A HIGHLAND TALE 7/?
BY LEELEE AND SEEKERONE
RATING: NC-17 at least. 
CATEGORY: Sc/Sk, Mulder/O, and then who knows?
COMMENTS:  Thanks to Sylvie for patient meticulous beta. Due to her 
thoroughness, she now gets to proof the headers as well.
Also the medieval term "leman" originally meant "lover" 
or "sweetheart," not "whore."  It was used exclusively for females 
(at least in what I've read). "Longshanks" refers to someone with 
extremely long legs. Edward I of England was sometimes called Edwards 
Longshanks, although probably not to his face  Life is a continuing 
search for knowledge.
SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully go on a little unauthorized side trip.
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 occasionally, 
such as Robert the Bruce and Edward II. 
ARCHIVE: We'd love it.  As long as you take the whole thing and let 
us know so we can come visit.
WARNING: While this chapter is more plot than smut, the whole series 
is definitely NC-17+. Steamy sex, spanking and so on. 
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
And, until we get our long delayed web site up, if you'd like to have 
new chapters sent right to you, send an e-mail to: slswa-
subscribe@yahoogroups.com and subscribe to our broadcast list.

Chapter 7

"Where the hell is yer crop-headed whore?"  Rhiannon was proud that 
her voice wasn't echoing off the battlements above her head.  Even 
so, the noise in the small armory instantly went still, except for 
the crackling fire in the forge and the whir of the grindstone.  The 
three men at arms dropped their eyes and avoided her glare.

Her voice might not be shouting, but the lady of the clan was clearly 
furious.
Her hands were clenched into tight fists and her glare was as 
dangerous as any weapon in the armory.  A frustrated Rhiannon had 
planned a little afternoon interlude in her chambers, but it seemed 
her pet Fox was nowhere to be found. As a result, she was damn angry 
and not in the mood to be crossed.

Images from the night before floated up in her memory. Her solar was 
dark and chill in the late autumn night, but her huge canopy bed was 
as warm and soft as her lover's eyes.  The scribe was still bashful 
about being called to her bedroom, acting like a virgin on their 
wedding night.  He had hesitated as if he were uncertain about 
pleasing her and Rhiannon thought that his other lovers had been 
fools.  This man needed to be explored slowly, seduced and petted 
like a nervous courser. Her horse had calmed down with gentle 
handling, and so would this man.

And she was right.  The scribe was an exciting lover, and when she 
had teased him to a fevered heat, he was as rough and tumble as any 
solider.  Rhiannon grinned to herself as she remembered the night 
before - his groans as she licked his nipples.  The way he swore when 
she pinched just below the sensitive head to stop him from coming. 
The shifting weight of his balls as she rubbed the large sac.  The 
salty taste of his sweat and come. And finally, the glorious sight of 
him, stretched out under her as she rode his hard cock. The way he 
arched his back to push into her as she milked him. The feel of his 
hands as they hesitantly reached up to caress her breasts.  The 
keening cry he gave when at last, she allowed him to come deep inside 
her.  Then afterwards, she had pulled him close to her and he fell 
asleep with his head on her breasts like a babe.  

The freesword lay down the fine throwing dagger he'd been examining 
and gave her his full attention.  He had frozen for a moment, as if 
gathering his control. He drew himself to his full height and walked 
toward the woman standing in the doorway. 

"Excuse me, my lady?"  Skinner looked at her with a polite question 
in his eyes, but she could see anger there too, even in dim light. 
Hmm, thought Rhiannon.  He's not nearly as controlled about this as 
he would like to appear.  Her long green overdress rustled as she 
moved closer to confront him.  

"Yer leman.  Er, rather, your leman and my scribe. They're na' in the 
castle Gawter Skinner.  Sa. . . Where ar they?" 

Skinner took a deep breath and crossed his arms in front of his 
chest.  "I have not seen either Dana or Fox since early this 
morning," he responded quietly.  But somehow it sounded like the hot 
steel hissing as it was plunged into a vat of water to temper it.  
There was no mention of the fact that Scully had ignored him all 
night and slept by the fire with the other housemaids.  "But she 
belongs to me..."

"Humph," came the response as the lady spun around on her heel.  Fool 
men always thought they owned the woman.  Maybe the red-head had more 
sense and gumption than he thought. 

"By St. Severious' blood, if they've run off to those Druids, . . . " 
Rhiannon left the threat hanging in the air as she stormed out of the 
building and back into the courtyard.  

The bailey had become a whirlpool of activity as the Lady snapped out 
orders and the clan's people scurried to obey.

"Fergus, saddle my courser.  Rauf, have the kennel boy get the 
hounds. The Fox hounds," Rhiannon snapped.   She turned briskly to 
Skinner.  "Kin ye ride well enough to keep up?"

Skinner gave her a jerky nod. His body was rigid and he seemed as 
angry as she was.  Rhiannon noted how his jaw was clenched tightly 
and he glared at her. The stable boy led out a tall gray gelding.  
The freesword yanked the reigns out of the boy's hands in a fury. His 
girl Dana was in for a surprise when he found her. Rhiannon would see 
that they were both made to pay for this foolishness.

"De ye have a dress or shift that the gel has worn?"  The kennel boy 
asked.

Skinner guiltily shook his head he adjusted the stirrup. "She just 
has the one," he replied gruffly as he gathered the reins and 
mounted.   

Rhiannon glowered at his broad back as he swung up into the saddle.  
If that was all he'd given his leman no wonder she'd run away.  
Perhaps she would keep an eye on the girl after they were found. She 
did deserve punishment, but not as harsh a one as Skinner would 
probably mete out.

"Isabel, Fox is a longshanks but there's a pair of old hosen he wore 
in my son's chamber.  Fetch them."  The petite blonde gathered her 
skirts and hurried back into the main part of the stone castle.

A groom led out a big glossy bay that pranced in the afternoon sun.  
Rhiannon paused to stroke the muscular neck for a moment. She 
remembered another nervous male and his response to a gentle touch.  
Then, she gathered the reins as Fergus tossed her up onto the horse's 
broad back.  Skinner gave her a look of amazement as she settled in 
the precarious sidesaddle and brought the anxious horse under control.

"Jamie," Rhiannon called.   "Ye'll keep my castle safe.  They canna 
ha' gone that far.   We'll be back ere dark."

Her Captain of the Guards was leaning negligently against the well in 
the inner ward. He pushed off and strolled toward the hunting party.  
He stopped by the lady's horse and calmly grasped the bridle.   "Nay, 
I'm Captain of your Guards.  I ride with ye. Devil take that 
worthless scribe, anyway."

"I dinna have time. . " she started.

"Then dinna try," came the gruff reply. "Herth, Ogaile, Ihon ye ride 
with us."

The men nodded as they ran to stables.  The baying of hounds suddenly 
added to the confusion as six large spotted dogs joined the group. 
Isabel came hurrying down the steps from the hall and handed the boy 
holding the dogs a pair of smelly pants.  He immediately showed it to 
the hounds who sniffed it eagerly and started their 
traditional "yolt, yolt" in response.

"My Lady, wait," panted the blonde. "I can't find the young Laird.  
The boys say he left this marnin' with the scribe and Dana."

The bay half reared as his rider jerked the reins.  Her son was too 
young, too important to the future of the clan.  Visions of 
accidents, kidnapping by rival clans and a hundred other disasters 
came rushing to mind.  "Are ye sure, gel?" she said softly. Her voice 
was controlled but Isabel knew her lady was suddenly terrified of the 
answer. Rhiannon's face was as white as an altar cloth.  

Isabel dropped her eyes and nodded reluctantly.  

"Search here anyway," came Jamie's calming voice. "Don't worry, my 
lady.  We'll find them. Loose the hounds."
 
"Hi Thrompot. Hi Slicker.  Find.  Go git 'em," the boy encouraged. 
The pack made a circle or two of the keep, then charged toward the 
gatehouse and across the drawbridge. Their tails and ears were flying 
as they scented their prey.  The iron horseshoes clattered on the 
stone paving as the hunting party streamed after them, the pale and 
frightened lady in the lead.

All thought of protecting the whore from her master's wrath was 
forgotten. They had taken her son and both would pay with a beating. 
And if Bruce were harmed in any way, she would hang them both.

The bailey echoed their passing and then fell quiet.  

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The old woman had silently waved them into her one-room hut. She 
didn't seem surprised to see strangers standing at her door. When she 
spied Lord Bruce hiding behind Mulder's back, she had bowed and 
gestured for them to sit on the floor.

The cottage was dark, furnished with only a bed and a table with a 
small bench for furniture.  The smoky peat fire in the fireplace gave 
a little warmth, but no light.  A carcass of a dead rabbit was 
hanging from the rafters, along with drying herbs and fruit.

There was no telling how old the woman was. Her hair was more gray 
than red, and it hung dirty and limp around a face that wrinkled like 
an old road map. The old woman brought Lord Bruce a mug of what 
Scully guessed was ale and sat down on the bed, crossing her bony, 
bare legs in front of her. 

Mulder cleared his throat and finally broke the silence. "We're sorry 
to interrupt your work, but Lord Bruce has told us that you know the 
old religion, the old ways."

The old woman chuckled and gave Mulder an almost toothless smile. "Ye 
thin' I'm one of the old ones, now?" She shook her head and laughed 
harder. "There's none left, boy.  This land has turned its back on 
the ancient ways and has na use for a hag like me."

Mulder shifted nervously on the floor as Scully sighed to herself. 
She couldn't help feeling that they had walked away from the castle, 
and taken the young lord of the clan McKinnon for nothing. Damn 
Mulder and his stupid, impulsive plans.

But then the old woman calmed and looked very closely at both of them 
with eyes filmy with cataracts.  "Me name is Nessa and yea, I am a 
seer, what ye'll call a Druid. All my life, I ha' studied the ways of 
stars and the world around me. And you are the two of the three who 
are on an Echtra. I knew you would come to me for help."

"An Echtra?" Scully asked.

The woman turned to her and smiled. "An adventure, lass. An 
accidental journey, taken by heroes, warriors, and sometimes the 
foolish ones. 'Tis magic, in its purest form. Ye ended up here, and 
now ye come to me, looking for a way back."

Bruce looked nervously up at Mulder. Scully could see her partner's 
excitement, even though she felt this was a little too contrived. 

"So you can help us get back?" Mulder was asking with a hint of hope 
in his voice.

The old woman looked into her fire and was silent for a long 
time. "It is good that there are three of you," she finally said in a 
soft voice. "There is magic in a triad. Powerful threads. The three 
warriors seeking a way home."

Mulder was nodding his head and she could feel the nervous energy 
coming off him in waves. She bit back her retort at Nessa's words. 
Three warriors my ass, she thought. Only Skinner gets to play the 
warrior. Mulder has become the plaything for an oversexed medieval 
woman and she'd been reduced to fucking her boss in the middle of a 
lake. 

Scully shifted on the floor at the thought. She was still sore. It 
had been so long for her that she kept finding herself focusing on 
the mild ache between her legs. Some perverse part of her needing a 
constant reminder that it had been real, not another fantasy figment 
of her overactive libido.

They had to get back home, back to D.C., back to their jobs, their so-
called normal life. She needed to be in a safe stable environment in 
order to think logically about what they had done.  And, god knows 
she had to try to sort out her feelings. Staying here meant constant 
contact with Skinner. And how the hell is she going to keep her hands 
off him tonight? She couldn't spend another night with the 
housemaids, she was supposed to be his mistress.  But just the 
thought of lying pressed against him on their blanket in the rushes, 
was making her too warm. 

She had to shake off the anxiety she was feeling. Mulder and Nessa 
were in deep conversation about an upcoming holiday and how she could 
use it to get them back.

"The festival of Samhain is two days hence," Nessa was saying. "Tis 
the last harvest of the year. Mother Earth will bid a sad farewell to 
the God. We know he will be reborn of the Goddess and the cycle will 
continue in the spring. But now is th' time to reflect on our place 
in nature, time to honor the Ancients who have gone on before us, the 
time of seeing. Yer place is not among us. Setting ye on the path to 
put ye in yer correct place of nature is therefore important."

"Can you do it Nessa?" Mulder finally asked.

The old woman looked at him intensely, then at her and finally down 
at the young lord Bruce.

"Aye, that I can. My magic is strong. But it will have to be only the 
three warriors. Young Lairds should ner be involved. His destiny is 
different. Do you understand, boy?"

Both Mulder and the boy nodded. Scully could see the fear on the 
young boy's face and watched as he moved closer to Mulder and took 
his hand. 

Nessa stood up and looked down at all of them. "Now, leave. I have 
much to do.  Return with the other, two days hence." She turned back 
to the fire, dismissing them. 
 
Bruce was the first one to hear the hounds baying on their walk back. 
He grabbed Mulder's hand and cried out. "Listen.  Mother has come 
after us, Fox!"

Mulder looked at her and she could see a bizarre look of panic on her 
partner's face. Was he that scared of Rhiannon? Of course, taking 
Bruce from the castle wasn't a terribly smart thing to do, but Mulder 
looked almost terrified. 

"I'll tell my mother that we were walking and just got lost. We could 
say that we were studying plants, and didn't know how far we had 
walked."

Mulder crouched down beside the child. "No, Bruce.  I won't be 
responsible for you having to lie to your mother."

Bruce gave Scully a pleading look and she shook her head at him. It 
was Mulder's decision. She watched the boy looking at Mulder and then 
to the horses racing after the hounds at a distance. The kid's back 
seemed to straighten and he jerked his hand out of Mulder's grip.

After looking at Bruce as nothing more than a cute kid, she gained 
instant respect for him with his next words. Giving both her and 
Mulder a glare, the boy stretched up to his full four-foot height and 
announced in a voice that sounded more adorable than imperious.  "I 
am The McKinnon of the Clan McKinnon and you will do as I say.  My 
choice, my lead. And that is my Final Word on it!"

Scully bit back a laugh. Good job kid, she thought. With a mother 
like yours, you're going to need this boldness to be The McKinnon.

Mulder gave her an incredulous look, before nodding to the kid and 
standing up.

The horses and dogs raced toward them in a billow of dust.

End of Chapter 7