The late morning light was muted as Declan and Aoife stepped out of the shelter of the forest and found themselves in a grazing pasture. Turning north to keep their distance from Enniscorthy, they walked side by side through the grass and clover as sheep and lambs bleated and trotted from their path. Soon they climbed over a flower dappled stone wall and crossed the road to scale the wall on the other side.
In the next field, a small farmhouse was visible, and upon approaching they beheld the farmer carrying a shovel, his young son at his side. Exchanging pleasant greetings, Declan inquired where there might be a public house, and as the wee lad gaped at Declan's battered face, the man gave them directions to the village of Monageer.
'Twas almost an hour's walk through the countryside, during which they happened upon occasional farm tenants but mercifully no Yeomen or Redcoats. Monageer proved to be a small village with a church and a few shops among the homes. Here and there, people were about on the main street --- men and women engaged in conversation in front of the houses, children playing. A few curious glances were cast in their direction as they passed by.
There was one tavern in town, at the end of the lane, as the farmer had described. Entering the establishment, they discovered a pleasant room with a low fire in the grate and chatting customers at the bar and tables. Declan scanned the room before selecting barstools at the far end from whence he could observe the door and windows.
A middle-aged barkeeper was leaning on the counter, conversing with a man at the opposite end, but as they seated themselves, he straightened and crossed to wait upon them. "What'll it be, lads?"
"Tea." Declan looked at Aoife; she nodded. "For both of us. What have ye to eat?"
The man raised a finger and stepped through a doorway behind the bar. Upon his return he announced, "Colcannon or black pudding and eggs."
Declan and Aoife burst out giggling at the words 'black pudding', Aoife ducking her pink face. As the puzzled proprietor continued to look at them, they spoke nigh in unison, "Black pudding and eggs."
Aoife's face alight with mirth was so comely, Declan could scarce restrain his adoring stare...but she was a lad, he reminded himself...they mustn't draw unwanted attention.
The man soon returned with the tea. "What happened to yer face, lad? Looks like ye've been worked over right well."
Declan shook his head, one corner of his lips quirking up. "A misguided wager at the tavern last night, so it was. But you should see the other lad." He winked his good eye.
The hot, strong tea was a welcome restorative, doing wonders for his sore throat. They drank in wordless appreciation, Aoife wrapping her fingers about her cup and inhaling the steam. The food when it arrived was excellent as well, and Declan was by and by feeling freshly fortified.
But as equal as he now felt to confronting his dilemma, he was having no better luck finding a solution. Intermittently he glanced at the now red-haired 'lad' next to him.
'Twas whilst they were eating that Aoife's hand froze upon her teacup and she sat up straight, her eyes widening. Declan took in her distressed expression, and his eyes flew to the door and windows. Finding nothing amiss, he murmured. "Are ye ill?"
Her eyes were fixed ahead. Declan followed her gaze to the other end of the bar and beheld the barkeeper --- occupied with nothing at all extraordinary. Mystified, he looked back at her. Now she was staring at her plate, poking at the eggs with her fork as her cheeks reddened. She shifted upon her stool awkwardly. Declan's eyes dropped, and he at once perceived the cause of her discomposure: there upon the blue wool in the crotch of her breeches was a darker wet spot about the size of a gold crown.
His spunk was running out of her cunny!
Declan's own cheeks swiftly flushed as he imagined the vision between her legs. They both sat with their hot faces tilted down towards their food. All he could see, however, was her wee pink slit with a trickle of his pearly seed emerging. The sensations from earlier in the morning overwhelmed him: the sight of her wide-stretched aperture skewered on his glistening cock...the feel of the hot flesh of her vagina gripping him...the sounds of her moans and breathing. He was powerless to halt the unfurling of his machine inside his breeches, and he soon had to tug his coat forward to hide the obvious, bulging protrusion under the wool.
He took a draught of the tea, then coughed and cleared his throat. When he glanced towards Aoife, he saw her lowered gaze fixed upon his lap. A moment later, her big eyes fastened upon his. Her pale irises were glowing even as they received the burning, silent message in his own eyes. With his heartbeat quickening, Declan signaled the barkeeper and reached for his knapsack to grab his coin pouch.
As he paid, he said in a nonchalant tone, "Do you let rooms?" To the negative reply, he asked if there was an inn in the village. Aoife had dismounted the stool and was fussing with her knapsack straps, hiding her blushing face.
Again, the man shook his head. "Sorry, lads, there's no inn, but ye might try Cavanaugh, the butcher down the lane. They sometimes have a room to let."
Declan thanked him and they headed out, he holding his knapsack in front of the indecent display in his breeches. They hastened from town, by mutual, unspoken understanding bypassing the butcher's shop --- 'twas far too personal a setting for what they were contemplating. They strode side by side along the road from town, their wits possessed only of the desperate search for a secluded place to indulge in Love's sweet commission.
The sound of approaching hoofbeats ahead of them recalled them to their circumstances, and they leapt over a stone wall to hide in a field. Two men on horseback trotted by wearing civilian garb; they were not soldiers.
But the scare kept them off the road as they roved on...the pressure of wanting waxing more and more insistent. They passed cottages, haybales, and trees...but everywhere they saw people at work in the fields. Nowhere could they find sure solitude, and Declan was nigh ready to throw caution to the wind and tumble her down behind the next shrub. Nigh an hour had passed --- at this rate they should have simply headed back to the waterfall when they had left the tavern. Now, that haven was some two hours in the opposite direction.
They were presently following a stream that separated two fields, lured by the cover of trees that grew upon its banks, but the potential opportunity was thwarted by the sighting a pair of men some hundred paces distant, walking through the young barley with hoes upon their shoulders. Declan waved friendly-like even as he shared an expression of frustration with Aoife.
