Ladies in Waiting, Part 17 - Epilogue
Part 17 1/2
* * * * *
The village of Hudsonia had taken on a festive, albeit, slightly manic air of celebration. The day began to wane, and Alex left Olivia sleeping, making her way to the Alehouse. Wearing a plain cloak, hiding her Pantened locks, she stealthily knocked on the back door. Old Cragen answered, looking weary.
"What? Why are you here, Lady? Ye shouldn't be alone, with these pickled party boys looking for stray tail!"
Alex leveled her blue gaze at Cragen. "I need to see AssofLife. I know he's here. Please be so kind as to fetch him for me."
Cragen noted the urgency in her voice. "Is there..."
"No, nothing is wrong, but neither is it right. Fetch him, now... I beg you." Lady Alexandra rarely begged. Cragen put a hand on her shoulder.
"Stay here, I'll send him to ye." He shut the door and made his way through the haze of smoke and beer farts.
Elliot and Beecher had taken advantage of their companions' collective drunken stupidity and were going at it in the pantry.
"Oh, yeah, do it, fuck me, plow me, stick me with thy sword of love..." grunted Beecher, as Elliot, well lubricated with Caseianna's special unsalted creamery butter, stood behind the blacksmith, who kept his face to the wall, grasping his hands over Beecher's wrists, ramming him over and over, a hot light in his blue eyes.
"Ah, but I love to fuck you, my Beecher!"
"Then fuck me till eternity!", cried Beecher. "Or, at least until the butter's gone!"
Cragen knocked discreetly; no answer. He knew well what he would find: Beecher and Elliot, pants puddling around their ankles, wallowing in their lust. He walked in, coughing politely and the two men stopped moving, though they remained joined as one.
"Sir AssofLife... I'm sorry to... "
Elliot grinned. "It's alright, Old Cragen. We don't mind, do we, Tobias, my sweet?"
Beecher nodded, wishing Old Cragen would leave them in peace.
"It's Lady Alexandra... she wishes to speak to you-- is that MY butter?"
Elliot extricated himself from Beecher, pulling up his pants. He handed Cragen some silver. "For the butter. And we'll be needing more later." He smiled lazily. "Tobias, I shall be back shortly."
He opened the back door and found a shaken Alexandra. She spoke quietly from underneath the hood of her cloak.
"I hope I am not interrupting your party, Sir Elliot, but I need something from you. You know Olivia well, do you not?"
"As well as I know most women, Lady. We enjoyed good conversation during our journey here from Glockenshire-On-Bore... what is wrong?" Elliot furtively adjusted himself while she gazed off into the distance.
"You are accompanying him tomorrow when he goes to Stephen's camp, are you not?"
"Yes, but... "
"I want you to see to it that he never gets there." Alex's intensity was frightening.
"Are you condoning murder, Lady?"
"There must be an ... accident. However and whatever way you choose, I do not wish to know. Perhaps you can find someone to do the... work?"
"T'will be expensive, Lady. I care not for the man and I know there is no real love between Langan and Olivia, but I may have to employ another to do the actual deed. You understand."
"I do. Here. Take it. I don't wish to know more." She handed him a bulging purse, heavy with coins. "Your party is drawing to an end; I can hear the vomiting commence. Be safe." Alex disappeared into the night.
Top
Part 17: As the Butter Churns
* * * * *
Alex returned to the castle to find a sleepy, tearful Olivia. She enfolded the weeping woman in her arms, patting her back in a distracted fashion. Alex's practical nature took over.
"Enough tears, my darling... we must prepare you for Sir Trevor.” She almost spit his name, she was so infuriated, but Olivia must not know, her innocence hung precariously in the balance. If something should go wrong... Ah, but AssofLife is a man of his word, thought Alex. Surely he will provide the ways and means to...
A soft knock on the door derailed her train of thought. "It is Melinda, ladies; may I join you?"
"Of course!" Alex unlocked the door. "Tis sad circumstances that bring us together here tonight, but misery does love company."
Melinda smiled mysteriously. "Aye, but sometimes misery is a prelude to... mischief. And to magic, of the most potent kind." She gazed about the room.
"Where is the lovely Olivia?"
"She is bathing... for that pig, Langan, who is right now in the throes of a hangover, blast him."
Melinda quirked one of her shapely brows. Truth be told, there was not a single attribute to be found anywhere on her person that was not shapely.
"Is that so? I shall send one of my servants, with a potion to help him rise to the occasion..."
"Must ye make it worse?" cried Alex. "I've never known you to be a cruel woman, Melinda!"
"And I am not cruel now, sweeting. Have patience with me. Here-- " She reached for Lady Alexandra, kissing her lips, exploring her delicate mouth, not in the manner of a dental hygienist, but of a lover who wishes nothing but pleasure for her beloved.
Alex broke the kiss. "You taste of Turkish Delight! Is... will Tilda...?"
"Hush, all will be well, you'll see. Let me wish Olivia luck, won't you?"
She glided sinuously from the room, leaving Alex with the sensation of giddiness, even joy. Tis more than passing strange that I should be joyous, on this most wretched of nights, mused Alex. And yet, I trust Melinda; Tilda, too. I care naught if they be witches, as long as my Lady Livs happily!
Melinda called out to Olivia softly and silently entered the chamber where Olivia was bathing, shutting the door firmly behind her. Alex heard a great deal of splashing and sighing, giggling and then, moaning, but she knew Melinda's predilections well, and knew she had no cause for jealousy. Presently, Melinda called out, "Is her gown ready?"
Dorcas, who'd come in with the white dress over her arm only moments before, looked at Alex, who nodded. "Thank you, Dorcas. You may go. Please send in Eames, that we may proceed to fix the bride's hair."
As she opened the door, Dorcas quite forgot her place and called out, "May ye live long and happy, Lady Olivia, and bear many boy babes with yer comely knight! God be wi..."
Alex interrupted her, irritably pushing her out with a curt "All right then, out you go, Dorcas. Buh-bye!"
"But I meant no..."
"Dorcas? BUH-BYE!"
Dorcas glared at the oaken door. "Methinks someone has the curse, or is about to get it, screw her and her high-and-mighty ways!"
Eames, hurrying down the hallway, gently asked her what was wrong.
Dorcas made a face. "Nothing nastier than a woman with her monthly misery!"
"Misery?" shrieked Eames. "MISERY? Ye have never known TRUE misery, unless you've served Robert of Goren; the man could speak from now until the end of time, if he did not need to stop for food nor sleep. Tis like water, dripping, dripping, dripping; I still hear his voice in my head, late at night, when the squeaking of the rushlights begins..."
The door opened and Melinda came out. "You'd better go in, Eames, we're running late. I have... some business to attend to..."
Dorcas made straight for the kitchen, where she hoped there might be a stray bottle of ale, or a horny kitchen serf. Either would do nicely, she thought.
Despite her obvious unhappiness, Olivia was radiant. Eames had worked her hairdressing magic once more, weaving gillyflowers through Olivia's shorn, tousled hair and pinning the bridal veil artfully. She stepped back to admire her work.
"Beautiful, my lady. Tis beautiful you are." She beamed, proud of what she'd accomplished in such a short time.
"It's lovely, Eames, really. You may go. And thank you." Alex smiled sweetly.
Eames nodded her head and departed. Several seconds later, a scream emanated from the stairwell. "AYYIIIEE... get out of my brain, Goren, ye pompous arse... leave me BE!"
Alex winced. "Poor wench, that man has rattled the very bones of her skull and shaken her brain most utterly. Tis a sad thing."
Sighing, she turned to Olivia. "Are you ready, sweetheart?" Olivia nodded mutely, staring hungrily at her Alexandra. Once again, she had chosen a gown of blue, but the color of a robin's egg and edged gracefully with golden embroidery.
Alex took Olivia's shaking fingers, kissing them one by one. "Then let us go."
Part 17, cont'd
* * * * *
Meanwhile, Caseianna struggled to squeeze herself into the borrowed finery. Tis good that she likes bright colors, thought Brian, as he helped her to dress. The gown was a rather odd, pinkish red, with stray bits of black embroidery dotting the fabric randomly.
God's wounds, but she looks like a watermelon! thought Ryan, as he came into the hut.
Caseianna was cranky; her feet were swollen, the dress was pinching her and the baby seemed to be very active. She looked down and sighed. "Alas, I cannot see my own feet!"
Brian hastened to reassure her. "Those boots are very nice. Worry not, my lovely one!"
"I'm huge," lamented the future Mrs. Winter-Cassidy, unaware that she had Brian's old cheesemaking boots on her feet.
"Here, darling, have another piece of cheese, twill settle your stomach..." Brian proffered several tasty cheese slices, but Caseianna was beyond consolation. She knocked the plate out of his hand and began sobbing.
Sir AssofLife, who'd come in just behind Ryan, tried to cheer Brian. "This will pass. I have had four children of my own and it is always uncomfortable during the last part."
Caseianna turned on him furiously. "So... ye've had children, is that so?"
"Aye, my dear and this is normal." AssofLife smiled at her.
"So... YOU have had CHILDREN?" She glared at him, looking for all the world like a red-haired bear with a sore paw.
"Yes... you'll be fine." Elliot tried to pat her hand.
"Does that mean ye pushed them out of your love tunnel, after carrying them inside you? You birthed them yourself? You birthed them out of your arse then, good sir. If ye have no women's parts, I can do without your opinion!"
Brian was mortified. "Speak not to Sir Elliot that way, my melon dumpling... he is a knight!"
"I care not a turd if he is the King himself!" Caseianna flung her bulk down on the straw, the heaving sobs shaking the little hut. "And I want a place of our own!" She covered her face with her hands, trying to compose herself.
Elliot turned to Ryan. "Perhaps we should continue our discussion elsewhere, my friend."
"Indeed we should. We'll see you both at the wedding?"
"Oh, fuck the wedding!" cried Caseianna. "I may not live that long!"
Elliot and Ryan left; both men felt terribly sorry for Brian.
"I believe she is carrying the spawn of Satan himself," remarked Elliot. "Now, down to business..."
Trevor of Langan was regretting all the alcohol he'd consumed at the party. Sehorn, who had remained to help him dress, cast about for something to make the knight feel better. "What you need is the hair of the dog..."
A sudden knock, for there was no other kind in Hudsonia, made Sehorn leap to his feet. "Who goes there?"
A young boy's voice called out. "I come from the kitchen and I bring a restorative tonic! May I enter?"
"Aye, and hurry! I must be ready for my wedding soon."
Sehorn ushered in a slender young page, wearing velvet breeches. He could not have been more than thirteen, with soft blond curls, yet he had the self-possessed air of an older man.
"I've never seen you here before," remarked Trevor.
"I am new, in the service of the Duke. I'm called Tilden, sir." He handed a smoking goblet to Langan. "Drink up, sir, the hour grows late."
Langan downed the contents in one large swallow. "And you think that is news, young man? I am well aware that time waits for no one! Go-- Sehorn, see him out and help me get ready!"
The door slammed closed and Tilden was alone in the hall. Mist filled the air and gradually, slowly Tilden became Tilda of Swinton. She shook her head, laughing merrily.
"Langan? You got punk'd."
As quickly as she'd appeared, she was once again gone.
Part 17, cont'd
* * * * *
In the Great Hall, the servants were nearly finished decorating, the musicians were all in place and Father George, after a quick peek, walked contemplatively to the Cathedral. He was relieved that the monks of Oz... Oswald Priory-- were content to remove Vern's body and to hold a private funeral service for him there. Although, with all the wedding sport and merriment, there are surely more babies born nine months after a wedding than a funeral, he thought with some amusement, and more than a touch of disgust. Oh, he had seen the fruits of the lust for flesh, in all its many and various forms and he'd heard confessions that made his toes curl with envy on more than one occasion...
He slammed his wandering mind shut like a book, and proceeded to go over the vows in his head. It had been a long time since he'd been called to perform a wedding, and such a prestigious one at that! Father George knelt to pray, and he remained there reflectively until the unmistakable sounds of the townspeople reached his ears. They began to file into the chapel, as the main Cathedral itself was not yet finished. They were at present quiet, respectful and well-behaved, but Father George knew that as the evening progressed and the wedding moved from church to Great Hall, he could expect more debauchery and drunken fondling.
Langan entered the chapel, attended by several of his fellow knights and their attending squires. Duke William of Albany walked in solemnly, accompanied by Elizabeth of Donnelly, Abbie the Abbess, Lennie of Briscoe and Arthur of Branch, who was to give away the Lady Olivia. He was her protector and guardian, poor girl, since she had lost both parents long ago. The Lady Alexandra would act as witness, as would Sir Elliot AssofLife. Sitting with the townsfolk were Munch and Fin, both somewhat downcast: Munch, because nothing bad had yet occurred, and Fin because Father George would not allow Squishy in the church.
"What? He never heard of St. Francis? Squishy's a good kitty..."
"That vile little furball shat in my shoe! Reason enough to keep him away!" replied Munch.
"That's just cold." sighed Fin. "Aww, Squishy."
Arthur of Branch saw Olivia in the vestibule and went to meet her. The murmurings stopped and the chapel was silent. The wedding was about to begin.
Caseianna and Brian were seated in the back; neither were of noble rank, and Caseianna was plagued by a gaseous ailment; the more she tried, the less able she was to conceal the awful stench her mutinous body kept producing. Several of the townsfolk ostentatiously fanned the air near their noses and even the ever-patient Brian was becoming disgusted by the vile miasma surrounding them.
With a signal from Father George, the liltingly gay music began. Amazed by their skill, Fin asked an old woman seated next to him, "Are they professional musicians, then?"
The old woman shook her head. "Nay, they are merely Village People."
"Such... interesting costumes," said Munch.
"I guess they don't get out much," added Fin.
Lady Alexandra walked down the aisle in her blue gown, provoking the usual approving nods, comments on her loveliness and many painful erections. Next came Arthur of Branch, with Olivia holding fast to his arm. She carried flowers that shook a great deal and it was obvious that she was very nervous. Branch brought her to Trevor, quickly kissed her, and took his seat. AssofLife stood with Alexandra and although they could not speak of the matter, he tried to convey success with his eyes. Alex squeezed his hand briefly and the ceremony began. Melinda was late; she tiptoed inside and took a seat close to the overwhelmed Fin, as she did not wish to disturb the priest. Fin immediately forgot about Squishy. He stared longingly at Melinda, vowing to have at least one dance with her during the banquet.
Although the chapel was silent, it was difficult to hear what was being said. Olivia's veil hid both her face and her feelings until the inevitable conclusion from the priest.
"You may now make out with your bride."
Trevor eagerly pushed back the veil and stared at Olivia. He leaned in hungrily, and it seemed he would devour her then and there. Little Dickie called out from the pews, "Hey! That's not church tongue!"
Olivia felt as if she could not breathe and she extricated herself as diplomatically as possible from Trevor's sweaty grasp. He had an odd look on his face, almost as if she had become a total stranger. She felt frightened. As they walked together back down the aisle, smiling and waving to all, she asked quietly, "Whatever is wrong?"
Trevor seemed perturbed and puzzled. "I can't quite explain it, but... I'm just not that into you..."
Melinda did her best to conceal her triumphant smile.
The wedding party was about to leave the chapel, and most of the townspeople made ready to depart as well, when a sudden wailing filled the air. Munch smiled. Now, we'll see what's really going on here, he thought gleefully.
"Help me, help me, I am dying... there is something wet here and I fear it is ME!"
Brian shouted, "She is... leaking, my lovely Caseianna is leaking; someone, help us! Get Dame Melinda! Don't let my little pony die!"
Father George began shooing the curious onlookers, as Melinda raced to Caseianna's side. One look confirmed her diagnosis: Caseianna was about to give birth.
Melinda stood and announced, "I need a helper, who will help me? We must get her to my house, and fast... this baby will not wait long!"
Dorcas, Eames and the lad, Tilden came to her aid. Together they coaxed, cajoled, carried and comforted the screaming Caseianna, who continued to rant. "A pox upon all your houses, I am dying, I can feel it... help me, please..."
Her piteous wails could be heard all the way to the brothel, where Dame Petrovsky was busy attending to her exhausted whores. She grinned bitterly. "Ah... that's little Caseianna; it must be her time has come!"
One of the whores said, "By the rood! If Shirley ever wants that dress back, there'll be hell to pay! I feel sorry for the lass." She laughed, and began a merry tune that was quite popular with the whores:
"In days of olde, when knights were bold, and condoms not invented, they'd put a sock around their cock and babies thus prevented!"
The screaming rang out in the cold, clear night for a long time before it finally and suddenly stopped. The whores exchanged glances. It would not be the first time a woman had died in childbirth.
A weary Melinda joined the banquet as it was beginning to wind down. Alex had one of the servants fetch food and drink for her; midwifery was a tiring and messy business.
"How fares the lass? Is she alright? And what of the babe?" Alex waited impatiently as Melinda tore ravenously into her meal. Olivia was talking in hushed tones to Sir Assoflife, while Trevor huddled with his cronies at another bench. All was going according to plan.
Melinda daintily wiped her mouth. "Ah, twas a surprise for all! Caseianna has given birth to three healthy babies, all of them girls, all of them with lots of red-gold-auburn-yellow hair! She and Brian have named them already: Fontina, Gorgonzola and Mozzarella!"
"A toast to the three sweet babes!" offered Branch, who had joined the conversation.
Melinda nodded. "And a toast to Caseianna; though she is not speaking to Brian at present, and has vowed to kill him if he comes near her again!"
"Ah, but that is customary for a new mother!" Branch lifted his glass again.
"Babies and weddings both! Tis a glorious day for Hudsonia!"
Trevor watched the toasting and wondered if he dare drink more. He could not figure out what had caused his sudden change of feeling for Olivia... when he'd kissed her, he felt nothing, though he wanted to put on a good show for the crowd. Perhaps One More Drink...
Top
Part 18
* * * * *
Trevor and Olivia stood on opposite sides of the bedchamber. He glared angrily at her, standing so quietly in her bridal finery; angry at the radiance and loveliness emanating from her-- furious with the fact that while he found her beautiful, his body was not reacting as he'd expected it would. He cast about in in his mind for reasons: too much drink? No, that couldn't be it... had Hudsonia's homely but athletic whores sapped his man-juice? No, that made no sense at all! He was young, vigorous and he had been dreaming of this night since the betrothal plans had first been made.
Irrationally, he decided it was somehow Olivia's fault; in several steps, he crossed to the other side of the room. She opened her mouth to speak, but he put a restraining hand across her mouth.
"Speak and I swear, I'll kill you." Her eyes widened in fear. Trevor kissed her hard, grinding his teeth over her soft lips, causing her to cry out. He let go and pushed her away. She fell on the bed. Ordinarily, the sight of a helpless woman turned his cock hard in an instant, but he remained flaccid.
Olivia giggled nervously. Trevor looked down on her. "Tis all your fault! What have you done to me? Tell me, what is it that keeps me from doing my manly duties? I must get you with child, and soon... so stop your evil enchantments and let this deflowering commence!" He made as if to strike her, and she rolled away to the other side of the bed.
"I don't know! Tis not my doing... I know I must try to please you." She looked at Trevor through half-closed eyes, pretending meekness, but inside, her mind was rejoicing. He cannot fuck and so I need not succumb to his awkward embrace, his rough touch!
Trevor moved closer to the bed, holding his limp noodle in his hand, stroking himself faster and faster, but it was like fondling a dead thing. His rod would not respond and when he finally stopped, it fell against his thigh like a slug.
"Damn you, Olivia of Beret... I will get thee with child if it takes all night!" He stood up, putting away his embarrassment, turning his face from her shining chocolate orbs, commanding, "Don't look at me, I cannot bear it!"
"But I know not what to do..." Her body was there in the bedroom, but her mind was in a private garden with Alex, naked, free...
Outside the chamber, Abbie the Abbess had kept her word; she sat sipping wine on an embroidered bench. Olivia could not leave, and if things went wrong, it was her responsibility to take care of it. The sounds she was hearing were not that of a virgin being deflowered. It appeared that Trevor was suffering from an equipment malfunction.
"Blessed Saint Viagra, let the deed be done," Abbie prayed.
Part 18, cont'd…
* * * * *
Abbie listened as the shouting increased, growing more and more disturbed by the moment. For reasons she would never divulge, it was very much in her own interest to see Olivia pregnant, although she alone knew her secret. She had learned long ago to keep her own counsel about such matters.
A sudden slamming of the door to the bedchamber made her jump up and scurry back to her seat; she didn't care to be seen with her ear pressed to the wall. A disheveled and furious Trevor stormed out. Abbie stood with her hands on her hips and drew herself up; standing thusly, she was almost equal in height to Trevor. They stood for a long moment, glaring at each other.
For Abbie of Carmichael, it was all about power. Power was her food and drink, it was her lover and confidante. It was what she breathed; it was the thing she desired most. And she was not going to lose her power because Trevor was unable to perform. She bided her time and waited for Trevor to speak. Growing impatient, she took the bull by the horns.
"Is there no lead in thy pencil? No zing in thy thing? Has thy moan-maker gone on strike?" Her coal black eyes shone with a furious gleam.
"Abbess, I know not what to do... no matter what I do, my flag will not go further than half-mast!"
"But it must. You know how important it is to get that wretched woman with child! Now, I want her impregnated, fat and lethargic. I want her golden globes to sag towards her distended belly... I want her to be so undesirable that she will never..."
"Never what, my Abbess? Are you afraid of the innocent maid of Beret?"
Abbie realized she'd said far more than she intended.
"Silence! Now, get back in there and as Sir Marvin of Gaye once said, get it on! Do it for your love of God and country!"
Trevor shook his head. "Meaning no disrespect, Abbess, but your words inflame me not with passion, tis more like a declaration of war than of love."
"You find her unappealing...?"
"Nay, tis not that... I know not what it is. A curse, perhaps?"
"I have taken every possible precaution; it's not a curse!"
Abbie remained deep in thought for several minutes, as Langan paced the hall.
"Wait... if she cannot make you turgid, pray tell, what might do the trick?"
Trevor cast his eyes to the floor. "I cannot say, twould be... improper."
Abbie grabbed him by the arm. "Tell me. Now!"
"Ah, but I will only whisper, such things cannot be said aloud." He spoke softly into Abbie's ear, blushing redder than Caseianna's/Shirley's ruined gown. When he finished, she regarded him seriously.
"Tis not... customary, but can be done. Now-- go back inside and suggest to your bride that a few hours sleep will help. I will procure the necessary item."
"Tis trickery!" cried Trevor.
"Tis our only option, is it not?" replied Abbie. "And rest assured, no one will know."
Trevor opened the bedchamber door, as Abbie made her way downstairs. Neither of the conspirators saw young Tilden crouching behind the garderobe.
Part 17, cont'd...
Munch was tossing in his scratchy straw pallet at Old Cragen's Alehouse. Little Squishy, after falling asleep in Fin's arms, had awakened and noticing that Munch wasn't sleeping, decided it might be fun to give him a hard time. The playful feline sat upon Munch's head and, after being swatted away, jumped back up for another go-round. After cursing once more at the little creature, Munch pulled the blanket up over his head, only to discover, with chagrin, that Squishy had retreated no further than the bottom of the bed, and was now happily biting Munch's feet.
He sat up and glared balefully at the cat. "Well, I'm up... what do you want from me?"
Squishy blissfully curled up in Munch's lap and began to purr lustily. The cranky man regarded the kitten thoughtfully.
"You know what, l'il Squish? You remind me a lot of my first wife. Always get what you want don't you? Aww, there you go..." He petted the cat, unaware that Fin was watching through one half-closed eye.
I'm gonna save my story about this tender moment for when it will come in handy..., he thought, drifting back to sleep. Munch managed to doze off as well, and Squishy hopped off the pallet and made straight for Munch's shoe, which was swiftly becoming his favorite place to relieve himself.
Abbie Carmichael, the Abbess of Carmichael Abbey headed straight for Beecher's hut.
Rapping loudly at the door, she could hear stirrings from within. "Open up, for the sake of God! Tis your Abbess!"
Beecher and AssofLife were sharing a tender moment, enjoying a purloined slice of wedding cake as they lay curled together by the fire. As the knocking continued, Beecher looked at Elliot and sighed.
"She'll not go away, she knows I am here..."
Elliot smiled his lazy grin, eyes barely open. "Let the pious bitch in, then. I've got nothing to hide." Beecher hastily dressed and ushered the Abbess inside. She wasted no time, nor did she apologise for the lateness of the hour.
"Give it to me. I know you've got it. I need it!" Her words had no effect on Elliot, other than causing him to break out in helpless laughter.
"Aye, our Abbess is hot-blooded after all... and for men! I had thought ye too occupied with the Hoyays for thoughts of ... "
"Silence!" Abbie pushed him aside. "Beecher Blacksmith, I know you have it. Hand it over!"
Beecher was dumbstruck. "If it's butter ye need, my lady, tis all gone! And we may not get any for a day or so, with Caseianna so recently giving birth. I doubt she'll be churning in the morning."
AssofLife enjoyed seeing the proud Abbess so distressed. "Well, there is a bit left, after all, but ye'd have to scrape it off my..."
Once again, Abbie stopped him from elaborating."That is not what I need, you two sodomites! I need those papers... the book! If you don't have it, tell me who does! For the love of Jesus Case... who's got the BOOK?"
Several seconds passed. "Ah... I believe it is in the possession of Ryan, lady. Now, please... may we return to our makeouttage?" AssofLife winked salaciously.
"You will both fry in hell!" Abbie stalked out, slamming the door.
"I'll save you a seat, you conniving bitch," whispered Beecher.
The Caseianna-Brian-Ryan household was wide awake. Caseianna had insisted she was perfectly capable of churning while nursing; she suckled little Fontina, while Gorgonzola wailed and Mozzarella shrieked. Never stopping her incessant churning, as the infant hung from her pendulous breast, she heard the knock on the door, but could do nothing about it, except to shriek, "The door! The door! Must I now do everything around here?"
Looking sheepish, Brian opened the door and let in the Abbess. She took one look at Caseianna and commanded, "Cover yourself, shameless woman!"
Caseianna smirked and added, "Shameful? I think not. For I am a married woman now!"
"And I care not a tiny rat's arse! I need the BOOK! Ryan, I know you've got it... now, fetch it, please, or I'll have the lot of you thrown in jail!"
Caseianna thrust Fontina at Brian and picked up Mozzarella. "Give her what she wants, that I may churn and feed my babies!"
Ryan went into the other room and brought out a box. He fished for the key, which hung from a cord around his neck. Unlocking the box, he reverently pulled out an illuminated manuscript, the parchment so old it nearly crumbled at his touch. Abbie reached out impatiently for it, but Ryan backed away.
"Tis the one remaining copy; treat it as you would any delicate item." Reluctantly, he handed it over. Abbie stashed it carefully in the folds of her cloak; without another word, she left the small, diaper-stinky hut.
Caseianna jiggled little Gorgonzola, who was fretful. "God's wounds, little baby, just stick it in thy mouth and suck! Your mommy is tired! What was that all about,?" she asked distractedly. Ryan tried not laugh.
"I know not why, but she wanted the famous Book of Dirty Pictures... all manner of deviant sexual acts are depicted in much detail. it is... very popular on long winter nights, when a man is alone and... "
"Not in front of the babes!," cried Caseianna, jiggling Gorgonzola so hard that she lost the nipple; a feat in itself as it was the size of a cheese wheel. "But, someone-- can you explain this to me? Why would a religious woman want such a thing... perhaps she means to destroy it?"
"She'd never do that," replied Ryan. "Tis the one remaining copy. Vern stole one, and the other was lost in Lady Alex's kitchen fire. Tis said her husband was reading it aloud to the servants for sport and not long after that, he was burned alive."
"Aye," said Brian. "There must be another reason..."
As Abbie hurried back to the castle, she did not notice a Tall Shadow that ducked behind a tree, stealthily following her back down the hill.
Olivia watched Langan sleep, worrying about what would happen when he awakened. Perhaps twould have been better to join the HoYays after all. But I'd never be allowed out, much less alone with Lady Alex. Praise God he leaves on the morrow, no matter what...
Top
Part 19
* * * * *
Hudsonia Harbor was not the sort of place anyone would care to be on a cold winter night. The fishermen had secured their boats, and they rocked placidly in the gentle swell of the wavelets that came through the harbor from the sea. A rime of salty, slushy ice framed many of the small boats; although the rain had washed away most of the snow, it was cold enough for the slight frost to coat the docks, making any attempt to walk treacherous.
The bit of shoreline that lay past the harbor by the jetty was strewn with litter from gulls and humans alike. The sand was muddy and coarse; no one in Hudsonia went down to the harbor for pleasure, even in fair weather. It was a silent and forbidding place.
Something began to move, just beneath the waterline, pushing the tide ahead and creating a swirl of muddy bubbles. As it gradually made its slow, deliberate way to the beach, it began to rise from the shallows and it was a fearsome sight indeed. A mighty shellfish heaved its body from the water, crusted with barnacles, waving its huge antediluvian pincers in the frigid air, as if testing the place for signs of edible life. The claws clamped down on several tiny whitebait, and the ancient sea creature began to devour its prey.
The Tall Shadow waited, hawk-like, from its perch on the side of a fishing boat, holding back until the monster had finished its meal before swooping down with a net, cackling like one who has been damned for all eternity.
"Tis LOBSTER my preciousss... ah, but what a delightful treat for after I've finished the... harvessst..."
The laughter emanating from the Shadow's cracked lips caused one of Hudsonia's resident fisherman to sit up in his boat and immediately piss his pants.
The Shadow swooped, the net falling upon the lobster, which was at least 22 lbs. The immense crustacean struggled briefly before it got a good look at its captor; it immediately went into a state of shock; it remained immobile, as if dead, hoping that the monstrous thing that had snared it might possibly throw it back into the brackish waters of Hudsonia Harbor. Laughing insanely, the Shadow peeked into the coarsely woven sack it had dumped the giant lobster into, and in a sing-song voice, began to croon a horrid little song about yummy fishies. "Ah, but Voldemoron knows many sweet songs, my lovely meal... sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of... sperm!"
The ancient fisherman died instantaneously in his pee-befouled bed.
Abbie had reached the castle, panting slightly, she climbed the stairs to the bridal chamber. Trevor answered the door. "She sleeps, Abbess."
Abbie smiled. "And sleep she will, for a time. I made sure the wine she rang for after I departed had a sleeping potion; twas the reason I cautioned you to drink no more."
"Did you... have you... " Langan tried unsuccessfully to hide his eagerness.
"Indeed, I do and a most foul, ungodly thing it is! It looks as if every man in Hudsonia has had a turn with it... be careful-- it is falling apart!" She produced the Book of Dirty Pictures and handed it to Trevor. "I will wash my hands before I go." She took a seat at the foot of the bed; arms folded, she glared up at Langan.
"What ails you, man? Let the dirty deed be done, I must be with the HoYays in time for the early prayers!"
"I, uh, cannot... in front of... "
"Spank thy monkey, produce thy spooge and be done with it! Think that I care what you do, as long as there is seed to be sown? Go to it!"
"But you're a..." Langan hesitated.
"IS THIS BECAUSE I'M A LESBIAN?"
Abbie stood, and in one fluid, smooth motion removed her somber robes. Langan gaped at the sight of her. Tall, long legged and full-breasted, her dark hair spilling down over her shoulders, her black eyes alive with wrath, she was the hottest thing Trevor had ever seen. The notion of fucking a nun had finally turned the trick and his drawbridge was now raised. He threw off his tunic, undid his pants and leapt upon her.
"WAIT!" Abbie rolled away. "Put it in her, not me, you fool!"
"Let me touch you... once..." Trevor shook with desire.
"Hurry up... there, now--"
The heavy door flew open and the Tall Shadow, Voldemoron appeared in the doorway, still carrying the hapless lobster. Voldemoron picked Abbie up and threw her to the floor, as if she were no more than a sack of turnips. She proceeded to jump on top of Trevor, stuffing his confused cock into her dark passage-- well, one of them, anyway. She had been on him for but a few seconds when he came so hard his teeth rattled. Abbie lay unconscious on the floor.
"Who... what are ye and where did ye come from..." whispered Trevor, lying back upon the pillows, once again limper than lo mein. "I shot my load into ye... naught is left for Olivia..."
He sank into a stupor, unable to move. The thing he had entered was too horrifying to describe; he went from stupor to a full faint as he set his eyes upon the thing that had stolen his seed.
The Tall Shadow didn't speak, but fell upon the mighty lobster, tearing it limb from limb, devouring it raw. Leaving the remains of its shell where they had fallen, she regarded the Abbess, the knight and Olivia, who slept through the entire encounter.
"Tis time for me to go; damn Homer and his rosy-fingered dawn! But I shall bear a noble babe and sit rightfully in the House of Langan, not the maid from Beret!"
Voldemoron leaped up and ran for the door. She gasped at the sight of fair Tilda of Swinton, standing in the corridor with Melinda. Tilda raised a wand, a solemn expression on her face. Melinda, her beautiful face suffused with consternation, urged her on, "Now... before they awaken!"
The wand was raised. Voldemoron was turned to stone. Tilda took Melinda's hand. "Makeouttage?" smiled Melinda.
Tilda nodded. "Let's go to my place."
Melinda kissed her cheek. "Let's make one quick stop on the way... the servants should remove and destroy this... statue thing before the newlyweds see it. Someone has simply awful taste in wedding gifts."
Top
Part 20
* * * * *
The servants had just finished clearing away the stone remains of Voldemoron when Abbie woke up, finding herself naked on the floor of Olivia and Trevor's bedchamber. She could not recall much, after being flung like a rag doll by the Tall Shadow, but since Trevor was in the bed next to Olivia-- and for all intents and purposes, sleeping peacefully, she could only pray to St. Viagra that the wench was indeed impregnated. Abbie hurriedly dressed, slipping out a back exit from the castle and off to the Abbey. The sisters of Holy HoYay would surely be wondering at her long absence, and she went over her excuses in her mind as she ran the last half-mile or so. I smelled lobster, she thought. How odd.
The small sounds in the room woke Olivia; she stirred restlessly for a while and when she finally opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Sir Trevor of Langan, surrounded by his servants, who were helping him dress for the official leave-taking ceremony. He is leaving, she thought, a fierce joy in her heart, and going into battle, may he never return! Hiding her shameful smile, she pulled the bedcovers back up under her chin, disappointing Langan's men-at-arms, who were hoping to catch a peek at her legendary charms.
"I'll see you downstairs, my lovebird," called Langan over his shoulder to her. As far as he could recall, he'd finally done the deed, and being a typical male, was overly pleased with his performance. Langan was a master at self-deception; he had no way of knowing that among the whores of Hudsonia, his nickname was "Needledick."
Dorcas hurried in, with a basin of scented water and Matilde followed close behind, with a cup of ale for Olivia to drink; she would have to postpone breakfast until after the leave-taking. She sipped at the ale, which had been watered down a bit, but she wondered how anyone ever got anything accomplished, with the alcohol that seemed to flow day and night at the castle. Dorcas looked pleased, while Matilde, as usual, merely looked constipated.
"Ah! No more a maiden, my Lady... you're rosy in the cheeks today!" Dorcas began combing out Olivia's hair, which didn't take long, but some of the flowers, now wilted, still clung to her short curls, and Dorcas industriously but gently picked them out and placed them in the basin. "Tell me," she leaned in closer, "Is he a very... manly man?"
"What she means to ask is if his cock is as large and fat as he often boasts," added Matilde sourly, for she disapproved of all the bawdy talk that filled the castle. She had been thrown out of the HoYays for being caught in a most compromising, yet gymnastic position with Ryan when they were both in their early teens. It was a legendary feat of fuckery, and some considered it worthy of inclusion in the Book of Dirty Pictures, should anyone ever add to the volume's content.
Olivia blushed prettily, laughing. "I cannot speak of that," she smiled, "For I have naught to compare him to..." Except for that stable boy, back in Beret, and that couldn't have been more than a few seconds... She laughed gaily. "Ah, but where is Lady Alexandra this morning?"
"She will be there to wish the brave knights Godspeed, you'll see her then. Tis lucky you'll be living here until your house is built, it seems ye have a good friend in Alexandra!" Dorcas, having gotten up earlier, had already partaken of enough ale to make her pleasant to the point of tipsiness. Matilde shot her a warning glance; Dorcas merely made a face at her sister instead. "There, now, you are prettier than a picture and smell like a rose!"
"But watch out for the thorns," said Matilde glumly. "Life is full of them."
"Ye dried-up old buzzkill!" chortled Dorcas. "So Ryan wouldn't marry you; tis time ye got over it and got on with your life!"
"Caseianna will surely need help with the babies," suggested Olivia. "I would think that Lady Alex would be more than happy to let you give her a hand for a few hours each day... you'd see Ryan and perhaps..."
"You read too many romance novels," Matilde retorted. "Look at me! Dried up like an old stick, no juice at all... though tis rumoured she has already dropped Fontina in a milking pail three times... it could not hurt to inquire."
"Surely not..." Olivia's voice was consoling. "Are you finished? May I see?" She walked to the looking glass. "Ah, what miracles a good night's sleep can do!"
Dorcas motioned her out, laughing heartily. "Good night's sleep, my arse! Lady, ye're quite the merry joke-maker!"
"I will stay behind and clean the room," said Mathilde.
Not long after they departed, Matilde found both the famous Book... and the remains of what seemed to be some sort of monstrous shellfish. She threw the shells into the fire, but put the Book aside for later. She had a plan; she would read it with Ryan and rekindle their earlier attraction...
The sun was well over the horizon and high in the sky as the crowd gathered to bid farewell to Langan, as well as Sir AssofLife, Jason of Sehorn and the rest of Langan's retinue. Assoflife was comforting Dickie, who desperately wanted to come along, but Elliot deemed him too young. He knelt beside the boy, speaking softly, as he realized how embarrassed his son would be if he began to cry in a public place.
"Next time, my son..."
"Huh," sniffed Dickie. "There will surely be another excuse and Mother will haul me off to study Prayer and Criminal Profiling with Father George."
"That will not happen... she's been given orders to stay away from you. You'll learn to ride, and ride well, and you'll be a skilled swordsman... then, and only then, will I see you in battle, my only son."
Dickie stamped his foot. "War! What is it good for?"
"Absolutely nothing!" cried Elliot. "But we must fight, no matter how we feel, tis for the Rightful King!"
The group took up the chant. "The Rightful King! The Rightful King!"
Fin and Munch arrived late, as Squishy had shredded Munch's undergarments during the night and Munch had been forced to borrow some from Old Cragen.
"You hear that chanting? They've been brainwashed!" Despite his words, Munch seemed somehow pleased.
"Your brain could use a good soak, too..." retorted Fin. "You know what? I think L'il Squishy is trying to tell me something... I think he'd be happier if you didn't stay under the same roof with us, once we get home."
Munch kept his eyes on the chanting townsfolk. "Yes, well, he may get his wish. I am considering staying here in Hudsonia. Interesting things seem to keep happening and our former home has lost its appeal."
"Well, that Melinda hasn't lost nothin'... damn, that's one fine looking woman."
"Master Fin? Thy drool runneth over. Please try to keep your tongue in your mouth, for certainly it is not going near hers!"
Fin snorted. "Yeah? Well that's just cold. But I happen to have some information... she isn't married, nor has she a man."
"How? When?" Munch was at a surprising loss for words.
"I keep telling you, but you don't listen: I just KNOW stuff. Shhh... the Duke is speaking!"
Part 19, cont'd…
William, Alexandra's uncle, the Duke of Albany, finally managed to capture the attention of the crowd. "Good people, loyal citizens of Hudsonia, we gather here to send our men out into battle! We will pray for them daily, and pray that the usurpers, Empress Maud and Robert of Gloucester will once again retreat to the north. May God shine his light on our brave knights! Hurrah!"
"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" The voices in the crowd became as one.
Caseianna and Brian were there, to deliver the cheese and butter, and to pay their respects to the noblemen. They were busily juggling babies when Caseianna again dropped Fontina into a pail of milk.
"Good lord, woman... pick up the wee thing-- how many times is this going to happen?"
Caseianna glared back at her new husband. "They warned me, but would I listen? No! And here I be; naught but a butter-churner AND now, too, a milk maker! Twill be a cold day in Hell before you touch me again, Brian Cheeseman!"
Brian smiled naughtily. "Just wait until I get you home, my fiery wife! Aye, but those cow teats of yours are irresistible!" He reached out and grabbed one, marveling at the size of it. Half-heartedly, she fended him off; then gave in. As the chanting grew louder, Brian and Caseianna began to vigorously make out.
Mozzarella fell into the milking pail along with her sister. Gorgonzola was scooped up by a local fishmonger, who handed her back to Caseianna, telling her to keep a better eye on her children. Gorgonzola giggled and cooed; it was clear to anyone within three feet of her that she had befouled her diaper again.
Olivia stood by Trevor, who was already astride his war horse. She stood on tiptoe and hastily handed him the stirrup cup, as was customary. They shared a brief kiss, as makeouttage in public was frowned upon by the nobility.
"Godspeed, my husband..." She stepped back and stood next to Lady Alexandra, who was radiant in her gown of clearest sea blue. The sunshine lit up her fair hair, surrounding her with a corolla of light. Her expression was grave as she bade farewell to the knights, but her heart was gay as she caught the eye of AssofLife, who nodded imperceptibly. Make sure he never returns, she pleaded with her eyes. Do this for me, and for my love, Olivia!
The call to arms was raised, and the trumpets blew. Sir Trevor and the rest galloped off in a flurry of goodbyes, their mighty horses pounding down the road, clods of partially frozen mud flying off their hooves.
The assembled townsfolk slowly wandered back to their everyday lives. The castle servants hurried indoors to prepare the meal. Alexandra and Olivia stood watching as the blurring outlines of the men slowly grew smaller and smaller.
Olivia turned to Alex. "Now what?"
Alex took her hand. "Makeouttage. Lots and lots of makeouttage." She grinned wickedly. "But perhaps, twould be better to first get some food in our bellies." “As long as it’s not One Tomato…”
Linking her arm in Olivia's, they walked together into the castle. It was going to be a beautiful day...
The End. Almost.
Top
Epilogue
* * * * *
Trevor of Langan never returned to Hudsonia; a messenger from the frontlines notified Olivia, who attained respectable widowhood without ever actually consummating her marriage. She and Alex lived happily for many years in Cabot Manor. There wasn't much point in building another house after Trevor's death. It is not known if Sir AssofLife was responsible for Trevor's demise; he told Lady Alex that Trevor had succumbed to a virulent case of dysentery and it couldn't be proved either way.
AssofLife remained in Hudsonia after returning from battle. He and Dickie lived in relative luxury and comfort with Beecher; it is thought that Dickie was the author of a medieval children's book called, "Dickie Hath Two Daddies"-- the original copy is on permanent display in the Hudsonia Museum.
Munch and Fin continued to snark upon each other and Squishy lived to reach 18 years, which was almost unheard of for a feline in the Middle Ages. The pair did stay in Hudsonia, but Fin never wooed Melinda, although they became very good friends. Fin fathered many illegitimate children, and took financial care of all 12 of them. Munch's ex-wife left Hudsonia shortly after being informed he was moving there permanently.
Elizabeth of Donnelly and Arthur of Branch remained in politics, as did the Duke.
Sadly, Lennie of Briscoe died peacefully in his sleep not long after the civil war ended.
Mayor Ironbone dedicated the new town square to his memory.
Abbie remained with the HoYays and spent her life at the Abbey. The Cathedral was finally finished in her lifetime. Father George lived a long, peaceful and incredibly boring life. It is thought by some that he was actually bored to death.
Melinda and Tilda remained together. When Melinda mysteriously disappeared, it was generally thought she had been murdered by outlaws; what actually happened had something to do with the stress of going back and forth between worlds. She was nearly seventy at the time, but never aged a day past forty.
Voldemoron had no idea that Trevor had a bad case of syphilis on his wedding night, nor had she any knowledge that in any case, he was sterile. She died from shellfish poisoning a week after the incident in the castle.
Brian and Caseianna made good money in the dairy business and Caseianna bore him several more children: Cheddar, Monterey Jack (both boys) and the baby, Brie, another girl. Ryan never married, but his common-law wife, Matilde was credited for saving the Book of Dirty Pictures, and for updating it with some of her own stories. It also can be found at the Hudsonia Museum.
Consider yourselves updated. I'm done here. *g*
* * * * *
The village of Hudsonia had taken on a festive, albeit, slightly manic air of celebration. The day began to wane, and Alex left Olivia sleeping, making her way to the Alehouse. Wearing a plain cloak, hiding her Pantened locks, she stealthily knocked on the back door. Old Cragen answered, looking weary.
"What? Why are you here, Lady? Ye shouldn't be alone, with these pickled party boys looking for stray tail!"
Alex leveled her blue gaze at Cragen. "I need to see AssofLife. I know he's here. Please be so kind as to fetch him for me."
Cragen noted the urgency in her voice. "Is there..."
"No, nothing is wrong, but neither is it right. Fetch him, now... I beg you." Lady Alexandra rarely begged. Cragen put a hand on her shoulder.
"Stay here, I'll send him to ye." He shut the door and made his way through the haze of smoke and beer farts.
Elliot and Beecher had taken advantage of their companions' collective drunken stupidity and were going at it in the pantry.
"Oh, yeah, do it, fuck me, plow me, stick me with thy sword of love..." grunted Beecher, as Elliot, well lubricated with Caseianna's special unsalted creamery butter, stood behind the blacksmith, who kept his face to the wall, grasping his hands over Beecher's wrists, ramming him over and over, a hot light in his blue eyes.
"Ah, but I love to fuck you, my Beecher!"
"Then fuck me till eternity!", cried Beecher. "Or, at least until the butter's gone!"
Cragen knocked discreetly; no answer. He knew well what he would find: Beecher and Elliot, pants puddling around their ankles, wallowing in their lust. He walked in, coughing politely and the two men stopped moving, though they remained joined as one.
"Sir AssofLife... I'm sorry to... "
Elliot grinned. "It's alright, Old Cragen. We don't mind, do we, Tobias, my sweet?"
Beecher nodded, wishing Old Cragen would leave them in peace.
"It's Lady Alexandra... she wishes to speak to you-- is that MY butter?"
Elliot extricated himself from Beecher, pulling up his pants. He handed Cragen some silver. "For the butter. And we'll be needing more later." He smiled lazily. "Tobias, I shall be back shortly."
He opened the back door and found a shaken Alexandra. She spoke quietly from underneath the hood of her cloak.
"I hope I am not interrupting your party, Sir Elliot, but I need something from you. You know Olivia well, do you not?"
"As well as I know most women, Lady. We enjoyed good conversation during our journey here from Glockenshire-On-Bore... what is wrong?" Elliot furtively adjusted himself while she gazed off into the distance.
"You are accompanying him tomorrow when he goes to Stephen's camp, are you not?"
"Yes, but... "
"I want you to see to it that he never gets there." Alex's intensity was frightening.
"Are you condoning murder, Lady?"
"There must be an ... accident. However and whatever way you choose, I do not wish to know. Perhaps you can find someone to do the... work?"
"T'will be expensive, Lady. I care not for the man and I know there is no real love between Langan and Olivia, but I may have to employ another to do the actual deed. You understand."
"I do. Here. Take it. I don't wish to know more." She handed him a bulging purse, heavy with coins. "Your party is drawing to an end; I can hear the vomiting commence. Be safe." Alex disappeared into the night.
Top
Part 17: As the Butter Churns
* * * * *
Alex returned to the castle to find a sleepy, tearful Olivia. She enfolded the weeping woman in her arms, patting her back in a distracted fashion. Alex's practical nature took over.
"Enough tears, my darling... we must prepare you for Sir Trevor.” She almost spit his name, she was so infuriated, but Olivia must not know, her innocence hung precariously in the balance. If something should go wrong... Ah, but AssofLife is a man of his word, thought Alex. Surely he will provide the ways and means to...
A soft knock on the door derailed her train of thought. "It is Melinda, ladies; may I join you?"
"Of course!" Alex unlocked the door. "Tis sad circumstances that bring us together here tonight, but misery does love company."
Melinda smiled mysteriously. "Aye, but sometimes misery is a prelude to... mischief. And to magic, of the most potent kind." She gazed about the room.
"Where is the lovely Olivia?"
"She is bathing... for that pig, Langan, who is right now in the throes of a hangover, blast him."
Melinda quirked one of her shapely brows. Truth be told, there was not a single attribute to be found anywhere on her person that was not shapely.
"Is that so? I shall send one of my servants, with a potion to help him rise to the occasion..."
"Must ye make it worse?" cried Alex. "I've never known you to be a cruel woman, Melinda!"
"And I am not cruel now, sweeting. Have patience with me. Here-- " She reached for Lady Alexandra, kissing her lips, exploring her delicate mouth, not in the manner of a dental hygienist, but of a lover who wishes nothing but pleasure for her beloved.
Alex broke the kiss. "You taste of Turkish Delight! Is... will Tilda...?"
"Hush, all will be well, you'll see. Let me wish Olivia luck, won't you?"
She glided sinuously from the room, leaving Alex with the sensation of giddiness, even joy. Tis more than passing strange that I should be joyous, on this most wretched of nights, mused Alex. And yet, I trust Melinda; Tilda, too. I care naught if they be witches, as long as my Lady Livs happily!
Melinda called out to Olivia softly and silently entered the chamber where Olivia was bathing, shutting the door firmly behind her. Alex heard a great deal of splashing and sighing, giggling and then, moaning, but she knew Melinda's predilections well, and knew she had no cause for jealousy. Presently, Melinda called out, "Is her gown ready?"
Dorcas, who'd come in with the white dress over her arm only moments before, looked at Alex, who nodded. "Thank you, Dorcas. You may go. Please send in Eames, that we may proceed to fix the bride's hair."
As she opened the door, Dorcas quite forgot her place and called out, "May ye live long and happy, Lady Olivia, and bear many boy babes with yer comely knight! God be wi..."
Alex interrupted her, irritably pushing her out with a curt "All right then, out you go, Dorcas. Buh-bye!"
"But I meant no..."
"Dorcas? BUH-BYE!"
Dorcas glared at the oaken door. "Methinks someone has the curse, or is about to get it, screw her and her high-and-mighty ways!"
Eames, hurrying down the hallway, gently asked her what was wrong.
Dorcas made a face. "Nothing nastier than a woman with her monthly misery!"
"Misery?" shrieked Eames. "MISERY? Ye have never known TRUE misery, unless you've served Robert of Goren; the man could speak from now until the end of time, if he did not need to stop for food nor sleep. Tis like water, dripping, dripping, dripping; I still hear his voice in my head, late at night, when the squeaking of the rushlights begins..."
The door opened and Melinda came out. "You'd better go in, Eames, we're running late. I have... some business to attend to..."
Dorcas made straight for the kitchen, where she hoped there might be a stray bottle of ale, or a horny kitchen serf. Either would do nicely, she thought.
Despite her obvious unhappiness, Olivia was radiant. Eames had worked her hairdressing magic once more, weaving gillyflowers through Olivia's shorn, tousled hair and pinning the bridal veil artfully. She stepped back to admire her work.
"Beautiful, my lady. Tis beautiful you are." She beamed, proud of what she'd accomplished in such a short time.
"It's lovely, Eames, really. You may go. And thank you." Alex smiled sweetly.
Eames nodded her head and departed. Several seconds later, a scream emanated from the stairwell. "AYYIIIEE... get out of my brain, Goren, ye pompous arse... leave me BE!"
Alex winced. "Poor wench, that man has rattled the very bones of her skull and shaken her brain most utterly. Tis a sad thing."
Sighing, she turned to Olivia. "Are you ready, sweetheart?" Olivia nodded mutely, staring hungrily at her Alexandra. Once again, she had chosen a gown of blue, but the color of a robin's egg and edged gracefully with golden embroidery.
Alex took Olivia's shaking fingers, kissing them one by one. "Then let us go."
Part 17, cont'd
* * * * *
Meanwhile, Caseianna struggled to squeeze herself into the borrowed finery. Tis good that she likes bright colors, thought Brian, as he helped her to dress. The gown was a rather odd, pinkish red, with stray bits of black embroidery dotting the fabric randomly.
God's wounds, but she looks like a watermelon! thought Ryan, as he came into the hut.
Caseianna was cranky; her feet were swollen, the dress was pinching her and the baby seemed to be very active. She looked down and sighed. "Alas, I cannot see my own feet!"
Brian hastened to reassure her. "Those boots are very nice. Worry not, my lovely one!"
"I'm huge," lamented the future Mrs. Winter-Cassidy, unaware that she had Brian's old cheesemaking boots on her feet.
"Here, darling, have another piece of cheese, twill settle your stomach..." Brian proffered several tasty cheese slices, but Caseianna was beyond consolation. She knocked the plate out of his hand and began sobbing.
Sir AssofLife, who'd come in just behind Ryan, tried to cheer Brian. "This will pass. I have had four children of my own and it is always uncomfortable during the last part."
Caseianna turned on him furiously. "So... ye've had children, is that so?"
"Aye, my dear and this is normal." AssofLife smiled at her.
"So... YOU have had CHILDREN?" She glared at him, looking for all the world like a red-haired bear with a sore paw.
"Yes... you'll be fine." Elliot tried to pat her hand.
"Does that mean ye pushed them out of your love tunnel, after carrying them inside you? You birthed them yourself? You birthed them out of your arse then, good sir. If ye have no women's parts, I can do without your opinion!"
Brian was mortified. "Speak not to Sir Elliot that way, my melon dumpling... he is a knight!"
"I care not a turd if he is the King himself!" Caseianna flung her bulk down on the straw, the heaving sobs shaking the little hut. "And I want a place of our own!" She covered her face with her hands, trying to compose herself.
Elliot turned to Ryan. "Perhaps we should continue our discussion elsewhere, my friend."
"Indeed we should. We'll see you both at the wedding?"
"Oh, fuck the wedding!" cried Caseianna. "I may not live that long!"
Elliot and Ryan left; both men felt terribly sorry for Brian.
"I believe she is carrying the spawn of Satan himself," remarked Elliot. "Now, down to business..."
Trevor of Langan was regretting all the alcohol he'd consumed at the party. Sehorn, who had remained to help him dress, cast about for something to make the knight feel better. "What you need is the hair of the dog..."
A sudden knock, for there was no other kind in Hudsonia, made Sehorn leap to his feet. "Who goes there?"
A young boy's voice called out. "I come from the kitchen and I bring a restorative tonic! May I enter?"
"Aye, and hurry! I must be ready for my wedding soon."
Sehorn ushered in a slender young page, wearing velvet breeches. He could not have been more than thirteen, with soft blond curls, yet he had the self-possessed air of an older man.
"I've never seen you here before," remarked Trevor.
"I am new, in the service of the Duke. I'm called Tilden, sir." He handed a smoking goblet to Langan. "Drink up, sir, the hour grows late."
Langan downed the contents in one large swallow. "And you think that is news, young man? I am well aware that time waits for no one! Go-- Sehorn, see him out and help me get ready!"
The door slammed closed and Tilden was alone in the hall. Mist filled the air and gradually, slowly Tilden became Tilda of Swinton. She shook her head, laughing merrily.
"Langan? You got punk'd."
As quickly as she'd appeared, she was once again gone.
Part 17, cont'd
* * * * *
In the Great Hall, the servants were nearly finished decorating, the musicians were all in place and Father George, after a quick peek, walked contemplatively to the Cathedral. He was relieved that the monks of Oz... Oswald Priory-- were content to remove Vern's body and to hold a private funeral service for him there. Although, with all the wedding sport and merriment, there are surely more babies born nine months after a wedding than a funeral, he thought with some amusement, and more than a touch of disgust. Oh, he had seen the fruits of the lust for flesh, in all its many and various forms and he'd heard confessions that made his toes curl with envy on more than one occasion...
He slammed his wandering mind shut like a book, and proceeded to go over the vows in his head. It had been a long time since he'd been called to perform a wedding, and such a prestigious one at that! Father George knelt to pray, and he remained there reflectively until the unmistakable sounds of the townspeople reached his ears. They began to file into the chapel, as the main Cathedral itself was not yet finished. They were at present quiet, respectful and well-behaved, but Father George knew that as the evening progressed and the wedding moved from church to Great Hall, he could expect more debauchery and drunken fondling.
Langan entered the chapel, attended by several of his fellow knights and their attending squires. Duke William of Albany walked in solemnly, accompanied by Elizabeth of Donnelly, Abbie the Abbess, Lennie of Briscoe and Arthur of Branch, who was to give away the Lady Olivia. He was her protector and guardian, poor girl, since she had lost both parents long ago. The Lady Alexandra would act as witness, as would Sir Elliot AssofLife. Sitting with the townsfolk were Munch and Fin, both somewhat downcast: Munch, because nothing bad had yet occurred, and Fin because Father George would not allow Squishy in the church.
"What? He never heard of St. Francis? Squishy's a good kitty..."
"That vile little furball shat in my shoe! Reason enough to keep him away!" replied Munch.
"That's just cold." sighed Fin. "Aww, Squishy."
Arthur of Branch saw Olivia in the vestibule and went to meet her. The murmurings stopped and the chapel was silent. The wedding was about to begin.
Caseianna and Brian were seated in the back; neither were of noble rank, and Caseianna was plagued by a gaseous ailment; the more she tried, the less able she was to conceal the awful stench her mutinous body kept producing. Several of the townsfolk ostentatiously fanned the air near their noses and even the ever-patient Brian was becoming disgusted by the vile miasma surrounding them.
With a signal from Father George, the liltingly gay music began. Amazed by their skill, Fin asked an old woman seated next to him, "Are they professional musicians, then?"
The old woman shook her head. "Nay, they are merely Village People."
"Such... interesting costumes," said Munch.
"I guess they don't get out much," added Fin.
Lady Alexandra walked down the aisle in her blue gown, provoking the usual approving nods, comments on her loveliness and many painful erections. Next came Arthur of Branch, with Olivia holding fast to his arm. She carried flowers that shook a great deal and it was obvious that she was very nervous. Branch brought her to Trevor, quickly kissed her, and took his seat. AssofLife stood with Alexandra and although they could not speak of the matter, he tried to convey success with his eyes. Alex squeezed his hand briefly and the ceremony began. Melinda was late; she tiptoed inside and took a seat close to the overwhelmed Fin, as she did not wish to disturb the priest. Fin immediately forgot about Squishy. He stared longingly at Melinda, vowing to have at least one dance with her during the banquet.
Although the chapel was silent, it was difficult to hear what was being said. Olivia's veil hid both her face and her feelings until the inevitable conclusion from the priest.
"You may now make out with your bride."
Trevor eagerly pushed back the veil and stared at Olivia. He leaned in hungrily, and it seemed he would devour her then and there. Little Dickie called out from the pews, "Hey! That's not church tongue!"
Olivia felt as if she could not breathe and she extricated herself as diplomatically as possible from Trevor's sweaty grasp. He had an odd look on his face, almost as if she had become a total stranger. She felt frightened. As they walked together back down the aisle, smiling and waving to all, she asked quietly, "Whatever is wrong?"
Trevor seemed perturbed and puzzled. "I can't quite explain it, but... I'm just not that into you..."
Melinda did her best to conceal her triumphant smile.
The wedding party was about to leave the chapel, and most of the townspeople made ready to depart as well, when a sudden wailing filled the air. Munch smiled. Now, we'll see what's really going on here, he thought gleefully.
"Help me, help me, I am dying... there is something wet here and I fear it is ME!"
Brian shouted, "She is... leaking, my lovely Caseianna is leaking; someone, help us! Get Dame Melinda! Don't let my little pony die!"
Father George began shooing the curious onlookers, as Melinda raced to Caseianna's side. One look confirmed her diagnosis: Caseianna was about to give birth.
Melinda stood and announced, "I need a helper, who will help me? We must get her to my house, and fast... this baby will not wait long!"
Dorcas, Eames and the lad, Tilden came to her aid. Together they coaxed, cajoled, carried and comforted the screaming Caseianna, who continued to rant. "A pox upon all your houses, I am dying, I can feel it... help me, please..."
Her piteous wails could be heard all the way to the brothel, where Dame Petrovsky was busy attending to her exhausted whores. She grinned bitterly. "Ah... that's little Caseianna; it must be her time has come!"
One of the whores said, "By the rood! If Shirley ever wants that dress back, there'll be hell to pay! I feel sorry for the lass." She laughed, and began a merry tune that was quite popular with the whores:
"In days of olde, when knights were bold, and condoms not invented, they'd put a sock around their cock and babies thus prevented!"
The screaming rang out in the cold, clear night for a long time before it finally and suddenly stopped. The whores exchanged glances. It would not be the first time a woman had died in childbirth.
A weary Melinda joined the banquet as it was beginning to wind down. Alex had one of the servants fetch food and drink for her; midwifery was a tiring and messy business.
"How fares the lass? Is she alright? And what of the babe?" Alex waited impatiently as Melinda tore ravenously into her meal. Olivia was talking in hushed tones to Sir Assoflife, while Trevor huddled with his cronies at another bench. All was going according to plan.
Melinda daintily wiped her mouth. "Ah, twas a surprise for all! Caseianna has given birth to three healthy babies, all of them girls, all of them with lots of red-gold-auburn-yellow hair! She and Brian have named them already: Fontina, Gorgonzola and Mozzarella!"
"A toast to the three sweet babes!" offered Branch, who had joined the conversation.
Melinda nodded. "And a toast to Caseianna; though she is not speaking to Brian at present, and has vowed to kill him if he comes near her again!"
"Ah, but that is customary for a new mother!" Branch lifted his glass again.
"Babies and weddings both! Tis a glorious day for Hudsonia!"
Trevor watched the toasting and wondered if he dare drink more. He could not figure out what had caused his sudden change of feeling for Olivia... when he'd kissed her, he felt nothing, though he wanted to put on a good show for the crowd. Perhaps One More Drink...
Top
Part 18
* * * * *
Trevor and Olivia stood on opposite sides of the bedchamber. He glared angrily at her, standing so quietly in her bridal finery; angry at the radiance and loveliness emanating from her-- furious with the fact that while he found her beautiful, his body was not reacting as he'd expected it would. He cast about in in his mind for reasons: too much drink? No, that couldn't be it... had Hudsonia's homely but athletic whores sapped his man-juice? No, that made no sense at all! He was young, vigorous and he had been dreaming of this night since the betrothal plans had first been made.
Irrationally, he decided it was somehow Olivia's fault; in several steps, he crossed to the other side of the room. She opened her mouth to speak, but he put a restraining hand across her mouth.
"Speak and I swear, I'll kill you." Her eyes widened in fear. Trevor kissed her hard, grinding his teeth over her soft lips, causing her to cry out. He let go and pushed her away. She fell on the bed. Ordinarily, the sight of a helpless woman turned his cock hard in an instant, but he remained flaccid.
Olivia giggled nervously. Trevor looked down on her. "Tis all your fault! What have you done to me? Tell me, what is it that keeps me from doing my manly duties? I must get you with child, and soon... so stop your evil enchantments and let this deflowering commence!" He made as if to strike her, and she rolled away to the other side of the bed.
"I don't know! Tis not my doing... I know I must try to please you." She looked at Trevor through half-closed eyes, pretending meekness, but inside, her mind was rejoicing. He cannot fuck and so I need not succumb to his awkward embrace, his rough touch!
Trevor moved closer to the bed, holding his limp noodle in his hand, stroking himself faster and faster, but it was like fondling a dead thing. His rod would not respond and when he finally stopped, it fell against his thigh like a slug.
"Damn you, Olivia of Beret... I will get thee with child if it takes all night!" He stood up, putting away his embarrassment, turning his face from her shining chocolate orbs, commanding, "Don't look at me, I cannot bear it!"
"But I know not what to do..." Her body was there in the bedroom, but her mind was in a private garden with Alex, naked, free...
Outside the chamber, Abbie the Abbess had kept her word; she sat sipping wine on an embroidered bench. Olivia could not leave, and if things went wrong, it was her responsibility to take care of it. The sounds she was hearing were not that of a virgin being deflowered. It appeared that Trevor was suffering from an equipment malfunction.
"Blessed Saint Viagra, let the deed be done," Abbie prayed.
Part 18, cont'd…
* * * * *
Abbie listened as the shouting increased, growing more and more disturbed by the moment. For reasons she would never divulge, it was very much in her own interest to see Olivia pregnant, although she alone knew her secret. She had learned long ago to keep her own counsel about such matters.
A sudden slamming of the door to the bedchamber made her jump up and scurry back to her seat; she didn't care to be seen with her ear pressed to the wall. A disheveled and furious Trevor stormed out. Abbie stood with her hands on her hips and drew herself up; standing thusly, she was almost equal in height to Trevor. They stood for a long moment, glaring at each other.
For Abbie of Carmichael, it was all about power. Power was her food and drink, it was her lover and confidante. It was what she breathed; it was the thing she desired most. And she was not going to lose her power because Trevor was unable to perform. She bided her time and waited for Trevor to speak. Growing impatient, she took the bull by the horns.
"Is there no lead in thy pencil? No zing in thy thing? Has thy moan-maker gone on strike?" Her coal black eyes shone with a furious gleam.
"Abbess, I know not what to do... no matter what I do, my flag will not go further than half-mast!"
"But it must. You know how important it is to get that wretched woman with child! Now, I want her impregnated, fat and lethargic. I want her golden globes to sag towards her distended belly... I want her to be so undesirable that she will never..."
"Never what, my Abbess? Are you afraid of the innocent maid of Beret?"
Abbie realized she'd said far more than she intended.
"Silence! Now, get back in there and as Sir Marvin of Gaye once said, get it on! Do it for your love of God and country!"
Trevor shook his head. "Meaning no disrespect, Abbess, but your words inflame me not with passion, tis more like a declaration of war than of love."
"You find her unappealing...?"
"Nay, tis not that... I know not what it is. A curse, perhaps?"
"I have taken every possible precaution; it's not a curse!"
Abbie remained deep in thought for several minutes, as Langan paced the hall.
"Wait... if she cannot make you turgid, pray tell, what might do the trick?"
Trevor cast his eyes to the floor. "I cannot say, twould be... improper."
Abbie grabbed him by the arm. "Tell me. Now!"
"Ah, but I will only whisper, such things cannot be said aloud." He spoke softly into Abbie's ear, blushing redder than Caseianna's/Shirley's ruined gown. When he finished, she regarded him seriously.
"Tis not... customary, but can be done. Now-- go back inside and suggest to your bride that a few hours sleep will help. I will procure the necessary item."
"Tis trickery!" cried Trevor.
"Tis our only option, is it not?" replied Abbie. "And rest assured, no one will know."
Trevor opened the bedchamber door, as Abbie made her way downstairs. Neither of the conspirators saw young Tilden crouching behind the garderobe.
Part 17, cont'd...
Munch was tossing in his scratchy straw pallet at Old Cragen's Alehouse. Little Squishy, after falling asleep in Fin's arms, had awakened and noticing that Munch wasn't sleeping, decided it might be fun to give him a hard time. The playful feline sat upon Munch's head and, after being swatted away, jumped back up for another go-round. After cursing once more at the little creature, Munch pulled the blanket up over his head, only to discover, with chagrin, that Squishy had retreated no further than the bottom of the bed, and was now happily biting Munch's feet.
He sat up and glared balefully at the cat. "Well, I'm up... what do you want from me?"
Squishy blissfully curled up in Munch's lap and began to purr lustily. The cranky man regarded the kitten thoughtfully.
"You know what, l'il Squish? You remind me a lot of my first wife. Always get what you want don't you? Aww, there you go..." He petted the cat, unaware that Fin was watching through one half-closed eye.
I'm gonna save my story about this tender moment for when it will come in handy..., he thought, drifting back to sleep. Munch managed to doze off as well, and Squishy hopped off the pallet and made straight for Munch's shoe, which was swiftly becoming his favorite place to relieve himself.
Abbie Carmichael, the Abbess of Carmichael Abbey headed straight for Beecher's hut.
Rapping loudly at the door, she could hear stirrings from within. "Open up, for the sake of God! Tis your Abbess!"
Beecher and AssofLife were sharing a tender moment, enjoying a purloined slice of wedding cake as they lay curled together by the fire. As the knocking continued, Beecher looked at Elliot and sighed.
"She'll not go away, she knows I am here..."
Elliot smiled his lazy grin, eyes barely open. "Let the pious bitch in, then. I've got nothing to hide." Beecher hastily dressed and ushered the Abbess inside. She wasted no time, nor did she apologise for the lateness of the hour.
"Give it to me. I know you've got it. I need it!" Her words had no effect on Elliot, other than causing him to break out in helpless laughter.
"Aye, our Abbess is hot-blooded after all... and for men! I had thought ye too occupied with the Hoyays for thoughts of ... "
"Silence!" Abbie pushed him aside. "Beecher Blacksmith, I know you have it. Hand it over!"
Beecher was dumbstruck. "If it's butter ye need, my lady, tis all gone! And we may not get any for a day or so, with Caseianna so recently giving birth. I doubt she'll be churning in the morning."
AssofLife enjoyed seeing the proud Abbess so distressed. "Well, there is a bit left, after all, but ye'd have to scrape it off my..."
Once again, Abbie stopped him from elaborating."That is not what I need, you two sodomites! I need those papers... the book! If you don't have it, tell me who does! For the love of Jesus Case... who's got the BOOK?"
Several seconds passed. "Ah... I believe it is in the possession of Ryan, lady. Now, please... may we return to our makeouttage?" AssofLife winked salaciously.
"You will both fry in hell!" Abbie stalked out, slamming the door.
"I'll save you a seat, you conniving bitch," whispered Beecher.
The Caseianna-Brian-Ryan household was wide awake. Caseianna had insisted she was perfectly capable of churning while nursing; she suckled little Fontina, while Gorgonzola wailed and Mozzarella shrieked. Never stopping her incessant churning, as the infant hung from her pendulous breast, she heard the knock on the door, but could do nothing about it, except to shriek, "The door! The door! Must I now do everything around here?"
Looking sheepish, Brian opened the door and let in the Abbess. She took one look at Caseianna and commanded, "Cover yourself, shameless woman!"
Caseianna smirked and added, "Shameful? I think not. For I am a married woman now!"
"And I care not a tiny rat's arse! I need the BOOK! Ryan, I know you've got it... now, fetch it, please, or I'll have the lot of you thrown in jail!"
Caseianna thrust Fontina at Brian and picked up Mozzarella. "Give her what she wants, that I may churn and feed my babies!"
Ryan went into the other room and brought out a box. He fished for the key, which hung from a cord around his neck. Unlocking the box, he reverently pulled out an illuminated manuscript, the parchment so old it nearly crumbled at his touch. Abbie reached out impatiently for it, but Ryan backed away.
"Tis the one remaining copy; treat it as you would any delicate item." Reluctantly, he handed it over. Abbie stashed it carefully in the folds of her cloak; without another word, she left the small, diaper-stinky hut.
Caseianna jiggled little Gorgonzola, who was fretful. "God's wounds, little baby, just stick it in thy mouth and suck! Your mommy is tired! What was that all about,?" she asked distractedly. Ryan tried not laugh.
"I know not why, but she wanted the famous Book of Dirty Pictures... all manner of deviant sexual acts are depicted in much detail. it is... very popular on long winter nights, when a man is alone and... "
"Not in front of the babes!," cried Caseianna, jiggling Gorgonzola so hard that she lost the nipple; a feat in itself as it was the size of a cheese wheel. "But, someone-- can you explain this to me? Why would a religious woman want such a thing... perhaps she means to destroy it?"
"She'd never do that," replied Ryan. "Tis the one remaining copy. Vern stole one, and the other was lost in Lady Alex's kitchen fire. Tis said her husband was reading it aloud to the servants for sport and not long after that, he was burned alive."
"Aye," said Brian. "There must be another reason..."
As Abbie hurried back to the castle, she did not notice a Tall Shadow that ducked behind a tree, stealthily following her back down the hill.
Olivia watched Langan sleep, worrying about what would happen when he awakened. Perhaps twould have been better to join the HoYays after all. But I'd never be allowed out, much less alone with Lady Alex. Praise God he leaves on the morrow, no matter what...
Top
Part 19
* * * * *
Hudsonia Harbor was not the sort of place anyone would care to be on a cold winter night. The fishermen had secured their boats, and they rocked placidly in the gentle swell of the wavelets that came through the harbor from the sea. A rime of salty, slushy ice framed many of the small boats; although the rain had washed away most of the snow, it was cold enough for the slight frost to coat the docks, making any attempt to walk treacherous.
The bit of shoreline that lay past the harbor by the jetty was strewn with litter from gulls and humans alike. The sand was muddy and coarse; no one in Hudsonia went down to the harbor for pleasure, even in fair weather. It was a silent and forbidding place.
Something began to move, just beneath the waterline, pushing the tide ahead and creating a swirl of muddy bubbles. As it gradually made its slow, deliberate way to the beach, it began to rise from the shallows and it was a fearsome sight indeed. A mighty shellfish heaved its body from the water, crusted with barnacles, waving its huge antediluvian pincers in the frigid air, as if testing the place for signs of edible life. The claws clamped down on several tiny whitebait, and the ancient sea creature began to devour its prey.
The Tall Shadow waited, hawk-like, from its perch on the side of a fishing boat, holding back until the monster had finished its meal before swooping down with a net, cackling like one who has been damned for all eternity.
"Tis LOBSTER my preciousss... ah, but what a delightful treat for after I've finished the... harvessst..."
The laughter emanating from the Shadow's cracked lips caused one of Hudsonia's resident fisherman to sit up in his boat and immediately piss his pants.
The Shadow swooped, the net falling upon the lobster, which was at least 22 lbs. The immense crustacean struggled briefly before it got a good look at its captor; it immediately went into a state of shock; it remained immobile, as if dead, hoping that the monstrous thing that had snared it might possibly throw it back into the brackish waters of Hudsonia Harbor. Laughing insanely, the Shadow peeked into the coarsely woven sack it had dumped the giant lobster into, and in a sing-song voice, began to croon a horrid little song about yummy fishies. "Ah, but Voldemoron knows many sweet songs, my lovely meal... sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of... sperm!"
The ancient fisherman died instantaneously in his pee-befouled bed.
Abbie had reached the castle, panting slightly, she climbed the stairs to the bridal chamber. Trevor answered the door. "She sleeps, Abbess."
Abbie smiled. "And sleep she will, for a time. I made sure the wine she rang for after I departed had a sleeping potion; twas the reason I cautioned you to drink no more."
"Did you... have you... " Langan tried unsuccessfully to hide his eagerness.
"Indeed, I do and a most foul, ungodly thing it is! It looks as if every man in Hudsonia has had a turn with it... be careful-- it is falling apart!" She produced the Book of Dirty Pictures and handed it to Trevor. "I will wash my hands before I go." She took a seat at the foot of the bed; arms folded, she glared up at Langan.
"What ails you, man? Let the dirty deed be done, I must be with the HoYays in time for the early prayers!"
"I, uh, cannot... in front of... "
"Spank thy monkey, produce thy spooge and be done with it! Think that I care what you do, as long as there is seed to be sown? Go to it!"
"But you're a..." Langan hesitated.
"IS THIS BECAUSE I'M A LESBIAN?"
Abbie stood, and in one fluid, smooth motion removed her somber robes. Langan gaped at the sight of her. Tall, long legged and full-breasted, her dark hair spilling down over her shoulders, her black eyes alive with wrath, she was the hottest thing Trevor had ever seen. The notion of fucking a nun had finally turned the trick and his drawbridge was now raised. He threw off his tunic, undid his pants and leapt upon her.
"WAIT!" Abbie rolled away. "Put it in her, not me, you fool!"
"Let me touch you... once..." Trevor shook with desire.
"Hurry up... there, now--"
The heavy door flew open and the Tall Shadow, Voldemoron appeared in the doorway, still carrying the hapless lobster. Voldemoron picked Abbie up and threw her to the floor, as if she were no more than a sack of turnips. She proceeded to jump on top of Trevor, stuffing his confused cock into her dark passage-- well, one of them, anyway. She had been on him for but a few seconds when he came so hard his teeth rattled. Abbie lay unconscious on the floor.
"Who... what are ye and where did ye come from..." whispered Trevor, lying back upon the pillows, once again limper than lo mein. "I shot my load into ye... naught is left for Olivia..."
He sank into a stupor, unable to move. The thing he had entered was too horrifying to describe; he went from stupor to a full faint as he set his eyes upon the thing that had stolen his seed.
The Tall Shadow didn't speak, but fell upon the mighty lobster, tearing it limb from limb, devouring it raw. Leaving the remains of its shell where they had fallen, she regarded the Abbess, the knight and Olivia, who slept through the entire encounter.
"Tis time for me to go; damn Homer and his rosy-fingered dawn! But I shall bear a noble babe and sit rightfully in the House of Langan, not the maid from Beret!"
Voldemoron leaped up and ran for the door. She gasped at the sight of fair Tilda of Swinton, standing in the corridor with Melinda. Tilda raised a wand, a solemn expression on her face. Melinda, her beautiful face suffused with consternation, urged her on, "Now... before they awaken!"
The wand was raised. Voldemoron was turned to stone. Tilda took Melinda's hand. "Makeouttage?" smiled Melinda.
Tilda nodded. "Let's go to my place."
Melinda kissed her cheek. "Let's make one quick stop on the way... the servants should remove and destroy this... statue thing before the newlyweds see it. Someone has simply awful taste in wedding gifts."
Top
Part 20
* * * * *
The servants had just finished clearing away the stone remains of Voldemoron when Abbie woke up, finding herself naked on the floor of Olivia and Trevor's bedchamber. She could not recall much, after being flung like a rag doll by the Tall Shadow, but since Trevor was in the bed next to Olivia-- and for all intents and purposes, sleeping peacefully, she could only pray to St. Viagra that the wench was indeed impregnated. Abbie hurriedly dressed, slipping out a back exit from the castle and off to the Abbey. The sisters of Holy HoYay would surely be wondering at her long absence, and she went over her excuses in her mind as she ran the last half-mile or so. I smelled lobster, she thought. How odd.
The small sounds in the room woke Olivia; she stirred restlessly for a while and when she finally opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Sir Trevor of Langan, surrounded by his servants, who were helping him dress for the official leave-taking ceremony. He is leaving, she thought, a fierce joy in her heart, and going into battle, may he never return! Hiding her shameful smile, she pulled the bedcovers back up under her chin, disappointing Langan's men-at-arms, who were hoping to catch a peek at her legendary charms.
"I'll see you downstairs, my lovebird," called Langan over his shoulder to her. As far as he could recall, he'd finally done the deed, and being a typical male, was overly pleased with his performance. Langan was a master at self-deception; he had no way of knowing that among the whores of Hudsonia, his nickname was "Needledick."
Dorcas hurried in, with a basin of scented water and Matilde followed close behind, with a cup of ale for Olivia to drink; she would have to postpone breakfast until after the leave-taking. She sipped at the ale, which had been watered down a bit, but she wondered how anyone ever got anything accomplished, with the alcohol that seemed to flow day and night at the castle. Dorcas looked pleased, while Matilde, as usual, merely looked constipated.
"Ah! No more a maiden, my Lady... you're rosy in the cheeks today!" Dorcas began combing out Olivia's hair, which didn't take long, but some of the flowers, now wilted, still clung to her short curls, and Dorcas industriously but gently picked them out and placed them in the basin. "Tell me," she leaned in closer, "Is he a very... manly man?"
"What she means to ask is if his cock is as large and fat as he often boasts," added Matilde sourly, for she disapproved of all the bawdy talk that filled the castle. She had been thrown out of the HoYays for being caught in a most compromising, yet gymnastic position with Ryan when they were both in their early teens. It was a legendary feat of fuckery, and some considered it worthy of inclusion in the Book of Dirty Pictures, should anyone ever add to the volume's content.
Olivia blushed prettily, laughing. "I cannot speak of that," she smiled, "For I have naught to compare him to..." Except for that stable boy, back in Beret, and that couldn't have been more than a few seconds... She laughed gaily. "Ah, but where is Lady Alexandra this morning?"
"She will be there to wish the brave knights Godspeed, you'll see her then. Tis lucky you'll be living here until your house is built, it seems ye have a good friend in Alexandra!" Dorcas, having gotten up earlier, had already partaken of enough ale to make her pleasant to the point of tipsiness. Matilde shot her a warning glance; Dorcas merely made a face at her sister instead. "There, now, you are prettier than a picture and smell like a rose!"
"But watch out for the thorns," said Matilde glumly. "Life is full of them."
"Ye dried-up old buzzkill!" chortled Dorcas. "So Ryan wouldn't marry you; tis time ye got over it and got on with your life!"
"Caseianna will surely need help with the babies," suggested Olivia. "I would think that Lady Alex would be more than happy to let you give her a hand for a few hours each day... you'd see Ryan and perhaps..."
"You read too many romance novels," Matilde retorted. "Look at me! Dried up like an old stick, no juice at all... though tis rumoured she has already dropped Fontina in a milking pail three times... it could not hurt to inquire."
"Surely not..." Olivia's voice was consoling. "Are you finished? May I see?" She walked to the looking glass. "Ah, what miracles a good night's sleep can do!"
Dorcas motioned her out, laughing heartily. "Good night's sleep, my arse! Lady, ye're quite the merry joke-maker!"
"I will stay behind and clean the room," said Mathilde.
Not long after they departed, Matilde found both the famous Book... and the remains of what seemed to be some sort of monstrous shellfish. She threw the shells into the fire, but put the Book aside for later. She had a plan; she would read it with Ryan and rekindle their earlier attraction...
The sun was well over the horizon and high in the sky as the crowd gathered to bid farewell to Langan, as well as Sir AssofLife, Jason of Sehorn and the rest of Langan's retinue. Assoflife was comforting Dickie, who desperately wanted to come along, but Elliot deemed him too young. He knelt beside the boy, speaking softly, as he realized how embarrassed his son would be if he began to cry in a public place.
"Next time, my son..."
"Huh," sniffed Dickie. "There will surely be another excuse and Mother will haul me off to study Prayer and Criminal Profiling with Father George."
"That will not happen... she's been given orders to stay away from you. You'll learn to ride, and ride well, and you'll be a skilled swordsman... then, and only then, will I see you in battle, my only son."
Dickie stamped his foot. "War! What is it good for?"
"Absolutely nothing!" cried Elliot. "But we must fight, no matter how we feel, tis for the Rightful King!"
The group took up the chant. "The Rightful King! The Rightful King!"
Fin and Munch arrived late, as Squishy had shredded Munch's undergarments during the night and Munch had been forced to borrow some from Old Cragen.
"You hear that chanting? They've been brainwashed!" Despite his words, Munch seemed somehow pleased.
"Your brain could use a good soak, too..." retorted Fin. "You know what? I think L'il Squishy is trying to tell me something... I think he'd be happier if you didn't stay under the same roof with us, once we get home."
Munch kept his eyes on the chanting townsfolk. "Yes, well, he may get his wish. I am considering staying here in Hudsonia. Interesting things seem to keep happening and our former home has lost its appeal."
"Well, that Melinda hasn't lost nothin'... damn, that's one fine looking woman."
"Master Fin? Thy drool runneth over. Please try to keep your tongue in your mouth, for certainly it is not going near hers!"
Fin snorted. "Yeah? Well that's just cold. But I happen to have some information... she isn't married, nor has she a man."
"How? When?" Munch was at a surprising loss for words.
"I keep telling you, but you don't listen: I just KNOW stuff. Shhh... the Duke is speaking!"
Part 19, cont'd…
William, Alexandra's uncle, the Duke of Albany, finally managed to capture the attention of the crowd. "Good people, loyal citizens of Hudsonia, we gather here to send our men out into battle! We will pray for them daily, and pray that the usurpers, Empress Maud and Robert of Gloucester will once again retreat to the north. May God shine his light on our brave knights! Hurrah!"
"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" The voices in the crowd became as one.
Caseianna and Brian were there, to deliver the cheese and butter, and to pay their respects to the noblemen. They were busily juggling babies when Caseianna again dropped Fontina into a pail of milk.
"Good lord, woman... pick up the wee thing-- how many times is this going to happen?"
Caseianna glared back at her new husband. "They warned me, but would I listen? No! And here I be; naught but a butter-churner AND now, too, a milk maker! Twill be a cold day in Hell before you touch me again, Brian Cheeseman!"
Brian smiled naughtily. "Just wait until I get you home, my fiery wife! Aye, but those cow teats of yours are irresistible!" He reached out and grabbed one, marveling at the size of it. Half-heartedly, she fended him off; then gave in. As the chanting grew louder, Brian and Caseianna began to vigorously make out.
Mozzarella fell into the milking pail along with her sister. Gorgonzola was scooped up by a local fishmonger, who handed her back to Caseianna, telling her to keep a better eye on her children. Gorgonzola giggled and cooed; it was clear to anyone within three feet of her that she had befouled her diaper again.
Olivia stood by Trevor, who was already astride his war horse. She stood on tiptoe and hastily handed him the stirrup cup, as was customary. They shared a brief kiss, as makeouttage in public was frowned upon by the nobility.
"Godspeed, my husband..." She stepped back and stood next to Lady Alexandra, who was radiant in her gown of clearest sea blue. The sunshine lit up her fair hair, surrounding her with a corolla of light. Her expression was grave as she bade farewell to the knights, but her heart was gay as she caught the eye of AssofLife, who nodded imperceptibly. Make sure he never returns, she pleaded with her eyes. Do this for me, and for my love, Olivia!
The call to arms was raised, and the trumpets blew. Sir Trevor and the rest galloped off in a flurry of goodbyes, their mighty horses pounding down the road, clods of partially frozen mud flying off their hooves.
The assembled townsfolk slowly wandered back to their everyday lives. The castle servants hurried indoors to prepare the meal. Alexandra and Olivia stood watching as the blurring outlines of the men slowly grew smaller and smaller.
Olivia turned to Alex. "Now what?"
Alex took her hand. "Makeouttage. Lots and lots of makeouttage." She grinned wickedly. "But perhaps, twould be better to first get some food in our bellies." “As long as it’s not One Tomato…”
Linking her arm in Olivia's, they walked together into the castle. It was going to be a beautiful day...
The End. Almost.
Top
Epilogue
* * * * *
Trevor of Langan never returned to Hudsonia; a messenger from the frontlines notified Olivia, who attained respectable widowhood without ever actually consummating her marriage. She and Alex lived happily for many years in Cabot Manor. There wasn't much point in building another house after Trevor's death. It is not known if Sir AssofLife was responsible for Trevor's demise; he told Lady Alex that Trevor had succumbed to a virulent case of dysentery and it couldn't be proved either way.
AssofLife remained in Hudsonia after returning from battle. He and Dickie lived in relative luxury and comfort with Beecher; it is thought that Dickie was the author of a medieval children's book called, "Dickie Hath Two Daddies"-- the original copy is on permanent display in the Hudsonia Museum.
Munch and Fin continued to snark upon each other and Squishy lived to reach 18 years, which was almost unheard of for a feline in the Middle Ages. The pair did stay in Hudsonia, but Fin never wooed Melinda, although they became very good friends. Fin fathered many illegitimate children, and took financial care of all 12 of them. Munch's ex-wife left Hudsonia shortly after being informed he was moving there permanently.
Elizabeth of Donnelly and Arthur of Branch remained in politics, as did the Duke.
Sadly, Lennie of Briscoe died peacefully in his sleep not long after the civil war ended.
Mayor Ironbone dedicated the new town square to his memory.
Abbie remained with the HoYays and spent her life at the Abbey. The Cathedral was finally finished in her lifetime. Father George lived a long, peaceful and incredibly boring life. It is thought by some that he was actually bored to death.
Melinda and Tilda remained together. When Melinda mysteriously disappeared, it was generally thought she had been murdered by outlaws; what actually happened had something to do with the stress of going back and forth between worlds. She was nearly seventy at the time, but never aged a day past forty.
Voldemoron had no idea that Trevor had a bad case of syphilis on his wedding night, nor had she any knowledge that in any case, he was sterile. She died from shellfish poisoning a week after the incident in the castle.
Brian and Caseianna made good money in the dairy business and Caseianna bore him several more children: Cheddar, Monterey Jack (both boys) and the baby, Brie, another girl. Ryan never married, but his common-law wife, Matilde was credited for saving the Book of Dirty Pictures, and for updating it with some of her own stories. It also can be found at the Hudsonia Museum.
Consider yourselves updated. I'm done here. *g*