A HIGHLAND TALE 2/? BY LEELEE AND SEEKERONE RATING: NC-17 for the whole series, although this Chapter is probably R. CATEGORY: Sc/Sk, Mulder/O, and then who knows? Comments: Thanks to Cat for her insights and beta! Summary: The Lady finds The Fox WARNING: This is a work in progress and develops as we write it. So please do not archive until we post the completed version. One thing that we are sure of is that you should not starting reading this series if ANY of the past subject matter of any of our stories has ever offended you, that includes kinky sex, bondage, spanking and so on. Early appearances to the contrary, this is not an innocent bodice ripper. By posting this as a WIP we are asking any input you can give. If you like it please, please send us a note, include any kinky plot ideas, and help out. clueseek@swbell.net Viceyy@aol.com Chapter 2 The tall dark-haired woman sat in the window embrasure of her solar quietly munching a manchet roll and sipping her morning ale. The Lady Rhiannon particularly enjoyed this time of day in her keep. The late fall sunshine was warm through her sleeping shift. She glanced around her peaceful solar and silently rejoiced that for once, no one was waiting to speak with the lady of the manor. Lady Rhiannon was not particularly beautiful by the standards of her times. Her forehead was too high and there were laugh lines around her dark eyes. She was an older woman, probably in her forties, but still with much of her legendary spirit and all of her equally legendary sexuality intact. She felt a soft head butt her hand and looked down into the eyes of her son, the underage laird of her clan. "Good morning, Laird Bruce," she teased as she brushed her lips across his soft little boy hair. Much like his late father in the morning, he grumbled something as reached for a piece of bread. By the Blessed Lady, how she missed that man, in her life and in her bed. Her husband had been gone three years, fallen by a Welshman's spear during a border raid. Theirs had been a rare love match and now her son was all that remained of him. She gathered the boy up in her arms and they both watched the sunrise and the castle begin to wake up. Rhiannon heard her servants stirring in her chamber and knew that her day was about to start. She finished the last of her bread and gave her son a hug. "Even if we dinna have a chaplain right now to teach you your letters, young man, I want you to write them this morning. Before you go out to the butts for your archery practice, hmmm?" The innocent nod in response was as far as she got before two of her pages burst in the room with some of the hunting hounds. Lord Bruce was off her lap and gone in a flurry of boyish excitement. Rhiannon sighed. Her chaplain had died of the bloody flux on St. Gannon's Day, three fortnights passed. God rest Father Bryan's soul, and she crossed herself in his memory, but why did he have to die now? Her son desperately needed a tutor. He was eight and it wouldn't be that long before he would start taking more responsibility in the clan's councils. It wouldn't do for him to be as unlettered as any crofter's son. And where could she find a tutor in the highlands? Isabel, one of her late husband's kinsmen, was standing by the washbasin with water and fresh towels. Rhiannon reluctantly pushed off the sun-warmed stone. She knew that the reeve, her steward and a dozen others would be awaiting her in the great hall. She frowned faintly. Jamie, her Captain of the Guard should be reporting in too. If what she suspected had happened last night, he was in for it this morning. She pulled off her shift and began to wash in the cold water. Something puzzled her about Isabel this morning and then she noticed the dark marks on the slight blonde's neck. In a flash of memory, she remembered how her late husband used to leave the same marks on her neck and how her maids teased her about it. "Will now. Did yer enjoy yerself last night?" she asked with a knowing grin as she dried her hands. Isabel blushed but nodded her head defiantly. "Aye," she said faintly. "And, if you wind-up with a bairn, will he stand in the church door with you?" she asked gently. Rhiannon had seen too many women disgraced and desperate, and the clan system could be cruel if the father failed to acknowledge the child. "Jamie says.." Isabel started. "Twas Captain Jamie, you were with then?" Rhiannon cut in. She couldn't say why the idea of her maid and her Captain of the Guard bothered her so much. "O' course not. He was tupping with the laundress and the scullery maid. But Jamie says that Donald is one of his best men. It would be a good alliance for me and . .." Isabel fluttered on about her plans with the young clansman, but Rhiannon's mind was elsewhere as she tied her kirtle and reached for her gown. Jamie with the laundress and the scullery maid? Now, it was her turn to flush as the picture her imagination created. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Most of the everyday business of the keep was handled quickly by the Lady that morning. Rhiannon made her decisions and gave her orders quietly from the big wooden chair by the fireplace of the great hall. Her servants and clansmen knew better than to challenge her decisions. She was backed by the High Laird, The Bruce himself, and usually she was just and fair with her people. Her steward was busily trying to transcribe the accounts and punishments decided that morning in the clan's big record book, Rhiannon noticed. She shook her head slightly in despair. He was a good man, but he was no scribe. May the Holy Virgin Mary have mercy on us, should we ever try to find anything in his writing. Jamie was waiting to approach her, when she gestured for him to stay where he was and walked over to him. "Captain Jamie," she greeted him. He bowed politely in return, his hand on the dirk in his belt. Lord but he was a handsome man she thought. Like her late husband he was taller than she was, a rare thing among the men she had known. Grey hair at his temples threading through the sable locks, cat green eyes and muscles that came from long hours in the practice yard. If she ever considered another serious relationship, but no, she thought. Not a clansman, much less a kinsman. They wanted too much in response. Marriage. Rights over her and her dowry. Control. Far more than she was willing to give up at this point in her life. "Has the watch been quiet?" she inquired politely as they walked through the rushes towards the great door. "Aye. We caught a thief stealing from one of the crofter's and he awaits your pleasure in the dungeon," was the terse reply. "He dinna ask for hospitality?" she paused to question in puzzlement. Hospitality was never denied a kinsman. It was one of her responsibilities to her clan. "Outlander," was the response. "Ah, well." She would see to the man after she finished her inspection of the rest of her keep. She stopped walking and turned to look up at him. "Your men celebrated late and long last night. My maids have spoken of it." "No one was forced," he growled. "That's as maybe. But my great hall smells like a garderobe," she said firmly as she picked up her long trailing skirts. "If your men piss and shit like dogs in the rushes, then just like the kennel boy they shall clean it up afterwards." "You canna mean that?" he looked at her in disbelief. "I do," came the firm reply. "Let them work off their drunk by sweetening this chamber. All the soiled straw hauled out to the dung heap and fresh put down. And Jamie," she paused to grab the front of his tunic. "If they do it again, by the tears of Our Lady Mother, they'll piss sitting down." They glared at each other for a moment before she released him. She always got a thrill whenever she clashed with her captain. She knew the look that came into his hard green eyes well. He was not the type of man to back down to anyone and certainly not a mere woman. But he was an honorable man who had been devoted to her husband and had easily transferred that loyalty to her son. So she knew he would obey her in this. He bowed stiffly and she watched him stalk away. No, she thought, a relationship with Jamie would never work. He had the benefit of his sex and she had the benefit of her rank. Two people in their positions could never get along. And it just felt too good to have him do her bidding. Rhiannon smiled slightly. She liked to change the rushes every month anyway. And this way, maybe those roistering drunks would learn a lesson. Now for her tour of the rest of the keep. The day passed quickly. Since the great hall was being cleaned, dinner was served to the lady in her solar. Others ate wherever they could. Lord Bruce and his friends climbed up one of the apple trees to enjoy the last of the fall fruit and avoid the necessity of practicing their letters. Rhiannon was reviewing her responsibilities over the last bit of roast pheasant, when she remembered. The Outlander. He was probably a run away serf, but still, she wanted to see him before he was brought to her for judgment. The guardhouse was quiet she noticed as she walked down the stone hallway to the dungeon stairs. Those men who were left were polishing armor and kept their eyes to themselves. Rhiannon grinned. If she knew Jamie, he'd taken a piece out of them for their part of the rousting last night, much less the cleaning up. The dungeon was cold and damp since it was close to the moat. The cells were small and usually empty. Rhiannon's clan was fairly prosperous and she didn't tolerate anything other than the occasional border raid. Even she didn't try to stop that. It was just a part of being a highlander. Her long over mantle rustled as she paused to light a torch in a near by brazier. Sure enough one cell near the end was locked. She walked that way. The light from her torch flickered dimly on the man in the cell. He was sprawled out in the straw and Rhiannon caught her breath. Dear St. Margaret, this was no run away villien. He was obvious tall, with long lean limbs like one of her greyhounds. And in spite of the bruises, his skin was white and clean where it showed through the torn homespun shift. "You, there," she called in a husky voice. The man jerked awake and the collar pulled against the chain holding him to the wall. The chain's metal links were normal size and not so heavy that he couldn't move easily she noted. Dark brown eyes stared into hazel green ones. He swallowed and struggled to his feet. "I am Lady Rhiannon, keeper of the clan McKinnon until my son comes of age. Who are you and why did you steal from one of my kinsman?" The man ran his hand distractedly through his hair. "Uh, well …my lady. I'm . . not from here. I'm sorry about the food and clothes. I'm willing to pay, .. sort of." "Pay?" came her skeptical response. "Well, not exactly pay. Uh… I don't have any. . . coins, but I'm willing to work. I can read and write or do labor. But…" Rhiannon chuckled as she unlocked the cell, "And what would one of my crofters want with a clark? They have no call for papers." She moved forward to stand in front of her prisoner. "So I discovered when your guards found me," he agreed ruefully as he brushed his bloody lip. The chains rattled against the wall. Rhiannon looked at him closely in the dim light. The features of his face very pleasing to her eyes. With full lips and a strong nose and wisps of brown hair falling over his forehead. She felt her breasts tingle at the sudden image of those lips wrapped around them. It had been far too long, but her duty to her clan came first. She put on her best look of displeasure and asked, "Your speech is strange, Outlander. Where do you come from?" He looked to be searching for an answer before answering. "I'm from the continent. Near…Calais." She knew it was a lie. She could see it in his posture, but she let it pass. There would be time to find the truth later. Images of him lying under her baring his soul to her in gasping breaths while she slowly rode him, pacing herself with each deliberate stroke, taunted her. She felt her body responding to this odd but beautiful man more than it had responded to anything since her husband had died. Even clashing with Jamie hadn't brought such a response to her. Maybe it was the sight of the chain and collar around his neck. Her fingers clenched around the torch in her hand. "So a thief from Calais? And do you have a name or should I just call you Sir Thief?" "My name is Fox Mulder.." A fox with a chain and collar around his neck. A tame fox as her plaything. How fitting she thought. And how enticing. "Do you know what happens to someone who steals from my clan?" the voice was cold as she placed the torch in a nearby bracket. Her hands were then placed firmly on her hips as she stared up at him. "I believe that the usual penalty in this period was hanging," came the uncertain response. "Nay for the first time. The first time, we just cut your right hand off." Her statement was made in jest. Although legally she could impose such a punishment, she had never ordered anyone maimed. And she certainly had no intention of causing this particular body harm. But his look of panic at her statement and hurried apologies made her want to laugh. "Look. I'm sorry. I'm willing to make amends any way I can but …" She saw him shiver in the cold damp air. Oh she could definitely come up with a way for him to make amends. She just had to do it in a manner that befits her as a lady. Suddenly something he said came back to her. "If ye can truly read and write, show me." Rhiannon said as she handed him a blackened twig from her torch. His hand seemed to shake slightly as he took the twig and slowly wrote on the stonewall, "Le Morte De Reynard." "French. Very good. Perhaps the Fox will not wind up thrown to my hounds after all. What else? Latin? Greek?" The man just nodded mutely at her and her body surged with satisfaction. She could take care of the problem of her son's education and with it, if the blessed Magdalene smiled on her plans, her own problem at the same time. "Verra well then. My son has need of a tutor. You shall work off your penalty by teaching him his letters, numbers and Latin," Rhiannon said slowly. Fox started to say something, but she stopped him by stepping in close. She could tell he was as curious about her as she was about him. Up close he was even more impressive. Long limbs that she could get tangled up in, large hands with tapered elegant fingers. Rhiannon had to fight the urge to press her body against him. Lifting her hand she brushed her finger across his mouth. Feeling his full lips. Then she slid them slowly down his chest stopping when she felt a taunt nipple under the coarse loose shirt. The blackened twig fell the floor from slightly shaking fingers. At his sharp intake of breath, she looked into his surprised eyes and rubbed her finger over the hard nub. "Yea'll tutor my son during the day" she said in a husky voice her face close to his "and then sleep on a pallet by his bed at night. I'll keep the door between my chamber and his open. That way ou can hear me if I call for you to . . . read to me at night." Pulling back from him, she looked down and smiled in gratification at his obvious response to her words. A fine bedmate, this Fox would be. And even if she quickened because of their nighttime games, well an outlander spouse would hold no real power over her in the clan hierarchy. She would still be the Lady Rhiannon. Who said the female McKinnon couldn't have everything? Unlocking the chain from the wall, she stepped back and looked him over in the yellow torchlight. She'd leave the collar on, of course. The steel band around his neck would mark him as a prisoner, even one with limited freedom. But the thought of this man chained, walking behind her was just too tempting. She looped it round her hand and turned to leave the cell. Her lips curved softly around the words "Come with me, Fox Mulder." End of Chapter Two