by Fiona Faris
Beatrice felt a heat rise through her body, thinking of the way Brodie looked at her, the way he watched her every move from across the room. She had tried to keep her mind focused on how much she enjoyed him, his company, but the last few days she had found her mind wandering back to the night at the inn. She did not know if she could keep her distance much longer; it was as if there was a magnetic pull toward him. Her body craved him with a strength she would not be able to resist much longer. She smoothed her skirt then and turned towards the bedroom door. She was ready to head to the great hall of the castle, where the feast would be laid out. First, she had plans to stop by the library, where Brodie had asked her to meet him so he could escort her to dinner. Beatrice could not help but smile at his request, how kind he had been when he asked to walk with her to the feast. Now, thinking about the woman they had met, Nelly, she smirked as she knew the woman was likely to see them walk in. It gave Beatrice a rush to know they would be walking in together.
* * *
Brodie stood alone in the library, wearing one of his finer kilts. The breeze whistled outside, and his heart raced. He had been looking forward to the evening’s events, and even more so now that he had Beatrice by his side. He could not believe nearly two weeks had already passed since she had journeyed to the castle. It felt as if she had always been a part of his life, a part of his daily movements. He enjoyed having her near, she was a comforting presence, and someone who truly understood what he was feeling. As much as he had told himself he needed to go slow with her, he found himself thinking only more and more about their future. He enjoyed her company, and he did not like the idea that half their time together was over. With Samhain nearing, and the traditions of this Celtic end of year celebration, he knew he wanted to talk to her about it. He wanted to know if there was a possibility they would see each other again at the end of this month.
But he shook the conversation from his mind. He would find a moment for it, even if he needed to force an opportunity. For now, he only wanted to focus on the evening, the ritual, the food, the customs. The village was abuzz with excitement. He was lost in fantasies about the night when he caught the scent of lavender, blueberries, and sweet honey. He heard the soft pat-pats of footsteps and turned to find Beatrice looking back at him.
She was wearing a garnet gown that gripped her figure. Her skin was rosy against the red of the fabric, and her hair was swept up high to reveal the smooth swoop of her neck; she was breathtaking. His eyes roamed up and down her body before finally settling on her lip positioned between her teeth.
“Beatrice, yer breathtakin’. I cannae believe I get tae be the one who walks han’ in han’ with ye tae dinner.” He approached her and without pausing to think wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips firmly against hers. She let out a soft sigh against his mouth, and her hands moved to his face before sliding back into his hair. He tilted her back as he pulled her closer, and she let her whole body fall into his hands. Their tongues explored each other’s open and willing mouths, and Brodie drowned in her sweetness. As much as he loved Samhain, he was more than willing to forget about the entire holiday if it meant staying here with Beatrice, even if they only remained lip-locked for the night. But unfortunately, she had other plans, and pulled away from him. She shook her head softly and took in a big inhale.
“Wow—that—um— I think, we should likely, should we go?” Beatrice, usually so calm and collected, so sure of herself, fumbled on her words. She seemed even more nervous than the night they first were together, and Brodie could not deny that he, too, felt a bit of those same nerves. The kiss sent heat through his body, and he adjusted his belt to push down his member already rising to greet Beatrice.
“Och, aye, we should. Dinner is likely tae be ready by now.” He offered his elbow to Beatrice, who stood fanning herself while a soft bloom of pink coated her exposed skin. Brodie could not deny it; he rather enjoyed seeing her flustered by his presence.
The two walked towards the dining hall where the feast was prepared, remaining quiet as they walked, each thinking of the kiss and wondering if dinner was truly worth attending.
When they entered the great hall, long tables outlined the edges of the room. On the tables were runners of orange, mustard yellow, and vivid deep reds similar to the color of Beatrice’s gown. Atop the stretches of fabric sat wide oval silver platters overflowing with a variety of food. There was roasted pork, roasted chicken, and goose, each seasoned with rosemary and thyme, which Beatrice could smell upon entering the room. On smaller platters were offerings of root vegetables: potatoes, turnips, sweetened beets, and carrots. There were baskets stuffed to the handle with rolls of every shape. Beatrice laughed and knew that Helena’s pregnant belly had got the better of her. This was a feast that would be talked about for years.
The two of them walked towards the main table at the head of the room. Beatrice had to conceal a grin when she saw a familiar Nelly smile at Brodie, only to purse her lips at seeing Beatrice on his arm.
Helena was already seated at the table with Marcus, but stood immediately upon seeing them.
“Bea, you look beautiful! I’m so glad you are putting those gowns to use!” She hugged her best friend, while Marcus gave Brodie a firm pat on the back.
“Thank you so much for lending me these gowns; they’re just exquisite and fit like a glove!”
“Well, I can see I am not the only one who thinks they look ravishing on you. Brodie can’t keep his eyes off of you,” Helena whispered in Beatrice’s ear, and the two of them giggled as Bea blushed. “I’m so glad you are here for the festivities.”
Beatrice wanted to tell her best friend about the kiss, about her worries, about all that seemed to plague her mind, but she forced herself to fill her plate instead. She refused to let a wonderful evening be ruined by her wickedly worrisome mind.
“Tis a grand feast!” She piled chicken, turnips, and a roll onto her plate. Helena smiled and did the same, the two of them ready to feast and enjoy the evening. Beatrice looked around and smiled. She was thrilled to be in the company of so many joyous people, out and experiencing the world, learning new customs. A part of her suddenly realized how much she had missed over the last two years while she had sat and watched the birds from her window.
* * *
The dinner was beyond anything Beatrice could have dreamed of, and her appetite returned with full force. While fond of her traditional English meals, the Scotts definitely knew how to throw together a feast to celebrate the end of their Celtic year. The waiting staff kept her glass refilled, and by the end of the meal, she and Brodie were quite drunk.
“Ay, Sassenach, ye havin’ a right time?” Brodie called from his edge of the table. Beatrice smiled and nodded. “The best is yet tae come.” He stood and walked over to her and took her hand as the servants began to empty the tables around them. Outside, the sun had set, and Beatrice knew it was time for the part of the evening she had most looked forward to: there would be a dance ritual performed by the local druids.
Helena leaned over to Beatrice. “This is really one of the best parts of the evening. It’s so powerful—how in tune they are, how they move. Their dance signals the end of the year and the opening of the portal to the next year. It is said the spirits roam freely after their dance until sunrise.”
Beatrice brought a hand to her mouth in shock. There were witches in England, or so there where whispers, but nothing like this, nothing so out in the open. The four of them went outside towards the loch, where a great fire raged.
As they walked, the children ran, their faces painted dark to scare off the “evil spirits.” Brodie chuckled, but his face fell briefly. Beatrice knew he likely thinking of the little one he had lost not too long ago. She squeezed his hand in support, glad she was there for him, to understand the grief he carried daily.
When they arrived at the fire, the druids were already there wearing deep black gowns. Their hair flowed freely, most with heads of deep red curls. Each sw
ayed, dancing in front of the fire to their own beat.
“They start by greetin’ the flames, each invokin’ its power,” Brodie whispered as they sat on a stretched quilt that had been laid out for them. Beatrice looked in wonder as each woman took a bit of ash and drew a rune on their palm. Brodie must have been following her eyes as he continued whispering, “the runes are passed down within the family, each meant tae carry the power and legacy of the symbol. Tis an honor they cherish.” Beatrice could see the reverence in their eyes, how powerful they felt. Nearby, a man with bagpipes appeared, playing a barely perceptible tune, just loud enough to be distinguished from the winds around them.
The dancers crowded closer to the circle. They moved almost as if breathing in the same rhythm as if they were parts of the same body.
“Tis so beautiful to see. Tis almost as if they’ve done this a hundred years and more,” Beatrice whispered, and Brodie wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. She leaned into him.
“Aye, some folks say they invoke an ancient spirit. Tis the spirit who does the ritual,” he responded.
Beatrice watched the druids move. As the man started to play the bagpipes louder, they slowly moved away from the circle. Each woman began swaying her arms, and together they looked as if they were an extension of the flames themselves. They swayed in and away from the fire, moving their arms freely. A man with a tiny drum started adding to the music, and the women began dancing forward, each of them moving together as one circle around the flame. They moved their arms in time with their feet. The bagpipe quickened, and they added more footwork, turning in place as the circle moved as a whole. Beatrice was enamored, her eyes following the movements of the women. The black fabric of their soft dresses billowed out, and she glimpsed the smoothness of their exposed legs. She wanted to feel free like them, to move like them, unencumbered by the weight of expectations.
Beatrice watched Brodie; he could not look away from the druids. She saw the child within as if he was transported back to the rituals of his childhood. She was so grateful to be there, sharing this moment. She leaned in and kissed him, and he returned her kisses with the ferocity of his earlier. She knew that neither would be able to resist each other that evening. And she did not want to try.
The ritual stopped, and people began to clap as the women bowed. They each threw an offering to the flames before moving around other areas near the loch, in search of food or drink.
Brodie stood and helped Beatrice. She did not know what to say other than what she most wanted.
“Brodie, I want you to take me. I want to sleep in your bed tonight. I know we promised to go slow, but I cannot resist you any longer. I want only to be with you.” She kissed him before she could go back on her words, and he wrapped his arms around her.
“Beatrice, I’ve wanted nothin’ more than fer ye tae say those words. Let us go now.” Grabbing her hand, he pulled her away towards the castle, towards his room.
* * *
The two of them entered Brodie’s room, and they felt closer than in a long while.
“Beatrice, I’ve thought of nothin but ye fer weeks now. I’ve thought of yer body nearly every night since we last touched.” Brodie slurred his words softly, the wine coursing through his body as Beatrice pulled him close and pressed her hips against his. She leaned in towards his ear.
“Brodie, I have thought of you nightly. I have moved my hands in rhythm with the image of you, on top of me, entering me over and over again.” She let out a soft moan and pressed her mouth against his. Their lips touched with a mild static shock, which only brought them to kiss with more ferocity. Brodie’s soft stubble rubbed against Beatrice’s lips, causing them to swell slightly, the pressure of his mouth creating a greater heat.
Their lips parted, and Brodie’s tongue explored Beatrice’s mouth, tasting her essence with his tongue. She opened to him and entwined her tongue with his, savoring the lingering taste of whiskey. They moved together towards the bed, and Beatrice laid back while Brodie climbed over her. Beatrice reached back and started to undo the ties of her dress.
“Let me, lassie. Dinnae think fer one minute ye ever have tae undress yerself.” Brodie crooned. With his thick and muscled arms, he held himself up with one arm as he started to untie the laces that bound Beatrice’s breasts. She felt herself grow moist between her legs at the sight of Brodie’s strong arms. As he unlaced her corset, the dress fell loose, leaving her white breasts exposed.
She shimmied out of the dress until she was naked, her body only visible by the candlelight that sat on the dresser.
“Yer even more beautiful than I remember,” Brodie murmured as he leaned forward and kissed her neck, moving his lips gracefully across her clavicle. He allowed his tongue to trace across the bone, moving his lips lower until he found Beatrice’s perky pink right nipple.
“Mm, Brodie,” she sighed as he circled her nipple with his tongue. Lifting himself up, he sat on his knees, removing his shirt in one swift motion, his kilt still in place. Beatrice could not help but stare at his chest, his chiseled abdomen. He looked like a Celtic god naked, with only the kilt hiding his manhood. She sat up and took his face between her hands, and kissed him with the depths of her desire.
“I want you to take me, enter me over and over again, Brodie,” Beatrice spoke steady with clarity, but Brodie shook his head in response.
“Nay. Ye must let me please ye first.” He moved over her exposed body. “Please?”
Beatrice was nervous. It had been so long since a man had pleased her with only his hands and tongue. She worried about whether she would find it enjoyable this time. The other times it had felt pressured, rushed, but at this moment, she wanted to experience it with Brodie for the first time in years.
“Yes, please,” she nodded. That was all Brodie needed to hear. He swung her right leg over his head and let her calf fall on his shoulder. In one swoop, he moved forward until his face was only inches from her wet mound. Beatrice wanted him so badly that she pushed towards him as he greeted her with his soft lips and the roughness of his beard.
He moved his tongue to circle her swollen clitoris. With one hand, he parted her wet lips and allowed his mouth to explore her in all the ways he had dreamed of. Beatrice pushed herself closer to him, feeling his tongue going deeper and deeper. The pleasure moved through her body in great waves, like the loch in a storm. She could not ever remember feeling this way with any other man, and as Brodie sat, slowly kissing her between the legs, she thought there was no greater feeling. He could sense her pleasure rising, and moved his hand, letting one finger slowly glide into her.
“Ah, Brodie, yes,” Beatrice squirmed in delight. He moved swiftly in and out of her, sliding in a second finger as her voice started rising in pitch.
Beatrice could bear it no longer. As much as she enjoyed Brodie between her legs, she wanted more. She wanted him inside her.
“Brodie, please, I must have you.”
“Aye, lassie, as ye command.” Brodie rose from between her legs and climbed over her, placing his hands just above her shoulder. Beatrice reached for the kilt and tangled her fists in the fabric as he let the tip of his member push against her wetness.
“Beatrice, I have thought of this fer so long.” He slowly slid into her, pushing in only a few inches.
“Brodie, please, enter me, now, fully,” she begged. In one swift move, he pushed his thick cock inside her. Beatrice moaned loudly, pushing her hips up to greet him, pulling him close by the kilt, as he slowly slid out, before entering her quickly again.
“Mm, Beatrice,” he moaned as he moved in and out of her. As much as he wanted to move slowly, he could not contain himself. Being inside of her was thrilling and overpowering. He thought of the music of the druid ritual earlier and felt himself moving to the rhythm of the song.
“Yes, Brodie, yes,” Beatrice moaned, pulling him by the kilt. Together, they matched their rhythm, and Beatrice pushed against him, letting him fill her. They moved quickly,
unable to contain themselves until finally, Beatrice felt the clenching between her legs, the pulsing that told her she was reaching her climax. Brodie quickened his pace and pulled Beatrice closer, pushing his mouth against hers ferociously. Together, they exploded in pleasure, climaxing in unison.
Brodie collapsed on top of Beatrice, his passion spent, and she finally unclenched her fists, releasing his kilt. She moved her hand to his back and stroked his exposed skin, trailing her fingers along the curve of his strong shoulders. The pleasure continued to radiate throughout her body, moving in soft, pulsing waves.
* * *
Beatrice woke just as the sun’s rays were making their way into the bedroom. She stretched then, sat up, and looked over at Brodie, then saw how peacefully he slept. His forehead lost that furrow he so often had, his eyes softened, though she did miss the little lines that showed whenever he laughed heartily. She pulled the blankets to cover her exposed flesh, not knowing quite how she felt. She thought back to the morning at the inn, how she had quickly left him in the early morning. It was not really an option now; they had been spending practically all of their time together. If she left him this morning, he would likely come marching straight to her room the minute he awoke. But she did not know what she was supposed to do.
