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Date Posted: 15:27:54 08/08/10 Sun
Author: Fi
Subject: Love in a rainy climate >>>>
In reply to: Page 's message, "In the immortal words of Nickelback....." on 00:21:59 07/31/10 Sat

OK, I'd been putting off writing the love scene, but the challenge finally got me going :)

It's going to require some background. The year is 1675, the place is Ireland. Richard and Rose have known each other on-and-off since childhood. He's only recently realized that he's in love with her, but he's not in a position to marry her for a variety of reasons (religion, money, social standing). A man called Arthur Kirwan tried to seduce her, and when she resisted him, Arthur started spreading rumors about her. Richard challenged him to a duel and, rather unexpectedly, won.

This scene takes place immediately after the duel.

*****

Rose lead Richard to a wall and he leaned against it before he slid to the ground, his exhaustion more than physical. As she crouched beside him her scarf came undone and strands of hair stuck to her sweaty cheek. He winced when she put her hand on his thigh.

�You'll have to remove your britches,� she said.

He grimaced. � If your reverend could hear you now!�

A faint blush spread across her cheeks, but she managed a grim smile. �He would say there are few actions more virtuous than tending the wounded.�

She stood, and fetched a small blade from the saddlepack. When she knelt beside him again, the stray hair unstuck from her cheek and tickled his arm. He forced himself to look away as the knife pulled apart the stitching, and caught an unexpected view down her bodice. Her breasts rose and fell, skin no doubt as soft as it was white. If he could bury his head there, he could forget any pain.

�Ow!� he yelled as she touched the wound.

�It's a scrape,� she said. �Not pulsing. Thank God.�

She rocked back on her heels. Blood was smeared down her bodice and skirt. Richard's? Arthur's? His belly cramped and he swallowed back a wave of nausea. He had killed a man. Because of him, Arthur Kirwan no longer walked, no longer breathed, no longer could hear a fly buzzing in his ear, or watch the rise and fall of a woman's breasts. Richard had severed Arthur's soul from his body and sent it to whatever place God saw fit.

�I didn't mean it,� he said. �God knows I didn't want to kill him.�

�You knew what could happen. It was him or you.�

�How could I turn him down? What kind of honor would I have?�

The stray hair had fallen in front of her eyes and she blew it back. �You men and your honor!� She blinked quickly, and he noticed her eyes were red. �It's my fault.�

�It's not. I never meant... It's not your fault, Rose.�

But she hadn't asked a question. She had accused herself. She rubbed her trembling hands on her already-bloody skirt.

�Take me away,� she said. �Take me away to the mountains and we'll be outlaws and I'll lie with you in the bog and never worry what any priest or chattering biddy thinks.�

A wave of desire washed over him and he leaned back against the wall. The jagged stone scratched his spine, the ground was mud beneath him, and he squeezed his eyes tight. He had killed a man, and he now wanted to take her here and now with the man's blood not yet cold, and he wondered how thin a thread still held him to the civilized world.

He heard her rip something � her petticoat perhaps � and wrap it around his wound. He opened his eyes to see her look up at the greying sky. �We should get shelter. Can you get on the horse, if I help you?�

He nodded. She bent over so he could put an arm around her shoulder and she could help him stand. She was right, the wound was barely a scratch, and he could walk fine. Yet when he breathed, the pain sucked at his lungs and heart, and he was sick to his soul.

They found the barn just as the rain started to fall, a fine mist that lifted the scent from Rose's hair. When she dismounted she offered him a hand, but he shook his head. He bit his tongue when the sore leg hit the ground, and led the mare into the barn. It still had the smell of the cows which housed here in the winter; but now it was empty except for the spiders and mice.

Rose breathed slowly and he wanted to touch her so much, and yet he barely dared to touch her. She unwrapped the scarf from her head and the rest of her hair fell, dripping and twinkling. When she smiled, her left eye squinted, and he thought that the loveliest squint in the world. The rain grew heavier, splattering the roof, dripping in through several holes. Something furry and quick scuttered up one of the rafters.

Rose took a step closer, shaking, and he took her into his arms. Her head on his chest, her body breathing in and out. A cold raindrop dribbled down his neck. This was not how he had dreamed this moment � and God knows he had dreamed it often enough.

�You should go home,� he said. �Your family will come looking for you.�

�Not for a long time. My father thinks I'm with my sister, and my sister thinks I'm with my father.�

�And if either of them checks with the other?�

�That would require them to talk to each other.�

�Ah.�

�My home is where you are. I told you, I'll be an outlaw in the mountains, if you want me to be.�

�When did you get so reckless?�

�Since you made me so.�

He kissed her forehead and tasted rain. He kissed her eyes and tasted tears. He kissed her lips, and they were soft. She fumbled with the thread on his shirt and he had to help her take it off. She lay her hand against his chest and his heart beat through her.

He took the blanket from the saddlepack and slapped the mare's flank. �Keep your eye on the door, Nessa.� Not that anyone would be here tonight, with the rain falling harder than before. He took out some matches and a candle and lit a flame so he could see better in the dimness of the barn. So he could see her better.

He laid down the blanket and the candle, and took her hands. Perhaps it was possible to forget everything, to let the world shrink to this place and this time and this woman.

�Your leg?� she asked.

�It'll be fine,� he said. �You're shaking.�

�My clothes are wet.�

�We should take them off, then.�

The candlelight glowed on her hair and her skin, and flickered against the nipples that were the colour of her name. Her thighs were round and warm. Everything about her was round and warm.

�An outlaw,� he said. �You'd make a fine highwaywoman.�

�I'd ride alongside you and keep your powder dry. Oh!�

�Did that hurt?�

�Just a little. Can you shift your weight? Yes, that's better. Much better.�

�Ah Rose. My Rose. My heart, my pulse, my life.�

The horse whinnied and the rain clattered harder outside.

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Replies:

[> [> Lovely... --

debikm, 18:52:14 08/08/10 Sun

You have a very lyrical way with phrasing that makes me a bit jealous. I love how you weave the sense into the story, sometimes with unexpected results. I'm (im)patiently waiting for more of this story to come along.

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[> [> Nice! Very, very nice. >>> --

Myxtress, 17:18:37 08/09/10 Mon

There's just something about a man defending a lady's honour that gets to me. Never mind that I'm wondering what the repercussions are going to be, besides what I think they will be, based on what little I know of this story. *G*

But yeah, a very easily pictured scene you captured beautifully.

Hugs

Esther

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