by Kate Sheperd
"Oh? Did you dig the moat, find and sharpen the sticks, and place them? Because last time I checked, the whole town came together building that ditch," the man asked, and he seemed like he was going to continue when Faolan stopped him short.
"Perhaps she is a woman, but she's a damn intelligent one. I want her on our side, because she's proven herself to be quite capable. Agnes, we don't have an extra chair, but I'm sure Jerry will give you his seat. After all, he couldn't sit while a lady had to stand," Faolan said, his attention focusing on the man who was just berating Agnes.
Jerry mumbled and grumbled and protested, but eventually he did relinquish his seat to Anges, and she sat down, smoothing down her ruined skirt and folding her hands on the table.
"We have scouts who report that the English are coming by a road that will lead them to the east of our town. That's not a big deal, considering the defenses lined up around the outside wall of the town. But perhaps we should also consider evacuating that side of town and taking everyone to the church to hide in," Faolan suggested. His plan was relatively sound--though it was very predictable.
Depending on the size, layout, and fortitude of the castle, lying in wait there may be an efficient solution to the problem. Agnes thought this at least, but several complaints were raised about the castle not being big enough to house everyone, nor was it capable of withstanding a protracted war.
"I can protect the church by myself. There's no worry of being overwhelmed once we're inside," Faolan said, his face turning red in anger at the group disagreeing with his plan.
"No, Faolan. You could take on any man in combat, but if they start hurling cannonballs for direction, or they just decide to lay siege to our town while we're all holed up in a castle, where would that leave us?" one man demanded. This did cool down Faolan's temper slightly, but Agnes could tell he was still definitely upset.
"Perhaps Faolan has an idea that just needs further refined, here," Agnes spoke up. All but Faolan rolled their eyes at her voicing her thoughts on the matter, but as long as Faolan seemed receptive, she didn't need anything else. "How many houses have basements dug out like this?" Agnes asked.
"Several places do. The pub, the inn, my house, and a few other houses. I would say maybe five major places in town have this underground area," Faolan replied.
"Good. Then if we could convince the entire town to hole up in just these underground spaces and let what Englishmen in who can pass the trap, they will think that we've all absconded. Instead, they will be surprised when we emerge and attack against all expectations," Agnes proposed. Faolan was yet again amazed.
Faolan stood up and turned to his compatriots. "Spread the word. Everyone below ground--now! We want to make the bloody Brits think that we just set that trap for them and ran for our lives," Faolan said, and though his men weren't happy about following an order that was ultimately from a woman, none dared to argue with Faolan. So, the order was carried out, and everyone in the town abandoned what they were doing for a subterranean hiding place instead.
Chapter Five
In the five locations around town that had the basements, Faolan assigned a few soldiers to each destination. This ensured that the British were attacked from multiple different angles, and were confused at every turn. Perhaps this was a dirty trick, but Faolan wasn't going to fight fair with men who were trying to steal his homeland away from him.
When the Brits did come, their announcement was the whinny of dying horses being impaled on the traps that everyone worked so hard to lay. However, that simple trap didn't stop the invading force, though it did cull some of their number. Agnes could only hope that the number that were removed from the force were enough to give the small town a fighting chance.
As the sounds of the British exploring the land above them became more obvious, the soldiers all prepared to attack, though they had strict orders not to strike until it was three in the afternoon, which would turn out to be a mere half hour after the British arrived. It was important to work as a team and get the job done with as few casualties as possible. To maximize that, they had to all attack at the same time, and in as coordinated a manner as possible.
The tension, excitement, and the fear, these were all in the air, just as tangible as anything. Agnes particularly felt this because Faolan was in her location, and he was intensely worried about the upcoming battle. However, this worry wasn't nearly as disconcerting as the screaming that she heard pour out of his throat when the time was upon them. This noise was somewhere between a human yell and a guttural howl from a wolf. The unholy sound was inexplicable until she saw that fur had begun to sprout from Faolan's body, and he slowly began hunching over until he was a beast on four legs.
Faolan became the largest wolf that she'd ever seen in her life within minutes. Agnes couldn't believe her eyes, even as she saw Faolan bark to address his men, and then hasten out onto the field. For a moment, Agnes was dumbstruck, but she wasn't going to let these soldiers fight all by themselves. So, she followed the soldiers out mere minutes after they left, and found them on the battle field, plunging spears and swords into one another. From the corpse of a British soldier, Agnes took a spear and joined into the fray.
Agnes was able to kill one Brit by driving the spear into his head while he was still confusedly processing the information that a woman was on the battlefield before him. This was one instance in which sexism actually paid off for. However, the dumb luck she had in her first battle dried up incredibly quickly, and she was soon surrounded by men with spears.
"This is the end," Agnes said softly to herself. "So much for Divine Providence. Well, God, take me when you will, I am yours," Agnes supplicated, wanting her last words on the planet to be in the glory of the creator. While at some point in the future, they may well have been, as she closed her eyes and covered her heart with her hands, the awful sound of screaming and bone crunching echoed around her.
Agnes opened her eyes and looked around to see that Faolan had protected her from the terrible fate. It was incredible. However, she knew she couldn't continue this battle, and so she ran into the house that she had left and hid there until after the battle was concluded.
Chapter Six
"It looks to me like both of us managed to save the other's hide at some point. If you hadn’t given us the idea for the traps, I doubt we would have won," Faolan said, once they were back at his abode after a successful defense against the British scum.
"And if it weren't for your . . . power, then I know I would have been long gone. Thank you," Agnes said in an unusually gentle and friendly tone. "I owe you my life, Faolan."
"And everyone in town owes you theirs," Faolan replied confidently,
"No, they only maybe owe me their lives. You definitely saved mine, Faolan. How did you, or how can you do what you do? With the transforming?" she asked.
"Well, it's always run on my dad's side of the family. The oldest son becomes the heir for this power. The son then carries on the bloodline," Faolan replied.
"That's fascinating," Agnes said, and then a silence ensued while they ate their food and relaxed.
"I thank you again, from the bottom of my heart. The disrespect I showed you before was unconscionable," Faolan said, but Agnes just scooted closer to him and put her hand over his. "I understand how you must feel I bossed you around and you aren't used to a woman doing that. Yet, I was good at it, so you had a hard time refusing me. I understand why that put you in a difficult dilemma," Agnes replied softly.
Faolan didn't know what to make of this advance, but he had to admit, he was attracted to this strong, shapely, powerful woman. He'd never known another woman like her.
He slowly leaned in to give Agnes a kiss, simply to test the waters. Agnes responded by letting out a contented sigh and returning the kiss.
"Agnes, I don't want to ever lose you. You managed to do some incredible things while you were in control," Faolan said, but Agnes interrupted him with a kiss.
"No talking now," she said
, breathless. She felt such an attraction to Faolan, even if he did annoy her on more than one occasion during her stay in this little town. He would get better, and see her in a more fair light. Of this, Agnes was sure.
"Will you stay with me, if we do this? Will we work together from now on?" Faolan asked. to Agnes, he seemed more womanly than she did by fretting over whether or not they were getting ready to do what they were getting ready to do out of feelings of love or lust. For Agnes, it was admittedly more of the latter motivation, but she was very fond of Faolan.
"Just don't go changing into a dog on me," Agnes replied and locked her lips with Faolan’s. Though he was shy, like a smiling virgin, he did know how to give Agnes what she wanted when he got into the rhythm of it. His hands began to gradually wander after they had been kissing for a fair while, and they explored her body. He massaged her love handles, ran his fingers over her plump but pleasant stomach, and then rested his hands on her breasts.
He spent ample time massaging her breasts and giving them all the attention they deserved, Agnes all the while moaning out in pleasure. The cottage next to them would undoubtedly hear what they were doing and instantly know what they were up to. However, as caught up in the moment as they were, neither could bring themselves to care.
After doing a thorough exploration of her body, which Agnes wished she could have compensated this fine gentleman for doing, he threw off his own clothes. Agnes’ had long ago been discarded.
Faolan began to gently run his fingers along Agnes' engorged clitoris to stimulate it further. The feeling was so electrifying, so incredibly good, Agnes nearly screamed out in rapture as she enjoyed the sensation. That wasn't to last long, however, because once Faolan managed to loosen up Agnes enough with his fingers, he slowly inserted his cock into her entrance.
The moan she made after that was followed by a series of quick and shallow breaths, obviously trying to cope with the feeling of pleasure that she was experiencing, which was new to her entirely. Those sensations only got better as Faolan picked up speed and began stroking her clitoris as he continued to fuck her. She screamed out in ecstasy as she felt her lower body contract and a wave of white-hot pleasure wash over her. She convulsed in that pleasure and shivered slightly when she was done.
Faolan, being a virgin, had never seen anything like this. So, he stopped thrusting and continuously asked Agnes if she was okay, though Agnes didn't reply until she was finished riding out the waves of her orgasm.
"I . . ." she began, but didn't finish right away. She was too busy catching her breath from all the moaning she had been doing. "I'm okay. You keep going," Agnes encouraged, wanting him to finish as well.
Faolan didn't need to be told twice, and so he kept thrusting until he came, then curled up with Agnes in his arms like a puppy.
"You're going to stay with me, and help me fight, right?" Faolan asked.
"As long as you marry me, then yes. You do plan on marrying me, right?" Agnes replied, meeting his question with one of her own.
"Of course," Faolan said with a chuckle. He wouldn't do it any other way.
Loving the Enemy
Chapter 1
“Izzy! Izzy, lass!”
Isobel Darrow glanced up from her lap where she was trying not to prick herself as she patched up her brother’s leather spaulder. Between the four of her brothers, she’d patched up twelve knife cuts and six sword slashes in the last month. It was a wonder they didn’t leak like sieves at this point. She’d patched two for herself, but that hardly mattered.
Her brother Lundy was bounding up the steps toward her.
“I told you yesterday,” she began before he could speak. “I’ll have it finished by tonight. The sun is yet high, Lundy.”
“Not the leather, Iz,” he said, taking the spaulder from her hand and tossing it aside. “Fraser wants to see you. Now.”
Isobel shot to her feet, hands moving instinctively to pat her wild, fiercely red hair, making sure none of it had escaped its bonds. If the commander wanted to see her right away, it couldn’t be good. She tried to think back over her actions of the past few days, searching her memory for anything that might have caused trouble enough to warrant Fraser’s attention. She could find nothing.
Outside Fraser’s tent, she paused, calming herself for only a moment before pushing the flap aside and poking her head in. Fraser was sat at his desk, bent over maps and letters, frowning between them. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
He looked up, momentarily confused. “Ah,” he said after a moment. “Aye, lass. Come in.”
She stepped into the tent, letting the flap fall closed behind her.
Fraser moved a stack of letters, covering something on the map. “I’ve a mission for you, Izzy girl.”
There were not many women under Fraser’s command, but those there were had come to expect the utmost respect from Fraser. He never judged a soldier by anything more or less than what they did under his command, and he never treated his women any different from his men.
Izzy’s only exception came that when they were alone together, Fraser allowed himself to set formality aside and act like the man she’d known her whole life, who’d watched out for her mother and the boys after her father was killed.
“What’s the mission?” Izzy asked, eyes bright with anticipation.
“I need a message brought to Alistair Finley in Carlisle. I need it there fast, and I need someone who can go through Carlisle without suspicion.”
“You need a woman,” Isobel surmised.
“I need a woman who knows how important this is and won’t slide a dagger through the first Englishman with something nasty to say about the Bruce.”
Isobel straightened, her eyes flashing.
“Now, Izzy,” Fraser said, pulling himself to his feet. He was an impressive figure of a man, still fit and broad as a boulder. Isobel sometimes forgot he was old enough to be her father. “I mean you no disrespect. But your temper does get the better of you.”
“Not so as I’d betray Scotland,” she protested.
Fraser smiled. “Good. That’s what I needed to hear. You’ll leave immediately.”
He pulled a sealed letter from the pile on his desk and held it out for her. She strode to the desk and took it, sliding it into the folds of her skirt. “No one but Finley sees that, lass.”
“Aye,” she answered. “I know.”
Fraser came out from behind the desk and reached an arm toward her. At first Isobel thought he meant to embrace her, but his hand dropped to her belt and pulled her dagger from it. “You’re traveling as a young farmgirl, visiting family, not an armed assassin.”
“You can’t expect me to go unarmed,” Isobel sputtered.
“No, but I can expect you to conceal your weapons better. No one can question you, Izzy. Not if you’re to make it there and back in time.”
She frowned as she took the dagger back from him. It was clear Fraser didn’t truly trust her. She wondered idly if he were granting a favor to one of her brothers. It hardly mattered. She’d prove herself on her own feet. “I’ll not disappoint you, sir,” she promised, and when he dismissed her, she marched from his tent, a determined glint in her eye and a fierce grin on her face.
#
The horse she took from camp was not quite their fastest, but he carried himself lightly enough with only Isobel on his back, and he was sturdy enough she’d not need to rest as much.
The first time she dismounted, she was already saddle sore, though she’d been sitting horses since she could hold herself upright. She led the horse some distance from the road and watered him in a stream before securing him and letting herself drink as well. She took a moment to wash her face, the cool water refreshing her better than anything else would. As she bent to take another handful, she heard a twig snap behind her.
In a moment, she had her dirk unsheathed and had spun toward the sound. What she saw astonished her so that she froze in shock. There was a man by her horse, a hand on the beast’s
neck, rubbing and murmuring soothing nonsense into his ear. This was strange enough. What was worse was the crest he wore on his livery: Blackwell. He was English.
“Damn,” he said quietly as he looked over at her, his eyes flicking from her face to her knife and back again. “I was really hoping to be mounted before you noticed me.”
“Step away from my horse,” she said, inching closer, watching him carefully, lest he managed to get the creature untied before she reached him.
“Now, you see...I’d like to do that. I really would. But I need this horse.”
“Step away from my horse,” she repeated, slowly enunciating each word. “Or you’ll feel the bite of a Scottish blade in your soft, English belly.”
“I really wish you hadn’t complicated things so,” he said, and she was taken aback by the genuine regret in his tone just before he leapt toward her. She held the blade in front of her, bringing it down in a sharp arc, meaning to warn him off. She might have been armed, but he far outmatched her in size, and she’d not hold up long against him in a proper fight.
Though he’d moved shoulders first, breaching the distance between them in a flash, it was his foot that shot out to strike at Isobel’s knee. She saw the feint just in time, but he still caught her hard on the shin, and she dropped too quickly to catch her balance again, finding her face full of golden leaves.
By the time she dragged herself to her feet, he’d reached the horse, slicing its reins with a dagger rather than waste time untying them. Izzy charged, knife outstretched, and the horse reared hard. Without reins to help his balance, the man was thrown, and he hit the ground with a sickening thud.
Chapter 2
William Davenport woke with a pounding head to find himself staring into flashing green eyes set in a face so fierce and beautiful it could have belonged to one of the Fair Folk in the tales his mother told him as a child. The effect was spoiled by the tangle of violently red hair that surrounded her face, falling out of its braid in places and decorated with stray leaves, likely from when he’d knocked her to the ground.
