning threw the jagged spikes of the Black Cuillins into stark relief off to his left; the sharp blade of rock of Am Bastair, the executioner, prominent amongst them. An omen? he thought. He cursed again; the weather was turning for the worse. He'd have to find shelter soon, he thought. Thunder rolled over him and the drizzle was turning to sleet as he continued to follow the boar's spoor.

The boar had crested a small rise in the ground, forsaking the cover to either side. Donal' slowed his stalk, wary now. He drew his short sword, the sword his father had left him, covered in oiled cloth and buried so that the English wouldn't find it. The English invaders were harsh if they found an armed clansman, especially so if they came across one kilted in tartan as he was.

He crouched down, studying the ground to either side of the boar's tracks. The rise was the moss and grass covered remains of a low wall. He peered through the sleet and cursed again. He hadn't realized he had come so far down the glen. The ruins of a keep lay a hundred paces in front of him, the dark mass of Creagh Liath, the gray crag, behind.

Donal' straightened from his crouch, there were unlikely to be brigands near by. The boar must just be stupid. He sniffed the air, cursing yet again. Snow would be coming soon and he had better find a place to stay dry and warm, hopefully get a fire started if he could find enough dry kindling. He unconsciously checked the pouch tied to his belt, the reassuring weight of the flint and steel inside.

He made his mind up, sheathed his sword and strode towards the ruins. He'd given up on the hunt; he would just have to eat cold tack or maybe make a broth.

The keep was not totally ruined; some rooms had remained untouched from the fire that had swept through the building one night. The Campbells, curse them all, had come on orders from the English. They'd been given shelter and fare, as was custom and right, but had risen in the small hours to slaughter every man, woman and child in the castle, most while they slept. A fire had been started and when those who had not been murdered in their sleep tried to escape the flames the Campbells struck them down.

The castle was never entered again after the dead were buried by their kinsmen. It was said to be haunted by the ghosts of the slain.

Donal' crossed himself, muttered a prayer under his breath, and entered the Main Hall. It was half roofed as the oak supporting beams had resisted the fire. A large hearth dominated the far end and the floor was littered with leaves and debris, even some broken branches for a fire. The room wasn't suitable for Donal's purpose so he moved towards an arched doorway beside the Great Hearth that led through to what appeared to be private chambers.

It was too dark to see so he retraced his steps scouring the floor for a likely branch. He soon found an arm's length piece of wood and some dry cloth under a pile of wind blown leaves. Donal' wrapped the material round the end of his makeshift torch and struck a spark from his flint and steel, using a piece of frayed cloth he kept in his pouch as tinder. His mood brightened as the torch guttered into life and he returned to the doorway.

The room beyond was small, cosy one might say, a small hearth set into the wall to his right and a stone, spiral staircase leading to rooms above. An animal had made its lair here, but had abandoned it some time ago. He gathered wood and kindling from the detritus on the floor and soon had a roaring fire going. Setting his torch in a wall bracket he set his bedroll and kit down and warmed his hands before the dancing flames. He set off in search of more fuel for the fire and water for his small copper kettle.

Firewood was stacked against the wall, his kettle was bubbling with a weak mixture of roots, herbs and even some barley he had found. He was warm and dry; life couldn't get much better than this, he thought. Time for a bit of an explore.

Donal' retrieved his torch from the wall and relit it from the fire; it had gone out some time before. He thrust the torch in front of him to light the stairs that wound round and up to his right, a defence from attackers climbing the stairs; left-handed clansmen were few and far between. The stairs hadn't been used in a long time but looked to be in good condition. He could hear the wind whistling softly through unshuttered windows above as he climbed.

The room he entered was similar to the one below except for a window slit set in the outer wall. There was a hearth here too and the spiral stairs continued up to the next floor, nothing of note left behind. As Donal' looked around he noticed from the corner of his eye that the stairs were lighter than they should be, as if a dim light was in the room above. He quietly placed the burning brand in a wall bracket and tiptoed towards the stairs, turning his back to his torch to acclimatise his eyes to the dimmer light.

Don't be daft, Donal', he thought. He'd been making a fair noise for the last hour with his preparations for the night. No one was about. He still crept warily up the stairs though, his hand poised over the hilt of his sword. His sight adjusted to the gloom as he entered the chamber but his eyes widened in shock as he saw where the light was coming from. He closed his eyes tight shut, opened them again. She was still there; a translucent, silvery-white figure dressed in a long shift, combing her long, fine,silver hair.

Donal' stayed rooted to the spot afraid to move from fear of disturbing her. She hadn't noticed him, seeming to be preoccupied with the ministrations to her hair. He realised he was seeing a vision, a ghost or some such, but what harm could she do him?

She finished with her hair, the comb seeming to disappear or be absorbed into her substance. Her hands came up to the front of her shift to undo the ties holding it closed over her breasts. She shrugged the garment off from her shoulders to let it fall at her feet in a silvery pool, which dimmed and vanished.

Donal' could feel his cock harden as he watched. He'd seen some bonnie lasses in his time in various stages dress or undress, even rolled with a few, but this fair Lady was startling in her beauty. Unlike the wenches he was used to bedding, she was slim and long of leg. He lifted his kilt to wrap his hand around his cock, stroked his hardness as he watched the tableau before him unfold.

She cupped her small breasts in her hands, squeezed and played with them, her head arching back in rapture. A hand snaked down her body to cover her sex, to stroke the wee bud that brought women pleasure. Donal' stroked harder as he watched the Lady kneel on the floor and spread her legs to rub the bud there. She held her small breast tightly as she inserted her middle finger inside her. Her finger plunged in and out as she bucked her hips. She appeared to be enjoying this as much as Donal' was. He saw her hips shudder as she threw her head back and he felt his cock tighten.

He came with a rush and a grunt. The figure flowed towards him, dipping her head into the spurt of his cum, combing her fingers through her silvery hair as he continued to come, washing her hair as she would under a mountain stream.

Donal's hand slowed on his cock, her head came up to accept the last drop that oozed out. A chill touched him, his cock softened quickly and he let his kilt drop back down.

She looked up to him from where she knelt; seeming to have more substance than before, a sigh escaped her lips. "Thank you," she said, her voice a rustle of leaves in the wind. She rose to her feet, her shift appearing to clothe her again. She wandered around the room and touched once present furniture, watching him from the corner of her eyes.

Donal' watched her warily in return, not knowing what to do or say.

She returned to stand in front of him, an imposing figure, her silvery eyes on a level with his, studying him. "That was as much of a surprise to me as it was to you," she said. "There was a desire, a...need I had." Her head cocked to one side. "Ye'r no afeared," she stated rather than asked.

Donal' thought for a moment before answering. He chose his words carefully, unwilling to upset the presence in front of him. "No, M'Lady, not afeared. A bit wary perhaps. If ye had wanted to harm me I reckon ye would ha' done so by now."

She regarded him for a few seconds and seemed to come to a decision. Her posture relaxed. "What is your name, bonnie lad?"

"Donal' MacDonald."

"Ah. You're faither was a wit."

Donal' frowned. "He wasn't renowned for such."

The soft sounds of a tinkling of tiny bells came to him. She was laughing. "I was pulling yer leg, Donal' MacDonald!"

He looked sideways at her, a grave look on his face. "Ye'd have a hard time doin' that, M'Lady." His eyes were sparkling, giving lie to his seriousness.

Again came the sound of tiny bells. Her silver eyes, unblinking, peered at him. "Clean shaven, too."

A cold breeze seemed to touch his cheek as her ethereal hand touched his skin.

"Aye. The lasses seem to appreciate it. Better than kissing a badger's behind I've been told." He laughed at the memory.

"A fair compliment, indeed."

Donal' looked around the room. "Was this your room before...?"

The Lady's eyes suddenly changed from silver to black and a look of fury hardened her features. Just as quickly she relaxed, her eyes returned to their silver colour and her face softened. "Aye. This was my bed chamber," she said looking around the bare room.

Donal' looked embarrassed, his eyes dropped to look at the floor. "Are you confined to this room? I've heard stories."

"No. I'm bound to the castle. It gets... uncomfortable for me if I venture too far beyond the outer wall." She cocked her head at him again, noticed his embarrassment. "Is there something bothering ye, Donal'?"

He lowered his gaze to the floor, unwilling tomeet her eyes. "It's just that I've got some broth cooking downstairs, and I've no' eaten since breakfast."

Her laughter was infectious when it came and he grinned roguishly back at her. "Oh, Donal'! What a terrible host I am! Nothing changes. Men and their stomachs! Lead on, Donal'. I'll no have ye wasting away on my account."

Donal' turned back to the stairs and made his way back to his fire, picking up the torch as he passed. He called back to the figure descending the stairs behind him, "Was that a terrible ghost ye said?" Laughter followed him down.

Donal' had laid his bedroll out beside the hearth. He sat cross-legged upon it as he supped his weak broth from a wooden bowl. The fire had settled down and gave a reddish tint to the walls. His companion sat similarly across from him, content to watch the flames. He studied her as he sipped. The red light from the fire didn't seem to affect her appearance: silvery-white lit from within. Her breast did not rise and fall with any breath real or imagined. Her face was more than fair; he would have certainly chanced a second glance when she was alive. He shifted his position slightly to ease the numbness growing in his behind.

She noticed his movement and cocked an eyebrow at him.

"I was wondering, M'lady... what ye are named?"

"Mhari. Mhari Anne Montrose MacGregor, daughter to Challum MacGregor and heir to this pile of rocks you are sitting in." Her mood had darkened along with her expression, the last being said with anger. "Forgive me." Her mood softened. "It was none of your doing." Mhari appeared to take a deep breath. "I was one of the first to be murdered that night. Murdered in my sleep. When I... awoke, it was some time after, a few days maybe. The castle was much as you see it now. Not overgrown, but burned and empty. I've walked these rooms for twelve years."

"Aye. I was a lad of about ten at the time. By the time the alarm was raised the cowards had fled back to the mainland to claim their bounty from the English, it's said."

She regarded him quietly for a moment before speaking. "You are the first mortal to pass the outer wall. It was a shock to me. I've... felt others pass by but none ventured close." She peered more intently at him. "Why you, Donal? Why did you cross when others didn't?"

Donal' thought on her words before answering. "Why not? The weather was changing. I needed shelter."

"Though for ten years others skirted the wall during the day?"

Donal' shrugged, sipped more of his broth.

"There's more to this, methinks. No matter, I'll think upon it."

Donal' finished his broth and knelt before the fire to place more wood on it to last the night. He glanced at Mhari as he caught sight of a movement from the corner of his eye. She was untying her shift again, a coy look on her face.

"Donal'? Now that you've filled your belly... I find that I have a hunger too." She shrugged her shift from her shoulders and breasts, cupped them for him to see. Mhari looked across at Donal' her eyes wide with lust. "I need this Donal'."

His cock hardened again as he watched her. Donal' got to his feet and lifted his kilt. Mhari's eyes stared longingly at his cock as he stroked it for her. Her shift had vanished without him noticing, drawn into her substance. Mhari knelt on the floor before him and spread her legs, cupped her sex with a hand.

Mhari held her breasts and kneaded them, watched Donal's eyes follow her movements. She sucked two fingers, stroked her pussy and saw Donal' intent on following their progress. Her fingers entered her easily and she remembered pleasuring herself when she was alive. Her fingers slipped in and out of her as she stroked her clit with her other hand.

She felt no pleasure from her actions, more an anticipation of Donal' coming on her. The fire of his seed entering her substance brought a thrill to her. She concentrated her attention on the tip of his cock, her eyes widening as she saw the first signs of his precum. She reached out to touch it, impatient in her desperation.

Donal felt the cold of her touch, her indrawn breath, and stroked harder. Mhari shuddered at the contact. It was as intense as a mortal orgasm.

She leaned in closer to his cock, avid to see him come. She watched intently as his hand slowed and tightened around his shaft, as the first spurt of his come shot out to be absorbed in her hair. Her eyes closed and she felt his come land on her cheek, her lips. She shivered again as she licked her lips, drawing his hot life into her.

"Thank you Donal'. I feel stronger, more alive." A wry expression crossed her face. "I am... changing." She reached a hand out to touch his cheek. He felt a cool breeze move down his jaw to his chin and a tingling down his spine. Her voice was stronger.

Mhari blurred as he watched her, sprang back in to focus clothed in a blouse, bodice, skirt and slippers. She held her arms up to inspect them, seemed pleased with herself. "It's good to be wearing something different for a change," she said, brushing an imaginary crease from her skirt. She looked to Donal' for approval.

"It's more... fitting, for a Lady. We can't have ye wandering around the castle in just a nightdress."

"I sense irony in your tone, Donal'," she said with a slight smile. Mhari shimmered again, came back in to focus in just her skirt, an innocent look on her face.

"Ye'r not expecting me to perform fer ye again surely?"

"Just practicing! Do you not like me like this Donal'?"

"Aye, Mhari, I could get used to it," he said with a sparkle in his eye.

"Used to it!" Mhari blurred and was again fully clothed. "I think not!" Mhari looked down to her hands clasped in her lap. "Donal'," she started. "I'm scared." Her silvery eyes looked up to his.

Donal' shifted his seat on the bedroll, giving him more time to think before answering. "Mhari, it seems to me that ye have no reason to be scared. Maybe this is... natural, for one in your situation. What will be, will be." His gaze dropped to his own hands. "I'd cuddle ye if I could, Mhari." He looked back up at her.

Mhari saw that he was serious, answered, "Thank ye Donal'. Maybe if I lie down beside ye, just being close to ye might help."

Donal' made himself comfortable on the bedroll, lying on his side so he could see her. Mhari joined Donal', lay facing him but not touching him. He yawned, covered his mouth with his hand.

"Close yer eyes, Donal' MacDonald. I'll look out for ye."

Donal' did as she asked, weariness taking its toll at last.

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