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And thus we begin the story... --------------------------------------------------------- 01Knight - Chapter Three {Moon Dragon} "Once a Knight" Copyright Moon Dragon - Mar/2010 (fM, oral, FM, anal, magic, viol, F-solo exhib, MMf, f-solo, voy, reluc, best, f-dog 1st-ff, ffM, shav, mf, MF, rom, hist) - X - X - X - When a Contessa from present times returns and cannot go back for the love she yearns from a magical adventure in the past though ever more her love will last her squires must turn their weekend play into courage and prowess to save the day - X - X - X - DRAMATIS PERSONAE Lady Angharad O'Shaughnessy of Kilkenny Lord Lincoln Mac Galbraith of Blakeshire Wood (Squires to Syr Gabriella) Syr Gabriella Valentina, Contessa del Giardino Bella (Head of House Valentina) Sir Edmund de la Claire Baroness Sokhatai Bolkhadar (Lord and Lady of House de la Claire) Duchess Lucinda Melisande Von Landstadt (The Ivory Duchess) Sir Tyrus, Lord Blakeshire (Knight of the Kings Court) Helga and Hannah the Serving Girls (Handmaidens at Blakeshire Keep, Sisters) Lord Nathaniel of Belascye (Squire of Sir Tyrus) - X - X - X - ... Striding into the great hall, Nathaniel called for a servant. A moment later, Hannah entered the hall and curtsied before him. "Yes, milord," she said. "Does aught of the evenings meal remain in the serving rooms?" the squire asked. The risk of fire in a castle being great, most of them kept the actual kitchens in wooden outbuildings in the courtyard. That the lords food should not become cold as it was carried in from outside to be served, it was taken into the serving room where it could be rewarmed upon the hearths ere it was brought forth. "I believe so," she said, "If it pleases milord, I can bring cold meats with bread and cheese." "That would be fine, Hannah," he said, "With a pitcher of wine, as well." Nathaniel sat at one of the low tables, and Hannah was quick to return with his food, setting it down before him and scurrying back out of the hall, but she didn't scurry far. As the young squire ate what had just been laid down for him, Hannah peered shyly from beyond the doorway. When he finished his food, Nathaniel stood up and went to fetch the rest of Sir Tyrus's armor. When the Ivory Duchess and her horde tried to overrun the keep, as it seemed they must, Sir Tyrus would need it, and as his squire it was Nathaniel's job to ensure that the armor was ready when the knight asked for it. He didn't notice Hannah quietly following him while he left the hall. As he walked into the armory, the blond servant girl slipped in after him, and quietly closed the door behind her. He turned to see who had now come to the room, as there were only a few in the keep with the proper key to enter. "Was there anything further that milord required," the servant asked with a smile. "No, Hannah," he said, plainly puzzled by her presence in the room at all, "Nothing else, thank you." "Are you certain, milord," she repeated coyly, untying the drawstring at the neck of her blouse, "We finished early in the serving room, and the chamberlain should not notice my absence for at least a while. Will there be NOTHING else that you need?" Lord Nathaniel may not have been the sharpest sword in the armory, but nor was he entirely stupid. Opening up his arms, he pulled Hannah closer and she pressed her lips urgently against his own. God save him should Sir Tyrus come looking and find him dallying with the help while there was a battle to prepare for, but the young squire didn't care. Between cleaning armor and getting laid, the armor came in second every time. Gently pulling the servant girl to him, the squire let his hand slide up her tender fourteen year old body as she cooed softly in his ear. "Oh Nathaniel," she breathed, "That feels nice." "You can call me Nathan," he answered, as she slid out of his grasp and promptly started to divest herself of her clothing. Once she had finished the removal of her garments, she looked at him coyly. Retreating away from him, Hannah sensually let herself sprawl backward over a covered chest, her hair fanning across the tapestry as she did so, revealing the pale aspect of her tits to his stalwart gaze. She had taken to sunbathing naked in the forest the very moment that she first began to touch herself, and now the tanlines she had worn since childhood had nigh vanished. Nathan moved closer and grasped her ankle, raising her foot to his lips. He planted a gentle kiss just above her toes, continuing the trail up her calf, his tongue tracing light circles at the back of her knee. She let out a giggle, flinching away from that ticklish point of contact, but that giggle turned to a soft moan when Nathan's soft trail of kisses slowly began to work its way up her thigh. Hannah gasped when Nathan's tongue flicked up over the lips of her pussy, delving into her coral pink depths to find her already wet and eager as lapped at her hot little slit. He slid his tongue deep into her dripping wetness and she let out a pleasured groan, encouraging him to continue. "Mmmm, yeah," she sighed, "Just like that." Nathan had evidently been at practice since their last time together. The young servant girl felt a twinge of jealousy as she wondered which one of the other girls in the village had let him lick her pussy, but if that was what had taught him to pleasure her like this, she really didn't care. Plunging his tongue in and out of her wet slit, Nathan soon had her writhing on the chest. He lightly parted the moist folds of her hot pussy, exposing the flushed and throbbing hardness of her aching clit. Teasing her for a moment, he lightly licked and kissed his way all around her hard little button without touching it. Hannah moaned, caressing her tits with one hand as she knotted the fingers of the other through Nathan's mane of tangled curls. She lifted her soft breast up to her own lips, suckling the rosy red nipple into her mouth as Nathan continued torturing her until she could take it no longer. "Don't tease me," she begged, "Please, baby just do it now. Lick my clit for me." Giving her what she desperately wanted, Nathan wrapped his lips around her aching button, making her crazy as he gently sucked on it. "Oh my God!" she groaned, lifting her sweet little ass off of the chest, "Oh baby yes, right there." Nathan skillfully followed her movements as she bucked her hips wildly, both trying to escape and craving for more all at the same time. Her body started trembling as the creamy sweet scent of her arousal began to fill the air. She couldn't take any more of this. "Oh Nathan, baby," she whimpered, "Yes... You're gonna make me cum soon if... Ooooh... if you keep it up." Nathan had no intention of stopping. Cradling her soft ass in his hands he slipped his tongue up and down the full length of her wet pussy, lingering on her tender little clit at the height of each stroke. Multicolored lights began to dance brightly before her eyes and she fell screaming off the edge of ecstasy. "Ooooh fuck," she wailed, her hips thrashing violently while she knotted her hands in the sheets, "Ungh, yeah baby, I'm... Mmmm... I'm cumming." Hannah could only ride out the fire as orgasmic spasms washed over her. Trembling uncontrollably, she held on as shivering hot jolts of delight shot from her pussy through the rest of her pleasantly tender body. Just a few moments later, after the frenzy of delirium passed her by, she drew Nathan up beside her, then rolled him onto his back. "Your turn, squire," she breathed into his ear. Untying laces as she moved along, Hannah kissed a path down Nathan's body, spreading his tunic to reveal his broad and heavily muscled chest. Following the pathway still lower, she soon arrived at the waistband of his leather breeches. Unlacing them as well, she reached a hand inside and sighed in appreciation as she drew his rigid shaft from the darkness. "My, my," she said softly, "What have we here?" Licking her lips in sheer anticipation, Hannah slipped Nathan's hard cock into her mouth, swirling her tongue all round the tip of his throbbing member. Cupping his balls in her hand, the attractive little nymph let her blond haired head fall forward, and Nathan gasped upon feeling his hard cock slip all the way into the depth of her throat. Her soft lips wrapped tightly about his shaft, Hannah gave a low murmur of satisfaction as the squire gently knotted his fingers through her sweeping blonde hair. Showing no mercy, she bobbed her head up and down over his lap, letting his cock head slide in and out of her throat with every stroke. With his moans resounding in her ears, she could tell he was close. She considered sucking him all the way off, and making him cum in her mouth as she had seen Helga doing. Just the thought of him blowing his hot sticky load right down her throat had her quivering, and she hung at the edge of another orgasm at the very idea of it. Nonetheless, she decided to save that delight for some other time and occasion, letting his cock slip out of her mouth with a sexy wet slurp while she crept up the length of his body. Nathan raised his lean hips off of the strongbox as the serving girl tugged his breeches down around his slender thighs, still planting playful kisses up and down his rigid shaft as she did so. Soon she had pulled them away entirely and tossed them down on the floor. Straddling Nathan's hips, she reached down between the sweaty heat of their bodies to take hold of his rigid hardness, her free hand propped upon his chest to keep herself balanced. Positioning his hard throbbing shaft at the entry of her hot wet pussy, Hannah lingered on him only briefly before she lowered her body, impaling herself on his length. "Oh fuck," she breathed. Grasping his wrists, Hannah pinned Nathan's hands over his shoulders, slowly rocking her rounded hips up and down over his as she fucked herself on his cock. Feral moans and soft growls filled the room as Nathan began to buck his hips, timing each of his movements so that he was thrusting upward just as her dripping slit came sliding down to meet him. With an abrupt flip, the curly haired squire had their positions suddenly reversed, supporting his own weight upon his strong hands as he hung over her. Hannah soon began panting, her breath coming in ragged gasps while he hammered his rigid cock roughly into her hot eager pussy. Giving little screams of ecstasy as each impact jolted her on the chest, she lifted her legs, wrapping them around Nathan's waist so that he could get deeper into her with every thrust. "Oh yeah, harder," she begged, " That's it, baby. Give it to me, give it to me!" The servant rocked and shuddered as they drove through new delights, as Nathan and Hannah, both their bodies slick with perspiration, sought to drive each other to new heights of animalistic ecstasy. Struggling upon an age old battleground, each of them vied for dominance as they battled over who would be the victor. The girl was determined, though, that this was a fight that the hard bodied squire would never win. Gritting her teeth with a sexually savage grin, she desperately held fast to her own restraint as he drove himself closer to the edge of control with every thrust. She was doing good, and was quite pleased with herself for her self restraint under his deliciously merciless assault, right up until he started cheating. Slipping one hand in between their bodies, Nathan slid his thumb over her exposed clit, sending wild jolts of electric delight up her spine and into her brain. "Ungh... Cut it out," she moaned, "That, ungh... isn't playing fair." "Who said anything about fair?" Nathan murmured. Feeling fiery shocks of delirium vibrating through her body every time the squire touched her stiff throbbing clit, and rocking her hips up and down on the bed, she caressed the creamy golden softness of her breasts as Nathan roughly pounded his hard cock relentlessly into her pussy. The alternating sensation of his hot rigid shaft slamming in and out of her dripping slit and the fingers expertly strumming at her exposed clit was far more than Hannah could withstand. "God damn! Give it to me," she whimpered, "Make me cum for you. It's almost there. Make me... Ungh, ungh! I'm cumming, Aaaaah!" Her hot body began to spasm out of control as waves of orgasm washed over her. The contracting muscles within were milking the squires shaft, pushing him closer and closer to his own release. Riding out one climax after another, she drove herself still harder onto Nathan's cock with every spasm until he could no longer control himself. He grasped her hips and rammed his hard shaft to the hilt in her rippling slit with an animal growl of ecstasy, making her shriek in pleasure as his thick sticky cum filled her pussy to overflowing. With her legs firmly locked around Nathan's waist, she waited for a few more moments, holding him tightly to her body until her trembling had fully subsided. There wasn't any pressing reason for her to leave the armory so she was quite contented to just lie there for a bit while she recovered. "That, milord," she giggled, "Was truly incredible." "I always try my best," Nathan smiled... - X - X - X - ... The attack barely underway and already things were not going well. To start with, three riders whom Tyrus had sent out to summon aid from castles in neighboring estates had all returned within mere moments of one another. As these riders galloped across the causeway, Lincoln could see that something wasn't right; the men sat their horses in an oddly stiff way, and as the horses rode past the barbican and up the winding road, he knew why. Each of the three men gazed sightlessly forward, with his head perched upon his saddle horn. Tyrus had cursed venomously. The loss of these men had left no hope that aid would come from the neighboring estates, as no message had gotten to them. The keep of House Blakeshire would be on its own. Then the Ivory Duchess had come over the causeway just ere dawn and breached the outer barbican. She had lost several men to his archers as they had charged across the causeway, but though Sir Tyrus ordered his own men at arms to fall back, having his herald give a signal to retreat on his brass horn, the rogues under her had been upon their heels as they rounded the island road and withdrew over the high bridge. The men at arms had made it to the gatehouse barely in time to raise their second drawbridge and lower the iron portcullis to bar the way through the wall. Now that they had taken the smaller isle, though, they still had to storm the bridge, and somehow also breach the gatehouse. Beginning with another drawbridge, the passage through this structure could be blocked by two stone barricades, three massive timber gates and three wrought iron portcullises. Rising slightly higher than the surrounding curtain wall, the three levels of the gatehouse were open and crenelated to the inside so an attacker within the corridor below would be exposed to attack from above while he was trapped between all the barriers. Men at arms would be standing ready to pelt them with everything from stones and arrows to boiling water. All of that trouble just to make it through the outer curtain wall with the keep itself still standing untouched before them. Seeing all of this, the Duchess had drawn back her own forces and had divided them into several heavily armed camps that surrounded the lake. The camps had all been fortified in their own right, with ditches around the perimeter of each, and the men within them stood ready to blockade the keep from the outside for just as long as proved necessary. Great siege engines had now been rolled in from the eastern wood; immense catapults and trebuchets to hurl massive stones in attempts to knock down the walls; arbalests, giant crossbows that fired an arrow as big as a javelin that would pierce any man through, armor and all; and finally a huge iron headed ram to batter down the gates. The last, at least, had proven useless, as the gate of the barbican was set at a right angle to the causeway which was not wide enough to turn a ram sideways. With no room to maneuver the heavy ram, it could neither be brought to bear against the barbican gate nor steered up around the winding road leading up to the gatehouse proper. The attackers had gotten it wedged in tight as they endeavored to turn it in through the main gate of the barbican, and had eventually toppled it off of the causeway and into the waters below during their effort to wrestle it loose. The laughter of defenders on the outer wall had howled down at the attackers, but it hadn't lasted long. For while the ram was now out of action, the catapults and trebuchets were not, and nor were the arbalests. There had already been a few casualties as men an arms were impaled by the barbed javelins, and a number of smokey fires had needed extinguishing as siege engines hurled pots of flaming oil into the courtyard. The walls were holding, thus far, but it was simply an exercise in attrition at this point. Which would give out first, the curtain walls or the supply of boulders to hurl upon them? It seemed likely that eventually an errant stone would breech some piece of the wall, and then the attackers would boil in through it, for while the parapet wall was too high to be reached by scaling ladders from the lake below, the summit of the island was not. If the wall was breached, an assault upon the courtyard would be inevitable, as the attackers needed only scale the sides of the island before storming the breech from ground level. Lincoln stood on the ramparts next to Angharad and the knight and they all stared out over the host assembled against them. "I had hoped that we might outlast them should it come to a siege," Sir Tyrus stated, "But then I had thought also to see aid come from the neighboring estates ere my people had to endure any siege longer than they are prepared for. With our riders intercepted by the Ivory Duchess and her rogues, we cannot hope for rescue from without after all." "Mayhap I can be of help," spoke an old voice, cracked with age, from the stairs behind them. They all turned around, but it was Tyrus that answered first. "Ah, mother," Tyrus smiled warmly, "Lord Lincoln, Lady Angharad, may I now make known to you the Lady Eleanor of Blakeshire. But tell me, mother, what brings you to the wall at this hour." "Mother?" echoed both Angharad and Lincoln in a single voice, with expressions of shock upon their faces. For the woman before them, though old, looked younger than they remembered, there could still be no doubt... they had both seen her before. "Know you what this is?" she asked, holding some shiny thing out toward Lincoln and Angharad. Both nodded with recognition. "I have only the one prepared," she went on, "Will you choose which of you is to wear it?" "I should," Lincoln answered, "Angharad, you've always been the better fighter between us. Should it come to that, you will be more useful here than I would. I can go for help." "No chance," Angharad said, "I may be a better fighter than you, but unless they breach the wall, my sword is useless here. You are better with a bow than I am, and you can be of use right from the moment they come into range. I'll go." "Go? Have you both taken leave of your senses?" yelled the knight, "Can you not see that we are besieged. How can you go anywhere?" "Peace, my son, peace," the old woman smiled, "The two before you know their duty. Trust them." In the end it was decided that the Lady Angharad would likely be a better choice, and so the confused knights lady mother handed the object to her. "Seek me upon your return," she said, "All things will be held ready when you arrive. Godspeed, milady." "What was that?" Tyrus said, as Angharad scurried down from the walls and ran into the keep, "Mother, what do you know about this?" "Easy now, Tyrus," she said softly, "There is a design at work in what is done here, but no ill shall come of it. Be without fear, for you fight only for love." Tyrus fished the delicate piece of golden filigree out of his surcoat. He had known of love once, but it had been taken from him before it ever had time to blossom on its own. He had vowed that one day he would be free to seek his love again, but his duties to his king had taken precedence in the struggles to prevent the Ivory Duchess from usurping the throne. "I know, my precious one," the old woman said, nodding sadly as she saw the sunlight glinting off the gold in his hand, "I am truly sorry, but all that was done was done with purpose. Trust in this I beg you." "Trust in what?" Tyrus started, but he was interrupted ere he could continue. With a shanking of the stones beneath their feet, they heard a tremendous crash, and calls of alarm echoed up from the courtyard. "To arms! To arms!" exclaimed the men below, "The wall is breached!" Looking down, Lincoln saw that the endless pounding of the catapults and trebuchets had done its work. There was a broad section of the outer wall in the northeast corner, about ten yards across, that had tumbled down into the courtyard. He could see an out flung arm over here, a pair of legs there, where men had been crushed beneath the massive stones as they fell, but more men were rushing to defend the breach even before the dust had settled. The siege engines concentrated their fire now, seeking to widen the gap in the weakened area of the wall even as Lincoln saw men poling log rafts into position. The rafts were made from trees felled from the forest and dragged to the waters edge under cover of darkness, to be tied together and covered in rocks and dirt to hide them until the wall had been opened. Now, however, the attackers were lashing them together to build floating bridges from the shoreline out to the island. As he strung his recurve bow and nocked an arrow, Lord Lincoln prayed that help would come soon, but for now they had attackers to repel. He drew the bow and began firing shaft after shaft into the forces of the Ivory Duchess as they attempted to cross the floating bridge and assault the breach. Other archers tried to set the rafts ablaze by shooting flaming arrows into them, but the log rafts were green wood and were water soaked as well, and most of them would not catch. Those that did quickly began to burn. Then, in the calm stillness of the early morning, they saw an unnatural movement in the waters of the lake as waves began to churn in the areas around the floating bridge where there was no wind to drive them. In other parts of the lake, the waters remained undisturbed and still. Within a moment, the deviant waves had splashed up against the rafts and extinguished those fledgling sparks, so painstakingly set by the archers, putting a swift end to idea of burning their floating bridge ere the attackers could use it. Lord Lincoln and the other archers loosed a barrage of arrows at the men poling the rafts into position, but these men seemed to be difficult for their archers and crossbow men to target. The men were standing in plain sight on the rafts, with no cover, but each time their arrows approached them it was as if they veered aside just at the last moment. The occasional arrow did slip through, though, but for each man felled by the arrows and bolts that found their mark, there were two others to take his place. Just beyond the lake shore, a flash of movement caught his attention, and Lincoln looked up to see a woman in long white robes standing on a boulder. Her hands were outstretched, and her pale blonde hair whipped around her shoulders as though a strong wind was blowing, but none was. He had seen her before only briefly, but he knew right away that before him rose Lucinda Melisande Von Landstadt, the Ivory Duchess. He had but a single arrow remaining and in the last moment ere the captain of the archers gave them the command to loose the next volley, Lincoln adjusted his aim, and loosed his final arrow alone. The arrow flew straight and true, but his target stood just out of range. Rather than striking the Duchess as he had intended, the clothyard shaft whistled down and thudded into the earth before her very feet. Even the near miss, however, still proved to be enough to break her concentration for that moment. Her hair settled as the phantom winds that stirred it ceased, and the lake stilled as the odd waves calmed and vanished. Turning her attentions toward him, the Duchess reached down to pick up a stick from the dirt at her feet, and tied it in a knot. Even though the space between them was too far for him to hear the words, Lincoln saw her mumbling over this stick until it begun to generate an eerie glow, then she hurled it in his direction. The stick vanished in midair with a flash of sparks as if it had never been, but Lincoln soon knew its intent was nothing good. The bow that he had wielded to such great effect, the very same bow that he had used in an attempt upon Lucinda's life, began to twist and writhe in his hands. Before his horrified eyes, the recurved bow had transformed into an ugly green and red serpent that curled around and lunged for his throat. Before it could strike, the brawny Scotsman hurled the serpent away, but in his panic he overbalanced himself and tumbled over the edge of the rampart wall, towards the cobblestone courtyard below. Directing the defense of the manor from a few paces up along the rampart, Sir Tyrus saw the Scot flailing his arms as he tumbled from the wall, but there was naught that he could do to save him. Clutching his war sword with one hand, and his shield with the other, he stood fast upon the parapet and called orders to his men. As he turned this was and that, trying to face every part of the keep at once, the morning sun sparkled from the piece of golden filigree dangling from a fragile chain that he wore about his wrist. Coming to his senses, Lincoln found himself lying flat upon his back, cold and wet, staring up at the rampart where he had stood but moments before. The neighing of an upset horse told him where he had ended up. Sighing in relief, he discerned that he had just crashed down through the thatched roof of the manor stable, landing in the horses watering trough, thereby understandably upsetting the horse. He stood to his feet, thankful to his armorer for building a suit which had absorbed the brunt of the fall. Walking toward the doorway, the Scotsman stumbled over something on the floor beneath the straw. Brushing the straw away, he found a discarded shield that bore the quartered red and black livery colors of Tyrus's house and scooped it up as he ran outside. Now all he needed was a weapon. Coming out of the stables, he found that he had now emerged within an arms length of the breach in the wall. Amongst the debris underfoot, he noticed the gleam of steel. Kicking some rubble aside, he laid eyes upon the pummel of a sword jutting out from under the crumbled bits of stone. He was about to pick it up, when something else caught his attention. With a twinkling of glee in his eye, he saw the remains of a polearm, its haft snapped off in the collapse of the wall. To anyone else it would only have been a broken weapon of little use, but to him it was something more. Taking up this discovery, he could see that it had been a Jedburg axe, a type of polearm similar to a halberd, but with its haft now severed to a more manageable length of around two feet, it would also make an excellent battleaxe as well. Now this was a weapon he was more familiar with. Swinging it experimentally to test its weight, Lincoln charged into the breach, hewing left and right with a vengeance, cutting down anyone in the Duchess's livery of white and green. One rams head fell upon another as he ducked beneath the swing of a mace blow, taking the second upon his shield ere cleaving open the skull of the man wielding it. With a savage roar, Lincoln waded ever deeper into the melee... then gave a sudden shout of joy. "Milord," he bellowed, "Look you to the east." Just at that moment, Tyrus heard a thunderous rumbling and saw a dark cloud of dust that momentarily eclipsed the rising sun. Out of this cloud came an army, easily a thousand strong, with a front row of mounted riders in full armor with lances. Ranks upon ranks of footmen came behind, wielding everything from swords and maces to halberds and other polearms. Riding at the front of the force was a knight in blackened plate armor, in a surcoat of purple and red. A banner flew proudly above the knights head bearing a golden knot on a field that matched the surcoat. A golden knot? On a field of purple... Amethyst? Tyrus stared at that banner wide-eyed and looked down at the delicate piece of golden filigree that yet dangled off of his wrist. It couldn't be! The duchess found herself outflanked, and the horsemen swept across the field, driving her rabble before them as they came. Beside the knight in the blackened plate rode a familiar figure. Lady Angharad, wearing only a maille hauberk over her gown and a steel helm upon her head, howled with triumph as they scoured the Duchess from the field. Her sword flashed from the blazing sun as she struck out left and right, felling attackers at every swing. Lincoln grinned proudly as he watched her best all who stood before her, she might make queen by right of arms herself sometime if they ever managed to got back home. With them rode another knight beneath a banner of gold and white, and Lord Lincoln swiftly recognized him as well. Sir Edmund de la Claire, and behind him, a horde of mounted archers, all yelling Mongolian battle cries as they herded the besieging army further and further back until, almost as one, the Kings Guard turned away and fled the field in full rout. The mounted horsemen pursued them, and the footmen and archers circled to mop up the rest as the leader broke away from their formation to ride across the causeway and in through the barbican. Abandoning his place upon the rampart, Tyrus charged down the stairway, a prayer upon his lips as he hoped against hope. The knight in the blackened plate reigned to a halt in the courtyard and dismounted in front of him. His lips in a tight line against possible disappointment, Tyrus could barely speak. "Jacklyn," he whispered, "Can it be you?" The knight reached up to take hold of a full face helm with brass trim, pulling it away, and wild cascades of auburn hair tumbled free. Syr Gabriella Valentina, the Contessa del Giardino Bella, also known as Jacklyn of Kansas, looked at Sir Tyrus with tears in her eyes and a tremble in her voice. "Sorry I'm late," she whispered with a smile. Without saying a single word, Tyrus rushed over to her and swept her off her feet and into his arms. She had already been lost to him for two endless years, and he intended never to lose her again. "Your hair is longer," he smiled, lightly tangling his fingers in her auburn locks, "I like it." Then he looked at her in wonder. "Splendid though it may be to have you here in my arms again," he wondered with a puzzled frown, "How is this even possible? You were stolen away from me all of two years gone, and now, thank the Almighty, you return to my side once more, but how can it be?" "We had a little help," Gabriella smiled, looking over his shoulder to where his mother had walked out of the great hall. The elderly woman looked a little younger than she had when the Contessa had last met her in her own time just a few moments before, but there could be no doubt, the Lady Eleanor could be none other but the gypsy woman who had sold the golden torcs to Angharad and Lincoln, as well as her own filigree charm so very long ago. Just at that moment, Angharad rode in through the gate and dismounted, casting an eye in all directions until she spotted Lord Lincoln, covered with dirt and blood but unharmed. She threw herself into his arms, and let Gabriella tell her tale. She had gotten back to Kansas amidst an awful crash of thunder, and though her head pounded while she waited until the world had come into focus, she yelled for Gabriella at once... ... Given that her squire had just arrived out of thin air, the Contessa had known at once where she had been and how she had gotten there. Angharad had reported in an impatient rush, telling her all about Tyrus and how he was under attack by the very men who had assaulted her during her own stay on his lands. Even as the tale had fallen from her lips, Syr Gabriella had pulled her into her pavilion, and was stripping off her bejeweled clothing and replacing it with armor and weapons. "Find the gypsy," she had ordered, "I will go speak to Sir Edmund and the others." Within the hour, Edmund and all the squires and men at arms of his household had assembled, but the word had spread. Each warrior who heard the tale of this castle under siege had wanted to help, and had told the story to others as well. It was usually enough to play with plastic swords and pretend to be a warrior or a knight during the weekends, but here was a story of an actual castle, with actual damsels in distress, and a wicked witch who had presumed to usurp the very throne of the rightful king. Every man in the group felt the beat of his heart quicken, as his soul sang at the prospect of triumph, glory and honor. Even those of the group that did not usually participate for combat games had stood ready to take up arms for this worthy cause. By great fortune, many of them were armed; in addition to the mock weapons of rubber, plastic or leather that they wielded against their foemen in sport, most also had real weapons, maces and blades of live steel, that they wore during formal dress occasions. This would be no time for formal dress, but the weapons should serve if it came to battle. By the time their fighters had gathered, Lady Angharad had arrived with the gypsy woman, and she had embraced Gabriella as she would a long lost daughter. "Protect him," she had whispered, "And love him." "This I shall," the Contessa had replied softly, "With my very life if need be." The old woman had nodded, and opened up a wooden chest at her feet. Inside had been hundreds of small leather bags, each tied carefully with silk ribbons. "I have worked so many years to craft these," said the gypsy, passing one bag to every man or woman who stood before her, "For I knew that a day would come when my son would have great need, and that only she who loved him dear could fly on the winds of time, with strength enough to bring others to his side." Inside of each bag was a tiny gold pendant, set with a single sliver of amethyst, each one a tiny copy of the very amulet that the old woman had given to Gabriella so long ago. Inside the final bag, pressed gently into her waiting hands, was that very amulet. "Each of these others was linked to this one," the old woman had told her, "And through it, to you. The other stones are too weak to hold the magic that bears a man through time. I had not power enough to create so many of those, but wear you this as you go to him, and the others have the power to follow. With magic or no, the only force with that much strength is love." When the others had fastened their pendants, Gabriella had taken up the golden chain with her trembling hands and slipped it over her head, whispering a soft prayer that the magic would work as it had before. Then the air that surrounded them had turned foggy and grey, and without warning, a brilliant flash outshone the midday sun, lighting up the practice field for the briefest of moments. A rumbling of thunder that belied the clear blue skies was overtaken by a horrific crash and the world faded to black... ... Tyrus seemed a little taken aback, especially with the realization that his own sweet mother had been the person who had brought all of this about. "We found these horses waiting for us," Gabriella said with a smile, "Saddled and ready, almost as if someone knew we were coming." The knight glared over his shoulder at his mother, who just stood there smiling wisely. Suddenly a clamor was heard as the horde of Mongolian archers rode into the courtyard, Sir Edmund de la Claire at the lead. Thrown over the whithers of his war horse, her hands and feet bound with leather thongs, was none other than Lucinda Melisande Von Landstadt, the Ivory Duchess herself. "Greetings milord," he grinned, nudging the Duchess so that she slid off of the horse to land in a heap upon the cobblestones, "We caught this one as she attempted to creep into the forest. We thought you might wish to have a word with her before she took her leave." "I so wish, indeed," Tyrus said with a growl, "And how are you called, good sir, that I may know who to thank for the delivery of this harlot to my door." "Oh sorry," Gabriella smiled, "Tyrus, may I make known to you Sir Edmund de la Claire and his House. It is he who rallied the men to aid us this day." "So good Sir, welcome to you and to your house," Tyrus smiled in reply, "Servants come! Let food and drink be made ready, for this night we celebrate a victory and the end of the Ivory Duchess, no more may she vex this kingdom." Gabriella glanced down at where the duchess lay on the flagstones. At first she had thought the evil woman to be unconscious, but as she looked now, she saw a hint of life about her after all. With an abrupt lurch, the pale haired Duchess sprang to her feet. She had worked her hands free of her bonds, and she held in each hand a small stone. Shouting a single word in some heathen tongue, the Ivory Duchess smashed both stones together and hurled the resulting geyser of shadowy black flame at Tyrus's unprotected back. At least three of the Mongolian archers had all nocked arrows at the first surge of motion, and now the three feathered shafts sprouted out of the Duchess's body as though they had all suddenly grown there. She fell to the ground again, this time for good, but the Contessa knew it would not be enough. Yelling a warning, Gabriella lunged towards her living love and pushed him out of harms way, just in time to suffer the brunt of the scorching black flames full in the chest. A heart searing agony ripped through her as she crumbled to the ground, Tyrus roughly shouldering through those who had gathered to help her with a roar of fury and sorrow. The knight bent an ear down to her burnt and bleeding lips as she fought to speak. "With my very life," she whispered, as her eyes glazed over and the world went away... - X - X - X - ... Carefully opening one eye, Gabriella looked around to see whether she was alive or dead. She had felt the last breath leaving her body, but she didn't feel very dead. At first she was a little confused, but after a while she recognized the chamber that she was in. This was Tyrus's own bedchamber, in the solar at the top of the keep. She sighed and smiled, snuggling deeper into the furs that still carried his scent. She turned her head at the gasp of surprise beside her and glanced up to see Tyrus himself. "You live," he whispered roughly, as tears of gladness ran unchecked down his face, "May the Almighty ever be praised, but you live!" "Of course I live," she replied, "Wouldn't anyone else have done the very same. The wicked witch hit me right in the face with her magic fireball, but that's just a trivial thing." "Just a trivial..." Tyrus stammered, but he stopped as she broke into giggles. "In truth, my love," she said seriously, "I feel quite fine, as though I had slept a whole night through, and I am now ready to face the morning." "A whole night?" Tyrus smiled, "Nigh a whole week. Six days you have been lying here as one dead, and I admit that I knew not what to do for you. It appears that my mother again has thanks for your being here." "My son is too modest," Lady Eleanor said gently in an almost inaudible whisper as she shuffled her way into the chamber, "It is he as much as I who has saved your life, though he is too humble to say so." "Say you so?" Gabriella said, "How is this?" "Further witchcraft," Tyrus replied, grinning when his mother swatted him in passing. "The Duchess used witchcraft," Lady Eleanor chided him gently, "Compare me not to her if you please." Shuffling to the side of the bed, the old woman pulled away the covers, and Gabriella shivered, blushing when she realized that she was completely naked beneath the warm bedspread bearing the knights heraldic arms. Lady Eleanor examined the slightly puckered pink scar that had been a blistered burn only a few days earlier, and pronounced that she was healing well. "Do you recall when I said that your love was the only force strong enough to carry so many across time?" she asked, continuing when the Contessa nodded, "Love can be a force to accomplish a great deal else as well. An attack of magic such as Lucinda's Soul-Fyre could have killed you, and I might say it would have, had not my son agreed to share his life with you whilst your body healed itself." "She used her spell to mingle my soul with yours," the knight said huskily, as Lady Eleanor walked slowly out of the room "For awhile, we two were as one." "Tyrus, my beloved," Gabriella said, reaching her hand to his face, "We two shall always be as one." Then the Contessa gave him a saucy wink, as she tugged the fur covers back once again, until they just barely hid her nipples. "Now, come here," she whispered, "So that I might find a way to thank you properly." As he leaned over her, Sir Tyrus caressed her face and kissed her passionately. She didn't know this, but the magic had taken it's toll on him as well, but he would have gone into hell for her if need be. She felt safe with Tyrus, as before, he was her protector. They were truly as one. Lying beside her, Tyrus cupped Gabriella's soft breast in his palm. He resolved that the cover was in his way and he kicked it to the floor, revealing that she was still as beautiful as a hot summer night, and she knew that his desire for her had not faded. His tongue made a trail from her neck down to her chest, and Gabriella moaned with delight, as he flicked her nipple with his tongue. She wanted him badly. Tangling her fingers in his hair, the Contessa pressed his lips harder against her throbbing nipple, but this knight in shining armor still knew what he was doing. Without warning, Tyrus slipped a hand slowly down over her tantalizing body. Reaching the most sacred part of her, he directed his finger into her slit. The knight may not have shared his mother's mystical gifts but he definitely had magic hands, and he even seemed to know exactly where she wanted him to go. He was gentle with her, understanding her hurts, but as he laid a finger directly upon Gabriella's throbbing clit, all of those hurts were forgotten. She wanted more. "Lick my pussy, baby," groaned Gabriella as she pushed his head between her legs. "Your wish is my command," he whispered, as his tongue parted the lips of her pussy. He plunged his face into her dripping slit, sliding erotically over her aching clit with his tongue, and he felt her body quiver. His mouth opened as he surrounded her button with his lips and suckled at her gently. It had been too long since they had been together, and as he sucked and licked at her wet slit, she knew she could endure no longer. Her body writhed violently as wave after pulsating wave of orgasm overtook her. "Oh baby... Mmm... I'm cumming," she whimpered, "Fuck yeah, just like that... Ungh, ungh, ungh!" As her body began to relax, she savored aftershocks of her orgasm, bucking her hips lightly in reaction as he teased her oversensitive clit with his tongue. "Ooooh, fuck yeah, that was amazing," she sighed, "But now its my turn to play." "Say you so?" Tyrus said wickedly, "Very well, you may do with me as you will." "Oh I intend to," the Contessa replied, gently pulling the knight upward until she could reach him, "This has to go." Unfastening his belt buckle, she tugged his surcoat up over his head and tossed it upon the floor. His tunic followed, and even as she was lightly pushing him back until he was stretched upon his bed, her fingers were busily untying the black laces of his leather breeches and tugging them downward until they had bunched about his knees. "Mmmm, yummy," she cooed as his hot rigid shaft sprang out of its captivity, "Momma like." Opening her mouth, Gabriella let his hard cock slip in past her lips, licking her hot tongue up and down his shaft. Tyrus gasped with shock; this was not something that any respectable lady should be doing, but he was not about to argue. As the auburn haired Contessa slid his shaft skillfully in and out of her mouth, he chose to overlook her elegant indecency, favoring instead to simply enjoy the nimble tongue that danced up and down his throbbing member. Gabriella could tell that Tyrus was enjoying this long slow blowjob as it was, but she wanted him to enjoy it to the utmost. Going for broke, she tried a trick that Angharad had taught her, demonstrating upon the lucky banana that they had just bought off of the vendors in the square. Tilting back her head, she let the knights diamond hard shaft slip ever deeper until she felt it slide all the way into her throat. Tyrus groaned as he saw Gabriella's sexy wet lips pursed about the root of his cock, and with no more warning than that, his hips bucked off of the bed as he lost what little restraint remained to him. Whimpering happily, the sleek auburn haired beauty let spurt after spurt of the knights salty hot cum trickle down her throat, feeling her own yearning slit getting wet at the thought of what she had done. As Tyrus let his hips settle back to the bed, she slipped his rigid shaft out of her mouth, stirring her fingertips in her own dripping little pussy. "I want you so much," she begged, falling backwards on the soft bed, "Take me now." Lifting her legs into the air, he aimed his still hard cock into her pussy. Teasing her, he eased the tip of his shaft into her slit and then pulled back, slipping it all round the outside of her wetness. Glaring up at the knight with displeasure, Gabriella swatted at him playfully as he gave her a wicked grin, she wanted him deep inside of her like nothing else. Laying his hands upon her hips, he plunged his hard shaft into her, and she sighed in response as his rigid length pushed into her body. Feeling her excitement, he fucked her pussy harder and faster, pounding her into the straw stuffed mattress with every stroke. Gabriella moaned; from the first moment that his stiff cock had slipped into her slick wet pussy, she had let herself tremble on the brink, hovering on the edge of the most mind bending of orgasms. She needed to cum in the worst way, and when Tyrus jerked his muscular hips between her slender thighs, releasing his seed inside of her wet slit, she felt herself falling into ecstasy once again. "Oh yes," she groaned, "Ooooh... I'm gonna cum for you baby... Right there... Ungh, ungh... Aaaaah!" A moment later they both collapsed on the bed in total exhaustion. Gazing up at him, Gabriella gave a girlish little giggle. "See," she said, "I told you I was feeling fine." Lying in one anothers arms, Tyrus felt alive again. He realized that they had not had much time together when first she had come to him, but never had he known such love as he carried for her since that day. Whether she was named Gabriella or Jacklyn, the Contessa owned his heart, and always would, and he knew now that he owned hers as well... - X - X - X - ... Pipers skirling and drummers drumming in a gallery over their heads, the revelry was in full swing there in the keeps great hall. None had been willing to have the celebration that the knight had ordered whilst the Contessa lay stricken, but now that word had come that she would be well, the House of Blakeshire was proving that they could party with a vengeance. Lincoln and Angharad both sat at high table with Tyrus and Gabriella, along with Sir Edmund and the multitude of other knights who had all rallied to the Contessa's banner. The Lady Angharad had a chair of her own, but as soon as the meal was ended and the festivities were under way, she had grumbled that it was uncomfortable and had been sitting since on Lincoln's lap, gleefully ignoring the scandalized looks of Jeffrey Steward, the Blakeshire chamberlain. "So her star tattoo was something important?" the sexy redhead said to Tyrus, "Would that had I mentioned the mark earlier." She was referring of course to the tattoo that she had seen while the Ivory Duchess was bathing. The mottled red star inside a blue green circle had seemed like an unusually patterned pentagram, but when Sir Edmund had bid his Mongolian archers to examine the woman so that they might know if she was playing possum again, there had been revealed something more. The red star had actually been a daemon headed serpent biting its own tail, interwoven and knotted to seem as a star in shape. "It would have altered nothing, milady," answered Lord Blakeshire reassuringly, "Indeed, though, as it turns out, the mark belongs to the Sisterhood of the Crimson Serpent. Lucinda was a member of that order, which has long been known as a coven of villainous witches, each of them working with the others to form a plot against the throne." "There may have been others, then?" Lincoln asked. "Mayhap so," the knight replied, "But we have struck a mighty blow against them. We need have no more fear of that lot for now, I dare say. But let us waste no more breath on such as they, as this is a celebration!" There had been far more warriors present at the battle than the hall could be made to accommodate, so another feast was laid out in the courtyard, where those that wished could share equally in the merriment, for there were none who were unwelcome in Tyrus's castle on this of all other nights. Lady Eleanor too sat at high table, her crackled voice ringing out with laughter after Baroness Sokhatai told a bawdy joke. The old woman sat at Tyrus's left, with Gabriella at his right, and everybody else arranged by order of rank up and down the table to each side. They joyously ate and drank until they could eat and drink no more, then they danced until the glow of dawn could be seen through the unshuttered windows. Finally, as the rising sun lit up the room, there came a warm moment of tranquil silence, and a wooden chest was borne into the great hall by the servants and laid upon the table before the Lady Eleanor. She opened the chest and began to hand out the tiny leather bags with their silk ribbons to everyone within the hall, those inside filing out to make way for those who had camped in the courtyard, and on the lakeshore. Lincoln and Angharad stood alongside Edmund, Tyrus and Gabriella waiting until the last of their warriors all wore their pendants of amethyst and gold. The Contessa stood enfolded in Tyrus's arms, leaning her head back against his shoulder, tears trickling softly down over her face. Lincoln felt his heart about to break, there was no justice here. Gabriella had fought so hard and for so long to get back to the knights side, only then to say good-bye to him all over again. After all of the others were ready, Gabriella unfolded herself from the knights arms, then came over to where her squires stood. "My heart may nigh break from sorrow," she said. "He is a good man," Lincoln said, "He will miss you as well, milady." Gabriella only smiled, and Angharad rolled her eyes. "Milord," Angharad sighed, "You can be really thick at times, you know that?" Lincoln's eyes widened when he realized what was going on. He had gotten things all wrong. The Contessa would be saying good-bye alright, but not to Tyrus. "You're not coming back, are you?" he said. "I lost him once," Gabriella replied, shaking her head sadly, "I'll not lose him again." Laying a hand on her shoulder, Sir Edmund spoke softly into her ear. "If this is your choice, your ladyship," he said, "All of us shall honor it. You shall be truly missed at the combats next year in Kansas, our side shall regret the absence of another knights sword." "Mayhap we two can remedy that," Gabriella said with a conspiratorial wink, "What say you, Edmund?" "It wasn't my place to suggest it, milady," Sir Edmund replied with a smile, "But I hoped that you would. Let the Lady Angharad and the Lord Lincoln stand forth and present themselves on bended knee." Lincoln and Angharad were both fully gobsmacked. There was only a single ceremony that would start with those words. The Scotsman knelt before Edmund, and his Irish lady before Gabriella, neither of them daring to speak a word until they were called to do so. Edmund reached down to unbuckle the wide belt of white leather about his waist, as Gabriella wordlessly did the same, there could now be no doubt. "A warrior must be strong," Gabriella recited, "And he must be skilled in the use of arms. Do you attest that the two before you are thus qualified?" "I do," Edmund replied, "To be more than a warrior, he must be forged upon the anvil of virtue, and thus must always show valor and noble heart. Can you attest that the two before you are thus qualified?" "I can," Gabriella answered, then to both Lord Lincoln and Lady Angharad, "Mindful of your skill on the field of battle, and also to acknowledge your rightful place among your peers, we are moved to make you knight. You know that to wear the belt and chain of a knight is to hold a sacred trust; that the obligation of knighthood will demand your efforts every moment of your life." "Knights of the Realm must be respectful of all," said Edmund,"He must hold in regard they who be defenseless or weak, whether because of age, infirmity, poverty or vow, and be steadfast in defending them." "Knights must love the Kingdom and its people," stated Syr Gabriella, "And fulfill most faithfully his feudal duties to the Realm and his Rightful King." "His word shall be dependable," Edmund stated, "Beyond all doubt or question. He shall never flee in the face of his foes. He must be generous to all." "And, always and everywhere," Gabriella said, "He must be the champion of the right and the good." "The laws and customs of the realm will require that a knight show prowess, as you have demonstrated upon the field; that the knight be courteous, as you have shown yourself to be and as these noble gentleman and ladies gathered here can attest; and that knights be loyal to Kingdom and Rightful King. Do you desire to accept the burden of knighthood and swear fealty to the Crown?" "I do," Lincoln and Angharad said together. "Then swear your fealty and pay homage as you will." "I do hereby swear fealty and do homage to my rightful king," Angharad pledged, "To be ever as a knight good and true; reverent, generous, and a shield of the weak and helpless. So swear I, Angharad O'Shaughnessy, once met of Kilkenny." "I do hereby swear fealty and do homage to my rightful king," Lincoln vowed, "To be obedient to my liege lord and to hold foremost in battle, to be courteous at all times, champion of right and good. So swear I, Lincoln Mac Galbraith, once met of Blakeshire Wood." "The knights white belt symbolizes purity," Sir Edmund said as he buckled his own around Lincoln's waist, "He must reign his body steadfastly, avoiding the scandals of gluttony, sloth and excess." "It symbolizes a Purity of purpose and a new beginning ones life," stated Gabriella, adorning Angharad with a belt in turn, "To begin again the steps on the Path of Chivalry for all his days." "Both candidates have been invested with the trappings of their position as knights," Edmond remarked, "Do we have chains with which to bind them in their oaths?" Gabriella was about to remove her own chain from about her neck, when Tyrus suddenly stepped forward. He held one chain in his hand, and was also removing his own. "The chain is of gold, purest of the metals to signify the purity of the fealty that binds the knight and his sovereign to one another," he said, slipping one chain over the head of Lincoln and Angharad alike, "It must be heavy to symbolize and remind a knight of the heavy responsibility he bears. The chain is strong, and thus signifies unbreakable obedience to the commands of his sovereign and his oaths. These particular chains come to you with a lineage of their own, this one worn upon the neck of Lord Lincoln, belonged to me. The other is upon the neck of Lady Angharad, but the chain was last worn by my father, the first Lord Blakeshire. May they remind you well of your oaths." Lincoln and Angharad were stirred beyond words, as was Gabriella, but she went on with the ceremony even when tears of pride blurred her vision. "The chain symbolizes our Order," she decreed, "And as such it is our badge just as the fleece, the garter or the cross have been used to signify knightly orders by our forefathers. Pray let your behavior and your deeds charge these our symbols with as great a reverence and respect as the badges of our forefathers." Edmund and Gabriella both drew their swords, then laid the flat of their blades upon first the right shoulder of the Contessa's two former squires, then on the left and finally upon the head. Then both knights spoke the final words together. "In remembrance of your prowess shown in battle, I dub thee once." "In remembrance of your lineage and obligations, I dub thee twice." "In remembrance of the oaths given and received, I dub thee thrice." Sheathing the swords, Gabriella and Edmund each raised one hand, letting it hover over the bowed heads of the two newest recipients of the Accolade. "To defend both your honor and your oath," they stated together, "Let these be the final blows that you shall ever receive unanswered." Then, with strength of purpose, each delivered an open handed slap to the head, leaving Lincoln and Angharad both reeling. The final blow, known as the Buffet, was the end of the ceremony, but also the beginning of the road to much honor and renown. "As Knights of the Golden Hart," Gabriella said, voice ringing with pride, "Stand and be recognized." Moments later the old woman cast the final spells, and amidst savage flashes of light and a deafening rumble of thunder, the gathered warriors all found themselves back at the Kansas faire ground. Syr Gabriella had not returned to be with them, but her two squires had just been elevated to the rank of knighthood. The two new knights stood to the cheers of an assembly of warriors, some of them now peers, every one of them brothers in arms. Syr Angharad wrapped her arms tight around Sir Lincoln's neck, lying her soft lips against his own. As the shouts of the horde, and the wild back slapping receded, Angharad thought back over the exact words of the ceremony. "The oath mentioned purity, right?" she asked, "And it said to forswear the sins of the body, something about how we ought to 'avoid the scandals of gluttony, sloth and excess.'" "That's right," Lincoln agreed, "I remember that." "Fair enough," Angharad smiled innocently, "But did it say anything in there about chastity?" "I don't think so," Lincoln said with a grin, "Why?" "Oh, you know what they say," the redhead replied with a mischievous smirk, as she led him toward his striped white and sapphire pavilion, "Once a warrior, always a warrior, but once a knight is never enough..." THE END? - X - X - X - Story by: MOON DRAGON by my hand and beneath my seal - X - X - X -