She had said that he could have dreams. Rory was not sure he wanted that. Ever since he had first opened his eyes in this cave, his dreams frightened him. Not used to the proximity of women, his dreams had been filled with images of her, the turn of her hips, the way a black lock of hair caressed her neck, the dark shadow at the neckline of her bodice, her smell. God, he was surely being tested.
His face flushing from the sinful thoughts, the bed coverings tenting over his erection, the priest clasped his hands and started another round of fervent praying.
Rory was sure his head was drifting towards the ceiling high overhead. He could so clearly see his own body, resting on the furs below. He saw his broad chest, covered with a dusting of pale red curls and he was mildly interested to see his hips and his legs. He actually looked quite all right to himself. His legs were strong like his arms. What interested him most though, was to see his own erection. His cock stood fully erect with a modest bush of red hair at the base.
Still floating overhead, he watched his hands starting to glide down his chest to his groin. Would he touch his cock? He knew he was not supposed to spill his seed, but who would know? He giggled suddenly. Touching was naughty, but naughty touching was nice. He was not sure about all the inquisitors but he was certain the one connected to the tribunal nearby was sampling the witches. He had heard enough whispers.
Frowning a little he watched his hands nearing his cock. Would he sample witches if he had the chance? His body down there certainly would like it. He could almost see the twitching between his legs as the thought reached his body. His hands touching the firm, warm shaft called his mind back inside.
Ahhh, yes. That felt so good. Rory let his hand circle his penis and take a firm hold of it. He lay on his back, savoring the feel of his fingers caressing the soft skin as his mind supplied him with a picture of the woman with her bodice unbuttoned. His cock jumped at the image of firm naked breasts. He licked his lips and his fist starting moving. Slowly up to the tip of his shaft and then down again, taking the foreskin along.
Rory woke up from the sound of his own voice. He was holding a throbbing erection in his fist and his own groaning was giving him goose bumps. As if his cock were a poisonous snake, he snatched his hand back. God, what should he do? He wanted to spill his seed so badly. Would it really be such a sin?
He had no idea how long he lay there, drifting in and out of mostly erotic dreams. He never forgot himself completely, but he never realized he was only prolonging his agony. His determination to not pleasure his own flesh only served in keeping him horny as hell. Whenever he was lucid, he started praying fervently, but after a time he would stray from the straight and narrow again.
Finally exhausted from the battle against his flesh, he fell asleep. The poppy juice was long gone from his system, but his own fevered thoughts were enough to make him dream of her in a most vivid way. In his imagination he was no longer a priest. He was just Rory, touching the creamy skin as his fingers unbuttoned the vivid blue bodice. Slowly he pushed the fabric over her shoulders, revealing a pair of firm breasts with pink nipples. The soft flesh called to him, to touch, to kiss, to lick. Her face was not very clear in his dreams, but he could hear her encouraging him. He grabbed her breasts with both hands, luxuriating in the feel of the soft skin, the warmth and the scent of her.
The sudden eruption of his seed woke him up. With a look of dismay he watched his fluid drip from his belly onto the furs. Looking around, he tried to find something to clean up this mess. His fair skin blushed furiously at the thought of her coming in right then. That thought spurred him on to get up and for the first time in more than a week he stood on his legs again.
The thought of her coming in before he had had a chance to clean up, made him so nervous he never realized he was naked. He felt a little dizzy at first, but after he had spent a few minutes standing with his head down, he could go exploring the cave.
First, he directed his steps towards the corner where he had heard her splashing with water, and sure enough. He found a little trickle of water coming from higher up the wall and disappearing again through a hole in the floor. It was a matter of minutes to clean himself up and drink form the cold, sparkling water.
On his way back to his sleeping place in front of the fire, he couldn't resist looking around. After a few minutes, he wished he hadn't. Apart from her sleeping quarter, the cavern was filled with bundles of fragrant herbs, jars of sweet smelling salves, dried flowers and seeds. He could no longer deny it; he was in the home of a healing woman. He had known that, at the back of his thoughts, because of the way she had been taking care of him. It was just, that he had preferred to ignore it.
After he had cleaned up the mess he had made, he slipped back under the covers. His robe was nowhere in sight so he had little choice. He refused to go to sleep again though. It was time for him to do some serious thinking. The presence of the woman was obviously tempting him. All he had to do was resist temptation and keep his faith. Kneeling on the furs he bowed his head and started praying again.
He had no idea how long he remained on his knees. He only knew he got cold and stiff and hungry, and she was still not back. Despite his earlier thoughts about her being temptation, he started to worry for her. He assumed this place was somewhere remote. What if she had had an accident? Should he find something to wear and try to find her?
It finally came to him to add wood to the dying fire and when he stood poking the embers he noticed a bowl of stew she had left near the hearth. She had said it could be a long time before she returned. For a few moments he stood staring in the rising flames. With a shake of his head he dismissed the idea of going to the rescue, not without clothes. Besides, he didn't even have something to protect his feet. His boots were gone too.
Wrapped in one of the furs, Rory settled in the big chair near the fire with the heated bowl of stew between his hands. His freckled face wore a look of concentration as he sat there, trying to decide what to do. She had probably saved his life. Judging by the cold draft that wafted through the cave now and then, it was freezing outside, maybe even snowing. He took a careful sip and sighed with contentment at the savory taste. On the other hand, she was clearly into healing and herb lore. He had even seen a very old, very extensive herbarium.
Rory felt a bit silly as he sat there, waiting for a woman without a name to come home. Well, at least it was her home. Not his though. Why was he even bothering? He shrugged at his own question. It just didn't feel right to go back to sleeping, nice and snug under the furs while she was still out. His belly was full with food however and slowly his head dropped unto his chest. After a while his snores accompanied the soft sounds of the fire.
Again he dreamt of her. Just as before, in his imagination he was no longer a priest. He was just Rory, touching the creamy skin as his fingers grabbed her breasts with both hands, luxuriating in the feel of the soft skin, the warmth and the scent of her. Her soft flesh called to him, to touch, to kiss, to lick. Again her face was not very clear in his dreams, but he knew she wanted him.
* * *
Deirdre struggled up the mountain after hours of dodging and hiding. First she had checked the old oak for messages and she was dismayed to find news about a search being conducted for a missing priest. It seemed the visiting inspector general for the Inquisition sorely missed him. That was bad enough, but to make things worse, there was also a message already three days old, asking her to go over to old Duncan's place. Apparently Duncan had axed his leg instead of a tree.
Worrying that she would be too late, she had hurried over to the small farmstead on the other side of the village. She was glad she had been warned about the search, but it meant she had to travel through the woods. Using the roads would be sheer stupidity at a time like this.
It took ages to get there and when she did, she was too late. They were glad she came, but one look at his leg was all she needed. The wound was high up on his thigh and the flesh was already swollen. She could see the telltale stripes of the poisoning going to his groin. She looked him over to be sure and saw the small red pinpoints all over his body. His daughter was taking care of him, but he was running a fever and he didn't recognize her anymore.
Deirdre did her best to make him as comfortable as possible, but the poison was too widespread. Her simple herbs could not stop that. Looking at the haggard face of the old man, she was feeling anger. Anger at herself for not coming sooner, anger at that stupid priest who kept her inside so long, and finally anger because her knowledge had been called wicked. She stayed till he was dead, and then helped the daughter to prepare him for his grave. Deirdre was sad for a death that could have been avoided, maybe. When she finally took her leave, she was glad that is was not yet dark. She slipped out of the house to return to her mountain, but outside waited two nasty surprises.
Her attention had been focused on the dying old man and his grieving daughter. After that she had been busy chastising herself for letting the villagers down in favor of a pampered black robe. When she stepped out, she was stunned to see how much snow had fallen since she came down. Going back would be a giant effort.
The second surprise came when she had skirted the village and was about to head up the mountain again. As it was still snowing, sounds carried in the still air, giving her enough warning about a group of soldiers coming up the road. She had been just in time to sneak behind the smithy.
She couldn't understand their loud sounds, but that was not necessary. The fact she couldn't understand was in itself telling enough. They were hired troops, probably Swiss or Germanic by the looks of them. Big blond brutes with loud voices, acting as if they owned the village. Cursing silently she watched them split up. With that lot around, it was out of the question to use one of the roads. Not as a female on her own. She was not that stupid.
Still cursing Deirdre had to make her way through the woods, following the ravine where she had found Rory. At some places the snow was already knee deep. By the time she was back to the cave, she was tired, cold and wet to her skin. In addition, she hadn't eaten all day.
With a sigh she rested her back against the wall of the entrance tunnel. She was sure nobody had seen her, and she could finally relax. Her cloak and boots were too wet to leave behind. They had to be dried near the fire, just as the rest of her clothes.
Deirdre stepped inside the cave and vaguely smelled the stew, some fir cones and the man. One look at the priest showed him to be huddled under his fur coverings, his eyes closed and his breathing deep. Thank God, he was asleep. She was far too tired, too cold and too wet to take care of him right now. She had to take care of herself first.
She draped the sodden cloak on a rack and placed it near the fire, along with her boots. Next she fetched a large piece of cloth to dry herself. In front of the warm fire she stripped off the heavy skirt and the damp bodice. Shivering she arranged them near the warmth and slipped out of her thin blue underskirt.
