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The Highlander Terin, dressed in a leather vest and form-fitting leathers tucked into well-worn boots that had seen better days, stood in the center of the Reflection Chamber. She called up the Mists of Time and Travel. The surrounding mirrors filled with the white, swirling haze. She adjusted the sword strapped to her back as she advanced. The moonstone at her throat glowed with an iridescent light as the Lady strode into a mirror. Once inside, the mists ebbed and flowed around her as she walked. There was no sense of time, so how long she had traveled through the mists before they started to disperse, was unknown. She didn’t even know where the Mists would take her. It was one of the conditions set down to her in exchange for her ability to utilize this method. As the mists cleared, she found herself standing on a shore. There was an inlet of water before her. As she turned, she noted two things; One, there were three men with swords drawn, the latter pointed directly at her person and two, there was a massive castle to her right on the strip of land where she stood. With the body of water behind her back now, three men in front of her with lethal swords pointed at her, she didn’t think she had much choice. She could either fight and most assuredly they would lose their lives and she could possibly die, but then would be made again. For them, there wasn’t that choice. She slowly raised her hands in front of her chest. One of the men nodded his head toward the castle and she started to walk that way, quite aware that the men had closed rank behind her. One said something. She stopped. The tongue she recognized as Gaelic. As she felt a hand reach for her sword, she pivoted sharply, reaching up and withdrawing her sword. She pointed it all three of them and spoke in their tongue. “Touch my weapon and you will die. I will go where you wish me to, but I will not surrender my weapon.” She watched as they looked from one to the other. The first man who had spoken quickly stepped forward, lunging with his weapon. She sharply parlayed the thrust and fended off the other two. She backed up a step and spoke again. “I mean no harm, but I repeat, do not attempt to disarm me or you will die.” She knew it went against their grain as men of the Highlands, to take such from a woman, but evidence showed she was skilled. The moment that passed between all four was long and steadfast. Eventually the men withdrew their weapons and again, the one who had spoken first nodded toward the castle. Terin gave them all a long fixed stare before re-sheathing her sword and turning to walk toward the castle. The men followed behind, albeit, at a distance, not enough to allow escape, but out of her immediate reach. They crossed the bridge that separated the Castle from the mainland, she in front, the three men behind. They passed the Bastion and the well, entering from the southwestern main gate. They crossed the courtyard. People stopped to watch the strange sight, an obviously foreign woman, dressed as she was, and the three men behind her. Terin’s chin lifted slightly as she walked, eyes looking straight ahead. As the four entered the Great Hall, all activity stopped and the room hushed. She stood in the middle of the room. A not so gentle nudge from behind and she moved forward to the dais. Her eyes made contact with a rugged looking man, not huge nor was he thin. He was quite muscled, his hair black as night and his eyes appeared the same way. He sat in his chair, a cup held in one hand, his eyes watching her approach. She stopped before the table, directly in front of him. Words were spoken over her shoulder. She retained her silence. His eyes turned form her to somewhere over her shoulder as he spoke with the men behind her. Then he stood, setting the cup on the table with deliberate ease. “I am Cináed Cath, Laird of Eilean Donan.” He looked directly at her. “I am Lady Terin, Mistress of a land far from here.” “You speak Gaelic well, Lady.” She inclined her head in acknowledgement. “I do many things well, Cináed Cath.” His eyebrow rose slightly, but he merely offered her a chair to his left at the table. She walked around the dais and sat. Food and drink were brought to her and she partook. No one spoke to her except the laird and that was rarely. It did not bother her, she preferred to eat and observe. As the hour grew later and later, more and more of those in the Great Hall departed until there were but the three who had found her, the laird and she herself. She pushed her plate aside, reaching for her cup and the pitcher set close by. “Allow me,” his voice was smoky and gritty. Rough. She withdrew her hand and sat back as he poured more liquid into her cup. He spoke to the three who then departed, albeit reluctantly. He watched them go. She reached for her cup and drank deeply, watching him over the rim. He turned slightly in his own chair to meet her eyes over the rim of her cup. The look held, neither giving quarter. He reached out and took the cup from her hand, placing it gently on the table before them. “Do you know what my name means, Lady?” She inclined her head. “It means, roughly, Warrior born of Fire.” “I have one good conscience and thirteen bad ones. Which should I have with you?” Her lips turned up in a smile as she gazed at him. Leaning toward him, she set her lips to his. “All thirteen of the bad ones, I hope.” His hand shot out, wrapping her thick braid around it and tugging backwards as he deepened the kiss. “Witch,“ he muttered as his lips left hers and sought the long column of her neck. “No witch, Cináed Cath, merely a woman of Ice and Fire.” His teeth nipped her tender skin. “Then I shall melt the Ice and stoke the Fire.” His words were low in her ear. A shiver of delight and anticipation rolled down her spine. The fingers of his free hand worked the laces at the front of her vest, merely loosening them. Tilting her head back even further by tugging on her captive braid, he set his mouth to her upper breasts. When he lifted his head, his eyes sought hers. His were as deep as the darkest night she had ever known, hers had darkened to the deepest hues of brown to be found. He lifted her from her chair and carried her up winding stairs to the ramparts of the castle before setting her down. His fingers reached for the buckle that held her sword in place. She stood still as he disarmed her and leaned her sword against the stone wall. Her hands removed his vest, letting it fall. His fingers pulled the laces of her vest free before pulling the vest apart, releasing her breasts. Her fingers worked the buttons on his shirt. When she had them free, she slid her hands across his chest, savoring the feel of hard, toned flesh. His palms cupped her breasts, one in each hand, squeezing them, rolling the nipples between his fingers. Her chest arched toward him. His head lowered as his mouth took first one then the other nipple between his teeth, grazing them, then laving them with the flat side of his tongue. His hands went to her waist, lifting her, setting her on the wall. She grabbed the stone for support as he lifted his head and set about removing her boots. Reaching for her again, he worked to divest her of her leathers. They fell away like everything else. He stood between her spread thighs, his mouth claiming hers again. Her fingers worked to free him of his trousers. No sooner had his hardness felt the exposure, his hands latched onto her hips pulling her forward as he sunk himself into her waiting softness. His arms wound around her back, pulling her securely toward him and holding her firmly against him as he thrust deeply into her. Her fingers gripped his well-muscled forearms as he pounded into her flesh. Leaning over her body, his mouth left hers, and took up first one breast then the other. Their pace was strong, hard and altered between slow and expeditious. He sought to drive himself as deeply as he could within her body and she sought, just as equally, to take him so. When he felt her thighs squeeze against his sides, her inner muscles rippling along his length, he allowed himself to abandon all sense of control and drove fiercely into her, seeking his own release. Their bodies didn’t want to stop, although movement slowed to almost non-existent, each of them savoring the last of the tension, the need. Each small undulation of her hips brought an answering thrust from his. He growled against her shoulder, she nipped his. When all motion seemed to have finally paused, he lifted his head and looked at her. Lifting her up, her legs automatically going around his waist, he carried her back down the stairs. She didn’t know where they went until he tumbled them both onto a bed. One of his arms snagged around her waist, pulling her body close to his. He adjusted them both until she lay before him, curled into his body. Together they slept. In the twilight hours before the rising of the new day’s sun, she rose, not in the least concerned about her nakedness as she went to retrieve her clothing and weapon. Dressing herself and strapping on her sword once more, she left the castle, moving silently through the courtyard, past the bastion and the well and over the bridge that would take her back to the shore where she had entered this place. There she stood, looking out over the softly lapping water, the wind blowing through her now flowing hair. She looked around her at rolling hills. Touching her moonstone, the mists rolled across the water, swirling about her feet before encasing her in it. When it retreated, the land looked as if no one had stood there. |
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Lady Terin's Chambers |