The Comforts of Winter

"Ivory," Eleanor told her, "or so I am told."

"I have never seen such a thing," Isabella said, "wherever did you get it?"

"It was a gift, from a grateful customer; for every wise-woman ought to have a wand, and truly, this wand works great magic. But here, my lady, you will need this, also."

And she passed across a little pot; opening the lid, Isabella found it contained a rich, oily substance, She put a little on her finger, and sniffed it.

"What is in it?" she asked, for the curious, musky smell was unknown to her.

"Ah, that, my lady, is a secret of my craft, but you will find it quite safe to use... in all parts. Put a little about the wand, if you please."

Isabella anointed the wand with the oil, and then introduced the head of it to Eleanor's nether lips.

"The oil," Isabella observed, "is hardly necessary."

Eleanor, who was sat up, the better to see, laughed. "Well, you know how it is, my lady, spending time with a handsome woman can do that to me, and - ah - when she does things like - oh - that to me, I..."

Her words faded away, replaced only by heavy breathing and gasps of delight, as Isabella began to work the wand back and forth. When Isabella judged the moment to be ripe, she leaned forward and added her lips and tongue to the blend of delights, at which point Eleanor grabbed Isabella's free hand, threw her head back, and surrendered herself to joy.

A little later, once everything had calmed down somewhat, and they lay entwined, Isabella's head resting on Eleanor's shoulder, Isabella said:

"Is that why you live so far away from anybody?"

"Is what why I live so far away from anybody?"

"Well... you were so noisy."

"Was I?"

"Yes. You sounded like a woman in childbirth."

"Ah. Did I? I can't say I noticed, myself. Anyway, I live out here by the forest for many reasons. First, I am by trade a wise-woman, or, to use the vulgar word, witch, and people aren't always keen to abide close to witches. And for another, I don't want anybody else poking their noses into my business, or my craft. And for a third, if I want to have a little fun with a willing lass now and then, it's best nobody else knows about it."

"You have me convinced, wise-woman. I for one am very glad nobody heard us just now. Although I am very glad to have been the occasion of such loud pleasure."

"Are you now? How do you feel about occasioning a little more?"

Isabella giggled, and kissed Eleanor warmly. "If you insist, I shall have to comply, of course. How about you try using your magic wand on me, wise-woman?"

"Aren't you afraid it will turn you into something unnatural?"

"I am rather hoping it will. And while you do it, I should like you to -" and she whispered something into Eleanor's ear, something that made Eleanor feel very warm all of a sudden, despite the fact that she was naked and some way from the fire.

They did what Isabella asked, and many other marvellous things, in the hours before Eleanor at last got up, covered the fire, and put out the candles. They snuggled together under the quilts, tired but happy.

"I'm glad you came by, my lady," Eleanor said, softly.

"I am glad you let me in," Isabella replied, equally softly.

And then they slept.

Morning found them still entangled under the quilts; Eleanor woke late, when a shaft of sunlight pierced through a chink in the drapes at the window. Carefully, she unwound herself from Isabella, and stepped down from the bed. Wrapping her shawl about her shoulders, she peered through the drapes at an impossibly bright world. The sun shone in a clear blue sky, and the light rebounded from every snow-covered surface, making it almost impossible to see anything.

Eleanor bustled about quietly, trying not to wake Isabella as she dressed, but there was no way of opening the door quietly. It needed a good heave, and the hinges squealed as it opened. Isabella sat up in bed, looking bleary and tousled.

"Eugh. What hour is it?" she asked.

"About nine, by the clock," Eleanor told her. "Not that I have a clock. I need to see to the beasts, I shall be back shortly. There's water in the ewer, and you'll find the pot in a cupboard by the bed."

When Eleanor returned, stamping the snow off her boots, she found Isabella dressed, and looking a little more human.

"And how are you this morning, my lady? Shall you have breakfast? It's only porridge, but made with fresh goat milk."

"Thank-you, I will. I feel as if I could do with more sleep, to tell truth. It was a long day yesterday - and a long night."

"Art complaining?"

Isabella grinned. "Not I. I have never spent a better night."

"Sleep again, if you will, my lady. There's no call for any hurry; though the sun shines, the snow lies as thick as ever. Twill be a day or two yet, before you can move on."

"No, no, I am dressed now, and beside, I would help you about the house, if I can."

Eleanor looked at her, a little surprised. "Well, I won't say it's not welcome," she replied, "but sit you by and have your porridge, first."

Once she had shovelled enough hot porridge into her mouth, Isabella felt bold enough to broach the subject she had been turning over in her mind since last night.

"What you were saying, before, about me moving on," she began.

"Yes?"

"Well... look, Eleanor, last night was wonderful. When I said I had never spent a better, I meant it. Not even in a palace. And it wasn't just the, you know. No. It was you." And she looked up, and met Eleanor's eyes. "All of you. The way you spoke, and the way you held me, and... Eleanor, I do not want to leave."

Eleanor's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "But what of your errand to Castle Chariot, that was so dire you left on the brink of winter?"

Isabella looked down at her porridge bowl, and stirred her spoon slowly.

"What I sought at Castle Chariot, I found here, instead, and more beside. Let me stay with you, Eleanor, for I... I do think I love you."

Eleanor smiled, and sat closer to Isabella. "Well, perhaps you can tell me, then, what use you might be to me, were you maybe to stay?"

"Let me see; I am good at tracking, and hunting, and handy with a bow, or a knife, and a little with the small sword. I can pluck a bird, and prepare game, and gut fish, and set a fire. I'm strong, and hardy, and not afraid of work. And I can sew - not daintily, but well enough to mend things, and... I am led to believe I am passing fair at the arts of love."

"That you are, indeed. But think of what you're saying, Lady Isabella. You are a high-born lady, and I but a poor cottager. My father was a smith - a good smith, too, but a cottar only. Could you be happy here?"

Isabella took Eleanor's hands in hers, and shook her head. "Do not think, wise-woman, that I have lived my life in some perfumed bower, attended by servants and pampered all day long. I was born into war, and my life has often been hard, hard beyond telling. I care not for palaces and silks. I prefer the greenwood, and sleep in the open as oft as not. I am no slave to comfort."

"What shall people think, though, if a noble Lady dwells in a humble cot, earning her bread like any common villager?"

"Would you care what people thought?"

"I wouldn't, no, it's true. But I was thinking more of your kin. Will they not send out for you, when you don't arrive at Castle Chariot?"

Isabella gave a short, bitter laugh. "Nay, not they. Why do you think I travelled alone? There are none now to care where I might go, or what I might do, save only my enemies; and they will doubtless think I perished on the road, and good riddance to me."

"It is a dull life I lead here; I have no adventures to tell of. Shall you not get bored?"

"I have had enough of adventure. I weary of a life of being hunted, and having no home. I did not know it, but I was looking for you all this time, and now I have found you I am loth, very loth, to lose you. Let me stay by you, Eleanor. Please?"

And then Eleanor smiled, and kissed Isabella's hands. "For my part I have loved you since first you walked out of the snow," she said, "but hadn't dared hope you might return my love. And I too have been alone too long. You say you shun luxury and comfort; I have been looking for another sort of comfort, and, strange to say, had thought of leaving, and seeking it elsewhere. And yet by strange chance winter has brought comfort to me. Aye, stay here with me, Isabella my love, and we shall build a nest against the winter chill, for as long as we have. Nay, love, do not cry. You are come home at last."

"I know it, but I cannot help my tears. I cry for joy, joy I had never hoped to find."

They kissed, long and passionately.

"I am the mistress of this house, and you are to do everything I say, mind," Eleanor warned her, in between kisses.

"Gladly," Isabella returned.

"And you are to work - I can take on no idle hands."

"I fear no work," Isabella told her, kissing her again. "Are there not chores to do, now?"

"Yes, yes, there are, but they can go hang just for once, because by all the heavens I'm going to take you to bed again right now."

"As my mistress commands," Isabella said, meekly. "You know, I think I am going to enjoy living here."

THE END