The Hamlet of Auchlyne

There was a little cottage in the hamlet, now owned by James. He had seen it as a boy, from the window of his mother's carriage when they made their way through the village to the castle. James set his eyes for only a single moment, but the memory was sufficient to spend his childhood dreaming of that home.

He imagined a life amongst the imaginary children who would have surely lived there - a kind mother with rosy cheeks and a strong young father. He pictured himself huddled with the family by the hearth during winter and running through fields in the spring. He had taken it for himself when he was set free, discovering the owners were old and childless, the man a boot maker and the woman a seamstress. He was told they never married, but their love made up for that ten fold.

This is where James waited for Isabel. He waited at the door, the rain pouring about him - his hair black as ink, dripping down his face. I'll wait for her, he whispered to himself, I'll wait right here.

My travels to England didn't go as according to plan as one might've hoped for. But that didn't matter now.. I was almost certain that he had forgotten about me entirely, but like new flower a bud of hope had arisen. Surprisingly, it hadn't taken me that long to receive his note, but the messenger had fed his horse on nothing but oats. Although I look disheveled I made no haste in coming to him. The paths were a bit slippery but seeing that dark silhouette spurred me on to get to him faster. His hair was positively soaked only adding to his alluring posture. I just stood and watched him as he watched the world go by. If things were different their would be no holding back in how I would approach him.

Squinting through the rain, which had started to lessen, James could discern a figure on horse back. The beast pranced through the muddy lane to the little house, it’s coat looked the same shade as his messenger’s mare and he sighed - his breath spiralling like smoke in front of his blue lips - no doubt she had sent some note in return and kept herself in England.

He turned his back on the village and opened the door behind him, he worked quickly - adding wood to the fire, ensuring the little room would be warm for the squire. He stepped back outside to help him with the horse but then he saw it was no servant - but Isabel.

He didn’t think - only ran. His mind was blank as he raced from the house and to her atop the horse. His grin -  as he brought her down and collected her into his arms - was instinctive and not because of any thoughts working in his mind. He brushed her wet, black hairs off her flushed cheeks and looked upon her with the warmest of smiles. Only then did he think - she would be frozen, tired, "Inside," he said quickly and ushered her to the door,, "I'll put the horse away."

The way he lifted me up into his arms I never wanted him to put me down. I could of kissed him to tangle my fingers through his wet hair but I didn't. I remained in check not letting my desires taking control of my emotions. It felt so good to see him again just him and I far far away from anyone. "Your presence has been missed. I am glad that you have let me come to you." As he set me down I let my fingers casually catching against his forgetting that I was wet. This was a place I thought that I would never see James in an actual home. I took off my shoes not wanting to drag damp through this homely residence that he was so clearly fond of.

James saddled the horse quickly in the stables behind the little cottage. Wheat and oats were already in a trough beside a bucket of water - which came from a leak in the roof, but provided immediate relief of thirst for the beast. James slung a heavy piece of fabric over the back of the horse once he removed the saddle, leaving it warm and to rest.

As he walked back to the house, he began to question what he would do now she was here…in his home. It was never really his home, he hadn’t even stayed there for more than night. From time to time he would visit and blow away the dust, sit by the fire and just be still - imagining he never had to return. No one had ever stepped beyond the threshold before - not even his closet friends, not even Mary.

He finally arrived in the house, ducking his head beneath the beams. He took off his cloak and slung it over the banister by the crooked stairs. He looked over to Isabel, her gown glistening with damp - her face was bright and gleaming, James could not help but smile. He disappeared up the stairs, his footsteps echoing on the living room roof as he collected a shirt and heavy piece of woollen tartan which he had sometimes worn as a kilt. He padded down the stairs and laid it before Isabel, “I keep a change of clothes incase I stay," he mumbled in explanation and finally looked up to her - his eyes dark and dancing with mystery, "...You’ll catch a chill," he added, leaving her to figure out the rest.

"You are being a chivalrous man today James." I teased him as I gave him a brown parchment that held his new shirts inside."I think that the French style shall rather suit you might attract more admirers."I went over to him gently moving the strands of hair that threaten to fall in his face. A gentle sigh escaped my rosy lips as I found contentment in playing with his hair.I cupped a handful of his hair; scrunching it up to drain any rain that has gathered in his silky locks. My eyes looked past him looking at the furnishings that surrounded the cottage. At one time a family had most definitely lived here at some point. Then I understood that this must of been the attraction for James a family home. She wasn't here; but you could feel her presence in the cross; he wore in a devotion to her.How long do I get to keep you here? I asked innocently as my lashes fluttered waiting for a response. My hands slowly traced down his shirt resting firmly on his hips. I pulled him to me needing him just a little bit closer to me. I wasn't looking for some cheap thrill from him I genuinely needed to have him closer to me. I longed to feel the breath dancing on my skin in a tantalising way to make me feel alive. He was my sweetest downfall it was a dangerous game to flirt with him. But I loved it, I loved how it made me feel so alive inside. "Can you undress me."

He smiled with a warm, gentle chuckle at her words, “Hardly chivalry,” he began with a smirk and collected the parcel, feeling warmth upon the package - surely she must have had it pressed close to her, “When I let you travel up in the pouring rain.”

He curiously unlaced the chord which kept the paper folded over the shirts. They were folded neatly - a little creased - but the fabric was crisp and white, detailed around the collar with a thin lace to bind him into the fabric. He raised his brows in admiration of her work, “I’m impressed,” he said and took one from the bundle, holding it in front of him, “They’re better than my last set.”

He tossed the shirt over his shoulder as she approached him, her hand in his hair, her breath on his face. It was more than just a thrill to have her near him, their reunion was not fraught with passion…yet in a way, it was. There was something in how she was with him, how she spoke to him and now how she touched him. He didn’t move away from her, even though his head told him to. He tilted his head - still smiling mischievously - his nose brushed against her forehead, his lips against her nose. His hand moved to the lace at the front of her dress. He gave it a little tug and saw her come closer to him. He laughed but stayed close to her, his expression soon became ernest and intense, “I do not think that would be wise, do you?" It was barely a question, there was something dangerous in how he said it - something forbidden and tempting.

"Wet clothes on a lady are rather hard to remove by myself."They stuck to my skin like a mosquito sucking blood. The same thrill was their in the way we spoke and treated each other. Nothing would happen, I knew that from the very beginning, but that never stopped me from wanting him. Although my desire for him hung in the air like fog on a winters morning I could control myself.. Kind of. I held my breath as he tugged on the lace. Sparks were coursing throughout my body touching every part that I wished for him to touch. "I' am going to undress in the other room to spare you from any blushes. When I come back, I want to see you wearing your shirts." I had very little to say as my body language made up for the words my mouth could not say. This was what had comforted me in my dreams the very thought of just being near him once more. We could of been cleaning out the horse stables for all I cared but still it would of been with him.

He nodded in reply and took an accepting step back. That moment was as close as they had danced to anything happening, though they had known the steps to that dance well by now and James felt it was neither the first nor the last time they would. He could feel the temptation in her gaze but took a step away from her and paced to the fire.

As she disappeared into the other room he removed the wet shirt and threw it upon the ground. As he did, Mary’s crucifix became caught and tinkled across the air and landed with a metallic thud. James sighed and collected the necklace from the floor, running his thumb over the bright jewels before slinging it around his neck again. He put on the shirt, the material a little hard from lack of wear and looked into the fire, brushing his hand over his beard. What am I doing? he thought.

“There is food in the pantry,” he called to Isabel.

He would regret this just like he always did. Maybe life had changed him since he became a husband made him even more loyal than was possible. Piece by piece I pulled off my wet garments; leaving them where they fell. My skin was clammy and wet a hot soak and some whiskey was what I needed. "Shall we go to the tavern after the rain has cleared." I called softly as I sat myself on the end of the bed. The bed creaked a sign of it's age and how many times that it had been used. I lay on the thick floral examining my white skin in the light. I didn't want to make love to James I could never imagine giving myself to any man let alone him. I did have a constant craving for him an ever lasting leak that needed to be refilled over and over by him.  Again I was left alone in what I felt for James it had been a fleeting moment on his half to think that we were bound. I pulled on his white shirt, letting it hang off me. I leaned on the frames that held up the cottage watching James in silent satisfaction." You regret being here don't you." With bare feet I made my way back over to him pulling out the lace collar that was tucked in. "If you want to go back to Mary you can. I am not keeping you here I understand the great love you have for her. " I don't think I could put up with this mouse and cat game for any longer. Just went I thought he was starting to understand my feelings for him. He finally remembers he is married and whatever desires, we have for one another are quickly diminished.

He looked up to her and his heart sighed. Her hair dripping over her eyes, eyes shining and her cheeks flushed with the cold. There she stood, barely dressed in that billowing shirt - his shirt; coming out of the bedroom as if they had just been in there together. He noticed the curve of her pale shoulder where the shirt slipped away from her body, the silhouette of her shining through the shirt that showed so much which had been hidden...until that very moment.

He cleared his throat, as if to clear his mind and stood up, "No," he protested with a smile, "No, I don't."

And he didn't. He did not regret riding out in the rain and taking her in his arms and giving her those clothes and having her in his little house. He only regretted how she made him feel when she leaned against that beam, her hip tilted out to the side and her eyes looking at him as if they knew the secrets of his mind, "I don't want to back," he said and walked towards her, "Not yet."

This is dangerous, he thought. This is wrong. But he kept walking - closer and closer to her.

I longed for him like a creature who seeks out the night. Admittedly, I did the chasing like an untamed creature thirsty to taste him to know what he was like. James was my friend, but I needed more of him more than he was ever willing to give me. I took one breath held step towards him, placing my foot in between his. "Does it feel wrong yet so right. I just want to be with you like this the way we are now." My heart beated faster and faster my mouth growing dry palms a little clammy as I rose before him on the tips of my toes. My fingers grazed over his subtle stumbles that covered his neck so sparsely it felt like heaven to touch. With delight, I gently wrapped my fingers around his neck as I pushed my thumb to his lip.

James sighed as she padded closer to him and shut his eyes when he felt her fingers touch his neck. His head dipped close to hers as she stood upon the tip of her toes. She smelt of the rain - as if she had been rolling about in green pastures all day.

“I can’t,” he said - his deep voice came out hoarse and broken. Yet, his hands came to hold onto the shirt, scrunching the fabric into his firm hold and bringing her body against his. He finally opened his eyes and looked into her bright eyes, “I can’t,” he repeated, his gaze diverting to her lips.

"It's ok I should not encourage such things when I know you are off limits." With a thud my feet were firmly placed back on the stone cold floor. My fingers came to rest on his back as I held him dearly in my arms. Why did we both feel this way towards one another! It was a strange little friendship they had but it was their friendship. I felt like a secret in his very hectic life, a place to go when he just needed to be the essence of himself. If he pulled on this shirt any tighter he would come face to face with my naked body. An amused smile spread across my lips pressing into his chest.

James let go off the shirt and sighed. He took a step back from her and only then realised that he had been holding his breath. He ran his hands through his hair, shaking off the moment and finally slumped down upon the chair by the fire, “You can stay here - as long as you like."

He didn't look at her - if he did, he doubted he would be able to control himself. There was something so tempting - so utterly forbidden about her.

Why would I want to stay here alone if you are not here. You are most gracious to me even though I do not deserve it. The tartan kilt I drapped around my waist as I walked to the pantry. Their were many things delectable that I could eat but my appetite had gone leaving a space for James. They would in years to come laugh about how sexually charged they had been to one another.

“You do,” he said simply and stretched out on the chair, feeling the warmth of the fire burning beside him. He shuffled closer while in the chair, letting the heat melt away the cold and the wet off his clothes. it was strange that he was now fulfilling what he dreamed of as a child. He sat - like an aged man - by the fire, Isabel sauntering scantily clad about the house. He had imagined this scene countless times and it was strange it was now realised.

He glanced up to her and noticed the length of her legs as she walked to collect some food. The smooth curve of her calf, the tempting trail of her thigh and what was hidden behind his shirt a tartan.

“How was England?” he asked, picking at the arm of the chair.

Rummaging through the dusty shelves; I found a coloured pearl drop shaped glass the contents whiskey! I shook it in his direction; pulling out the cork with my teeth only to let it drop on the floor. I sniffed intuitively coughing as the strong odour had reached my nose. "Dull and boring I took the Scottish weather with me. Much to their disdain." I winked mischievously as I sat by his feet like a loyal pet to it's master. Placing my feet in his lap I laid down on my back; my hands undoing my hair. "I had this dream and I would awake startled. I dreamt that you were calling for me whispering my name. Other times I would dream of that moustache tickling me."

James smiled to himself when she spoke of England with such casual contempt. He did not know if it was Isabel or the idea of her that attracted him more…but one thing was for certain - she was his equal.

Mary was everything young boys dreamed of; she was slight and graceful, always smelled of flowers and her hair was soft and her voice was like a lullaby. She was nobility - it was in her blood. She was perfect for James, she fitted neatly and quietly at his side and he loved her. Yet, Isabel was what men thought of at night - when they tumbled out of boyhood. She was the vixen with dark hair and a taste for ale; the one who could dance a man to his ruin.

He rested his hands over her legs which slumped over his lap, “It was no dream,” he said playfully with a chuckle and continued teasingly, “I walked through the English moors at night - sobbing and crying out for you. Did you not hear me?”

Quietly, he was pleased she dreamed of him.

I grinned blushing just a little at how he teased me with his charming words. I could be myself around James let my vulnerable side be known not fearing his reaction. Yes their would never be another man like him; he was bound to me. To who I was and what made me the person I was now. The fact that I couldn't have him wasn't allowed to have him even. "You didn't howl to the moon by any chance." Sitting up I shuffled closer and closer to the fire. The cold air made me shiver grasping my body like an icicle shard.

He shook his head, pretending to be serious, “Cloudy nights and the absence of a full moon kept me from howling.”

He sat up as she moved nearer the fire, “Have my seat,” he said and gestured to the little chair - the fabric slightly worn, the pattern faded and the pillows no longer plump as they had been when the chair was new. Like everything in the home, much of what filled it was a little broken or tired. He didn’t want to change it - if he could, he would have preserved it as he found it.

He glanced down to her, standing tall above her as she sat beneath him. He could see, just a hint of beneath the shirt. A creamy hint of skin, the curve of her collar bone. He diverted his eyes and sat at the foot of the chair, “I’m glad your home,” he mumbled quietly, looking into the fire.

"Is it hard to be my friend James. Knowing that I... That I sometimes flirt with you." The last thing I wanted to do was add any unwanted strain in his life. Jumping into his seat I dangled my leg down his chest gently placing his head into my lap. His head lay just above my knees, allowing me to massage his scalp. At the back of his hair was the most sweetest of baby curls I gently pulled it only to see it ping back into place. What made you bring me here. Out of all the lands you owe throughout Scotland possibly even taverns? Why here.

"It's the easiest thing in the world," he replied sincerely and warmly, "I feel as if I am entirely predictable to you - as if you know exactly what I shall do and you...make me feel at ease."

Perhaps a little too easy to be her friend. She had wandered into his life and now he could not quite imagine her not being in it. Part of him relished that many would not approve of their relationship - the aged courtiers and indeed some of the young nobility may think it improper to be so familiar with Isabel. Yet, she was like him in so many ways and they fitted together naturally. He did not have to mind his tongue with her or construct his words into flowery prose - she was just Isa and he was just James.

He tipped his head back, leaning against her and the chair while he wrapped his arm around her bare leg. His fingers traced absent mindedly across her skin, "I wanted to live here when I was a boy. I saw the house and imagined who would live here and the life they would have had. I wanted that life and I couldn't have it...but I could take the house. If I were not...if you were...well, perhaps it would have been in this room you first met me and not my study in the castle."

You wouldn't give me the time of day if you wasn't a king! Although I did not come to you with the intention to befriend you. I can picture the life you could've had if you was not a king. You would own many lands; spending your days working on the fields. Hay is what you would harvest; leaving strands of it hanging in your hair. A clasp of thunder up ahead had broken my trail of thoughts. I shook my head, stretching my arms around his chest as my cheek rested on his head. The pitter patter of rain hit the windows on this dull august day. A certain longing to hold him in my arms had arisen within me. In the short space of time that we had known each other we had grown close to one another. His tender skin was smooth like velvet no trace of fingerprints left; no matter how many times my hands came to caress him. Why can't I help myself around you. I want to understand this friendship of ours.