Wisp Light

Author's Note: Part of my Morrigan's Wolf series of Historical Fantasy tales. Takes place before Pressed Violet. The story does contain some M/M sex, but the focus is on F/F. Do enjoy!

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The fire pit in the great hall still smouldered, its soft glow giving some small illumination on the nearby tables. And the few people passed out upon the benches reeking of beer. A few servants quietly cleaned up the dirty bowls and cutlery from the night's feast, doing their best not to disturb the guests who couldn't quite make it home. One young woman had a rag tied around her face as she mopped up a pile of vomit.

Through it all, guided by the light of a candle in her hand, Ghyslaine moved with a crinkled nose against the stench. The servants all ignored her, as her slippers patted against the floor. She held up her skirts with one hand, not wanting to get it filthy. At least, not with what was on the floor.

Ducking behind the back wall, she soon found the door to the chambers she shared with her husband, Ealderman Rendel. She paused at the door, and glanced back to ensure no one was sneaking about; she could already hear the grunts coming from within.

With a sigh, Ghyslaine felt frustration bubble up inside her. She pushed open the door and quickly stepped inside the room that stank of sweat and sex. There was a sharp gasp of surprise, and a groan of annoyance as Ghyslaine shut the door behind herself. The light of the candle fell over the scene on her bed as she walked close.

Her husband, naked and sweaty, gripping the hips of one of his thegns laying on his side. Rendel hadn't even paused in his thrusts, grunting against the thegn's neck as he shoved his cock into the other man's ass. The thegn though was staring upwards in shock at the noblewoman standing at the foot of the bed. His own cock bounced with each thrust, precum glinting in the candle light.

"Lady Ghyslaine," he managed.

"Ignore her. This is nothing she hasn't seen before," Rendel grunted, his fingers digging into the man's skin, leaving faint red marks. Ghyslaine rolled her eyes and moved around the bed, so her husband could better see her. She had no illusions that he would actually stop.

"Very true husband. But I hope this one likes tits at least," she said, hand on her hip as she watched the display. Her frustration made her Frankish accent thicker than usual. The thegn's eyes stayed on her, his hands gripping the sheets as he was fucked by her husband. His ealdorman.

"Does it matter? He quite enjoys my cock," Rendel grunted, and reached down to grasp the thegn's prick. Ghyslaine's gaze flickered to the motion, watched as her husband began to stroke his latest lover.

"We've yet to properly consummate our marriage, husband. And if you do not lay with me, then you will not get yourself an heir. Without that heir, then the king and your rivals will start looking at your position," Ghyslaine said, and Rendel chuckled. The thegn seemed to be calming, his eyes closing as he fell back into the rhythm of hips clapping against his rear cheeks.

"Come now, wife. If you cared about some kind of monogamy, you wouldn't be standing there watching. Again. You're wet as April I'm sure, so why not just go find some good looking man to fill your belly. Then we can pass it off as mine," Rendel said, and gently bit the back of his lover's neck.

"Really? A bastard is your solution? There are already whispers and rumours about you. About, us. If whoever I had gave me a child decided to make a move, then our hold would be even more precarious. Noble or commoner," Ghyslaine said, just as the thegn let out a loud moan of pleasure. His cock jerked in Rendel's hand, and cum shot up over his belly.

"A taste, wife?" Rendel said, holding up his hand, fingers glimmering with the thegn's release. The remainder was slowly running in small trickles over the thegn's stomach, some pooling in his navel.

At this Ghyslaine crossed her arms. She glared at her husband.

"Would you cum inside me if I did?" she asked, and the thegn on her bed whimpered.

"You know I won't. But I also know you deserve some pleasure of your own. And I see you staring," Rendel grinned, still thrusting, still offering the mess of his hand.

"Va te faire foutre. No. Thank you," Ghyslaine said, pushing down her frustration. She ran her hand over her face, thankful she was frustrated that she didn't just give in. Again.

"Suit yourself, my dear," Rendel said, and pushed his cum slathered fingers into the thegn's mouth. The man groaned, tasting himself as he sucked on the ealdorman's digits. Ghyslaine shook her head.

"I'm going out. Enjoy your night, husband," Ghyslaine said and grasped her cloak from the nearby chest and turned to leave the room. Another deep thrust from Rendal had the thegn moaning loudly, and Ghyslaine sighed. She looked back over her shoulder at the man. "And you... try not to make too much noise."

Not waiting for a response, Ghyslain hurried out the door, and ensured to close it behind her. If she pressed her ear to the door, she could hear them already back at it. Another annoyed sigh spilled free and Ghyslain walked out into the hall.

Her way lit by the candle, Ghyslaine made her way past the servants and out into the cool breeze of the night air. She breathed in deep, the smell of woodsmoke replacing the bodily stenches that had pervaded the hall. She looked over the town from where she stood on the hall's hill; much of it dark, save the flickering torches of the guards that stood watch for bandit or Dane.

For a moment, she just stood there enjoying the gentle breeze and quiet of the night. But she had to go somewhere. She wasn't in Francia anymore, but the eyes and ears in Wessex could tell as many tales, and ruin as many lives. She started down the hill, and began to make her way to the church.

Dirt crunched beneath her slippers as she moved through the town. The dark windows of homes stared at her, and she imagined spies in each of them. The church wasn't far now, and she pulled her cloak tighter around herself. She passed through the short fence that marked the church yard. She glanced over to the small building where the priest lived, and the one beside that housed any guests; usually Sister Derehild from the nearby convent. Their windows were dark and silent as the rest of the town, but Ghyslaine was surprised to see a faint light flickering in one of the triangle topped windows of the church itself.

Perhaps Sister Derehild was up late again praying. The woman was perhaps the best healer in the area, and often travelled to town to tend to the folk here. She often got caught working until sundown, with not enough time to return to the convent. Ghyslaine smiled; it would be nice to speak with Derehild, if it were indeed her.

As she reached the doors, Ghyslaine very slowly opened them; not wanting to disturb whoever was inside. She was surprised then to hear voices. One of which was certainly Sister Derehild, but the other was a stranger. With an accent Ghyslaine was not immediately familiar with.

Slipping inside, and carefully closing the door behind her, Ghyslaine crept forward. A handful of candles were lit near the altar, washing the two women standing there in a soft glow. Ghyslaine remained hidden in darkness as she studied the two as they spoke in hushed tones.

Sister Derehild looked as she usually did; clad in her habit, dusty from the road, and tired with dark circles beneath her eyes. The other though made Ghyslaine's heart leap in her chest.

The woman was tall and broad shouldered, with unnaturally dark red hair tied back into a braid. She wore a short sleeved mail shirt that left her arms exposed. Arms that swelled with firmly defined muscle, and swirled with green tattoos of Celtic origin. There was another high on her neck of a red rose, just beneath her ear. Her eyes were starkly green, and shadowed with kohl, giving her a smoulder that stoked a heat Ghyslaine had long since thought she'd buried.

To clash with that feminine stare, were a pair of loose trousers, and calf high riding boots. Further, there was a sword sheathed at her hip, her hand resting on the pommel.

"I'm always looking for more foxglove. But I need all the nettles I can get. However, I can give you some lady's mantle," Derehild said to the woman.

"I can use that. My bleed should be next week, if I've been following the moon right," the tall muscular woman said as she reached into a satchel at her side. She pulled out a bag and held it out to the nun. "Oh. I got something else for you too."

Derehild took the bag and peeked inside. Ghyslaine had to guess she saw the foxglove plants inside, before the nun held out a small pouch to the stranger.

"Something else?" she asked as the woman slid the pouch into her satchel, then started to pull a book free.

"All the way from Baghdad it seems. Treatises, and letters of one Saint Fabiola," the stranger said, holding the book before her. For her part Derehild stared at it with wide eyes, and reverently reached out to lift it from the stranger's hands.

"Mary's mercy. Riona, this is... how'd you get this?" Derehild said as she pulled the book to her chest. The other woman, Riona, just smiled.

"Saved it," was all she said, and Derehild frowned.

"If you killed anyone..." the nun started, trailing off as she studied Riona's face.

"If I did, at least you can use this to save others."

Derehild sighed and turned away. She gently placed the book upon the altar before opening the cover.

"I'll admit, I was worried it was going to be in Greek, not Latin," she said.

Ghyslaine continued to watch, entranced by Riona, but curious to what these two were doing. Trading herbs and books in the dark of night. They certainly knew each other, but Riona did not seem like the kind of person Derehild would commonly associate with. She moved closer, towards the pews.

One of the floorboards creaked, and those starkly green eyes snapped over to her. Riona's fingers curled around the hilt of her sword, and started to draw. Ghyslaine's heart hammered as she saw the glimmer of steel.

"Not a fan of eavesdroppers," Riona said, and Derehild snapped around with wide eyes.

"I didn't mean to," Ghyslaine said, lifting her hands as she stepped forward into the light.

"Not sure how one does not mean to," Riona said, and Ghyslaine was at a loss of words. Her mouth opened and closed as she thought of something to say. She was not used to skulking about; she paid others to do that for her. And Riona was still staring at her, and it was causing her stomach to flutter in ways she hadn't felt since she left Francia.

It was Derehild who spoke first.

"Lady Ghyslaine. Why aren't you at the great hall?"

"My husband is... entertaining late, at the moment," Ghyslaine said, standing tall and lifting her chin. At the comment Derehild sighed heavily, but Riona snorted in amusement.

"How long were you hiding there my lady?" Derehild asked, her eyes narrowing. So, she was hiding something. What was it about this stranger that the nun didn't want discovered? Ghyslaine turned her eyes back to Riona, still holding her blade with bared steel gleaming in the candlelight. Her gaze slowly lowered, and settled on those soft lips.

Her heart fluttered in her chest, and lurid images slithered through her mind. Perhaps she could blame her husband's display for that.

"I saw two women trading in herbs and a book," Ghyslaine explained, and the look of relief on Derehild's face was palpable. She was certainly hiding something. Riona though kept a face of stone, even as her blade sunk back into its sheath. That didn't stop Ghylaine's heart from pounding in her chest. "Are you a healer?"

"I have some knowledge in the arts. I'm a wanderer. Sister Derehild often asks me to bring whatever herbs and knowledge I've collected to aid her efforts," Riona said, sparking a single word from Derehild.

"Riona!"

"There's no crime, or shame in the trades Sister," Riona said, in an almost bored tone. Derehild frowned, further cementing Ghyslaine's suspicions. Something was wrong with this Riona woman. "But, since your husband is... entertaining, what brings you here?"

"I am wife to the Ealdorman, and this is his town. I am free to go as I like, so I come to give thanks to God," Ghyslaine replied.

"As you are my lady. Your piety is an example to be followed, and I pray that others follow in your footsteps. There is too little of it these days," Derehild and sighed, before turning back to close the book. "But, the hour is late, and I have much to do tomorrow. So I will bid you ladies good night."

"Go with God Sister," Ghyslaine told the nun as she picked up the bag of herbs and pulled the book to her chest.

"Night Sister," Riona said to the retreating nun's form, before moving to leaning against one of the pews. Those green eyes of hers though, were locked upon Ghyslaine. She swallowed, and moved over to the altar and got upon her knees.

"Will you pray with me?" Ghyslaine asked as she pressed her palms together and bowed her head.

"No. My words aren't for these stone halls. Besides, she'd be upset if a prayed to another," Riona said, and Ghyslaine snapped her eyes over. She rose to her feet and stared at the woman. The... heretic.

"Yet you step foot in a house of God. And trade with a nun," Ghyslaine said.

"I do. Because she does good work for people," Riona said and pushed off the pew and closed the distance between them. She smelled of the forest. Earthy and rich. Ghyslaine still had her hands pressed together, and her fingers tightly intertwined.

"You risk her reputation, her life with your very presence," Ghyslaine hissed.

"A risk she deems worthwhile. Who do you think aided her during the outbreak of fever last year?" Riona said, and Ghyslaine dropped her hands to her sides. She frowned at the woman, her head tilted upwards to stare into those gorgeous eyes that still had her heart aflutter, and her loins warming.

"Yet you voice the truth to me. You a... a witch! This... is an affront to God," she said, and Riona just grinned.

"I don't believe the woman who's praying in churches while her husband fucks some harlot would... how do you Christians say it? Throw the first stone?" Riona said, and a spike of anger pierced Ghyslaine's mind.

She swung to slap Riona, but the witch caught her wrist. Her grip was strong, and before she registered what was happening, Riona spun her around. The back of her knees hit the edge of a pew and she fell upon it. The wooden legs scraped against the wood floor, and Riona pinned her with a knee upon her chest. Her firm grip held on arm above Ghyslaine's head.

Anger threatened to burst into rage, but the heat between her legs was spreading. Her heart was hammering in her breast as she looked up at the visage above her. At those beautiful eyes and soft lips. The grin had faded, and there was another look upon the woman's features. One that burned into Ghyslaine's soul as Riona grasped the other arm and pinned it with the other.

"Seems I struck a nerve. What's the matter honey?" Riona said and shifted her knee. The hard edge of bone within those leather trousers ran down her stomach and then between her thighs, clamping her dress against the pew. She lowered herself, hovering just above Ghyslaine. "Did the slut not want to share?"

Ghyslaine wasn't sure if Riona was referring to this fictional woman, or her husband, but she flushed anyway.

"There was no harlot. It was..." she muttered, then shook her head. "It's none of your concern."

"No. It's not. But you... are not as angry as a woman whose husband is fucking another should be," Riona leaned down, her face hovered above Ghyslaine's own. Her braid fell off her shoulder, and brushed against Ghyslaine's neck and the noblewoman sucked in a breath. "I think it stirred your loins. My lady. Even if you weren't invited."

Ghyslaine's chest rose and fell heavily as she stared up at Riona. At this witch who had her pinned against the pew, legs dangling awkwardly over the edge.

"You're bewitching me. You're the harlot," Ghyslaine said, and pulled at her hands, but Riona's grip did not relent. The witch smiled softly and leaned in. Her cheek brushed against Ghyslaine's own, her lips grazed the noblewoman's ear.

"I don't need to bewitch you, but I am a harlot," Riona replied. "Tell me to let you go. Tell me to walk away right now."

"You wouldn't listen," Ghyslaine said, and Riona purred in her ear. The noblewoman pulled at her arms, pushed up with her hips, but Riona was firm as stone. She didn't even shift.

"Try me," Riona said, and slipped her knee upwards. Ghyslaine felt her skirts shift along her legs, as the meat of the witch's thigh pressed up against her womanhood. Ghyslaine groaned hungrily, and another purr was the response. Before the slick touch of tongue curled over her ear. "But I think you want a harlot. All to yourself."

"Shut up," Ghyslaine said, and yet another soft purr poured forth. A low groan from Ghyslaine as the witch lowered herself more, her mail pressing tight against the noblewoman's body, crushing her breasts beneath those metal rings.

Riona pulled Ghyslaine's ear between her lips. Teased at the flesh with teeth and tongue, and now Ghyslaine moved softly. Her hips shifted, grinding down against the thigh between her legs. Her skirts rubbed against her slick womanhood. She chewed on her lower lip, falling deeper under the spell of her own lust, while Riona started to slowly kiss along her jawline. Little nips of teeth teased at the skin, and Ghyslaine's fingers hooked into talons. She pulled again, and again, but Riona did not release.

Those soft kisses slowly moved over Ghyslaine's chin, and then tortuously stopped at her lips. Riona stayed there, lips parted and brushing against the trapped noblewoman's own. Her heaving chest pressed her breasts tighter against that mail shirt. Her heart continue to hammer in her ribs, her loins ached for more attention.

Almost without meaning to, Ghylsaine bit down on Riona's lower lip. The witch only let out a soft groan, her tongue slowly gliding over Ghyslaine's upper lip. Her knee pushed up, hard, and the noblewoman gasped, her clamp on the witch's lip released. Her head tilted back, eyes closed as Riona's lips went for her throat. Soft bites teased at danger that send a beautiful shudder up Ghyslaine's spine.

Her struggles stopped, her hips pushed back against the woman above her, grinding her loins against the thigh pressed against her. Slowly she opened her eyes, and found herself staring at the wall of the church. All while Riona's lips worked down towards her chest.

Ghyslaine's head rolled to the side, and she spied Christ upon his cross. His face down towards the floor. Candlelight flickered over his form, and Ghyslaine felt judged.

"Stop," she whimpered.

Immediately the kisses stopped, and Ghyslaine only longer for them to continue. The witch lifted herself, and released her grip on Ghyslaine's wrists. She stood beside the pew, and offered her hand. Ghyslaine blinked, surprised the witch had listened, and stared at the hand for a moment. The corner of Riona's mouth quirked upwards.

"I won't bite. Until I find out you're into that," Riona said, and Ghyslaine felt her cheeks grow hot.

"That, is a sad attempt at seduction," Ghyslaine said and grasped the offered hand.

The witch put on another display of strength, easily pulling Ghyslaine to her feet. The noblewoman stumbled and crashed against Riona's stoic form. The witch didn't budge, instead she held Ghyslaine close, as the noble woman's hands pressed against Riona's chest.

"I don't need to attempt. I already have," she said softly.

"Putain. You are not wrong," Ghyslaine replied, and buried her face in Riona's chest. The mail was cool against her face, and hard, and she desperately wanted to feel what was beneath. But, not here. Where could she take this woman? Her husband had taken her own bed, and most other places, she'd be seen.