Rosette: A Medieval Tale

In fact, however, he had chosen her because he had observed the loathing in her eyes as, one day, he and Rosette had passed her in a corridor, Rosette robed in silk and fur, the old woman lugging a bucket of dirty kitchen water. The Duke had had to command one of his ministers to find out her name.

* * *

Weeks passed. On the Duke's instructions, the old woman brought Rosette cloth, needle, and thread to keep her hands and mind occupied. At night Rosette lay in bed and looked out her window at the starry sky, wishing for someone to talk to.

Months passed. Spring gave way to summer, summer to autumn. Now Rosette spent much of her time crying. She cried during the day as often as she thought of her lost life, and she cried herself to sleep every night.

One autumn night, as she lay in her bed, looking at the full moon through an open window, she remembered the Duke's finger touching her clitoris and the feeble beginnings of pleasure his touch had brought. She thought of Durand and imagined him touching her there. Perhaps the Duke was right: perhaps she would have been unfaithful sooner or later. The thought made her a little dizzy, in a pleasurable way. Why should she live without love just because she had been forced to marry a wrinkled old man with a shriveled cock? She reached under her blankets, under her shift, and touched her clitoris. She massaged herself gently. Soon she discovered that her own touch was much better than the Duke's. She felt her clitoris and the lips of her quaint become wet and engorged.

"Oh," she exclaimed to the moon, "how I want a man. Not a nasty old Duke, but a beautiful young man with a strong body and a thick, hard cock!" She rubbed herself harder and felt the warmth in her quaint growing, radiating through her body, taking over her mind - and then, just when she'd begun to think that her pleasure could not become greater, intense and unfamiliar sensations swept through her, shaking her whole body from within. They were alarming, they were so powerful; yet, as she calmed down, realizing she was not going to die, she recognized that what she'd felt had been pleasurable. She touched herself again. Her clitoris was almost painfully sensitive, and she pulled her hand away.

Her longing was undiminished. She looked again at her window, but something was blocking the moonlight. Not clouds; some shape - a bird, a hawk it was, perched in the window.

The instant she spotted it, the hawk uttered a high cry and flew into the room, straight at her. She thought it was going to attack her and, alarmed, shut her eyes tight and threw her hands up to protect her face from its beak and sharp talons. But no attack followed; nothing touched her.

After a few seconds she warily lowered her hands and opened her eyes to find out what had become of the hawk. But it was gone. Instead, a man was kneeling beside her bed as if in prayer. He was young, almost not a man at all. His hair was golden, long, and curly, his features sharp and strong, his eyes fiery. Her first thought was: He looks like a hawk. Her second thought was: He is the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. She knew she should be frightened, and a part of her was, but she felt something stir deep inside her, below her belly. Her yearning was becoming more rather than less insistent.

She wanted to reach out and touch this man's face, his chest, his shoulders. But she made herself recall that he was an intruder in her bedchamber, and instead of touching him she said: "Who are you?"

"I am," he said in a mournful voice, "the unhappiest creature living."

She looked at him closely and saw that what he was saying was surely true: there was infinite sadness in his fiery eyes, though he shed no tears. His unhappiness was like an arrow piercing her heart.

"What has made you so unhappy?" she said tenderly, longing to heal him.

"For many weeks," he said, "I have flown high above your tower, and I have watched you through your window, and I have loved you. And I have known that I must suffer greater sorrow for your sake than any lover has ever borne."

Of course, young men speak words of this kind to young women every day, and even a village girl knows better than to take them too seriously, but something about him - the light in his eyes, the set of his mouth, his posture, perhaps something else - made her believe absolutely, with a visceral conviction which she felt in every part of her body, that he was telling the simple truth. And, just like that, she loved him.

"I won't let that happen," she said. "I love you, too."

He rose then, and she saw that he was a shapely man, wearing a fine blue tunic and a golden girdle from which hung a short sword with a jeweled hilt. He leaned over her and kissed her lips. He was only the second man who had ever kissed her that way, and the feeling of his lips touching hers opened to her visions of realms beyond any she had ever imagined, of gold and spices, bright gemstones and dazzling sunlight. She flung her arms around him and pulled him to her and, without planning it at all or knowing that it was a thing to do, pushed her tongue into his mouth and delighted in the way he did the same to her.

Never taking his mouth from hers, he pulled down the covers of her bed, lay beside her, and touched her breasts through her shift. The Duke had touched her there, but this man's touch was nothing like his. She could feel the love in his hands, and rivers of sensation ran from her breasts right down to her quaint, where her clitoris was growing warm with yearning for him.

He raised his mouth from hers. It was painful to be parted from him even this much, but it was only long enough for him to raise her shift above her head so that he could, while kissing her mouth again, touch her naked nipples, now erect, and gently squeeze and twist them with his strong fingers. A shiver ran through her - not the shiver of cold and fear she'd felt with the Duke, but one of delight that warmed her whole body and seemed to fill her with some strange celestial music.

His hand moved across her belly, stroking, caressing as the Duke's hand had, but her skin tingled at his touch as it had not before, and she almost wanted his hand to linger there, though she knew it would be still more delightful if he touched her lower down.

And he did. His fingers slipped between the lips of her quaint and massaged her clitoris as he sucked her nipples and teased them with his teeth, filling her with new sensations: heat radiated through her whole body as if from some mysterious fire in the center of her, kindled by the fire of his soul. She could never, she thought, experience a greater pleasure.

But she could, for the man's fingers began to probe into her quaint as he kissed and nibbled her belly, and kissed her lower, below her navel, nearing her pubic hair, the swollen lips of her quaint, her clitoris. It had never occurred to her that any man might kiss her there, in that oh so private spot (for her mother had spoken only of things she might do to please a man, and nothing of things a man might do to please her). But the thought gave birth to desire: she wanted him to know her most secret places. "Yes," she said, "Please -"

His mouth closed over her quaint, and he licked her clitoris ever so gently. It was a soft yet passionate kiss, the most intimate possible; she felt the love in his tongue and his lips; her quaint responded, hotter and wetter, and her heart seemed to rise and grow within her breast.

And then he thrust into her, again and again, doing with his tongue what she longed for him to do with his cock. She opened her eyes and looked down at him, wanting to see . . . and his hawk's eyes met hers, and she saw in them fire and love and a sadness beyond comprehension - and for the second time that night, the second time in her life, she came, shuddering, pressing her quaint hard against the mouth of the man she loved.

It was not enough, this miracle of sensation for which she had no name; her longing was undiminished. She sat up, took the man's head in her hands, lifted him to her, and kissed him, savoring the salty taste of herself on his lips and tongue. As she kissed him she tore at his girdle, his tunic, his braies, his stockings, needing to touch his flesh. The sword fell to the floor with a clang.

They sat naked, looking at each other and touching. His skin was so smooth and he was so perfectly formed, she had to run her hands over his shoulders, his chest, his belly, marveling that all this magnificence was hers. Possessive, she seized him by the shoulders and made him lie on his back. From his head to his toes she could take him all in now, the powerful muscles under the tanned skin of his shoulders, his arms, his breasts, his thighs, his calves. Even his feet, the pink of his toenails, made her weak with pleasure as she looked.

And, oh, his cock, thick and long, standing straight up two hand-breadths! She wrapped her fingers around it, near the top, and pulled downwards so the foreskin slid away, revealing the purple head beneath, smooth and hot. She remembered the thing she had done that had so terribly angered the Duke. She hadn't wanted to do it then, not really, and now she did, so very much - but did she dare? She bent forward and timidly, tentatively licked the underside of his cock, near the tip; his hips shifted slightly and he sighed. She glanced at his face: his eyes were closed, his expression blissful. Then he opened his eyes and gazed into hers, and she saw no anger there, no revulsion, nothing but love and longing.

Still looking into his eyes, she took as much of him into her as she could and reveled in the feel of his living cock in her mouth, the soft skin sliding over hard flesh. She caressed him with her tongue, with her lips, wanting to warm and embrace him tightly with her mouth.

She could not imagine a greater pleasure - but then he began to thrust upwards into her mouth, not so much as to gag her or hurt her, but just enough that she could tell that what she was doing was increasing his excitement and his need. As she held his cock with one hand she reached for her quaint with the other, and she felt that she was holding all of her own passion, and all of his, in her hands, and all of herself and all of him belonged to her.

Knowing now that he would do what she wanted him to, she fell back onto the bed and, still holding his cock and pulling it a little towards her, whispered "make love to me." He knelt between her legs and eased forward, guiding his cock into her. There was a moment of resistance, a moment of pain (she stifled a cry) and then he was in her, filling her quaint deliciously, his cock stimulating her where it slid inside her. He lowered his face to hers, and his powerful body, the smell of him, his sweet breath aroused her to new heights of passion.

As they moved together he kissed her, his tongue moving in her mouth as his cock moved in her quaint, and his hands still roved over her trembling body. She was all sensation from her head to her toes, which curled with the pleasure of it all, with all the love she felt, hers and his.

And this time her orgasm was almost gentle, it enfolded her and rocked her, it seemed it would never stop. Then he was gasping and thrusting hard. She saw he had for those moments no conscious control of his movements, but was without memory or thought and entirely given over to pleasure, as she had been just moments before.

He lay lightly on top of her. She did not want him to move, but his cock was growing soft, he was slipping out of her, and she reluctantly allowed him to lie beside her. He embraced and caressed her.

"What are you?" she whispered. For even though she lived at a time when marvelous things happened far more commonly than they do now, in our much duller age, she knew nothing of hawks that turn into handsome lovers. Though she loved him, he frightened her. What if he was a demon sent to carry her away to some horrible underworld?

"I'm a man," he said. "You needn't be frightened of me."

"But you were," she said -

"A hawk," he said, "and then I was just a hawk."

"I don't understand," she said.

He said, "When I'm a hawk, I'm entirely a hawk, and when I'm a man, I'm entirely a man. Only in the moment of transformation is there anything wonderful about me. Here." He took her hand and guided it to his cock. She felt it stir under her hand.

He said, "Does a hawk have one of these?"

She fondled his cock gently, and his sigh made all her fear vanish. But oh, she thought, he was wonderful: wonderfully here, wonderfully responsive to her - and, just now, wonderfully hard. It filled her with wonder to know that she could take what she wanted, hold it in her hand, and in meeting her own needs also meet her lover's. She slid down his body, took his cock in her mouth again, and enjoyed the lingering taste of her love. She sucked him fiercely and long, nibbled his balls, teased the tender place beneath. Having this man's body entirely at her command filled her with a fierce joy that was entirely new to her.

She felt lighthearted, mischievous, and bold: with his cock in her mouth she turned and straddled him, knees on either side of his head, letting him see her damp, hot desire. He flung his arms around her waist, pulled her down to him, sank his face into her quaint. She moved her hips, undulating, rubbing her clitoris on his lips, his nose, his chin. She spread her legs, shifting her weight from her knees to his body; she was flat against him from her breasts to her crotch.

All of him, she thought, all of him is mine - cock, hard belly, firm chest, beautiful face. As she pictured to herself his face, and what he was doing with it at that moment, the fire rose within her again, and she sucked his cock hard and deep, wanting him to share her pleasure. She stopped thinking then, gave her body its own way, and sensed rather than willed the way her hips flexed, her pelvis rocked, and her quaint flooded him with her love. He moaned as he licked and kissed her, and in her mouth the heat of him spoke to her of his love and affirmation.

The storytellers do not say how many times they made love that night, each exploring every inch of the other's body, touching, smelling, tasting, probing till they knew each other's bodies as well as their own, till she felt that she was as tightly bound to him as the woodbine twined about the strong hazel tree. But they fell asleep no more than an hour before dawn, and they slept only a little before they were awakened by the soft light from the window and the heavy tread of the old woman toiling up the stair.

Instantly the man had his clothing on. He embraced her and said, softly, "tomorrow night."

She said, "Wait!" wanting to ask his name so she could know at least that much about him.

But with a rustle of feathers, a great flapping of wings, and a high, plaintive cry, he was gone.

Rosette collected herself and hurried to the mirror to brush her hair and arrange her clothing, striving to look as if all were normal.

But the old woman saw in the bed the bloody evidence of Rosette's virgin love. She gathered up the bedclothes and carried them away, triumph in her eyes.

* * *

All that day Rosette paced in her room. She could not sew or embroider; all her thoughts were on her lover and his return that night.

* * *

The old woman brought the bedclothes to the Duke and spread them before him.

"What is this?" he demanded.

"The evidence of your whorish wife's foul infidelity, my lord," she said. "The blood is from her maidenhead: a man was with her last night and stole it from you."

"Who?" the Duke whispered, too enraged to speak aloud.

"I do not know, my lord. The door was locked, and only I have the key. I would advise my lord to post guards outside her door and both windows. Let them carry swords and lances, bows and arrows, weapons of every kind. Give them instructions to kill whoever tries to enter."

The Duke dismissed her and called for the captain of his guard.

* * *

Night fell at last. The old woman left the tower room, leering obscenely at her charge. Rosette opened the window through which her lover had entered the night before. Then she sat on the bed and waited.

Soon she heard his call as he flew through the night to her - "Kree! Kree!" - and she saw his broad wings silhouetted against the moon. Her heart gave a leap. He had not been a dream - he was here!

She rushed to the window, reaching it just as her lover alighted on the sill, just as someone shouted "There! The bird!" down below, just as the bow twanged. She felt a sharp blow under her left breast; she could not draw a breath. She understood already, as she sank to the carpeted floor, that she was dying.

From where she lay she could see the night sky through the window. How beautiful the stars were! She was aware of her heartbeat growing faint and uncertain. Oh, if he could hold her one more time, then she wouldn't care how short her life had been, how briefly she had loved! With the thought, she felt strong arms enfold and lift her. With great effort, she turned her head to gaze at her lover, in whose perfect face she saw bottomless despair.

Tears welled in his eyes. So this is the great sorrow he foresaw, she thought. There's nothing I wouldn't do to relieve his suffering - no affliction I wouldn't bear, no pain I wouldn't endure.

He kissed her, lay her down gently, sat over her. He knows I'm lost, she thought. She watched as a tear rolled down his cheek to his finely formed jaw and hung there for a second before it fell into the wound where the arrow had pierced her breast. Hot, the tear seeped in around the shaft, searing her torn flesh. Pain spread from that spot all through her body, taking over her senses until she was no longer aware of the room, the sky, or anything but her lover, whose eyes were so like a hawk's, who spread his arms - his wings - over her. His mournful wail was a hawk's cry, high and wild.

Pain consumed her body like a pyre. She opened her mouth to scream, but the sound that came from her, startling her, was a wild cry like his. She heard the arrow clatter to the floor, sensed strength rushing into her feathery breast, her talons and beak, her wide wings. Joyful, she spread them once to get the feel of them.

"Kree!" cried her lover, and she answered "Kree!" Together they pushed off from the floor with powerful legs, beat their wings, and soared into the night.


If you've gotten this far, why not take another second to click one of those stars down below? And if you have a few seconds more, I'd welcome your comment.