Between The Sheets (A Naughty Box Production Book 1)

by Carmichael, Kim;

  My name is Beth, at least while I am here. The part of me that is Elspeth of Furnes watches in wonder and confusion as I put the letters on paper. While I have none of her magic, here, she sees this as witchcraft far beyond her ken.

  Sometimes, I think we are both quite mad. I can tell no one here about Elspeth, while I live. This life would be wasted in endless psychoanalysis, hidden away in an asylum, where I could not disgrace the family name. There must be a purpose for my living.

  Elspeth exists under the constant threat of death by fire. If she were to reveal any of her knowledge of this world, her guilt would be confirmed, instantly. When I am her, I remember my “visions” of this life, too, and they intrigue and frighten me. There too, I have yet to learn my purpose, but we can both sense it looming.

  Mother is knocking at my door. She wants me to come sailing with the family.

  May 1, 1936

  Sailing was dreary, as most things seem to be lately. Father had several of his cronies along, and their sons, of course. He seems determined to foist me off on one of the confirmed bachelors amongst them. Half of them bore me to death, and the others are either too audacious or too fawning. My mother says I must be gracious to them all. I believe she is becoming desperate for me to marry.

  Perhaps I should be grateful that our money compensates what I lack in beauty. My hair is a plain medium brown, long and curly, my face more angular than delicate, my nose perhaps too Roman, and my lips a touch too thin. More lithe than voluptuous, I am not a chunk of lead, but neither am I a baby-vamp like Greta Garbo, or Doris Duke. Ah, I sound grungy. I simply chafe at Mother branding me an old maid at twenty-four. Why should I settle for a man who bears with my eccentricities, rather than admiring me for them?

  There was one intriguing man aboard the yacht, today. Hugh Mackenzie is a real Joe Brooks, tall, dark, and slim. With his hair slicked back and his shirt undone, he is awfully keen. His knowledge of literature, both classical and modern, gave us something to talk about. In short order, I found myself considering him as a potential suitor.

  Father nearly had an apoplexy. Hugh is the son of one of the new staff, and a junior gardener for Rudderfirth. Therefore, of course, any romantic notions are forbidden. How dreary. Mr. Mackenzie is the first man in ages to show any appreciation for me as a woman. Father claims he is a gold-digger, but Hugh had no idea who I was until after our conversation. It was my father’s fit that revealed me, and now the poor man has gone into hiding, for fear and shame.

  * * *

  Elspeth had a more eventful and interesting day than I. She always does on this day, for tonight is Beltane, May Eve, both here and there. We don’t celebrate it here, in twentieth century America, but in sixteenth century Scotland, it is crucial to the people, despite the attempts of the church to stamp it out.

  A small delegation of local crofters arrived, well before dawn, with gifts of thanksgiving and a formal invitation to the evening’s festivities. Elspeth was expecting them. She had a meal prepared and the men were grateful for it.

  I cannot tell you what was spoken, in the dialect of Elspeth and the crofters. It would be too difficult to write it as is was uttered, and though I don’t speak the language, I somehow understand it, as though it were spoken in English.

  * * *

  One crofter, a ruddy man with deep auburn hair and rag-tag beard, approached her with diffidence. “Did you climb Àrd-na-Said in the morn?” he asked.

  “No.” I, (Elspeth), shook my head. “I go tomorrow while the Christians are greeting their new minister. It is always May Day, when there are fewer about to see me at my work. The King has replaced Pastor MacLennan with one less sympathetic to pagans. I must be even more discreet until I learn his manner.”

  “Ach!” the man nodded. “Fare you well then, lassie. May you continue to keep the Black Death at bay. Have you the sacrifice?”

  “The vessel is prepared, and the sacrifice will come. Never fear, the Goddess always provides.”

  “Would you have us ask for one who is willing?” There was fear in his eyes; there were few remaining who hadn’t offered themselves. He was one of them.

  “No. He will come.” I reassured them all.

  While the others departed, this spokesman held back, and I could sense he had another question.

  “Will you marry soon, lass?” he shuffled his feet, obviously uncomfortable asking. “A good man could give you protection and hide your purpose, if the new pastor be dangerous. We can’t allow you to come to harm.”

  “Are you offering, Arailt?” I laughed as his face turned a deeper red than his beard. Poor Arailt was barely seventeen, but already much of a man. I’d felt his eye upon me before this, but he was as frightened of me as intrigued. “Nay, lad, I have yet to find the man who will not fear me, more than love me. Now away with you, and let me get to my duty.”

  He bowed with some reverence, and retreated toward the rising sun.

  * * *

  The daylight was spent in preparation for Beltane, and for the more vital and dangerous work of the next day. When golden flowers bedecked the homes and tools of the villagers, the eggs, butter, oats and milk brought to the hilltop for making the bannock. The piles of dried wood were already in place, in two rows of three. When dusk came, they would be lit, fresh and with nothing more than two sticks of wood, and an invocation from me. This being the night of the new moon, it would be a grave sign if the fires were difficult to kindle.

  * * *

  I know it sounds strange when I speak of myself as Elspeth. It is still strange to me, even after existing as both of us all of my life. When I am Elspeth, it feels like Elizabeth is just a voice in my head, a second pair of eyes observing me as I go about my daily tasks, a second, and sometimes conflicting, emotional response. When I am Elizabeth, Elspeth is the same. I can feel her emotions, even as a write this and I know she can hear my thoughts, as I hear hers. It is impossible to explain, really.

  I digress.

  * * *

  The Beltane fires were lit, without issue, and I stood in the dangerous corridor between them. Twice I was nearly trampled by frightened herds, as the crofter’s drove them between the two rows of fire to receive the ritual blessing. Murmuring my plea for benediction, I attempted to stand my ground and lay hands on each animal.

  The ritual was deemed a rousing success, for none of the creatures broke through the fires, and none of the crofters were injured. Satisfied of the blessings of the Gods, the bannock was cooked and shared, and the people came to me for torches with which to relight their extinguished hearths. Each torch was set aflame in one of the Beltane fires, a ceremonial renewal. A few who feared hard times to come, or who had suffered them the last year, begged me to light their hearth and bless their homes. I did so, readily, taking care to set wards against sickness and blight on behalf of Elphane.

  When all had returned to the hill, and after the bannock was shared and the cider drunk, I took my leave to rest. I would be up again, I knew, well before the sun rose. Besides, I had no desire to participate in the drinking, dancing or lovemaking to come. I am a maiden still, and so I preferred to remain, for now.

  My hearth relit I crept onto my pallet and fell into sleep, gratified by my day’s work and eager for the morning…

  * * *

  …and I woke here, again, as Beth. It looks as though we will have lovely weather in the Hamptons today. I have finished breakfast in my rooms. Perhaps, I shall take a stroll around the gardens. Mr. Mackenzie may be about. Father can forbid me a romance, but not the simple pleasure of watching a he-man at work, and dreaming a little daydream or two.

  May 2, 1936

  Elspeth has done something scandalous! I refuse to believe that we are one and the same person, for I would never do anything so brazen. But…I cannot deny that it still feels as though it was I, in fact, who did the deed. My hands shake at the very thought of writing a description of it, though I will try. The implications are beyond my ability to comprehend.


  * * *

  In the middle of the moonless night, I, (Elspeth), woke to the call of the Goddess. The call is not a sound but a sensation, a compulsion. I woke feeling rested and alert, prepared for the task ahead, if uncommonly anxious about it. It took no more than a few minutes to break my fast, and gather my traveling pack.

  The mule I had inherited from my mentor was eager to take to the road. For most of the year I must cajole, bribe or beat him for cooperation, but never on May Day. We traveled to what was once Treverlen, and I secured the beast to a tree in a small clearing of the wood around the nearby Loch. It was a short, but difficult hike to the shore of the South-Western inlet, with no moonlight. I had made this journey fifteen times before, though, and it was less arduous than I remembered. Finding a place to await the sacrifice, I unrolled my blankets and lay down to sleep until the sacrifice came...

  When I woke again, the sky was changing from coal black to iron grey, and the sacrifice had not yet come. For the first time, I feared failure. Each year since Keita, my mentor, died, the Goddess had sent the sacrifice to me at this place, under the moonlight; each year but this.

  * * *

  The man would come to the Loch, to the inlet where I wait, drawn by the call of the Goddess. He would walk into the river, swim across to me, and offer himself to the service of Elphane. Each year, I would perform the ritual that bound that man to the service of the Goddess; his simple oath, and my incantation. A part of his spirit would be absorbed by a wooden doll, the vessel, which I carved each winter for this purpose. Once I gifted the doll to Elphane, he is committed to Her forever. It is not a blood sacrifice, as the Christians would have their flocks believe, but a willing, living spirit; a new one every Beltane.

  The men who make the sacrifice prosper ever after. They are content in this life, and in the next they join the immortal Wild Hunt. In a way, they become minor Gods, spending eternity in hunting and revelry like the richest of Lords.

  This year, something felt wrong, as though I were improperly prepared. Perhaps I had displeased the Goddess. The sacrifice had not yet appeared and if he did not come soon, I could not complete my duty in time. It came to me that perhaps I should cleanse myself, another instinct, a new and different compulsion.

  * * *

  The water felt warm, but the air was cool. I hung my cloak from a branch close to shore, shed my other garments, and slipped into the dark water. The world around me stayed utterly silent, as though every creature held its breath, waiting for something momentous.

  It returned, then, the touch of Elphane; a benediction, an approval. As always, it pulled me into the ethereal realm of the Gods, between life and death, a mortal link between the elements. My body represented the earth, the water below cradled me, and the air above fanned my breasts: all combined to create a fire within. I eased back to float on the surface, barely moving my hands or feet, and stared up into the sky as it continued the gradual brightening. I felt the spirit of the Goddess around and within me. As I closed my eyes, I lost myself in it. I was a conduit to be used, a vessel to be filled.

  I felt something brush gently against my leg—a fish, a stray bit of seaweed—no more than a caress, but it sent fire and light through my nerves, into my core where the embers smolder hottest. I sighed and sank into the sensation, relaxing, allowing the cool water to soothe the burning. I felt another touch on my breast, the caress below a nipple, a dragonfly or a gust of gentle wind. Wet warmth surrounded it as droplets of cool water fell onto the slope of my breast, a generous mouth in tender supplication. I opened my eyes slowly, a dream, I thought, or my imagination, perhaps Somhlth come to ravish me. He suckled gently as I brought my eyes to focus. Not a dream, but a man; not ravishing, but revering. I did not flinch.

  His mouth released me and he murmured against my skin. "A kaelpie to seduce me."

  His eyes were slightly unfocused as though he had been spellbound. The golden brown warmth of them was drawing me in, entrancing me.

  I realized that he was, like me, a vessel, a conduit. His eyes were earth and wood, and warm fur. They were comfort and security, and they burned, oh Gods, they burned through me, into my spirit where they lay it bared. His breath took in my dreams and fantasies, and exhaled passion. My heart began to race as he drew a molten line from my heart to my throat with his lips.

  His muscular arms slid under me to lift me toward him. As he reached my throat, I allowed my head to fall back, exposing it to him. His tongue flicked the hollow at the base of my throat and continued up the side of my neck to my ear, still drawing a line of flame.

  "A kiss?" he whispered in my ear, his voice smoke and embers. I shivered and turn to meet him. His lips were damp from my skin, cool, smooth and softer than silk, but his tongue was quicksilver exploring my mouth. I was utterly lost, but this was the will of the Goddess, and I am hers. I knew I must trust Elphane completely, and surrender to Her compulsion. I was trembling from the chill of the air, but beneath the gooseflesh, I burned…..I hungered.

  He turned toward shore and began to walk, still holding me in his arms. I was weightless. The sun had risen. It made precious gems of the water droplets on his broad shoulders. When he lifted me out of the water, the morning air made me shiver. The man carried me to the grass beneath an ancient maple and lay me gently down. The moss was a bed that welcomed me tenderly. He lowered himself beside me, as naked as I, his dusky skin glistening in the light of the rising moon.

  "Who are you?" I whispered, "What are you?"

  He did not answer. Rather, he lowered his mouth to mine as he drew me closer. I entered his aura and the warmth of it met my own heat. The chill vanished, but not the tingling of my flesh, or the burning in my core. It was then I knew him for certain as a god.

  This was more than a sacrifice of a man to the Goddess. This was a gift, a god to liberate me from maidenhood, and my maidenhead sacrificed to a god. For this, I was the embodiment of Elphane, and Her passion was boundless.

  He released my mouth and I caught his bottom lip in my teeth, goading him to return. I scraped my teeth delicately along his square jaw, rising above him to find his earlobe. I caught it in my teeth but released it with a gasp as he found my breast again, drawing the nipple into his scorching mouth, tracing circles with his tongue. He moaned deep in his chest. A wave of need rolled over my body and I cried out.

  I was helpless against this desire, His and Hers. I tried to hold myself perfectly still, while his work-hardened hands drifted over my skin.

  A voice, Elizabeth’s voice, begged me to run.

  Everywhere he touched, had touched, would touch was pulsing with lightening. I could not stay still. My back arched and a moan escaped my throat. I grasped at him, and he pulled away, just out of reach. He was smiling, a smirk of pleasure and victory. He grabbed my wrist and pushed it gently to the ground, rolling toward me and snaring my other wrist as he did.

  I did not resist, could not, would not, as his mouth found the other breast. He ran his tongue down, across my belly, offering a tender caress to my navel, before continuing down, down, down to the center of my being. His tongue probed and his mouth covered, and I burned…and burned….and burned. Effortlessly, he unveiled the tiny pearl that unraveled me.

  “There will be pain, priestess.” His voice thundered around me, and into me.

  Ahhh! I am the vessel, he is the conduit! I thought.

  I thrashed and cried out. He moaned into my flesh—and I splintered.

  I howled; a she-wolf crying her hunger to the vanishing moon, under the rising sun. He loomed over me, and then thrust into me, and I shattered. No! I was whole, for the first time complete. I arched to meet him, thrust for furious thrust. We became one thrashing creature, striving toward euphoria.

  He cried out as he found release, and the man, no longer able to encompass the God, collapsed atop my helpless body.

  * * *

  The Goddess abandoned me, and the pain came, then. I had known there must be pain, but not how vicious it would b
e. Tears flowed in rivers into my dark hair, watering the moss. I thought I would die, until the man murmured something.

  “For her. All for her.”

  The words washed over me as the pain miraculously receded. He was, after all, the sacrifice, a twofold gift from the Goddess. Even as I comprehended it, a brisk wind came from the loch, and my cloak fell near to my hand. I pulled it toward me, careful not to disturb the man, and draped it over him against the cold spring air. My hands searched for the pocket where I had hidden the wooden doll.

  When I had it, I began my incantation.

  * * *

  Is it wrong that I, (Beth), do not hold Elspeth to fault for this? Perhaps, but remember I lived it with her. As little as I know of lovemaking, this was something else, something consecrated. It is not this that I find so appalling, but what she did next.

  * * *

  I, (Elspeth), had barely replaced the doll in my cloak pocket, when the man stirred again. His eyes were still closed, but his hand brushed against my cheek. I turned my face into his palm, and impulsively bit the heel of his hand. His prick pulsed within me, stirring my desire. Capturing the tip of his index finger, I drew it into my mouth. His cock swelled again, and he murmured something I could not hear.

  I could have wakened him. I could have rolled him off of me and scurried away before he found his senses. I did neither. Rather, I slid my hands over his back in a caress and clenched my queem around his cock, ignoring a twinge of pain. If only this once, I decided, I would have a simple man as a simple woman.

  Elizabeth cried out a second time, in my thoughts. I ignored her voice and clenched again.

  The man moaned and his cock continued to swell within me. I tilted my hips into him, and he pressed down to meet me. One of his hands came up to grip my breast, the other slid under my back. As his senses roused, so did his prick. Within moments he was plunging into me with the passion I needed craved. I ignored the pain and met him thrust for thrust.