Ladies in Waiting, Part 8 - 12
Part 8
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Sir Elliot shared several mugs of Old Cragen's best ale with Beecher Blacksmith before reluctantly heading for his lodgings in the castle keep. He clapped a hearty hand on Beecher's shoulder. "I've enjoyed meeting you, good sir. I shall see you at the banquet, no doubt?"
Beecher nodded. "Alas, I shall be seated below the salt, with the rest of the peasants... perhaps we may meet again during the dancing and juggling and games? Tis Lady Alexandra's custom to amuse her guests to the fullest extent. And her table is excellent-- well, it is now; not so much when the itinerant cook named Flay was in charge of the victuals." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Tis common rumour that he tried to toy with her affections and was summarily banished from Hudsonia forever!"
Sir Elliot's eyes narrowed. "And you, good sir-- do you find the lady bewitching as well?"
Beecher had the grace to blush. "It is not my station in life, to pursue a highborn woman... nor are women my preference. I hope you understand what I am telling you, for there are many who find it... distasteful."
Sir Elliot's blue eyes were bright. "Nay, I find it... enticing. I shall contrive to meet up with you again, Beecher."
"Splendid," sighed Tobias. "I'll be anticipating your... company."
Old Cragen, wiping down a nearby table, shook his head. Buggery and banquets seem to go hand in hand, he mused. The young folk today are very different than when I was a lad. God's nails, I crave strong drink!
Munch and Fin were half-heartedly bickering, as was their custom. Much to his dismay, one of Munch's former wives was now a lady-in-waiting to Lady Cabot, news that made Munch's usual glum countenance unhappier still. "She will want nothing to do with you, you old grump," said Fin. "There will be so many in attendance I doubt your paths will cross at all, providing you make no effort in that direction."
Munch stood up and paced the length of the room they were sharing upstairs at the alehouse. Suddenly, he wheeled around to look at Fin. "There are several unmistakably bad omens that you are ignoring, Fin! I tell you, there will be trouble... I can smell it!"
"Perhaps it is merely the smell of your filthy socks, my friend," remarked Fin idly, as he rummaged though his bag for a change of clothes. "Or your choleric nature is simply reasserting itself. In either case, desist! I'll not have my evening ruined while you joust at shadows that exist only in your overheated brain."
Munch glared at his traveling companion. "I know what this is about; you have designs on the fair Dame Melinda. I sensed it from the moment you noticed her outside earlier. Jesus Case, man! You really do love your little fantasy world!"
"Not as much as you enjoy your own," Fin retorted tartly. He stood up, stretching his arms. "I'm going to see if we can procure a basin of warm water in which to wash off the grime of the road. I can only pray to all the saints you'll be in better spirits when I return." Fin spun on his heel and left the room.
"This is the last time I go on pilgrimage with you," muttered Munch.
Part 8 1/2
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Sir Trevor of Langan and his retinue arrived at the castle shortly after Munch and Fin's discussion. He dismounted his chestnut courser-- the war horse was stabled at Langan Manor, awaiting the next battle in the civil war that had been dragging on for some time-- and handed the reins to one of the stable boys. He was in high spirits, savoring the thought that twenty-four hours hence, he would be bedding the luscious Olivia.
He patted the stable boy on the head. "Good lad! What is your name, boy?"
The young stable boy bowed. "I am called Dickie, son of Elliot of AssofLife."
"Well, Dickie Elliotson, how is it that you are working in the stable? Surely your father wants you to squire, in your quest for knighthood... "
"I am still too young for that, good sir-- and my mother, the Lady Katherine, wants me to become a novice, in hopes of entering the priesthood. Tis not my wish," added the disconsolate Dickie.
Sir Trevor threw back his head, indulging in a hearty laugh. "Sir AssofLife's son a priest? I cannot imagine such a thing!"
He rubbed his hands together as he stomped off toward the keep. "Cold tonight," he remarked to his men-at-arms. "But I shall have a woman to keep me warm tomorrow night!" The group walked off into the falling snow, making lewd jokes and gestures. Dickie followed them with his eyes. He felt sorry for Lady Olivia, without quite understanding why. He led the horses to the stable, wishing his parents weren't so stubborn in their argument.
On a nearby hilltop, four children stood gazing at the valley below. The eldest, a girl, stamped her feet and pushed at her brother. He fell into the snow, whimpering.
"I TOLD you it was the wrong wardrobe, Edmund. There's no Turkish Delight for you here!" Peter, Edmund's older brother, helped him to his feet. Their younger sister Lucy shivered.
"Susan... this is no time to place blame! We're clearly in the wrong story... we must find a way back to Narnia, quickly! For this is the Land of FanFic and we could all fall pregnant at any moment!"
They trooped down the other side of the hill and disappeared into the snow.
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Part 9
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Lady Alexandra and Lady Olivia stood at the top of the winding stone staircase. Olivia was still clutching her companion's hand. Alex had given her One Cup of strong wine to drink, in the vain hope that it might calm Olivia's frayed nerves, but it was clearly not helping. Olivia shook her head. "I cannot," she whispered. "I cannot go down those stairs."
"You can and you must," replied Alex. "You are magnificent! All eyes will be on you, my dear. You have nothing to fear; I will sit with you, as well as my uncle, William of Albany, and my dear friends, Dame Melinda and Lady Elizabeth of Donnelly. We'll dine, and enjoy the music, the jugglers and the dancing. I swear, you'll not be alone with Sir Trevor tonight... unless, of course, you want to be?" Her eyes sought Olivia's for an answer, and Olivia shook her head, no.
"Good, then it's settled," said Alex. "Twould not be proper for you, in any case, as a virgin maid." Her eyes twinkled as she spoke. "Your secret is safe with me."
Slowly, they made their way down the stairs and toward the throng of lords, ladies, well-wishers, villagers and Nosy Parkers.
Caseianna mopped her brow; what a great deal of work she'd been forced to do! She had no time to change her gown, nor fix her hair, and she was in tears. How could she possibly attend the banquet like this? She stood against the far wall of the kitchen, praying no one would notice her. But Ryan spotted her from across the room; with her red-gold-chestnut-mustard colored hair and pale, pale skin, she was hard to miss. He put down a tray of honeyed pheasant and rushed to her.
"Caseianna, my pretty poppet, what vexes you so?" His kind voice sent her into a fresh spasm of sobs.
"I... I... don't hu-hu-have anything to... to wuh... wuh.. WEAR! And I'm all sweaty and du-du-dirty!"
Ryan grinned. "I like you dirty."
Caseianna sobbed, oblivious to his randy joking. Ryan peered furtively about the room; everyone was fully occupied and no one was interested in their conversation. He thought for a moment, then, took her arm. "Come on, I have an idea..."
"Wuh-- wuh.. where are we going?"
"Hush, now, my little pony, I have a surprise for you!" Swiftly, Ryan pulled Caseianna out of the kitchen, heading for the outside staircase surrounding the keep. Praise the Lord; at least she's stopped that insufferable stuttering, he thought, as he guided her up the stairs.
Olivia and Alex stood together behind the main table, which was slightly elevated and parallel to the rear wall. On either side, the long benches ran the length of the Great Hall, every seat occupied, every eye on the two women.
"They look like angels," said little Dickie to his father, Sir Elliot.
"They look like princesses," said his friend and fellow stable boy, little Tommy, whose surrogate mother Jill, had recently died. "Did I tell you he killed Jill?"
"Shh, quiet, lads-- the Duke is speaking," admonished Elliot.
"They look hot," said Fin to Munch, from their seats on the side.
"They look suspicious," muttered Munch. "I'm fucked; there she is!" He had just seen his ex-wife sitting across the room.
"It's gonna be a long cold night," mused Fin, helping himself to more ale while wishing Melinda would lean over, wishing they were closer to the front of the room, the better to stare down the front of her gown.
As Duke William welcomed everyone to the feast, Caseianna and Ryan tried to make an inconspicuous entrance and failed miserably. For Ryan had found the discarded dress that Lady Alex had banished from her chambers-- and worse yet, Caseianna was wearing it. Made for a less curvaceous woman, it clung tightly and left very little to the imagination. The blinding colors made it all the more horrifying.
"I cannot believe that insolent Ryan brought a common whore to this banquet!," cried Beecher Blacksmith.
"Tis no whore, Beecher, that's Caseianna, the butter churner!" Old Cragen corrected him. "But I can see where you might get that notion." He added thoughtfully, "She'll fall pregnant before long if she keeps dressing that way!"
Beecher felt that someone was looking in his direction. He turned around in his seat and saw Sir AssofLife across the vast hall. Elliot's lips were pursed in a kissing motion, and the horny blacksmith felt his manhood throb with anticipation.
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Part 10
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Duke William made his speech, welcoming all to the betrothal banquet and giving numerous toasts to the bride and groom, as Olivia sat plucking at the embroidery on her dress, growing more and more apprehensive and Sir Trevor clearly became more and more inebriated. The delightful Dame Melinda, in a remarkably Downy-soft voice, had been engaging Olivia in polite conversation about her home village of Beret, yet Sir Trevor encroached ever closer to his future bride, his hand sliding up the length of her satin-covered thigh, and she'd had just about enough.
"I hear Beret is quite hard to... enter," said Melinda.
"Oh, yes, tis a tiny place and yet the fortifications are sound and snug," answered Olivia, deftly pushing the annoying Trevor's fingers from the hem of her dress.
"But it's lovely, is it not? I have heard tell that it is quite... unforgettable," replied Melinda politely. She caught Lady Cabot's attention and with a silent quirk of the eyebrow, Alexandra had inserted her velvet-clad body between the pair.
"Excuse me, Sir Trevor, but you have let us prattle on about domestic affairs! Tell us of your recent skirmishes; how fares the true King in his fight for the throne?"
Trevor of Langan cleared his throat. "Ah, then, the Lady Olivia must hear about this..."
Alexandra extracted Olivia from her seat. "Of course, but for now, you must fill my uncle in on all the fascinating details, for we have forgotten something and will return presently."
Gratefully, Olivia stood and moved past the merry, laughing guests, blindly following the graceful Alexandra. The Great Hall was quite warm and she'd partaken of too much wine. Trevor made her anxious, with his whispered inferences of the joys of the marriage bed-- and so she was content to go wherever Alexandra led her. If Lady Cabot had suddenly decided to show her the castle latrine system, it was far better than enduring another moment of the vain knight's dull talk and wandering hands. Dame Melinda trailed behind them, discouraging any others from following along.
Elizabeth of Donnelly was content to remain at table; her interest in politics was keen-- a bit too keen for many of the men, but Duke William admired her shrewd mind and bid her stay; if she were to go now, Langan would become intolerable. Elizabeth would put him in his place, and in such a way he would never realize he'd been manipulated.
The three women stood in the courtyard; though the air was frosty, it felt good to be away from the smell of smoke, spilled wine and the sweat of both townsfolk and nobility. They put their arms about one another and giggled like schoolgirls.
"Full of himself and his exploits tonight, is Sir Trevor!," laughed Melinda. "He's naught but boastful exaggeration; I have it on good authority that he kept to the rear guard during this latest campaign! Oh! But here I go, tongue loosened with too much strong drink... Lady Olivia, forgive me, he is your true love, is he not?"
Still dizzy from the evening's excitement, Olivia fell laughing into Alexandra's arms, nearly causing them both to fall. Alex caught her in time; time enough to brush up against the front of Olivia's gown-- time enough to feel the stiffening of her nipples through the pink silk. Catching her breath, she moved her hands to Olivia's shoulders, gazing guiltily at Dame Melinda, who smiled indulgently.
"For the love of all things holy, Alexandra-- did you think I'd be shocked? I've known you too long and too well to be surprised at your... inclinations. I was unaware that Lady Olivia shared your preferences... and your lust. Tis easily seen that it is a mutual feeling," she added hastily. "And, as Alexandra is well aware, I have my own preoccupations-- and friends... ah, there she is now! You are late, my sweeting, my icy delight!"
A beautiful woman came toward them, seemingly from thin air, dressed in gauzy white, like a bride, or a vision. A stable boy took the reins she threw to him and he disappeared around the corner, off to the stables. Melinda walked silently to her, as if under a spell, and they embraced wordlessly.
Alexandra whispered into Olivia's ear, "That is Tilda of Swinton. I've heard rumours that she is a witch; she's far too beautiful to be mortal... but you have cast the only spell on me, my lovely one. Did you know that your eyes are... "
"Nay, lady, say it not, I beg you! Not chocolate! Say they are the color of horse dung, or tree bark... but not chocolate!"
Alex kissed her neck, biting it gently. "I was going to say the color of strong ale, but you would not allow me to finish." Her lips feverishly sought Olivia's; they tasted of honeyed mead and Olivia felt emboldened by all the makeouttage; she ran her own hands along Alex's smooth flanks; she heard herself moan with longing and sweet desire.
In the gently falling snow they stood, entwined, enchanted, one dark-haired, the other light: completely opposite in all ways but one: their lust for one another.
And up in the Great Hall, Vern the monk gasped, and clutched his stomach and wailed to the heavens. "I am POISONED, I am dying... horseshit! Give me absolution, someone get Father George!" He slumped, falling to the floor, his life's blood pouring from all of his orifices, soaking the rushes strewn across the floor.
A woman from the town screamed. Dickie ran for the priest, little Tommy following behind. "Killed Jill! Killed Jill!"
"Why does the lad keep repeating that,?" the serving wench asked Sir AssofLife.
He shrugged, watching the monk's gory death throes with a small, satisfied smile. Lazily, he turned once more toward Beecher Blacksmith. You make me so fucking horny... he mouthed the words, not speaking aloud. Beecher was thankful that he would not be required to stand anytime soon. He feared for the seam of his breeches.
Ryan watched from the other side of the Hall. His perseverance had finally paid off; the vile monk was dead at last. He continued to nuzzle Caseianna, dipping a hand inside her dress. She playfully slapped him away, falling over and onto the floor in an undignified heap of limbs and bright colors.
"No more wine for you, my sweet little pony," said Ryan, helping her up.
She eyed him owlishly. "Well, slap my ass and call me Judy... since when are there FOUR of you?"
Ryan laughed. "I do think your butter had better be churned before much longer... "
Father George rushed in. "Where is Dame Melinda? Her skill in medical matters is sorely needed!"
Old Cragen crouched near Vern's body. "Nay, good Father, it is far too late for that. He is near to death, give him absolution for his sins." Better yet, don't bother; the old pig fucker doesn't deserve it.
Father George addressed the gathering. "There shall be no wedding tomorrow; t'will have to wait a day; alert the media."
Alex and Olivia had quietly crept back into the Hall during the uproar. Alex held Olivia's hand tightly.
Hello, God? It's me, Olivia. Thank you, thank you for this... postponement, thought Olivia gratefully.
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Part 11
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Olivia and Alex quietly walked back into the Great Hall. The minstrels were still playing and most of the assembled townsfolk and nobility had remained seated, idly watching while Vern the evil monk's body was removed from the floor. A serving wench strewed the floor with clean rushes, mopping up the blood that had begun to congeal in ruby gouts hither and yon. Alex took her uncle's arm and inquired as to what would be done.
William of Albany sighed, downing the last drops from his tankard, signaling for a refill.
"Darling Alexandra, I know not... tis almost certain foul play is the cause of Vern's death. I have arranged for a messenger; he is already on his way to the Priory of St. Oswald, the monks there will certainly want to bury their brother. I've instructed that the entertainment be continued for now, but there'll be little dancing. Tis unseemly, with the monk not yet cold..."
Alexandra interjected, "But he was an evil man, not a man of God! He took none of his vows to heart: not that of poverty, nor chastity-- and ye know perfectly well he did enjoy deviant relations with--- aye, but I cannot betray their trust! Twas wicked, what he did and everyone knows it!"
The Duke nodded. "I do not argue with you, Alexandra.. I merely wish to keep peace here in Hudsonia. Twould not be fitting that we revile the man, and he not be able to defend himself, dead as a doorstop as he is. Father George will arrange for an investigation; I believe he has already sent for the Abbess of Carmichael... and your guardian and protector, Arthur of Branch, Lady Olivia. He would have attended the wedding, so he should be on his way already, provided that Abbess Carmichael has no other pressing matters. But I swear, all will be well, my ladies: Olivia and Trevor will wed when all this has died down. It will be merely a matter of days; I cannot foresee a long period of time spent mourning the monk."
For the first time since Alex and Olivia had returned, Elizabeth of Donnelly spoke. "Hudsonia is swiftly developing a reputation for its licentiousness and lascivious behavior! This cannot and must not continue. I will retire to my chambers now-- Lady Alexandra, a word first?" Alex stood; automatically, Olivia rose as well.
"No, this is private, Olivia. Please be so good as to not disturb us." Elizabeth strode from the Hall, Alexandra following, looking for all the world like a naughty little girl about to be spanked by her former governess. They left the Hall and Elizabeth pulled Alexandra into an empty stairwell.
Olivia watched them go, and though she tried her best, she could not keep the unshed UnPretty Tears from prickling behind her eyelids. Sir Trevor sprang from his chair and rushed to her side, ostensibly to comfort her, though he immediately slid his hand up under her gown.
"We shall be married, my chocolate-orbed beauty, my filly, my high-strung maid..." He began to nuzzle the sensitive area just behind her ear, while his meaty hand made its inexorable way toward the prize he sought. "Be not afraid, my lovely... although my unsheathed sword is mighty and long and thicker than thy wrist, I'll be gentle... mmm... ah, I see you like to play rough, my tender maiden. Tis truly a match made in heaven, my sweeting!"
Olivia wriggled, but Trevor was strong and would not stop. They were alone at the end of the table; many of the guests had either departed, or were well on their way toward a drunken stupor. Duke William was dancing sedately with a guest, Alex was nowhere in sight and she had only herself to rely on. "Yes... rough... I enjoy your playful protests!"
Olivia, unable to stand another moment of his mead-fueled fumbling, swiftly brought her silk-clad knee up past the bench and aimed for Trevor's engorged member. With all her strength and anger, her knee found its target, solidly connecting with Trevor's most vulnerable parts. "Is THIS how you like it, you freak?"
"Vile wench! You'll be whipped for this, you bitch from hell!" Trevor rolled onto the floor, vomiting copiously.
Caseianna immediately began a sympathy hurl and Ryan quickly escorted her to his hut, trying to wash her face in a bit of snow.
Sir AssofLife covered Dickie's eyes, still smiling at Beecher. As soon as he goes to sleep... his eyes told Beecher. Soon.
Beecher squirmed.
Olivia ran from the room.
Munch and Fin, from their seats among the townsfolk, exchanged glances. "I told you..." Munch began.
"Good sir, do not even go there," muttered Fin, who was feeling sour. The beautiful Melinda was nowhere in sight, a monk had just bled to death in front of him and he hated above all to admit that perhaps his traveling companion might have been right. "Damn, this is cold."
The serving wench, having just finished cleaning the monk's blood from her hands, sighed loudly. Could this banquet BE any worse? she thought. Aye, but the Chandler-Bings have been cursed forever, and for all the generations yet to come!
Olivia, blinded by her tears, collided with Elizabeth and Alex, jumped up, began crying harder at the sight of her Alex with another woman-- and ran outside.
The snow had become light, swirling flurries and the night was cold, but becoming clear.
Olivia stood in the fresh air, taking great gulps, when Melinda appeared alongside her. "Olivia, my poppet, why do you cry so... tell Melinda..." She enfolded her arms around the sobbing girl.
"Yes... tell Tilda, too-- and here; drink this...all will be well." The beautiful Tilda enveloped both of them as starlight reflected back from the softly falling snow. Olivia allowed herself to relax. Something was placed on her tongue.
It was Turkish Delight.
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Part 12
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Alex, distressed at Olivia's hasty exit, pushed Elizabeth away as gently as possible.
"Nay, my lady... our time together has now passed." She caressed the curve of Elizabeth's cheek. "You have taught me well, but tis time now for me to move on. You know I will support you in your quest for leadership of Hudsonia. I swear it, by all the Saints and some of the Dallas Cowboys." With a quick kiss, and a perfumed swirl of skirts, she disappeared down the corridor in search of Olivia.
In Ryan's small but surprisingly cozy hut, Caseianna warmed her hands by the fire. Ryan was wooing the tipsy butter-churner as athletically as possible. She's more slippery than a bucket of lampreys, he mused, chuckling a bit to himself. He once more grabbed her by the arm and tried to put his mouth over hers, but she playfully shoved him away.
"Not. Sho. Fasht," she slurred seductively, her eyeballs rolling wildly. "Exhplain thish to me... again. And gimmee a dhrink!"
Ryan temporarily gave up. As he poured her yet another mug of ale, he attempted to simplify something so complicated, even he didn't quite understand it.
"Now: Abbie of Carmichael is a wise, but sometimes cruel advisor to our Lord William. Carmichael Abbey is part of Carmichael Cathedral... from whence our own Father George did spend several years overseeing the design and construction. They say it was begun before he was born, and has only been near to completion these last few months. Twill be he that consecrates the cathedral-- and he promises that it will bring much-needed coin to our coffers. Hudsonia, that many years ago used to be called 'Carmichael-on-Hudson' will no longer be the insignificant village it is now... we will all benefit from this miracle. A shrine in the cathedral close will hold the skull of Saint Ironbone himself, of whom our mayor is a direct descendant! Do ye now know what I am trying to tell you?"
Caseianna had been dozing with her head perilously close to the slop bucket. Ryan nudged her; she snorted, jumped up frantically and immediately knocked it over.
"Wha... huh... Jesus Case, but it smells bad in here!"
Ryan cleaned up the foul-smelling spillage, ruefully thinking that what had earlier seemed a done deal had become more of a vision quest. He had all but given up on bedding the lively butter babe; it was then that she surprised him by pulling him down to the floor, burbling, "Take me to bed or lose me forever, you big stud!"
Ryan lit up like a forest fire. "And how could I deny you, my hot-blooded filly! Come hither and you will know what it is to be loved by Ryan Winter-Cassidy!" He sprang up and hung a woolen cap on the front door, the old signal he and his brother Brian had invented to signify that one of them had gotten lucky. He hoped fervently that Brian would remember.
Brian and Ryan's own mother had left Hudsonia with another man, and while their father remarried quickly, his new wife was a bit of a drinker and had dropped the infant Brian on the head while attempting to simultaneously feed him and hang the laundry to dry. Brian was rather slow-witted as a result of this unfortunate accident.
Old Cragen, making his lonely way back to his inn and alehouse, passed the hut slowly; it was dreadfully cold and the years had not been kind to him.
"AYEEEE... what is that monstrous object? It moveth as if with a mind of its own!"
Old Cragen shook his head and plodded off. These kids, he thought. And I am naught but an old man. Oh, Xena... why did you leave me?
Just beyond him, Munch and Fin were on their way back as well. They, too, heard the squeals of terror and delight.
"Someone is being tortured!," cried Munch.
"Naw, baby... someone's gettin' laid...," Fin smirked.
"How can you tell the difference?" Munch was puzzled. "I just know stuff, that's all. Day-um..." Fin added. "I sure wish that honey pot named Melinda hadn't left so soon."
"As if you'd have had a chance," mocked Munch.
"I don't see you puttin' sugar in nobody's bowl tonight, so whatcha making fun of me for?"
Munch was about to remind Fin that Nina Simone hadn't even been born yet, but he deemed it insignificant.
Alex had given up on finding Olivia and had considered calling the able-bodied castle guards to help her search, when she saw, as if through a distant looking glass, the shadowy form of Olivia, Melinda's arm around her. The icy blood in Alex's veins began boiling. Dear God, I'm jealous, she thought. It's a strange and lonely feeling.
* * * * *
Sir Elliot shared several mugs of Old Cragen's best ale with Beecher Blacksmith before reluctantly heading for his lodgings in the castle keep. He clapped a hearty hand on Beecher's shoulder. "I've enjoyed meeting you, good sir. I shall see you at the banquet, no doubt?"
Beecher nodded. "Alas, I shall be seated below the salt, with the rest of the peasants... perhaps we may meet again during the dancing and juggling and games? Tis Lady Alexandra's custom to amuse her guests to the fullest extent. And her table is excellent-- well, it is now; not so much when the itinerant cook named Flay was in charge of the victuals." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Tis common rumour that he tried to toy with her affections and was summarily banished from Hudsonia forever!"
Sir Elliot's eyes narrowed. "And you, good sir-- do you find the lady bewitching as well?"
Beecher had the grace to blush. "It is not my station in life, to pursue a highborn woman... nor are women my preference. I hope you understand what I am telling you, for there are many who find it... distasteful."
Sir Elliot's blue eyes were bright. "Nay, I find it... enticing. I shall contrive to meet up with you again, Beecher."
"Splendid," sighed Tobias. "I'll be anticipating your... company."
Old Cragen, wiping down a nearby table, shook his head. Buggery and banquets seem to go hand in hand, he mused. The young folk today are very different than when I was a lad. God's nails, I crave strong drink!
Munch and Fin were half-heartedly bickering, as was their custom. Much to his dismay, one of Munch's former wives was now a lady-in-waiting to Lady Cabot, news that made Munch's usual glum countenance unhappier still. "She will want nothing to do with you, you old grump," said Fin. "There will be so many in attendance I doubt your paths will cross at all, providing you make no effort in that direction."
Munch stood up and paced the length of the room they were sharing upstairs at the alehouse. Suddenly, he wheeled around to look at Fin. "There are several unmistakably bad omens that you are ignoring, Fin! I tell you, there will be trouble... I can smell it!"
"Perhaps it is merely the smell of your filthy socks, my friend," remarked Fin idly, as he rummaged though his bag for a change of clothes. "Or your choleric nature is simply reasserting itself. In either case, desist! I'll not have my evening ruined while you joust at shadows that exist only in your overheated brain."
Munch glared at his traveling companion. "I know what this is about; you have designs on the fair Dame Melinda. I sensed it from the moment you noticed her outside earlier. Jesus Case, man! You really do love your little fantasy world!"
"Not as much as you enjoy your own," Fin retorted tartly. He stood up, stretching his arms. "I'm going to see if we can procure a basin of warm water in which to wash off the grime of the road. I can only pray to all the saints you'll be in better spirits when I return." Fin spun on his heel and left the room.
"This is the last time I go on pilgrimage with you," muttered Munch.
Part 8 1/2
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Sir Trevor of Langan and his retinue arrived at the castle shortly after Munch and Fin's discussion. He dismounted his chestnut courser-- the war horse was stabled at Langan Manor, awaiting the next battle in the civil war that had been dragging on for some time-- and handed the reins to one of the stable boys. He was in high spirits, savoring the thought that twenty-four hours hence, he would be bedding the luscious Olivia.
He patted the stable boy on the head. "Good lad! What is your name, boy?"
The young stable boy bowed. "I am called Dickie, son of Elliot of AssofLife."
"Well, Dickie Elliotson, how is it that you are working in the stable? Surely your father wants you to squire, in your quest for knighthood... "
"I am still too young for that, good sir-- and my mother, the Lady Katherine, wants me to become a novice, in hopes of entering the priesthood. Tis not my wish," added the disconsolate Dickie.
Sir Trevor threw back his head, indulging in a hearty laugh. "Sir AssofLife's son a priest? I cannot imagine such a thing!"
He rubbed his hands together as he stomped off toward the keep. "Cold tonight," he remarked to his men-at-arms. "But I shall have a woman to keep me warm tomorrow night!" The group walked off into the falling snow, making lewd jokes and gestures. Dickie followed them with his eyes. He felt sorry for Lady Olivia, without quite understanding why. He led the horses to the stable, wishing his parents weren't so stubborn in their argument.
On a nearby hilltop, four children stood gazing at the valley below. The eldest, a girl, stamped her feet and pushed at her brother. He fell into the snow, whimpering.
"I TOLD you it was the wrong wardrobe, Edmund. There's no Turkish Delight for you here!" Peter, Edmund's older brother, helped him to his feet. Their younger sister Lucy shivered.
"Susan... this is no time to place blame! We're clearly in the wrong story... we must find a way back to Narnia, quickly! For this is the Land of FanFic and we could all fall pregnant at any moment!"
They trooped down the other side of the hill and disappeared into the snow.
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Part 9
* * * * *
Lady Alexandra and Lady Olivia stood at the top of the winding stone staircase. Olivia was still clutching her companion's hand. Alex had given her One Cup of strong wine to drink, in the vain hope that it might calm Olivia's frayed nerves, but it was clearly not helping. Olivia shook her head. "I cannot," she whispered. "I cannot go down those stairs."
"You can and you must," replied Alex. "You are magnificent! All eyes will be on you, my dear. You have nothing to fear; I will sit with you, as well as my uncle, William of Albany, and my dear friends, Dame Melinda and Lady Elizabeth of Donnelly. We'll dine, and enjoy the music, the jugglers and the dancing. I swear, you'll not be alone with Sir Trevor tonight... unless, of course, you want to be?" Her eyes sought Olivia's for an answer, and Olivia shook her head, no.
"Good, then it's settled," said Alex. "Twould not be proper for you, in any case, as a virgin maid." Her eyes twinkled as she spoke. "Your secret is safe with me."
Slowly, they made their way down the stairs and toward the throng of lords, ladies, well-wishers, villagers and Nosy Parkers.
Caseianna mopped her brow; what a great deal of work she'd been forced to do! She had no time to change her gown, nor fix her hair, and she was in tears. How could she possibly attend the banquet like this? She stood against the far wall of the kitchen, praying no one would notice her. But Ryan spotted her from across the room; with her red-gold-chestnut-mustard colored hair and pale, pale skin, she was hard to miss. He put down a tray of honeyed pheasant and rushed to her.
"Caseianna, my pretty poppet, what vexes you so?" His kind voice sent her into a fresh spasm of sobs.
"I... I... don't hu-hu-have anything to... to wuh... wuh.. WEAR! And I'm all sweaty and du-du-dirty!"
Ryan grinned. "I like you dirty."
Caseianna sobbed, oblivious to his randy joking. Ryan peered furtively about the room; everyone was fully occupied and no one was interested in their conversation. He thought for a moment, then, took her arm. "Come on, I have an idea..."
"Wuh-- wuh.. where are we going?"
"Hush, now, my little pony, I have a surprise for you!" Swiftly, Ryan pulled Caseianna out of the kitchen, heading for the outside staircase surrounding the keep. Praise the Lord; at least she's stopped that insufferable stuttering, he thought, as he guided her up the stairs.
Olivia and Alex stood together behind the main table, which was slightly elevated and parallel to the rear wall. On either side, the long benches ran the length of the Great Hall, every seat occupied, every eye on the two women.
"They look like angels," said little Dickie to his father, Sir Elliot.
"They look like princesses," said his friend and fellow stable boy, little Tommy, whose surrogate mother Jill, had recently died. "Did I tell you he killed Jill?"
"Shh, quiet, lads-- the Duke is speaking," admonished Elliot.
"They look hot," said Fin to Munch, from their seats on the side.
"They look suspicious," muttered Munch. "I'm fucked; there she is!" He had just seen his ex-wife sitting across the room.
"It's gonna be a long cold night," mused Fin, helping himself to more ale while wishing Melinda would lean over, wishing they were closer to the front of the room, the better to stare down the front of her gown.
As Duke William welcomed everyone to the feast, Caseianna and Ryan tried to make an inconspicuous entrance and failed miserably. For Ryan had found the discarded dress that Lady Alex had banished from her chambers-- and worse yet, Caseianna was wearing it. Made for a less curvaceous woman, it clung tightly and left very little to the imagination. The blinding colors made it all the more horrifying.
"I cannot believe that insolent Ryan brought a common whore to this banquet!," cried Beecher Blacksmith.
"Tis no whore, Beecher, that's Caseianna, the butter churner!" Old Cragen corrected him. "But I can see where you might get that notion." He added thoughtfully, "She'll fall pregnant before long if she keeps dressing that way!"
Beecher felt that someone was looking in his direction. He turned around in his seat and saw Sir AssofLife across the vast hall. Elliot's lips were pursed in a kissing motion, and the horny blacksmith felt his manhood throb with anticipation.
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Part 10
* * * * *
Duke William made his speech, welcoming all to the betrothal banquet and giving numerous toasts to the bride and groom, as Olivia sat plucking at the embroidery on her dress, growing more and more apprehensive and Sir Trevor clearly became more and more inebriated. The delightful Dame Melinda, in a remarkably Downy-soft voice, had been engaging Olivia in polite conversation about her home village of Beret, yet Sir Trevor encroached ever closer to his future bride, his hand sliding up the length of her satin-covered thigh, and she'd had just about enough.
"I hear Beret is quite hard to... enter," said Melinda.
"Oh, yes, tis a tiny place and yet the fortifications are sound and snug," answered Olivia, deftly pushing the annoying Trevor's fingers from the hem of her dress.
"But it's lovely, is it not? I have heard tell that it is quite... unforgettable," replied Melinda politely. She caught Lady Cabot's attention and with a silent quirk of the eyebrow, Alexandra had inserted her velvet-clad body between the pair.
"Excuse me, Sir Trevor, but you have let us prattle on about domestic affairs! Tell us of your recent skirmishes; how fares the true King in his fight for the throne?"
Trevor of Langan cleared his throat. "Ah, then, the Lady Olivia must hear about this..."
Alexandra extracted Olivia from her seat. "Of course, but for now, you must fill my uncle in on all the fascinating details, for we have forgotten something and will return presently."
Gratefully, Olivia stood and moved past the merry, laughing guests, blindly following the graceful Alexandra. The Great Hall was quite warm and she'd partaken of too much wine. Trevor made her anxious, with his whispered inferences of the joys of the marriage bed-- and so she was content to go wherever Alexandra led her. If Lady Cabot had suddenly decided to show her the castle latrine system, it was far better than enduring another moment of the vain knight's dull talk and wandering hands. Dame Melinda trailed behind them, discouraging any others from following along.
Elizabeth of Donnelly was content to remain at table; her interest in politics was keen-- a bit too keen for many of the men, but Duke William admired her shrewd mind and bid her stay; if she were to go now, Langan would become intolerable. Elizabeth would put him in his place, and in such a way he would never realize he'd been manipulated.
The three women stood in the courtyard; though the air was frosty, it felt good to be away from the smell of smoke, spilled wine and the sweat of both townsfolk and nobility. They put their arms about one another and giggled like schoolgirls.
"Full of himself and his exploits tonight, is Sir Trevor!," laughed Melinda. "He's naught but boastful exaggeration; I have it on good authority that he kept to the rear guard during this latest campaign! Oh! But here I go, tongue loosened with too much strong drink... Lady Olivia, forgive me, he is your true love, is he not?"
Still dizzy from the evening's excitement, Olivia fell laughing into Alexandra's arms, nearly causing them both to fall. Alex caught her in time; time enough to brush up against the front of Olivia's gown-- time enough to feel the stiffening of her nipples through the pink silk. Catching her breath, she moved her hands to Olivia's shoulders, gazing guiltily at Dame Melinda, who smiled indulgently.
"For the love of all things holy, Alexandra-- did you think I'd be shocked? I've known you too long and too well to be surprised at your... inclinations. I was unaware that Lady Olivia shared your preferences... and your lust. Tis easily seen that it is a mutual feeling," she added hastily. "And, as Alexandra is well aware, I have my own preoccupations-- and friends... ah, there she is now! You are late, my sweeting, my icy delight!"
A beautiful woman came toward them, seemingly from thin air, dressed in gauzy white, like a bride, or a vision. A stable boy took the reins she threw to him and he disappeared around the corner, off to the stables. Melinda walked silently to her, as if under a spell, and they embraced wordlessly.
Alexandra whispered into Olivia's ear, "That is Tilda of Swinton. I've heard rumours that she is a witch; she's far too beautiful to be mortal... but you have cast the only spell on me, my lovely one. Did you know that your eyes are... "
"Nay, lady, say it not, I beg you! Not chocolate! Say they are the color of horse dung, or tree bark... but not chocolate!"
Alex kissed her neck, biting it gently. "I was going to say the color of strong ale, but you would not allow me to finish." Her lips feverishly sought Olivia's; they tasted of honeyed mead and Olivia felt emboldened by all the makeouttage; she ran her own hands along Alex's smooth flanks; she heard herself moan with longing and sweet desire.
In the gently falling snow they stood, entwined, enchanted, one dark-haired, the other light: completely opposite in all ways but one: their lust for one another.
And up in the Great Hall, Vern the monk gasped, and clutched his stomach and wailed to the heavens. "I am POISONED, I am dying... horseshit! Give me absolution, someone get Father George!" He slumped, falling to the floor, his life's blood pouring from all of his orifices, soaking the rushes strewn across the floor.
A woman from the town screamed. Dickie ran for the priest, little Tommy following behind. "Killed Jill! Killed Jill!"
"Why does the lad keep repeating that,?" the serving wench asked Sir AssofLife.
He shrugged, watching the monk's gory death throes with a small, satisfied smile. Lazily, he turned once more toward Beecher Blacksmith. You make me so fucking horny... he mouthed the words, not speaking aloud. Beecher was thankful that he would not be required to stand anytime soon. He feared for the seam of his breeches.
Ryan watched from the other side of the Hall. His perseverance had finally paid off; the vile monk was dead at last. He continued to nuzzle Caseianna, dipping a hand inside her dress. She playfully slapped him away, falling over and onto the floor in an undignified heap of limbs and bright colors.
"No more wine for you, my sweet little pony," said Ryan, helping her up.
She eyed him owlishly. "Well, slap my ass and call me Judy... since when are there FOUR of you?"
Ryan laughed. "I do think your butter had better be churned before much longer... "
Father George rushed in. "Where is Dame Melinda? Her skill in medical matters is sorely needed!"
Old Cragen crouched near Vern's body. "Nay, good Father, it is far too late for that. He is near to death, give him absolution for his sins." Better yet, don't bother; the old pig fucker doesn't deserve it.
Father George addressed the gathering. "There shall be no wedding tomorrow; t'will have to wait a day; alert the media."
Alex and Olivia had quietly crept back into the Hall during the uproar. Alex held Olivia's hand tightly.
Hello, God? It's me, Olivia. Thank you, thank you for this... postponement, thought Olivia gratefully.
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Part 11
* * * * *
Olivia and Alex quietly walked back into the Great Hall. The minstrels were still playing and most of the assembled townsfolk and nobility had remained seated, idly watching while Vern the evil monk's body was removed from the floor. A serving wench strewed the floor with clean rushes, mopping up the blood that had begun to congeal in ruby gouts hither and yon. Alex took her uncle's arm and inquired as to what would be done.
William of Albany sighed, downing the last drops from his tankard, signaling for a refill.
"Darling Alexandra, I know not... tis almost certain foul play is the cause of Vern's death. I have arranged for a messenger; he is already on his way to the Priory of St. Oswald, the monks there will certainly want to bury their brother. I've instructed that the entertainment be continued for now, but there'll be little dancing. Tis unseemly, with the monk not yet cold..."
Alexandra interjected, "But he was an evil man, not a man of God! He took none of his vows to heart: not that of poverty, nor chastity-- and ye know perfectly well he did enjoy deviant relations with--- aye, but I cannot betray their trust! Twas wicked, what he did and everyone knows it!"
The Duke nodded. "I do not argue with you, Alexandra.. I merely wish to keep peace here in Hudsonia. Twould not be fitting that we revile the man, and he not be able to defend himself, dead as a doorstop as he is. Father George will arrange for an investigation; I believe he has already sent for the Abbess of Carmichael... and your guardian and protector, Arthur of Branch, Lady Olivia. He would have attended the wedding, so he should be on his way already, provided that Abbess Carmichael has no other pressing matters. But I swear, all will be well, my ladies: Olivia and Trevor will wed when all this has died down. It will be merely a matter of days; I cannot foresee a long period of time spent mourning the monk."
For the first time since Alex and Olivia had returned, Elizabeth of Donnelly spoke. "Hudsonia is swiftly developing a reputation for its licentiousness and lascivious behavior! This cannot and must not continue. I will retire to my chambers now-- Lady Alexandra, a word first?" Alex stood; automatically, Olivia rose as well.
"No, this is private, Olivia. Please be so good as to not disturb us." Elizabeth strode from the Hall, Alexandra following, looking for all the world like a naughty little girl about to be spanked by her former governess. They left the Hall and Elizabeth pulled Alexandra into an empty stairwell.
Olivia watched them go, and though she tried her best, she could not keep the unshed UnPretty Tears from prickling behind her eyelids. Sir Trevor sprang from his chair and rushed to her side, ostensibly to comfort her, though he immediately slid his hand up under her gown.
"We shall be married, my chocolate-orbed beauty, my filly, my high-strung maid..." He began to nuzzle the sensitive area just behind her ear, while his meaty hand made its inexorable way toward the prize he sought. "Be not afraid, my lovely... although my unsheathed sword is mighty and long and thicker than thy wrist, I'll be gentle... mmm... ah, I see you like to play rough, my tender maiden. Tis truly a match made in heaven, my sweeting!"
Olivia wriggled, but Trevor was strong and would not stop. They were alone at the end of the table; many of the guests had either departed, or were well on their way toward a drunken stupor. Duke William was dancing sedately with a guest, Alex was nowhere in sight and she had only herself to rely on. "Yes... rough... I enjoy your playful protests!"
Olivia, unable to stand another moment of his mead-fueled fumbling, swiftly brought her silk-clad knee up past the bench and aimed for Trevor's engorged member. With all her strength and anger, her knee found its target, solidly connecting with Trevor's most vulnerable parts. "Is THIS how you like it, you freak?"
"Vile wench! You'll be whipped for this, you bitch from hell!" Trevor rolled onto the floor, vomiting copiously.
Caseianna immediately began a sympathy hurl and Ryan quickly escorted her to his hut, trying to wash her face in a bit of snow.
Sir AssofLife covered Dickie's eyes, still smiling at Beecher. As soon as he goes to sleep... his eyes told Beecher. Soon.
Beecher squirmed.
Olivia ran from the room.
Munch and Fin, from their seats among the townsfolk, exchanged glances. "I told you..." Munch began.
"Good sir, do not even go there," muttered Fin, who was feeling sour. The beautiful Melinda was nowhere in sight, a monk had just bled to death in front of him and he hated above all to admit that perhaps his traveling companion might have been right. "Damn, this is cold."
The serving wench, having just finished cleaning the monk's blood from her hands, sighed loudly. Could this banquet BE any worse? she thought. Aye, but the Chandler-Bings have been cursed forever, and for all the generations yet to come!
Olivia, blinded by her tears, collided with Elizabeth and Alex, jumped up, began crying harder at the sight of her Alex with another woman-- and ran outside.
The snow had become light, swirling flurries and the night was cold, but becoming clear.
Olivia stood in the fresh air, taking great gulps, when Melinda appeared alongside her. "Olivia, my poppet, why do you cry so... tell Melinda..." She enfolded her arms around the sobbing girl.
"Yes... tell Tilda, too-- and here; drink this...all will be well." The beautiful Tilda enveloped both of them as starlight reflected back from the softly falling snow. Olivia allowed herself to relax. Something was placed on her tongue.
It was Turkish Delight.
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Part 12
* * * * *
Alex, distressed at Olivia's hasty exit, pushed Elizabeth away as gently as possible.
"Nay, my lady... our time together has now passed." She caressed the curve of Elizabeth's cheek. "You have taught me well, but tis time now for me to move on. You know I will support you in your quest for leadership of Hudsonia. I swear it, by all the Saints and some of the Dallas Cowboys." With a quick kiss, and a perfumed swirl of skirts, she disappeared down the corridor in search of Olivia.
In Ryan's small but surprisingly cozy hut, Caseianna warmed her hands by the fire. Ryan was wooing the tipsy butter-churner as athletically as possible. She's more slippery than a bucket of lampreys, he mused, chuckling a bit to himself. He once more grabbed her by the arm and tried to put his mouth over hers, but she playfully shoved him away.
"Not. Sho. Fasht," she slurred seductively, her eyeballs rolling wildly. "Exhplain thish to me... again. And gimmee a dhrink!"
Ryan temporarily gave up. As he poured her yet another mug of ale, he attempted to simplify something so complicated, even he didn't quite understand it.
"Now: Abbie of Carmichael is a wise, but sometimes cruel advisor to our Lord William. Carmichael Abbey is part of Carmichael Cathedral... from whence our own Father George did spend several years overseeing the design and construction. They say it was begun before he was born, and has only been near to completion these last few months. Twill be he that consecrates the cathedral-- and he promises that it will bring much-needed coin to our coffers. Hudsonia, that many years ago used to be called 'Carmichael-on-Hudson' will no longer be the insignificant village it is now... we will all benefit from this miracle. A shrine in the cathedral close will hold the skull of Saint Ironbone himself, of whom our mayor is a direct descendant! Do ye now know what I am trying to tell you?"
Caseianna had been dozing with her head perilously close to the slop bucket. Ryan nudged her; she snorted, jumped up frantically and immediately knocked it over.
"Wha... huh... Jesus Case, but it smells bad in here!"
Ryan cleaned up the foul-smelling spillage, ruefully thinking that what had earlier seemed a done deal had become more of a vision quest. He had all but given up on bedding the lively butter babe; it was then that she surprised him by pulling him down to the floor, burbling, "Take me to bed or lose me forever, you big stud!"
Ryan lit up like a forest fire. "And how could I deny you, my hot-blooded filly! Come hither and you will know what it is to be loved by Ryan Winter-Cassidy!" He sprang up and hung a woolen cap on the front door, the old signal he and his brother Brian had invented to signify that one of them had gotten lucky. He hoped fervently that Brian would remember.
Brian and Ryan's own mother had left Hudsonia with another man, and while their father remarried quickly, his new wife was a bit of a drinker and had dropped the infant Brian on the head while attempting to simultaneously feed him and hang the laundry to dry. Brian was rather slow-witted as a result of this unfortunate accident.
Old Cragen, making his lonely way back to his inn and alehouse, passed the hut slowly; it was dreadfully cold and the years had not been kind to him.
"AYEEEE... what is that monstrous object? It moveth as if with a mind of its own!"
Old Cragen shook his head and plodded off. These kids, he thought. And I am naught but an old man. Oh, Xena... why did you leave me?
Just beyond him, Munch and Fin were on their way back as well. They, too, heard the squeals of terror and delight.
"Someone is being tortured!," cried Munch.
"Naw, baby... someone's gettin' laid...," Fin smirked.
"How can you tell the difference?" Munch was puzzled. "I just know stuff, that's all. Day-um..." Fin added. "I sure wish that honey pot named Melinda hadn't left so soon."
"As if you'd have had a chance," mocked Munch.
"I don't see you puttin' sugar in nobody's bowl tonight, so whatcha making fun of me for?"
Munch was about to remind Fin that Nina Simone hadn't even been born yet, but he deemed it insignificant.
Alex had given up on finding Olivia and had considered calling the able-bodied castle guards to help her search, when she saw, as if through a distant looking glass, the shadowy form of Olivia, Melinda's arm around her. The icy blood in Alex's veins began boiling. Dear God, I'm jealous, she thought. It's a strange and lonely feeling.