A HIGHLAND TALE 5/?
BY LEELEE AND SEEKERONE
RATING: NC-17 at least. 
CATEGORY: Sc/Sk, Mulder/O, and then who knows?
Comments:  Thanks to Sylvie for new meticulous beta. "Towards" is too 
a word!
SUMMARY: Fox learns the realities of life in a medieval Scottish 
castle.
SPOILERS:  Don't think so.  Sort of our own little AU.
DISCLAIMERS:  You-know-who created you-know-whom.  The rest are all 
ours, with some genuine historical characters visiting such as Robert 
the Bruce and Edward II. 
WARNING: Graphic sex, some S & M and a little spanking in this 
chapter.  So, much for the innocent bodice ripper time travel. We're 
getting down to the real smut now. 
FEEDBACK: Worshipped, adored, read and reread again and again.  Drop 
us a note and let us know what you think:  clueseek@swbell.net  
Viceyy@aol.com


Highland Chapter 5

After the end of the long evening meal, Lady Rhiannon quietly walked 
toward her son's chamber. She couldn't remember when she'd had a more 
interesting evening. The scribe Fox and her son walked ahead of her 
toward Lord Bruce's sleeping quarters. She smiled as she watched him 
walk, thinking about him and the other new man in her castle.

Captain Jamie had presented the freesword, Skinner, to her.  A very 
striking man who instantly aroused her senses.  And he knew her 
prisoner, the scribe Fox, who also recognized him.  Now her curiosity 
was aroused and that wasn't all. Her body was as excited as a maid's 
on Mid-summer's Eve.  How did these two men know each other?  Where 
they friends?  Master and servant?  Or even closer? Were they 
lovers?  She grinned faintly. It had been a long time since she had 
taken two men to her bed and watched them pleasure each other.  Not 
tonight, though.  Not until she'd taken the Fox herself, tasted him, 
felt every inch of him in her and discovered his carefully kept 
secrets.  But later, she promised herself, it would be a scheme to 
consider. 

The heavy wooden door from her solar squeaked as she pushed it open.  
The candle she was carrying shed a faint light in the young laird's 
chamber. She smiled, remembering how the Fox had blushed sweetly when 
she caressed his thigh under the table. How responsive he was to her 
touch.  Now, she would see if he was just responsive in her bed.  She 
walked softly toward the pallet where the scribe was sleeping.  

"Fox," she called quietly as she leaned down to look at the 
bedding.  "I am restless tonight.  Perhaps you could read the 
Confessions of the Magdalene to me?  A most instructive text. . ." 
she broke off suddenly.  

The blanket was crumpled and the cot was empty. She stared at it, 
first in disbelief and then in cold fury.  If Fox had compounded his 
sins by running away, she'd tie him to a post and take a whip to his 
bare ass herself. She quickly turned and headed out the chamber door 
toward the main staircase.

Rhiannon moved quickly down the stone steps into the great hall.  
Mayhap he was just visiting the outside garderobe, rather than using 
the chamber pot. It was certainly possible. He didn't seem to know 
much about living in a civilized household. Her long skirts rustled 
quietly through the rushes as she walked quickly toward the heavy 
wooden door leading to the stairway down to the great hall.  


The Great Hall

"So it's the Gunman's theory that Dr. Feld discovered a way to 
actually travel back through time.  That's what caused me to 
investigate him in the first place." Mulder was speaking in a voice 
barely above a whisper. He held up his hand at the familiar, 
disbelieving look from Scully and continued. "While that might be 
scientifically interesting, what he planned to use it for was to 
alter stock market transactions, saving his .com start-up from 
financial disaster. Well...obviously that kind of criminal tampering 
with the U.S. economy would reek financial havoc." 

It was almost like it always was. Skinner sat across from where she 
was sitting next to her partner. His brow wrinkled and his chin 
rested in the V of his thumb and index finger as he considered 
Mulder's latest bizarre theory. Scully sat slightly turned toward her 
partner, one eyebrow raised almost to her hairline in a pretense of 
disbelief.

It was the exact same poses they had taken so many times in Skinner's 
office. Mulder expounding some absurd theory that would outrage most 
science fiction writers. Her counter hypothesis disposing of his 
theory based on sound scientific evidence and logic. And Skinner 
trying to figure the whole mess out. Except they weren't sitting at 
Skinner's familiar desk, much less in the Hoover Building in 
Washington, D.C. 2001 A.D.

They sat at the trestle table where Skinner had dined, where Scully 
had been warned that 'her kind' was not allowed.  In the middle of a 
medieval keep. In the highlands of Scotland.  In what Mulder was now 
telling them was the Year of Our Lord, 1324. And heaven help her, 
Skinner was wearing a kilt and Mulder looked like some kind of 
Internet porn star in an iron collar with a chain hanging from it.
 
The hall was almost dark and deserted. The stocky warriors who had 
eyed her seemed to have given up and went searching for more willing 
bedmates. Scully tried to ignore the great hall settling down for the 
night around them. She attempted to overlook the lingering smell of 
food, spilt ale, wood fires and unwashed bodies. She focused on what 
Mulder was saying and tried her best to disregard the sounds of the 
dogs and people sleeping in the rushes. She wanted so badly to look 
at this objectively, rationally and scientifically, to find some sane 
logical explanation. 

But it just wasn't working. The reality of her surroundings validated 
everything Mulder said. Unless they had been drugged and were 
hallucinating this whole experience, this was all too real. She 
pondered the pharmaceutical theory only long enough to remember the 
feel of Skinners body pressed against her own. That had been very 
real. The lingering wetness between her legs confirmed it. 

Mulder had gone to see this Dr. Feld after a tip from the Lone 
Gunmen. He had instantly become curious when Feld had showed him his 
collection of ancient Druid manuscripts and writings.  Finding a 
common bond in their fascination with extreme possibilities, the two 
men had talked well into the night. Feld argued that he felt time 
travel was possible, based on Einstein's theories of relativity, time 
and space. But he had several problems. If modern science could send 
someone back, how could he prove it?  And could they be retrieved 
from wherever they went?  Could anyone in ancient history send them 
forward again? The key, Feld proposed, lay in hidden records of the 
philosophers, mathematicians, astrologers and scientists known 
throughout Britain and most of northern Europe as the Druids.  

Mulder, for once, presented himself as a skeptic. But apparently Dr. 
Feld felt he had a perfect lab rat in her open-minded partner. After 
talking late into the night, Feld had shown Mulder his lab. Then next 
thing he remembered, Mulder  woke up just as they had. Nude, cold and 
lost in the woods. 

Scully cringed at the memory of their desperate race to safety. Her 
body was still feeling the effects of the hypothermia and panic. She 
reached out and stroked Mulder's arm when he told of his lonely 
experience. Of how he had found little to eat and no way to get warm 
for days before being caught by Lady Rhiannon's men hiding in a 
crofter's hut. 

Her cold fury at Feld grew. In using them as guinea pigs in his 
damned experiment, he had nearly killed all three of them. If they 
ever got back, she would personally see his sorry ass thrown in jail. 
Who the hell was he to play God with their lives?

Skinner didn't seem to share her anger, the theories, or anything but 
an all consuming, totally focused interest in the here and now. He 
drilled Mulder for every possible bit of information about this 
place, the culture and the people. And Mulder had learned a lot in 
one day here, thanks to Rhiannon's bright and talkative son.

The young boy who would one day be the lord of the clan McKinnon, was 
named Bruce, after their king. All of Scully's medieval history 
classes finally paid off as she recognized the tale Mulder told. 
Robert the Bruce was the Scottish King who signed a 13-year truce 
with Edward II. Unfortunately, the weak homosexual King of England 
would end up being murdered some six years hence by having his rectum 
impaled with a hot poker. They knew the treaty would eventually come 
to naught.

"But one of the factors we must be critically aware of, is 
interfering with this time line.  We can't let slip anything we know 
about their future," Mulder counseled.  "I know it sounds like a bad 
Star Trek episode, but we cannot risk changing the course of history. 
The Clan McKinnon is influential in later Scottish history.  If 
somehow we alter that, we could find a very different world when we 
return."

Scully nodded grimly.  "Well there's not too much chance of a camp 
follower like me having that opportunity, is there?"

Skinner let out a great sigh at Mulder's look of censure and tiredly 
rubbed his eyes. "I know, I know. I should have said she was my wife, 
but it's not like I really understood the situation."

Scully saw true regret in his face and felt herself softening toward 
him. "We'll just have to do our best to fit in," she said. "And if 
that means humbly deferring to you men, I will" She tried to smile, 
hoping to ease the tension and joked. "Of course, that also means 
I'll have to do quite a bit of ass kicking later to put you both back 
in your places." 

Mulder offered a wan smile at her joke, but Skinner seemed to dismiss 
her concerns to focus again on their problems.  

Mulder had just begun to tell them of his plans to find out more 
information from the child when she heard a rustling behind her. She 
watched Skinner stand up and bow. Dana could feel Mulder tensing 
beside her. He shot her a look that was almost sheepish and she 
turned to see the Lady Rhiannon standing there. Her face was a mask 
of displeasure. And it all seemed directed at her partner.

In the dim light, Lady Rhiannon almost overlooked the trio sitting at 
the deserted table. Well a day.  So her Fox hadn't run far back to 
his burrow.  She paused to listen and her brows drew together in 
puzzlement.  Lone Gong-man?  Was that what he called the Gong-
Farmer?  Of course they worked alone.  Who wanted to associate with 
the peasant who cleaned out the garderobe chutes? 

She waited a moment more, only able to hear bits of the conversation 
over the snoring of her clansmen. But when Fox said he planning to 
talk to Lord Bruce about the Druids, she decided she'd heard enough. 
The late Father Bryan had warned her of them.  She'd na risk her 
son's immortal soul with talk of those heathens.  She strode firmly 
toward the little group, all thoughts of silence forgotten.

They broke apart quickly, the freesword rising to his feet.  The crop-
headed whore was sitting between them and obviously had been part of 
their counsels.  And what was the woman to them?  Isabel said she was 
the freesword's leman, but Rhiannon thought it was more than that.  
That was one more thing to ask the Fox when she got him back in her 
bed where he belonged.  She drew herself up to her full height and 
stalked toward the trio.

"My Lady," the freesword said courteously and offered her a polite 
bow. 

Rhiannon ignored the older man for a moment and turned to address her 
scribe. "May hap, I did not make myself understood, Fox of Mulder.  
You will compensate my clan for your thieving by tutoring my son and 
warming my bed."  She caught him firmly by the chin and stared into 
wide hazel eyes. "Unless you wish to return to your cell in the 
dungeon and face clan justice, you would do well to keep that in 
mind."  She felt his slight shiver as she pulled him to his feet by 
the chain around his neck.

Even in the light of the dim hall, she could see his face turning red 
with embarrassment. Ignoring his unease, she turned to the couple at 
the table and continued with a frown, "As for you, freesword, you 
have not sworn loyalty to me yet, nor proven worthy of my 
hospitality.  But I will tell you and your whore this, leave the 
druids alone.  We are a Christian household here, and I will na' 
tolerate heathens and devil worshipers.  Now, I suggest you bed 
down.  You will have to prove yersel' in the tilt yard tomorrow or 
you will be gone." 

Skinner and his leman said not a word. She tugged on the short chain 
hanging down from the slave's collar, she spun on her heel and walked 
back toward the main stone staircase.  Fox stumbled after her, nearly 
tripping in the darkness.  There was a sharp crack of a hand swatting 
something and a muffled grunt as darkness fell in the hall.


In My Lady's Solar

Fox's chain rattled as the Lady Rhiannon stormed down the hall, her 
leather slippers echoing on the bare stone floor of the upper hall. 
He attempted to pause before Lord Bruce's chamber door, but Rhiannon 
gave a quick jerk on the chain to disabuse him of that notion.  The 
heavy wooden door to her solar squeaked again as she yanked it open 
and then slammed it shut behind them.  

Moonlight flooded the large empty room. There were rugs and 
tapestries for warmth and soon there would be heat enough without 
building a fire, she thought. Fox stood motionless in front of her. 
She could feel the tension rolling off him. Rhiannon noted that the 
main focus of her scribe's attention seemed to be the heavily 
canopied and draped bed, as large any in the kingdom, a betrothal 
gift from her late husband. It had been a sign of things to be in her 
marriage.  

The chain rattled as she dropped it and she left him standing 
quietly. She knelt by the dying fire to light a taper, then lit the 
large candles in the floor stand.

"Well, Foxling?" she purred as she stood by a small chair in front of 
the candle stand.  Rhiannon saw him peering at her as he tried to 
read her expression, but she knew her face was hidden in shadow.

"Uh . . .Yes, ma'am? . . . My Lady?" he stuttered as if his mouth was 
dry.  She saw him rubbing his bottom where she'd slapped it going up 
the stairs. A shiver of delight passed through her. He was so tall 
and lean. She slowly looked him up and down. Her eyes lingering on 
his long limbs. Her hands clenching with the desire to feel his firm 
flesh under her fingertips. 

"You will disrobe and approach me," she gave the firm order in a 
husky voice.  She saw his throat move as he tried to swallow.  "Do 
not keep me waiting, Scribe.  You have already earned one punishment 
tonight."

His fingers were shaking slightly she noted, as he unfastened the 
clasp on his kilt. It fell to the floor with a rustle of woolens. He 
grabbed the edge of his undershift and pulled it slowly over his 
head. His bare chest gleamed at her in the firelight as she watched 
him walk toward her with lowered eyes.  

"Stand here," she commanded with an upraised hand. He stopped 
obediently in front of her.

By the blessed St. Mary Magdalene, he was a beautiful man, she 
thought as she gazed at him.  A few pale scars on his chest and one 
small round mark on his shoulder.  An arrow that missed his heart, 
she wondered as she reached out to run her finger over it. His skin 
was warm and smooth to the touch and she grinned as she saw his 
nipples peak. Ah, my scribe is sensitive too.  

She continued with her slow exploration, feeling his hard body under 
her hands. She had never felt such soft skin on a man before. It was 
as satiny as a child's. The iron of his muscles underneath telling 
her that this was no child, but a man full grown. Moving around 
behind him, she rubbed her hands slowly down his back and felt him 
shiver. Her sex became very wet to feel it. She stood back and looked 
at his figure from behind. Long legs like one of my greyhounds, she 
thought.  Ah by our lady, he has as fine a butt as could be wished.  
And soon several more red marks would join the one that she'd given 
him earlier on the stairs, she decided.  Not harsh punishment like 
the rascal deserved, but a hand spanking to arouse his blood and 
hers.  Still standing behind him, she slid her hand carefully around 
his hip and fingered his rock hard erection.  He was blessed in that 
area too she noted. It was hot and heavy in her hand. A groan sounded 
from deep in his chest and he thrust slightly into her hand. She 
gripped his cock firmly.

"Ah, this pleases you?" she whispered as she pulled him against her.  
Her silken nightshirt rustled as he bucked and twisted in reaction to 
her tight grip. His weight felt wonderful against her heavy breasts. 
She continued stroking his hard cock until he finally nodded in 
response.  

"Uh. . .Yes, Lady. . ." came the faint uncertain murmur.

Like the finest Damascus steel encased in velvet, she thought as she 
caressed him. I have just the sheath for your sword, Sir Scribe.  His 
whimpers warned her that he was close and she rubbed his balls now 
tight against his body.  

"Not yet, Foxling," she whispered. She felt him loosen slightly and 
the crisis passed.

She pressed her face into his neck. His smell so much more pleasant 
than the men she had been with. Like her husband, Fox seemed to 
believe in washing. The only other man who she had noticed going 
against superstitions and bathing regularly was Jamie. 

She quickly banished thoughts of her captain and the many times she 
had watched him down at the lake. Tonight, she would focus only on 
her new pet and not on someone she couldn't have. She licked the back 
of her scribe's neck and felt his body shuddered at her 
ministrations. A fine treat for a lady. Salty and as tasty as any 
pasty served at high table, she thought. Hmm, NOW, I think, she 
decided as she bit down hard on his shoulder. She heard him gasp and 
he tried to break free of her hold.  She smiled as she finally opened 
her mouth and gently kissed the injury. 

"You will understand and obey me, Foxling," she said firmly as she 
finally walked around to face him.  He stood staring warily at her as 
he rubbed his neck.  She smiled as she slid her hands around his neck 
and pulled him down to kiss.  It was a long kiss of claiming. His 
lips were soft and full over hers and she pressed her breasts hard 
against his chest. Smiling into his mouth when his hands clutched at 
her desperately. The motion telling her that he was hers.

"Undress me. Now," she ordered hoarsely when she finally stood back.  
She saw him gulp nervously and reach cautious hands toward her silken 
nightdress.  He slid it carefully over her head and then bit his lips 
while he debated what to do with the garment.

Rhiannon smiled as she took it gently from his hand and dropped the 
robe on the floor. She captured his wrist and felt his pulse pounding 
as she led him to the chair. "Come here," she said as she seated 
herself like queen giving audience. She noted his cautious stance as 
she played with his fingers.

"You have been remarkably disobedient for a new bond slave.  I think 
some correction may help teach you the error of your ways," she said 
in a mock growl. 

As he started to comment, she reached up and brushed her fingers 
across his generous mouth.  "Shh, Foxling.  Not a word from ye." 

He didn't resist as she pulled his stiff body down over her lap. Her 
fingers tightened their hold on his wrist and pinned it to the small 
of his back. She rubbed her hand down his spine lightly and 
delicately scratched a nail across his firm butt cheeks. The taps 
began lightly, interspersed with gentle strokes and the occasional 
kiss or lick. They gradually grew in intensity as his skin turned a 
glowing pink. There was a pulsing between her legs while she watched 
his beautiful ass wiggle after each firm slap. Squeezing her legs 
tightly together, she felt the wetness coating her thighs. She had 
almost forgotten how exciting this could be. It was time to increase 
the intensity. Fox was ready and so was she.  Suddenly, the lady 
struck and struck hard.

"Oww," came the hoarse shout from near the floor.  The man starting 
twisting and squirming, trying to get up. 

"Be still, slave!" She ground out and felt him relax back onto her 
knees. He wiggled his hand loose, and dropped it to the floor to 
brace himself.  She gave him one hard slap, and then another. That 
started him squirming and a slight moan came from between his 
clenched lips. 

His ass was already a dark shade of pink in places, but now she could 
see she'd missed quite a few spots. She lifted her hand and brought 
it down as hard as she could. "Oooww!" exclaimed Fox with a deep 
expiration of breath. "Damnit.  That hurts!" 

"It's supposed to hurt. Now be quiet, naughty boy!" 

Fox began to moan as she slapped him hard again and again. He writhed 
and groaned, arching his back and thrusting his bottom upward. She 
could feel his cock, swollen and hard, leaking onto her thigh. Her 
breathing was as harsh as his was. She could feel his excitement 
matching her own.  

"Oh, please!" he finally gasped. 

"When I summon you to my bed, Foxling, you will join me," Rhiannon 
emphasized with another hard swat. The crack of an open palm striking 
flesh was loud in the quiet room.  "Not hide below stairs with your 
friends." 

Her handprints were starting to show red against the pink skin. She 
continued for a few moments more and then slowly decreased the 
intensity and began softly stroking the trembling man again. His body 
had lost its previous rigidity. He lay gasping and limp over her 
legs.  

"Ah, now.  What's that I feel?" she whispered as she slipped her hand 
down between his legs.  He was so aroused. Hard and hot and leaking.  
His balls were heavy and tight in her hand as she rolled them back 
and forth.  "Stand up and face me now."

"I heard you talking with the freesword about returning to home, to 
the place called Dee Cee.  If you run away from me before your debt 
is paid, I will take a whip to this fine ass, as well as brand you 
with my mark.  You are mine, Foxling, until I set you free. Remember 
that." The voice was accustomed to ordering the affairs of a large 
and important clan.  There was no doubt or weakness about the 
decision.

Fox stumbled to his feet and looked at her warily as she pulled him 
between her open legs.  "I can reward you too, scribe," she murmured 
against his hard stomach. Her excitement was beginning to overpower 
her. The licking and kissing began as slowly as the spanking had. A 
soft tongue teasing his navel, then slipping down further.  A cool 
breath blown against his hard cock.  Then with a glance up at him 
through long lashes, Rhiannon kissed the wet head and sucked all of 
him into her mouth. She felt his hand brush her hair hesitantly as if 
unsure that she would allow his touch. The lady laughed to herself in 
delight and then remembered something her late husband adored.  She 
began humming deeply in her throat, a suitably pious "Nom Nobis," of 
course.  The scribe whimpered in response as she grabbed his tender 
butt and began kneading it.  All restraint forgotten, he began 
thrusting hard into her mouth.

"Close.. Oh God.. I'm ... I'm. . ." came the hoarse shout.

Then with one last hard push, she felt his man's wetness spurt into 
her mouth. She lazily licked and kissed him until the last tremor 
ended.  He looked down at her in awe as she slowly rose to her feet 
from the chair.  They stared at each other for a moment and then the 
lady deliberately ran her tongue over her swollen lips.

"But you didn't. . . I haven't done anything. ." he started again.  

"Shh, Foxling. . . Didn't anyone ever just pleasure you for the joy 
of it, Sir Scribe?" she asked with a smile.

He stared at her blankly.  

"Come, then.  The night is young still.  And my bed is much softer on 
a tender bottom."

End of Part 5