The wind whistled through the rushes as we rode. It was a cold, clear winter evening, and brisk gusts buffeted us through the layers of our clothes. I had shed the gown from earlier for a riding dress of sensible wool, dyed indigo at the hems with the skirt split up the back to enable the comfortable straddling of a horse. My mantle was also wool, but of a thicker weave and trimmed with mink-fur. A pair of sheepskin boots completed the ensemble, the thick hides insulating my feet from the stinging winter air.
I sat astride a bay palfrey, Marion accompanying me to my left on his black mare. He had donned a cuirass of boiled leather over his linen tunic, and a wool-and-velvet cloak of midnight-blue shrouded him against the chill. He whistled irritatingly as we cantered along, the tuneless notes faint beneath the gale.
"Will you cut that out?" I snapped. "I'm trying to concentrate."
"Oh? Were you casting a spell of some sort?"
"No, I'm watching for signs. We're trying to track a dangerous monster, you may recall."
"Ah, yes, your cockatrice."
"Your cockatrice."
"You're the one who insisted it was out here." That much was true. We had returned to the scene of the beast's last attack and found the carnage of a wagon train, bodies of horses and men strewn across a dirt road. Some had tried to run, making it as far as the nearby brook, where the monster had evidently caught up to them. Their bodies were flung against a boulder breaking the flow, and the blood had washed away so that the only evidence of their death was a grey pallor to the skin. Yet, I had seen no tracks. Marion had dithered, suggesting we return to a nearby village and inquire of the locals, so I had taken matters into my own hands, insisting we follow the brook until we came across some trace of the animal.
We rode on for a while longer, the darkening sky casting shades of blue across the water. Marion sighed. "Thistle?"
"What?"
"I'm bored."
"Are you serious?"
"Yes! We could be at an inn right now, eating meat pies in front of a roaring fire."
"You are surely the weakest, most abject Merylian ever to walk this earth."
"Well. I do have my redeeming features."
"Like what?"
"I've been told I have impressive body heat."
I raised an eyebrow. "Body heat?"
"Yes. You may find out later, when we huddle together for warmth in the night."
"You're looking for an excuse to grope me."
"Do I need an excuse for that?" Grinning, he kicked his mare closer to me and reached a hand across the bodice of my gown.
"Stop."
"And what if I don't?"
"No, stop!" I halted my palfrey. Something had caught my attention in the dirt. I dismounted, swinging my legs over the bridle, and slid off to the cold, packed earth. There were scuff marks in the ground here, great gouges where it seemed as if the soil had been torn up by some sort of large, clawed animal.
Marion whistled. "Good find, Thistle."
I smiled, narrowing my eyes at him. "Where would you be without me, dear Marion? The tracking skills of Merylians are clearly greatly overblown."
"Clearly," he agreed. "What's that, by the way?"
My eyes followed his pointing finger. There, some ten yards behind us, was another set of gouges in the earth. Then, a bit further, another set. They stretched behind us for a while, deep indents clearly demarcating where the beast had walked through.
I scowled. "We've been following its tracks this whole time."
"Have we?"
"And you didn't see fit to tell me."
"Didn't I?"
"Let's camp here for the night," I said, sourly. I led my palfrey over to a bit of sparse grass and let it graze, hobbling it with a length of hempen rope.
"The first sensible thing you've said all day," he agreed, doing the same with his mare. I watched as he unslung a pack from his shoulder, taking out a rolled-up square of canvas and spreading it out on the ground. He then folded it once over and tucked in the edges, making a man-sized piece of bedding on the frozen dirt.
"Where's mine?"
"You didn't bring one?" he chuckled. "I guess there's nothing to do but share, then."
"Very funny. I'll take the bedroll. You can sleep on the grass, Master Survivalist."
"As the lady commands." He was infuriatingly unperturbed. "I'll go gather wood." He strolled off, leaving me alone with the bedroll. I sat down on it.
I looked on in sullen silence as he came traipsing back with large armfuls of firewood. He laid them in a pile near where I sat, separating the kindling from the timber methodically before striking a piece of flint against his dagger. I watched him struggle a while, nascent sparks jumping against the steel, then reached a hand into my gown, fingers brushing the mother-of-pearl pendant pressed against my chest, and muttered a few words. A spark, then flames began to dance across the kindling.
He grinned. "Neat trick."
"Less useless than you imagined, am I?"
"Why, yes."
"Fuck you."
"Sweet Thistle," he sighed. "They say the most fragrant roses have the sharpest thorns."
"Thistles are practically made of thorns."
"I've noticed. Do you have anything to eat?"
"No."
"I knew we should have stopped for meat pies." Pouting, he reached into his pack once more and pulled out a few strips of jerky, handing me one. I worried at it with my teeth, the rough-textured meat unexpectedly filling after the travails of the day.
I laid back against the bedroll. The sky had darkened further, and stars began to creep out, pinpricks of dim light against the shadows of dusk. The soft creaking of the forest and gentle rush of the stream filled the silence. I closed my eyes for a moment.
When I opened them, Marion's face was above mine. His dark eyes were shining in the night, lazy curls tumbling forward as he bent to kiss me. I kissed him back, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him down to me. My tongue slipped into his mouth, and he shuddered, hands taking fistfuls of the bedroll on either side of me.
We broke apart. "You're still a bastard," I murmured, tracing his jaw with my fingers.
"Fine with me if it's fine with you."
"Come here." I kissed him again, pulling my head up to meet his. He grabbed me by the waist and flipped us over, and I pressed myself against his broad chest, kissing his neck and ears. His hands grasped at my buttocks through my skirts. I pressed my lips to his collarbone, tongue drawing patterns against the tanned skin, and began to tug at his tunic. He sat up, one arm around my waist, and helped me pull it over his head. Then, he kissed me again, hungrily, holding the back of my head. Sitting in his lap, I ran my hands over the planes of his chest, feeling the matted scars and hard muscle. He murmured my name against my lips.
I pulled back, shimmying out of his lap, and deftly unlaced his trousers, drawing his cock out. It jumped against my palm, and I giggled in delight as its hardness filled my small hand. I scooched back further, kneeling now, and looked up at him. His dark gaze met my green one, and I smiled innocently. Bending down, I kissed the tip of him, teasing it with my tongue. He groaned. I rubbed his cock against the soft skin of my cheek, my chin, my lips. Finally, I wrapped my lips fully around him.
He swore again, louder. I took him deeper into my mouth, nearly choking as I pushed my head to the base of his cock. At length, I released him, letting his cock fall from my mouth with a soft pop. He entangled his fingers in my dark, forest-brown hair and tilted my face to look at his. His eyes were half-lidded in lust, and he was breathing heavily, his thick chest heaving from the intensity. I gazed up at him, my mouth still open, spittle and precum smeared about my face. He groaned and forced me back onto his cock. I took it with vigor, bobbing my head furiously, the soft suction of my mouth taking him deeper and deeper each time. He gave a sudden hiss, animalistic, and suddenly, I could feel warm spurts of cum coating the back of my throat. I pushed my face even deeper around him, and he gave a shout of ecstasy. Finally, when it seemed like I'd milked him for all he had, I pulled my head back, smiling up at him innocently as I rubbed his cock gently on my lips.
He looked down at me with something approaching awe. "You are... really fucking good at that."
"I know." I giggled.
He sighed and took a moment to compose himself, running a hand through his tousled curls but only succeeding in tousling them further. I laughed and sat in his lap once more, combing his hair to the side with my fingers. He smiled affectionately and kissed my lips again, languorously this time, without urgency. "You're still wearing a lot of clothes."
"Help me with them?"
"Gladly." He unlaced my gown for me as I sat back against him, brushing my hair to one side as his strong hands went to work. He pulled it over my shoulders, leaving me clad from the waist up in only a thin silk chemise against the stinging night air. I shivered. He put his arms around me, and I buried my face into his neck, entwining my fingers in his soft, dark hair.
"Take it off," I whispered into his ear. He did, pulling the garment over my shoulders and neck, leaving my upper body bare against the winter winds. I stood, pushing the rest of the dress to the ground, and sat back down in his lap, fully naked. He reached a hand between my thighs, and the evidence of my arousal darkened his fingers. He grinned.
"Naughty Thistle. So eager." His words sent a shudder through me. I gasped as a rough finger entered me, then another. He slowly began moving them in and out, pumping my cunt and making me squirm in his lap.
"Marion," I moaned.
"Thistle." He bit at my earlobe.
"I want you."
"Unfortunately, I feel rather spent at the moment." His fingers continued to move slowly in me, my wet slit easily accommodating them.
"I want your tongue."
"That, my dear, can probably be arranged." He took his fingers from my wet cunt, their absence leaving me gasping with heightened arousal. Grasping me easily by the waist, he pushed me back onto the bedroll and prostrated himself between my thighs. He kissed one, then another.
"Stop teasing."
"I would never." He hesitated a moment longer, leaving me in sweet suspense, and then plunged his tongue into my cunt. I shrieked his name. His tongue plundered me, exploring my depths and tasting my juices. My hands clenched fistfuls of dark hair as his head moved between my thighs.
I came. It didn't take long. I was wound up, and he was clearly well-practiced. My thighs clamped around his neck, my body clenched, and I orgasmed in a great heaving and shuddering. My vision went dark for a moment, and when I returned, he was laying on his side next to me, tracing a small breast with his forefinger. "Better?"
