A Proper Scottish Wife

Ailene rose late the next morning, Stuart not waking her when he slipped out. She lay in bed, not being brave enough to rise and face the world. She felt disconnected. Her husband had encouraged her to have sex with his brothers, which she had. She dinna know how she could now face them again, any of them, knowing what had happened. She'd enjoyed it, cumming despite her misapprehension about the entire situation. Now she was left with the inability of facing her own husband, his brothers, perhaps even herself. Everything that occurred was in direct contradiction to all of her upbringing, her religious teaching, her most basic beliefs and ideals.

She loved Stuart. She loved everything about Stuart. His character, his treatment of her, his love and tenderness, his honesty, even the sex; she could not think of one thing that she did not love about her husband; everything but this - this strange quirk of sharing everything with his brothers. This was hard to get over. What made it impossible for her was how they made her cum, fucking her ass and her mouth at the same time. If it went against all she believed in, how could she have been so aroused? It was only marginally better than rape, only in that she finally agreed to it in the first place. But she had nae wanted to do so, only going along after her husband almost begged her to. Even hating it, she'd been so incredibly hot. Even the strapping; having her naked ass whipped to beet redness, left her panting for release. There had to something wrong with her. Was she possessed?

Stuart, what must he think? Even spurring her to have sex with Frang and Thorburn, had he imagined her enjoying it so much? Seeing her cum on another mans cock; could he ever forgive and forget? Would he even be able to look at her, knowing she'd enjoyed another man? She knew how much disgust and distaste, even hate, she would feel for Stuart if she'd seen him pleasing another woman; how could he feel any different? He'd been nice enough last night, cleaning her up and carrying her up the stairs, tucking her into bed, lying with her and holding her in his arms, but what about today? Having thought about it all night and morning, could he still love her? Would he want to set her aside now? What a mess!

And what about herself? If she looked in a mirror, would she see the same young woman who'd stared at her from the glass yesterday, or would she see a whore, a wanton slut, a slattern who gave herself to any man. Could she forgive herself?

There was nothing to it but to get up and begin the day. No questions would be answered by lying in bed. She got up and looked at herself in the mirror. First question answered. She looked the same as yesterday. There was nothing there to show she was the same person who had wildly cum while being fucked in the ass and mouth; who'd been left panting by having her ass paddled. She turned sideways to see if her bottom was still red. No, back to it's normal color. She donned her linen slip, added her pale green stays and a darker green gown and went downstairs. She met the head housekeeper, Muiríol, outside the kitchen, who inquired after her health given she'd been abed so long.

"I'm well, thank you," Ailene replied. "I had a trying day yesterday and just needed more sleep this morning."

"Aye, almost raped I hear, by a couple of bandits, you poor dear. No wonder you stayed in bed today. Heaven knows I should have died, I'm sure."

If she only knew all that happened after, she probably would die, Ailene thought. The elderly woman was a dear and loved by everyone, a mother figure to the Camerons, the housekeeping staff, even many of the men-at-arms. She'd been head housekeeper for nigh on twenty years.

"I'm very hungry. I've had nothing to eat since breakfast yesterday. Is there any chance I could get some food?" Ailene asked.

"Certainly, dearie. I'll have the cook give you some bread and cheese, maybe some sliced meat." Muiríol replied.

"Thank you. Can you tell me where my husband is?" I have to face him sometime, Ailene thought.

"Aye, I believe all the men are out on the training grounds pounding on one another. Stuart should be there with the Laird."

Ailene went into the kitchen and retrieved her cheese, meat and bread. She ate in the kitchen, unwilling and unready to face Stuart. After consuming her meal, she slowly wandered out toward the training grounds, almost dragging her feet in her reluctance to see anyone this morning.

The Training grounds was filled with Men-at-Arms drilling and fighting. Thorburn was instructing men on the use of the Claymore, the giant Scottish sword, Bjarkë was instructing still others on the smaller Viking swords and axes. Stuart was drilling young men and older children on the finer points of archery. Even a stripling could deal death with an arrow where they would be overmatched against another with a sword. Stuart saw Ailene standing at the doorway to the keep and called out a greeting, nodding to her with a short bow before returning to his instruction.

Thorburn nodded as well. "Good morning, Lady Cameron," he said, before returning to his charges.

Nothing in his demeanor was different from any other morning, despite his having plugged her mouth with his large cock the previous evening. He had said that they would not embarrass her or make anyone question her love and devotion to her husband. Perhaps no one would ever know that it happened and it could be forgotten by all.

Each of the men he was facing stood in a line and approached him with their claymore, one at a time, instituting an attack. Thorburn would defend against that attack, counter attack, and would end up smacking the side of his sword against their ribs, or sometimes their head. Fortunately they also wore leather helmets. He would then explain to them the faults in their approach and how to correct their errors and send them back to the end of the line, where they watched the success or failure of the next to attempt matching swords with Thorburn. It was obvious that he was an expert with the weapon. Most of the men were dispatched quickly, although some who had been at the training longer were able to last for a couple minutes before the flat of his blade whacked them.

Bjarkë too, was an expert with his weapons. The men he was facing tended to be disarmed quickly, or suffered a whack to the head or leather jerkin.

"Where's Frang?" Ailene asked. She didn't see him amongst any of the men training. He was usually there when the others were.

"He's around there, playing with his girly sword," Thorburn replied, pointing to the edge of the armory.

"I heard that, Thorburn," came Frang's voice from out of sight. "I'll have you know, it's not a girly sword, and I can spit you on it just as easily as any other."

He walked around the corner of the armory, carrying a smaller blade, waving it briskly around. It whistled with the speed with which he handled it.

"Good morning, Lady Cameron. How might you be this morning?" he asked as he passed her on his way to confront his older brother.

"Fine, thank you," she replied. He'd given no indication that he'd been licking her sex and asshole the previous evening. No smirks, no leering smiles, no winks, by not one single thing did he give any clue that he'd fucked her ass while her husband watched. Maybe her fears were unfounded.

"I'll have you know, dear brother, that in many ways, this rapier is far superior to that huge hunk of tin you're so fond of waving around," Frang said.

"Hah!" scoffed Thorburn. "That bitty thing has no weight. This claymore will knock it out of your hand and take your head off in an instant brother."

"I detect a wager in your bold words, Thorburn. What say you to two silver pieces that says I can poke you 3 times before you've even touched me once with that giant meat cleaver you call a sword?"

"Done!" Thorburn roared. "I'll have you eating dirt in no time."

This was a battle that all wanted to see, although nobody believed that Frang would win. Thorburn was too good with the claymore, the weapons appeared to be totally mismatched; maybe with the axe, but not with some dinky little stick of a sword. They formed a circle, the two combatants in the middle and everyone else on the outside looking in. A few side bets were quickly made, but the odds for Thorburn were astronomical. Every one of the men had felt the flat of Thorburn's blade multiple times. No one was familiar with Frang and his little sword.

"One thing, big brother. You can whack me with the side of your sword. This rapier is made for one thing, and that's to pierce that big, dumb hide of yours," Frang opined. "I don't want to kill you, so we need something to stop that from happening."

"Let me see it," Stuart said

Frang handed it over and Stuart examined it. As Frang had said, the point was extremely sharp. Stuart thought a moment, then went to the wood pile. He picked up a piece about an inch in diameter, grabbed Bjarkë's axe and cut a piece of it about another inch long. He pushed it onto the point, forming a cap.

"That should do it," he said, handing the sword back to Frang.

Frang took a couple swings with it, testing the balance and behavior of the blade with the modification.

"Aye, this will do. En garde, you big oaf."

Frang assumed a position with the point aimed at Thorburn, weight evenly distributed between his two feet. He waited and Thorburn didn't make him wait long, a long, whistling stroke from right to left, aimed to knock the blade aside, so he could step in on the reverse stroke and strike Frang on his right side. With a slight motion of his hand, Frang dropped his blade, avoiding the strike, and stepped forward, his wooden point touching Thorburn's right chest.

"One," he said, stepping backward.

"Niftily done, little brother," Thorburn said, rubbing his chest. "Little pointy stick, one, meat cleaver, none. I'm impressed."

Thorburn realized that he might have to be a little more careful with his younger sibling. He could maneuver his blade very quickly, much more rapidly than he could the larger claymore. He was right about something though, it didn't have the weight to withstand any direct hit with the claymore. Perhaps a sudden overhead strike.

As went the thought, so went the action, the claymore rising over his head and coming down hard. Instead of attempting to block it directly with the rapier, Frang raised the sword and the huge claymore went sliding down the blade, deflected just out of line with Frang's body, then the point dropped and with a half step forward, the point touched Thorburn's chest again.

"Two," Frang said. "One more and I'll have your silver coins, brother."

Ailene was amazed. It did not seem to her that the smaller Frang with his tiny sword could be besting Thorburn, who she had never seen defeated on the training grounds. It did not matter the blade, he was master of all, and only Stuart could best him at archery. That Frang had touched him twice with the point with barely no movement astounded her. It seemed to her that Thorburn was also taken aback at his failure to lay his sword on Frang. He began a rapid whirling of the claymore, using one hand which very few men could do with the two handed sword. Back and forth, left and right, up and over, so quickly the blade was a blur. Thorburn had no thought that he should be giving up two silvers at this point.

He began advancing on the smaller man who retreated, but forever maintaining his balance, one foot before the other, and the point of his blade pointed at Thorburn's chest. The faster Thorburn advanced, the faster Frang retreated, going in a wide circle within the center of the men. Frang watched the whirling blade, accessing the rhythm, looking for an opportunity to penetrate the steel shield the blade presented. Finally he saw a chance, he feinted at his brother's groin, causing him to step to the side and slide his own blade to block, but the rapier was already moved out of the line, it flicked upward and with a lunge, the point touched Thorburn's heart.

"Three, and you can pay me later, Thorburn, over your finest ale."

"Odin's spear, Frang, I would not have believed it. It's such a wee blade. I have not seen it's like before. How is this done?" Thorburn asked.

"The smaller blades are replacing larger ones in France and Italy," Frang replied. "All of the fighting is done with the aim of placing the point in the body. It does not really use an edge as most other blades do. It is light and easily maneuvered with one hand. I would grant you, Thorburn, that an untutored man would do better with a larger edged weapon, against an untutored man with this blade. He can flail about and manage to hit something, do some damage, but with the practiced hand, the rapier is the superior weapon."

"Well, I canna in all honesty say that is untrue. You've bested me and the last time that happened was when I was twenty summers."

"It's a lighter weapon, easier to carry around, light enough to be used by a woman, if we..."

"Wait!" Ailene interjected, "You can teach me to fight like that?"

"Anyone can learn it. As long as you apply yourself. You must develop strength in your arm and wrist. That will require exercise and constant practice, but aye, I can teach you," replied Frang.

"While you're at it, Frang, pick out a few more of the younger lads and teach them too. We can use a few more handy at different weapons" Thorburn said.

"Can we start now? I would dearly like to learn, Frang," Ailene said.

"Stuart, do you have objection to Lady Cameron learning the sword?" Frang asked.

"Nae, it might help protect her from the depredations of bandits, don't you think?" he replied, smiling.

"Aye, that it might," laughed Frang. "All right, lassie, come into the armory, let's pick you out a weapon."

They went into the armory and Frang went to the lighter weapons. He picked up a number of them, testing them, finally he found one he seemed satisfied with and handed it to her saying, "I want you to try this one, it's called an epee. It's lighter than my rapier, but heavier than a foil."

She took the handle in her hand. Frang showed her how to hold it. He had her wave it around a bit, checking for balance he said. Had her hold it out at arms length as long as she could to check her strength of arm and how much the point drooped when her arm got tired.

"I think this will do fine," he said.

They went outside and found the spot where Frang had been practicing before. There was a post with straw tied around it at about chest level.

"The first thing you must learn is how to stand," Frang explained. "That forms your base. Always you want your movement to come from your base. If you don't maintain it, you will lose your balance. If you lose your balance, you're dead, never forget that. Are you right handed?"

"Yes."

"Point your right foot towards your target, then your left foot a little more than a shoulders width in back and pointed toward the side. Now lower your body, like you intended to squat, but not quite that much, maybe six inches or so down."

She took a position and asked, "Like this?"

"Not bad, point the front foot a little more, not quite so far apart on the back leg, and a wee bit lower, there, I think that's good."

Frang came up to her and pushed at her from the front, a little movement, but not bad. He circled around her and pushed at her back and again, there wasn't much movement. She had a good base front to back. As he walked back to the front, he pushed at her from the side and she stumbled a little.

"Your base will always be a little better from front to back, because of the width of your stance, and weaker side to side because only the width of your foot provides for the base in that direction," Frang said. "Your legs will get stronger and balance better with training. Now, do you remember how I moved when Thorburn came after me?"

"A little."

"I want you to try moving like that."

She gave it a try, stumbling a little. She was not near as smooth as Frang had been. He had practically glided when moving backward. He showed her again.

"First, until your training reaches advanced stages, you never move either foot more than six to nine inches at a time, just move them very quickly if you want to move quickly. It can be almost a little hop, but always keeping one foot on the ground. That's how you will maintain balance. As you progress, you'll start doing jumps, double jumps, but not to start. The faster you move, the more you remain in balance. When I had to move in the circle, there had to be some sideways movement, not all straight back because it was a circle. But you can go sideways as well, because it's little steps. Try again."

She tried again, following his instructions. She did much better this time.

"Again, forward."

"Again, back."

"Forward."

"Back."

For the next hour, that's all she did. Back, forward, sideways. Frang walked around her, pushing at her occasionally and seeing if she was maintaining stability. She got quicker, more prepared, more in equilibrium. When he was satisfied with that, he had her do it again, but holding her epee. In another hour, her point was dragging, she was drenched in sweat and her legs were screaming at her.

"I have to stop. I can't go anymore,"Ailene said.

"Aye, I can see. You canna even hold your wee point up anymore. Come with me to the armory. I've got some balm to ease the pain in your legs."

They went into the armory and Ailene handed Frang her epee.

"Keep it," he said. "It's your weapon now. You will become as familiar with that as your own body. From now on, each day that you train, you will wear breeches and leave off your stays. You may wear a blouse over your shift which will need to be short due to the breeches. After you've progressed in your training, you can return to stays and dress as that is what you'll be wearing all day and how you move in dress and stays will differ from that of blouse and breeches. Bar the door, would you."

While she barred the door, he went to cabinet behind the weapons rack and got a clean rag and a jar. Waving her to a stool in the corner of the room, he directed her to sit down. He then set another stool in front of her and sat down himself. He handed her the cloth and had her dry herself off. He poured some of the jar's contents into his hand.

"This is a mixture of lesser burdock and wild marjoram in a base of lavender oil," he said. "It will help with muscle aches."

He took her left arm and rubbed it in thoroughly, then took her right arm and did the same. When he took her leg and set it in his lap, she drew her leg away.

"I can rub my own legs, thank you," Ailene said. "Tis nae proper for you to do so."

"Under normal circumstances, you'd be right," Frang replied, "but I nae think these be normal circumstances, do you?"

"Stuart has shared me with you. You and Thorburn have both had me. Is nae that enough? How much longer must it go on?" She asked.

"Until it does nae happen. When Thorburn and I nae longer desire you. I dinna see that happening anytime soon," he said, chuckling. "Thorburn's convinced me that I must sample that talented mouth of yours. I plan to do so today."

"Please nae! I'm a proper wife. I dinna want to be sharing myself with men other than my husband. It's nae right."

Frang did nae respond. He got up, unbarred and opened the door and called for Stuart and Thorburn both to come to the armory.

When Stuart came in, he asked, "What is it? What do you need?"

"Stuart," Ailene said, running to him, "Please tell me that I dinna have to service your brothers still? I thought that was over; that it ended yesterday."

Thorburn came in as she was asking the question. He closed the door behind him, barring it.