And that thought pulled him back fast to his predicament. Niall and Ruaridh had once nicknamed him The Tripod when they were all daft young lads and showing off. But he'd been lonely here as he grew, for none o' the lassies would have him without a wedding first, and he'd preferred to try it out in a less complicated manner beforehand. One o' the wenches that refused him was honest enough to say it was because none o' the clansmen would take her after. He'd gone into the royal army and found plenty young widows at court were pleased to have him, and that got him by.
But the only lass his heart had ever been set on was Cecily, and he was hoping she might be a wee bit sweet on him too. She'd messed up the entry code of knocks at his cottage door, and he knew it was her, because he was right behind it and heard what Hilde said.
And he'd seen her blushing the whole walk to the waterfall and throughout the cleansing and all the walk to the Vault. Anyone getting that flustered in his close presence was hiding something, and in her case it was unlikely to be a plot for the queen's kidnap. And she'd hardly even been pink about the gills after the Tradition's details were told, but there were plenty other folk around by then.
Even if she would take him, the trouble was that he'd never courted any lass. He'd no clue what to say, or how to go about it, for all the women at the palace came to him only for bedsport and most o' them the queen's friends and kinswomen. Never had he spent time with a lass, just their two selves.
Cicely's fetching him for a cleansing was certainly was far below his idea of a pleasant jaunt. Having her hands on him through a drying cloth was a far bigger ordeal to survive than any castle siege in Scotland. But it was grand being in her company. And watching her busy at her work. And imagining what they would have to talk about were it just their two selves there.
If only they shared some common interest... Maybe he could ask some advice from Niall or Ruaridh, now that he had a long leave of absence from court.
The subject of the fresco in front of him finally registered, and Hector brought himself back to the purpose of his Summons. The painting was of a goddess heavy with child. He would do this for the clan as best he could. Sorcha was a good lass. She deserved the Heir's Cradle filled. Niall and Ruaridh were themselves a lot bigger than most men, and at least if he hurt her there'd be none after him. And it came to him that he'd never known any different with bedsport than providing a service of sorts, just like he'd be doing now.
Verra soon Cecily would see him in his full state, and watch him in this Tradition, then he'd know if there was any hope.
Cecily looked at the painting of the Green Man spewing foliage and her mind flew back to Hector, submerged past his chin in the freezing pool, swimming through the leaves and acorns she'd strewn on the surface and spitting away a few that got in his mouth. It took the waterfall to wash the last of the leaves off his body, and they still found some in his hair when they dried him.
On the second day in Sorcha's bedchamber she'd been told by Oona in the garderobe that he would be Summoned home, and what was to happen in the cleansing and the Vault and the Chamber of the Green Man, and the whole list of the Rules of Engagement. The time had come now, and she was about to see him naked again. And more, she was about to see him fully roused, and coupling with Sorcha, and spending on the floor. She'd save up the images in her heart to comfort her when he went back to court.
She'd had a comforting flash of the Sight when Mirren tried to sabotage the Tradition, so didn't waste thoughts on her now. This was Sorcha's time, and Niall's, and the clan's.
And her heart swelled with knowing that all the Wisewomen's plantings of clarities and laughter and music and knowledge and life lessons had come to fruition in this moment.
The Green Man cometh...
Cecily could feel him close. She directed that thought full left, to where Oona the Grandam Wisewoman beheld the Chief of MacKrannan fresco. And Oona curtsied fully to the image of Coinneach the Chief who created this Chamber of the Green Man many centuries past and had stood side by side with him in the paintings ever since.
Oona turned around on her star.
"The circle is called," she said, very quietly, and watched the faces of the other eight as they did her bidding. Time without talking was a good thing. The circle would know itself and its people better now. She had debated on asking the participants again if they had any questions and decided nay, best leave it now, for it would only take thoughts back to Mirren's outburst. These lads had taken part in plenty Traditions. They'd be fine.
She waited until all was calm and all had done their looking at each other. Hector looked the arch up and down, she noted, and then looked Sorcha up and down as if gauging measurements. Ever the soldier, ever the protector.
"The three men and the Tall Wife of this Tradition, I address ye. Go forth to the arch."
Each walked from their stars the several paces needed, bringing Sorcha to one side of the arch and the three men to the other.
"Chieftain, I address ye. Bring out yer sgian-dubh and cut yer Tall Wife."
He fished under his belt and cut Sorcha's hand with the knife, making only the wee nick on the palm required to draw blood.
"Cut yer brother and yer cousin, and then yerself."
When all palms were cut, the Grandam Wisewoman stepped forward and gathered all four hands under the arch, matching each palm with the three others until all their blood was mingled. She moved the four hands into an interlinked circle, each fist grasping the wrist of the next.
"I swear by the MacKrannan bloodline that I do willingly honor…"
The four repeated the words of the oath, each swearing to honor the ancestors, the Chief, the chieftain and the heirs yet to be born by taking part in this Fertility Tradition within the Chamber of the Green Man.
From Oona's sleeve appeared a white cloth with which she cleaned the blood away from hands and knife.
"Ye are all clear on the Rules of Engagement? And that none must speak again until the remedy is complete?"
As each said Aye, she motioned them back to their stars and returned to her own.
The Wisewomen at Sorcha's sides began humming the bee's song.
"Chieftain, I address ye. Lift up yer star and bring what ye find to the arch. The blessings and powers o' the Green Man be wi' ye this night."
Puzzled, Niall stepped to the side and pulled the carving loose. In the hollow underneath he found a little crockpot and lifted its lid away. Honey. And warm at that.
"Tall Wife, I address ye. Leave yer robe on the Venus Star and go to yer husband. Begin the Remedy for Wives Too Tall by putting yer hands on the arch when ye are ready. The blessings and powers o' the Green Man be wi' ye this night."
The magic of the chamber gave Sorcha no care for modesty. She stepped off the star and pulled the robe over her head, her nipples aching afresh with the friction of the passing fabric and her flaxen hair flying down her back to tease the cheeks already hot from the fire.
Niall had his shirt off before Sorcha's robe hit the floor. And as he watched this goddess slowly come to him, he unbuckled the belt to loose his great-kilt and lobbed the bundle of garments over to his own star.
One more step would bring them together, all clothing and restraint left in the past.
Sorcha was too eager for the Tradition to accept the embrace he offered. Her outstretched arms were for the arch, not her husband. Her hands met its sides, just less than her full armspan, and she took irrevocable hold. Moving her grip upwards through the leaves to assess the comfort of the curve, she saw the appeal of her situation in Niall's eyes.
The bees' song grew louder as Niall reached for the crockpot of honey.
He hadna been sure… but now he knew exactly what the supply was intended for.
His thumb lightly smeared her lips, and his mouth followed to slowly lick the runny nectar off. Sorcha gasped at the touch of his tongue, and strained for his kiss, but he was gone, only for both his thumbs to return with honey to smear a line along her chin. T
his time his mouth latched on and she turned her head to encourage his gathering up the nectar. His mouth did not leave her as he smeared more honey on her ear and licked it away, his hot breath sending a tremor through her. Then he fed her the honey, and she sucked his fingers clean. He gave her the lightest of kisses and reached again to the pot.
Forbidden to speak, Sorcha could not tell him the places she craved the honey, knowing now that his wicked mouth would follow. She thrust her breasts at him urgently, but his thumbs instead made lines from her grasping fingers along the insides of her arms. She needed more on her lips, and his full long kisses, yet he reached round to smear the honey on her nether cheeks. Why was he teasing her so? Could he not see how afire this was making her, how she ached all the more for him to be inside her?
Niall knew fine the state his wife was in, for he'd had her from virgin and discovered every one of her sensitive places and just how much she could stand. For many moons they had played like this, once even with a pile of wild strawberries he'd put in some interesting hollows, until her desperation for a bairn had changed their bedplay. Always she wanted him inside her right away and emptying his ballocks as quick as she could make it happen, and then reviving him for more. More often than not he'd been sent behind her for his first Spend, for that was how bairns were easiest gotten.
He'd missed this. The stoking up of the passion until it became unbearable, until all sense of place and time was gone. Sorcha needed this reminding of how it could be again.
She could no' dominate this coupling wi' her interrupting pleas for just the right conceiving angle, and the putting aside of her own joy in the need for him to Spend. His cock throbbed hard, even without her eager rousing. This time he'd be the one deciding who was ready. One position. One bliss for her. One Spend for him. And he'd be in charge of it all.
He felt her tremble as he licked and nuzzled at her nether cheeks, and he took his sweet time about it before smearing the honey in far too wide a circle round her breast than she'd like. And he licked and sucked and watched the muscles of her belly contract in her silent scream, then he dipped in the pot to draw another circle inside the last. He teased her into thinking her nipple would be next, and instead wiped honey to the side of her mound and went down on one knee to suck it away. And while he was there his fingers stole up to her other breast, and traced circles around it without touching its peak.
Niall could see her hands fighting the constraint of holding the arch now, and he still kept bringing the nectar to every part of her body… except the bits that craved it the most.
The pot was empty, and she was nearly there. Her head was back, her eyes closed, and her lovely hair swinging behind her as she flew. She was too close to coming for him to be touching her wee bud anyway.
There came a giddiness in his head that bade him think he'd eaten overly much of the honey. And in the corner of his vision, past two of the Wisewomen, the painting of the Green Man seemed to glow brighter in the light of the beeswax candle…
Deep inside his mind grew a knowing that this should be a primal coupling, a lesson for Sorcha and himself in recalling their earthly roots as they rose to fly among the stars and bring their son into creation. She moved her feet wider apart, the only way she had to go begging her need, and he lifted her legs one after another into the crooks of his arms. He used his cock to torment her wetness as she dangled helplessly from the arch, lulling her to and fro until he felt her relax the little way that told him the time was now.
And he plunged fast into her, right to the limit, feeling his loaded ballocks swing against her. Immediately he plunged again and kept thrusting up and up. And when a moan escaped her, he hardened even more and his rhythm grew faster. He denied her legs wanting to wrap themselves round his back, and instead opened her further in his grasp. This was a raw mating and the dance had already been done. A woman had no power here except in clenching the seed from his offered phallus, and he thrust into her even harder, pounding her into submission with every long stroke.
Sorcha's head lolled back again, and she felt herself go limp with the ruthless battering. This was a different Niall with no kisses, nor touch of her nipples nor her little bud, and she had a profound mindfulness of what was happening. This was primal, a fertility ritual… the point of their joining was the world's purpose. Her whole body shook with his pummelling and every part of her came alive with this altered need. The bliss was radiant in her arms and her vision and her feet and her lips and its centre was at their joining. Every one of his thrusts sensitized her more until it was as if her insides were yearning for his seed, wrapping around him like fists to pull it where it belonged. And she was in the cosmos, riding the stars and calling the moon, and her hands had almost lost the strength to hold onto the arch.
Niall could feel her body limpen as her clenching intensified to clamp him tight and seize his Spend. The corded muscles on his neck strained visibly as he thrusted his last, shooting MacKrannan seed deep inside her and roaring in victory.
Ruaridh watched his brother move the empty crockpot away, using a last wipe for the cut on Sorcha's hand to heal it. Niall, the warrior chieftain primed to be Chief, had a tenderness he saved for his wife only. It showed now as he lifted her high and held her there awhile to relieve the strain on her arms.
Was Niall just lucky? Nay. A wise man in his choices.
His own position in the circle had him spectate Sorcha full front naked in her walk to the arch, slinking like a goddess and eyes only for her husband. The foreplay was the most erotic event imaginable and he'd no' be the only man here whose cock had hardened seeing her writhing to be taken.
Different now, after the deed was done. More like an intrusion to watch Niall petting her, and stroking her bonnie face, and kissing her as if he meant it, and her standing with her legs squeezed tight shut and wishing.
Now it was his turn, and he'd no' be allowed to kiss her like that. Push In the Spend, it said in the instructions. And he didna know how he was going to do it wi' Mirren standing watching. She was next to him in the circle, and though their stars were a fair distance apart he could still feel the fury coming off her in waves.
He'd made up his mind to ask Hilde to rouse him. If it wasna right for a Wisewoman to be doing it, they should have said so in the Rules or invited more folk. And she'd seen him naked when she cleansed him. Aye, cleansed him – cock, ballocks and all. She knew the seriousness of this business as well as he did.
He took off his shirt and kilt and was just about to drop them and go when he thought to check under his own star.... Ahh, bless ye, Oona! He picked up his crockpot and made a beeline for Hilde. Two paces in he heard Mirren's disbelieving squeak and couldna care.
Ruaridh saw a different kind of disbelief on Hilde's face when she realised he was passing the kissing couple at the arch and coming right up to her. He'd better do this right, for the extent o' her task was bloody evident to everybody.
He wondered if he should use some kind of sign language for the request, speaking being forbidden, but the gestures required made him think the better of the idea. The best he could hope for was her smearing the honey on and giving him a good rubbing. That would do the job, for she was a fine looking lass. Ach, but she'd need to lick it off, for he could no' go sticky to Sorcha. Maybe he should no' have brought the honey at all?
The hell with it. She would decide for herself what needed done. The Wisewomen were in charge o' this place, and he was the guest. He was used to Hilde curtsying to him, yet their roles were somehow reversed when he went down on one knee and offered her the honeypot…
Hilde could not get her breath for excitement. She looked over to Oona, just to check this was really happening, and found the Grandam Wisewoman nodding reverently but with a twinkling eye.
She took the pot from Ruaridh, committing herself. Dipping her thumb in, she brought it loaded with the bees' precious savings to his mouth and he lapped it greedily. And then she pulled her robe off and folded it neatly, frant
ically going over in her mind the rest of the instructions received from Oona many nights ago in a bedchamber garderobe, only because of the tiny chance that she or Cecily just might be called to do this. As Oona said, the MacKrannan men were famed for being Capable On Demand, but ye never could be certain at times such as these.
From his kneeling position, Ruaridh suddenly found himself looking at Hilde's bared body. Already in shock from her needing to undress for this, he'd to fight all the more to keep his mind focussed on the whole purpose of being in the Chamber of the Green Man when he saw the lusciousness in front of him. His hands had almost left his sides when he remembered he really should no' touch her. She bade him rise, and he stood dumfounded.
Hilde knelt on her folded robe and saw that her task was already partly done, for his manhood had risen significantly since his arrival at her star. The task must be completed quickly because the Spend of the chieftain must not be left idling.
She cupped his manhood along one hand, dipped four fingers of the other into the pot, and proceeded to caress him thoroughly with the warm nectar from the tip right back to his sac. It grew much harder just with that, to her relief. She began licking the honey off, remembering the instructions to begin at the back and work forward.
By the time she reached the tip with her cleaning up she found it to be bulging out its skin, so she smeared more honey on that part. The milestone reached, she switched to a combination of licking and sucking, taking much into her mouth, holding the remainder in her hands and pushing and pulling the skin backwards and forwards. Hilde was sure she'd done everything in the right order, and it seemed to be working well. She took her mouth away to check progress, and sure enough his manhood was about as big as Niall's had been just before coupling with Sorcha.
And that's when she noticed Ruaridh shuddering, and his hands in her hair, and then taking her arm to pull her up to standing, and him staring at her as if she were a complete stranger.
The Chieftain Needs an Heir - a Highland ménage novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions) Page 6
