Caribbean Nanny (closed)
- Thread starter coyotepondering
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coyotepondering
Guilded Pervert
- Joined
- Dec 14, 2003
- Posts
- 3,012
Half an hour ago Sir Jon had told Megan to meet him in his study and now he was there, letting a fragment’s of the day’s heat bleed from his frame as it slumped back in his high chair. Although not waiting for Megan, Sir Jon was acutely aware of time and how long until she would arrive. Fifteen years ago he would have known each moment, known when a shift had to end or what latitude the ship would have been at. Now, time moved more languidly across his senses but Sir Jon still kept track and his pocket watch helped remind him when he faltered.
Time grinded on and Sir Jon fingered his thimble of brandy. He cocked his head to the side, letting his chin rub against his shoulder as he gazed out the window into the deepening night. The knock sounded lightly against the heavy wooden door of the study when it came and Sir Jon smiled as he spoke to the unseen figure.
“Enter, Miss Harrison.”
Megan opened the door and strode in, peering through he dim light of the room.
“Sir,” she began, “are you here? I can barely see.”
“Over here Megan. You may turn up the gas lights if you wish.”
Megan followed Sir Jon’s voice over to his desk, where she could make out the silhouette of him seated behind his desk. “It is all well, sir. I see well enough once my eyes adjust.”
“Then join me Megan. Bring up a chair and join me at the window. I like setting the lights low before night falls and letting the light fade from the room. I can still work by candle light but I like the evening and the coolness of night.”
Megan worked her way through the room, surprised at how the hard surfaces of dark wood and brown leathers melted into the shadows until the room seemed impossibly obscured. What seemed real was Sir Jon’s voice, a little rough and coarse, at least compared to the intangibility of the elements in the room. As she did this, Sir Jon watched her walk to him, watched her skirts swish as her hips swung around the edge of his desk.
Megan drew up a chair and sat in it, setting her knees near Sir Jon and setting her hands on her thighs and drew her back up rigidly. Sir Jon looked over at Megan as his head leaned back and she had the distinct impression that she was being investigated.
“Tell me Megan, what do you hear outside?”
“Outside?”
“Yes. In the yard and in the jungle.”
“I hear birds screeching and the nocturnal beasts coming out. They can be quite loud. I think I’m beginning to be able to tell some of them apart though. Its not all matted together anymore.” Megan smiled thinly as she cocked her head to the same sounds that Sir Jon was listening to.
“I think the palm trees took the longest time for me to get used to. I was used to sleeping with the sounds of the ocean around me but I remember thinking that no English tree would sound that way in the wind. You’re still getting used to the island Miss Harrison. In another few months I suspect that should I ask you the same question you’ll say... ‘I hear the night.’ And when you hear it you will know it is time to sleep.” Sir Jon’s voice was a little distant as if he was two places and only one of them was with her.
“Did you have trouble sleeping with those sounds at first?” Megan questioned Sir Jon, expressing interest and bringing his attention and eyes back to her.
“Yes, a little but I was somewhat accustomed from my travels. Mary had terrible trouble for months.” Sir Jon’s voice sounded wistful as he gave voice to Mary’s name.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...” Megan looked embarrassed and troubled at Sir Jon’s statement but his eyes remained focused on her and kind.
“Don’t be. Mary is long past on. She is often in my thoughts Megan as she is the mother of my children. And I love her. I always will. But my heart has healed and is not niggardly.”
Sir Jon’s fingers trailed out over the arm rests of his chair and leaning forward he let his hands slip over Megan’s knees to find her hand and rested his hands there. He felt Megan’s hands tense under his and a raw heat come up from them. He removed his right hand but slipped his left under her palm and grasped it.
“Come now, Megan. Let us tuck the little ones in and then we both need our rests. I expect to see you up early in the morn to take the two imps to town and you’ll need all your strength for that I wager.”
Grinning, Sir Jon stood and still holding her hand led Megan to the door and up the stairs. Letting his hands rap against the wooden door of Miranda’s room Sir Jon came in and led Megan to Miranda’s bed side. As Megan stood beside him Sir Jon sat on the edge of Miranda’s bed and leaned over to kiss her forehead.
“There dear. Are you ready to fall asleep.”
“I think so Papa.” Her voice as clear and sharp but she couldn’t help but occasionally look over to Megan.
Sir Jon reached over and stroked her hair for a moment. “Miss Harrison is going to take you to buy a new dress tomorrow sweetheart. You’ve done well in your lessons and I think have earned it.”
“Thank you, Papa and ...” Miranda paused as if searching for her words but then broke out in a grin that reminded Megan of Miranda’s father, “thank you Miss Harrison. For coming to say good night.”
“Well, you’re very welcome Miranda dear, and good night. I hope you sleep well as we’ll be leaving early in the morning.”
“I’m sure I will ma’am.” Miranda replied, a little lazily, obviously affected by the need for sleep.
Sir Jon leaned forward and kissed Miranda on the forehead before standing and reaching out to the lamp to dim it. “Sweet dreams.”
Miranda nodded as Sir Jon and Megan walked to the lit doorway and shut the door behind them.
In the next room, Jon Junior seemed less in need of being tucked in as his eyelids were already dropping.
Sir Jon sat and with a light voice said, “I thought you had orders to stay up and get tucked in swab.”
“Sorry sir, I guess I’m just tired.”
“That’s all right little guy. Get sleep. You’ll be going to town tomorrow to get new clothes for the party.”
“I’d rather go to the beach.”
“Perhaps, but you need to learn how to behave at parties. And Megan and I will help you. And I’ll tell you what, Jon, if you’re good I’ll let you help me clean my sword next time I do. How’s that?”
“That would be great! Can I ask for something though, daddy?”
“You can always ask. No guarantee.”
“Can Miss Harrison tuck me in too.”
“Certainly.” Sir Jon rose and motioned for Megan to take his seat at the edge of the bed.
Cautiously Megan moved to the bed. She felt a little silly. Jon Junior was hardly the first child she had tucked in but somehow with the father right there it was ... different. He smiled as she drew the covers up to his chest and kissed his forehead.
“Sweet dreams, Jon.” Megan whispered to him but she had the impression that he was asleep before she finished saying it. So, she stood and saw the father standing there, waiting for her. As Megan walked towards the door way Sir Jon walked ahead of her down the hallway towards his own room.
“Thank you for doing ths Megan. I think they both appreciated and I did as well.”
“It was my pleasure, sir. Somehow though I suspect Jon going to bed early is not usually a problem” Megan grinned as she followed Sir Jon and responded. Stopping at his room Sir Jon cracked open the door and took half a step inside before turning back to Megan as she passed.
“You’re right, its not.” He laughed softly, “Take the children out tomorrow Megan and treat them to a few little things, a few indulgences but be moderate. My credit is good everywhere but I don’t want to spoil them. And buy a trinket or two for yourself.”
“No, sir I ....”
“Don’t refuse me Megan. I know that there might be a few things you could still use on the island now that you’re getting accustomed enough to have an idea of what you might like to have to settle in.” Continuing while shutting the door, Sir Jon broke out in a mischievous grin, “And while you’re gone tomorrow I will be thinking of you and your reward.”
With that both turned to their rooms to fall asleep to images that would have been familiar to the other, sharing as they did the same preoccupation that evening.
Time grinded on and Sir Jon fingered his thimble of brandy. He cocked his head to the side, letting his chin rub against his shoulder as he gazed out the window into the deepening night. The knock sounded lightly against the heavy wooden door of the study when it came and Sir Jon smiled as he spoke to the unseen figure.
“Enter, Miss Harrison.”
Megan opened the door and strode in, peering through he dim light of the room.
“Sir,” she began, “are you here? I can barely see.”
“Over here Megan. You may turn up the gas lights if you wish.”
Megan followed Sir Jon’s voice over to his desk, where she could make out the silhouette of him seated behind his desk. “It is all well, sir. I see well enough once my eyes adjust.”
“Then join me Megan. Bring up a chair and join me at the window. I like setting the lights low before night falls and letting the light fade from the room. I can still work by candle light but I like the evening and the coolness of night.”
Megan worked her way through the room, surprised at how the hard surfaces of dark wood and brown leathers melted into the shadows until the room seemed impossibly obscured. What seemed real was Sir Jon’s voice, a little rough and coarse, at least compared to the intangibility of the elements in the room. As she did this, Sir Jon watched her walk to him, watched her skirts swish as her hips swung around the edge of his desk.
Megan drew up a chair and sat in it, setting her knees near Sir Jon and setting her hands on her thighs and drew her back up rigidly. Sir Jon looked over at Megan as his head leaned back and she had the distinct impression that she was being investigated.
“Tell me Megan, what do you hear outside?”
“Outside?”
“Yes. In the yard and in the jungle.”
“I hear birds screeching and the nocturnal beasts coming out. They can be quite loud. I think I’m beginning to be able to tell some of them apart though. Its not all matted together anymore.” Megan smiled thinly as she cocked her head to the same sounds that Sir Jon was listening to.
“I think the palm trees took the longest time for me to get used to. I was used to sleeping with the sounds of the ocean around me but I remember thinking that no English tree would sound that way in the wind. You’re still getting used to the island Miss Harrison. In another few months I suspect that should I ask you the same question you’ll say... ‘I hear the night.’ And when you hear it you will know it is time to sleep.” Sir Jon’s voice was a little distant as if he was two places and only one of them was with her.
“Did you have trouble sleeping with those sounds at first?” Megan questioned Sir Jon, expressing interest and bringing his attention and eyes back to her.
“Yes, a little but I was somewhat accustomed from my travels. Mary had terrible trouble for months.” Sir Jon’s voice sounded wistful as he gave voice to Mary’s name.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...” Megan looked embarrassed and troubled at Sir Jon’s statement but his eyes remained focused on her and kind.
“Don’t be. Mary is long past on. She is often in my thoughts Megan as she is the mother of my children. And I love her. I always will. But my heart has healed and is not niggardly.”
Sir Jon’s fingers trailed out over the arm rests of his chair and leaning forward he let his hands slip over Megan’s knees to find her hand and rested his hands there. He felt Megan’s hands tense under his and a raw heat come up from them. He removed his right hand but slipped his left under her palm and grasped it.
“Come now, Megan. Let us tuck the little ones in and then we both need our rests. I expect to see you up early in the morn to take the two imps to town and you’ll need all your strength for that I wager.”
Grinning, Sir Jon stood and still holding her hand led Megan to the door and up the stairs. Letting his hands rap against the wooden door of Miranda’s room Sir Jon came in and led Megan to Miranda’s bed side. As Megan stood beside him Sir Jon sat on the edge of Miranda’s bed and leaned over to kiss her forehead.
“There dear. Are you ready to fall asleep.”
“I think so Papa.” Her voice as clear and sharp but she couldn’t help but occasionally look over to Megan.
Sir Jon reached over and stroked her hair for a moment. “Miss Harrison is going to take you to buy a new dress tomorrow sweetheart. You’ve done well in your lessons and I think have earned it.”
“Thank you, Papa and ...” Miranda paused as if searching for her words but then broke out in a grin that reminded Megan of Miranda’s father, “thank you Miss Harrison. For coming to say good night.”
“Well, you’re very welcome Miranda dear, and good night. I hope you sleep well as we’ll be leaving early in the morning.”
“I’m sure I will ma’am.” Miranda replied, a little lazily, obviously affected by the need for sleep.
Sir Jon leaned forward and kissed Miranda on the forehead before standing and reaching out to the lamp to dim it. “Sweet dreams.”
Miranda nodded as Sir Jon and Megan walked to the lit doorway and shut the door behind them.
In the next room, Jon Junior seemed less in need of being tucked in as his eyelids were already dropping.
Sir Jon sat and with a light voice said, “I thought you had orders to stay up and get tucked in swab.”
“Sorry sir, I guess I’m just tired.”
“That’s all right little guy. Get sleep. You’ll be going to town tomorrow to get new clothes for the party.”
“I’d rather go to the beach.”
“Perhaps, but you need to learn how to behave at parties. And Megan and I will help you. And I’ll tell you what, Jon, if you’re good I’ll let you help me clean my sword next time I do. How’s that?”
“That would be great! Can I ask for something though, daddy?”
“You can always ask. No guarantee.”
“Can Miss Harrison tuck me in too.”
“Certainly.” Sir Jon rose and motioned for Megan to take his seat at the edge of the bed.
Cautiously Megan moved to the bed. She felt a little silly. Jon Junior was hardly the first child she had tucked in but somehow with the father right there it was ... different. He smiled as she drew the covers up to his chest and kissed his forehead.
“Sweet dreams, Jon.” Megan whispered to him but she had the impression that he was asleep before she finished saying it. So, she stood and saw the father standing there, waiting for her. As Megan walked towards the door way Sir Jon walked ahead of her down the hallway towards his own room.
“Thank you for doing ths Megan. I think they both appreciated and I did as well.”
“It was my pleasure, sir. Somehow though I suspect Jon going to bed early is not usually a problem” Megan grinned as she followed Sir Jon and responded. Stopping at his room Sir Jon cracked open the door and took half a step inside before turning back to Megan as she passed.
“You’re right, its not.” He laughed softly, “Take the children out tomorrow Megan and treat them to a few little things, a few indulgences but be moderate. My credit is good everywhere but I don’t want to spoil them. And buy a trinket or two for yourself.”
“No, sir I ....”
“Don’t refuse me Megan. I know that there might be a few things you could still use on the island now that you’re getting accustomed enough to have an idea of what you might like to have to settle in.” Continuing while shutting the door, Sir Jon broke out in a mischievous grin, “And while you’re gone tomorrow I will be thinking of you and your reward.”
With that both turned to their rooms to fall asleep to images that would have been familiar to the other, sharing as they did the same preoccupation that evening.
coyotepondering
Guilded Pervert
- Joined
- Dec 14, 2003
- Posts
- 3,012
It was habit for Sir Jon to review the day’s activities as he sat in his study. It had been a long day in the fields. One of the men in the south fields was sick and while Sir Jon had visited briefly and sent a note for the doctor, his own time had to be dedicated to ensuring that two gross of leaf bales got transported. After that he had returned home and sat down to handle correspondence. A handful of neighbors had sent regrets that they would be unable to attend but it appeared that it would be a full house for the evening’s festivities.
Stepping around the house Sir Jon noted the busy servants, preparing the dining room, setting places and cleaning the ball room. A string quartet would play and provide the music for the evening and they were tuning their instruments. As he moved Sir Jon extended his hand and thanked everyone for their efforts and moved on. As he moved through the kitchen he was amazed at how industrious his staff could be. The food was enough to feed an army and it was delicious. Despite the heat still in his body the smells made him hungry and he stole a bit of rice pudding from one bowl with a spoon which earning a glaring rebuke from the old cook Imani. Sir Jon offered up his apology by way of slight bow and made his way out through the scent of the mango fruit pies, the jerked chicken, the red beans stewing, the unidentifiable soup that smelled like nuts and goat, and a dozen other scents that seemed to complement each other.
Retiring to his chambers Sir Jon finally peeled the soaked clothing from his body. The sweat had mostly evaporated from his skin but the cloth still clung to him and as he removed it he felt like he could breathe again. Sir Jon’s lungs pulled in the air from outside, its slight scent of salt coming from the ocean and he luxuriated in simply being free of the tightness of the clothing letting his skin relax. There were hours to go and Sir Jon lay down to relax.
A soft but persistent rapping at his door had awoken him and Sir Jon was now preparing for the party. Able, as always, had brought him his tuxedo and top hat, freshly cleaned and been very delicate in awakening him. So, here he was, with Able ensuring that his tails were straight and he adjusting the top hat on his head. Sir Jon balanced it and shifted it and then moved it a bit again and then rotated it a tad.
Able smiled thinly and suggested, “Sir, perhaps you should just carry the top hat.”
Sir Jon looked over at his manservant and laughed lightly, “Yes, I think you’re right. As always Able.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Able walked over to a bowl of grease and lightly ran a comb through it. He came up behind Sir Jon and gently ran the comb through his hair. Although it was fashionable to heavily press down the hair he knew that Sir Jon hated it and gave him just enough to keep the hair in shape through the night’s activities.
“And you’ll be around I assume?” Sir Jon asked Able.
“In the kitchen sir.”
“Well, try to have a bit of a good time Able. If anyone deserves it you do. Oh, and make sure the staff all have enough food to take home.”
“That’s very kind of you, Sir.”
“Nonsense,” Sir Jon breathed deeply trying to get comfortable in his tuxedo and slowly succeeding. “If the people who actually work don’t eat it, I’ll have to send home potions with my guests and they’re mooching off me enough for one evening.”
He grinned at Able who remained politely silent though Sir Jon saw the corners of his mouth twitch.
“Well, let’s go.” Sir Jon stepped towards the door, “the guests can’t be kept waiting forever though I doubt they’ve missed me much with the victuals laid out.”
The house was thronged with people buzzing about. The dining room table was filled with food beyond the ability to seat people at it but the staff had solved that problem by setting up large chairs around the edge of the room and allowing folks to eat from carried plates. But the main crowd was in the ball room, a room normally kept empty except for the piano. Sir Jon navigated a labyrinth of extended hands and pleasantries. As he walked he lost track of men stuffed in tuxedos and corseted women in expensive dresses. Lace and silk became a sea of extravagant clothing.
“Mister Belfry. Thank you for coming. Mrs. Childers, really you’ll shame all the other women. You’re lovely. Mr. Bleeker, a pleasure to see you again. Make sure you eat up. Enjoy good cooking while you can.” And so it went on and on until Sir Jon was tired of the guests. Though he was glad each came and was genuinely glad to see each in good spirits they were not at the center of his thoughts.
His thoughts instead roamed specifically to the three souls he bore both love and affection for in this world, his children and Megan. As Sir Jon worked his way through the crowd he came upon the two imps and tussled Jon Jr.’s hair and caressed Miranda’s face. Both gestures were simple and well practiced but brought pleasure to him.
“You are still going to save a first dance for your father, aren’t you Miranda?”
Miranda beamed with pride and looked lovely. It was painful to see her, so much like her mother and so close to becoming a woman. “Of course, Papa. Will you dance this one with me?”
“No, I’m afraid not dear. I owe it to another.” Miranda’s eyes glinted as she had a bad habit of seeming to know his thoughts, another traits that seemed genetically instilled from her mother. “But I will claim your last dance. Now, have you seen Megan?”
“No Papa, she sent us one down after helping us and said that she had to get ready.”
“Very well. Junior?”
“Yes?”
“You had best find someone to dance with yourself young man.”
“Um... yes sir.”
“I’ll dance with him Papa.” Miranda chimed in. Miranda was the better dancer anyway thought Sir Jon. She’ll help guide him and give him confidence. So, with Miranda teasing Jon about being his date Sir Jon continued through the ball room.
Normally you could step across it in a few moments but thronged as it was it felt like a Turkish bazaar. At least until Sir Jon found her. He found her by her hair and profile and had no doubt as to her identity though the dress was certainly a new one.
He stepped up beside her while her head was turned, speaking to a young man that Sir Jon did not recognize.
“Miss Harrison?” Megan’s head turned to Sir Jon. His eyes had noted her dress and her hair but it was the framing of her face and the delicate drop of the silver necklace into her rich bosom that stunned him. Still, Sir Jon recovered and kept her eyes with his.
“Sir Jon?” She beamed as she turned around Sir Jon raised her hand to his lips to kiss.
“Good evening, Megan. I’m so glad you could make it.” Sir Jon remarked playfully and eyed the young man from the corner of his eye. “I’ve been looking for you. So, who may I accuse of waylaying you?”
“Uh..” The young man seemed to suddenly find himself and stepped forward with his palm out. “Michael Wilmington, Sir. A cousin on my father’s side of Sir Wilmington. He took the liberty of bringing me along tonight. I hope you don’t mind.”
Sir Jon took the hand. “Not at all. Christopher is a good man and if you’re blood you are welcome in my hall. Its not quite a fine country home of England but I’m quite fond of it.”
“You’re very modest, Sir Halley. It’s a wonderful home. You’re fortunate and industrous to have made a fortune in this godless place.”
“Its Sir Jon. And thank you. Now, I must steal away. Enjoy yourself.”
The young Wilmington bowed as Sir Jon took Megan’s arm and lead her purposefully into the dance floor.
Megan turned to Sir Jon, “I never have asked about why you use your Christian name with your title.”
“It’s not an interesting story. It began during my time of working in the east Indian colonies and carried over into my later life. By the time I returned to polite society I had become quite used to it.” Sir Jon smiled at Megan and turned to her.
“You’ll have to tell me some time.... Sir.” Megan grinned.
“Certainly but for now I am obligated as the host to take the first dance and as host I claim right too the most ravishing creature here.”
Megan began to speak but Sir Jon interrupted. “Hush. Before you jest I am already holding her hand.” Megan blushed simply in reply.
“Are you sure, Sir? They might take me for some sort of paramour, taking the first dance with the master of the house.”
“Let the turkeys jabber Megan. I am the master of this hall.”
Sir Jon stepped away, one hand still holding her’s and the other raising. Megan suddenly realized that the music had begun, they had only been awaiting his signal and as they had made their way to the center others had cleared the way. The beginning strings of a waltz began as Sir Jon smiled and pulled Megan into him.
Stepping around the house Sir Jon noted the busy servants, preparing the dining room, setting places and cleaning the ball room. A string quartet would play and provide the music for the evening and they were tuning their instruments. As he moved Sir Jon extended his hand and thanked everyone for their efforts and moved on. As he moved through the kitchen he was amazed at how industrious his staff could be. The food was enough to feed an army and it was delicious. Despite the heat still in his body the smells made him hungry and he stole a bit of rice pudding from one bowl with a spoon which earning a glaring rebuke from the old cook Imani. Sir Jon offered up his apology by way of slight bow and made his way out through the scent of the mango fruit pies, the jerked chicken, the red beans stewing, the unidentifiable soup that smelled like nuts and goat, and a dozen other scents that seemed to complement each other.
Retiring to his chambers Sir Jon finally peeled the soaked clothing from his body. The sweat had mostly evaporated from his skin but the cloth still clung to him and as he removed it he felt like he could breathe again. Sir Jon’s lungs pulled in the air from outside, its slight scent of salt coming from the ocean and he luxuriated in simply being free of the tightness of the clothing letting his skin relax. There were hours to go and Sir Jon lay down to relax.
A soft but persistent rapping at his door had awoken him and Sir Jon was now preparing for the party. Able, as always, had brought him his tuxedo and top hat, freshly cleaned and been very delicate in awakening him. So, here he was, with Able ensuring that his tails were straight and he adjusting the top hat on his head. Sir Jon balanced it and shifted it and then moved it a bit again and then rotated it a tad.
Able smiled thinly and suggested, “Sir, perhaps you should just carry the top hat.”
Sir Jon looked over at his manservant and laughed lightly, “Yes, I think you’re right. As always Able.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Able walked over to a bowl of grease and lightly ran a comb through it. He came up behind Sir Jon and gently ran the comb through his hair. Although it was fashionable to heavily press down the hair he knew that Sir Jon hated it and gave him just enough to keep the hair in shape through the night’s activities.
“And you’ll be around I assume?” Sir Jon asked Able.
“In the kitchen sir.”
“Well, try to have a bit of a good time Able. If anyone deserves it you do. Oh, and make sure the staff all have enough food to take home.”
“That’s very kind of you, Sir.”
“Nonsense,” Sir Jon breathed deeply trying to get comfortable in his tuxedo and slowly succeeding. “If the people who actually work don’t eat it, I’ll have to send home potions with my guests and they’re mooching off me enough for one evening.”
He grinned at Able who remained politely silent though Sir Jon saw the corners of his mouth twitch.
“Well, let’s go.” Sir Jon stepped towards the door, “the guests can’t be kept waiting forever though I doubt they’ve missed me much with the victuals laid out.”
The house was thronged with people buzzing about. The dining room table was filled with food beyond the ability to seat people at it but the staff had solved that problem by setting up large chairs around the edge of the room and allowing folks to eat from carried plates. But the main crowd was in the ball room, a room normally kept empty except for the piano. Sir Jon navigated a labyrinth of extended hands and pleasantries. As he walked he lost track of men stuffed in tuxedos and corseted women in expensive dresses. Lace and silk became a sea of extravagant clothing.
“Mister Belfry. Thank you for coming. Mrs. Childers, really you’ll shame all the other women. You’re lovely. Mr. Bleeker, a pleasure to see you again. Make sure you eat up. Enjoy good cooking while you can.” And so it went on and on until Sir Jon was tired of the guests. Though he was glad each came and was genuinely glad to see each in good spirits they were not at the center of his thoughts.
His thoughts instead roamed specifically to the three souls he bore both love and affection for in this world, his children and Megan. As Sir Jon worked his way through the crowd he came upon the two imps and tussled Jon Jr.’s hair and caressed Miranda’s face. Both gestures were simple and well practiced but brought pleasure to him.
“You are still going to save a first dance for your father, aren’t you Miranda?”
Miranda beamed with pride and looked lovely. It was painful to see her, so much like her mother and so close to becoming a woman. “Of course, Papa. Will you dance this one with me?”
“No, I’m afraid not dear. I owe it to another.” Miranda’s eyes glinted as she had a bad habit of seeming to know his thoughts, another traits that seemed genetically instilled from her mother. “But I will claim your last dance. Now, have you seen Megan?”
“No Papa, she sent us one down after helping us and said that she had to get ready.”
“Very well. Junior?”
“Yes?”
“You had best find someone to dance with yourself young man.”
“Um... yes sir.”
“I’ll dance with him Papa.” Miranda chimed in. Miranda was the better dancer anyway thought Sir Jon. She’ll help guide him and give him confidence. So, with Miranda teasing Jon about being his date Sir Jon continued through the ball room.
Normally you could step across it in a few moments but thronged as it was it felt like a Turkish bazaar. At least until Sir Jon found her. He found her by her hair and profile and had no doubt as to her identity though the dress was certainly a new one.
He stepped up beside her while her head was turned, speaking to a young man that Sir Jon did not recognize.
“Miss Harrison?” Megan’s head turned to Sir Jon. His eyes had noted her dress and her hair but it was the framing of her face and the delicate drop of the silver necklace into her rich bosom that stunned him. Still, Sir Jon recovered and kept her eyes with his.
“Sir Jon?” She beamed as she turned around Sir Jon raised her hand to his lips to kiss.
“Good evening, Megan. I’m so glad you could make it.” Sir Jon remarked playfully and eyed the young man from the corner of his eye. “I’ve been looking for you. So, who may I accuse of waylaying you?”
“Uh..” The young man seemed to suddenly find himself and stepped forward with his palm out. “Michael Wilmington, Sir. A cousin on my father’s side of Sir Wilmington. He took the liberty of bringing me along tonight. I hope you don’t mind.”
Sir Jon took the hand. “Not at all. Christopher is a good man and if you’re blood you are welcome in my hall. Its not quite a fine country home of England but I’m quite fond of it.”
“You’re very modest, Sir Halley. It’s a wonderful home. You’re fortunate and industrous to have made a fortune in this godless place.”
“Its Sir Jon. And thank you. Now, I must steal away. Enjoy yourself.”
The young Wilmington bowed as Sir Jon took Megan’s arm and lead her purposefully into the dance floor.
Megan turned to Sir Jon, “I never have asked about why you use your Christian name with your title.”
“It’s not an interesting story. It began during my time of working in the east Indian colonies and carried over into my later life. By the time I returned to polite society I had become quite used to it.” Sir Jon smiled at Megan and turned to her.
“You’ll have to tell me some time.... Sir.” Megan grinned.
“Certainly but for now I am obligated as the host to take the first dance and as host I claim right too the most ravishing creature here.”
Megan began to speak but Sir Jon interrupted. “Hush. Before you jest I am already holding her hand.” Megan blushed simply in reply.
“Are you sure, Sir? They might take me for some sort of paramour, taking the first dance with the master of the house.”
“Let the turkeys jabber Megan. I am the master of this hall.”
Sir Jon stepped away, one hand still holding her’s and the other raising. Megan suddenly realized that the music had begun, they had only been awaiting his signal and as they had made their way to the center others had cleared the way. The beginning strings of a waltz began as Sir Jon smiled and pulled Megan into him.
coyotepondering
Guilded Pervert
- Joined
- Dec 14, 2003
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As the music turned and spooled through the hall, the crowd fell into it own counter rhythm. Many fell victim to the patter of the crowd and alternated their time between dance and rest, in and out of the throng. Others, many larger men with fashionable mustaches and respectable girths, kept their places around the wine tables to chat while their wives cloistered in small circles throughout the hall. The ladies kept their hands still in their laps with small waving fans and their tongues wagging with the concerns of those who were supposedly beneath their consideration.
As the crowd swayed between dance floor and dining tables one of the men who was kept in circulation on the arms of many ladies was Sir Jon. As the gas jets dimmed slightly with the deepening of night and the lowering of wine in the pitchers, Sir Jon found himself in the arms of lady after lady, trading platitudes. The most recent was a young lady on her second consecutive dance with Sir Jon, a lovely brunette with a blossoming frame who had held off many young men for another dance with Sir Jon.
She melted in his arms and let him guide her through the steps as he smiled down at her though his eyes often flirted away, seeking Megan Harrison among the crowd. Occasionally he would catch sight of her, often dancing, sometimes sitting, always surrounded it seemed by some local. As the minuet slowed to find its light applause Sir Jon took his partner’s hand, bowed and lifted her cheek for a slow, loving kiss.
“Thank you for the dance, Miranda.”
The young lady blushed, “No Papa, thank you.” Miranda stepped back, almost running into a young man that Sir Jon didn’t recognize but was about Miranda’s age and was obviously trying to drum up courage to speak to her.
Leaving the young man to his devices, Sir Jon returned to searching the crowed for Megan. Failing from his current vantage Sir Jon began a slow circle of the hall, his eyes darting as he walked.
“Meneer Bleeker, I’m glad you could attend.” Sir Jon sent out his hand to grasp Bleeker’s as he delicately set aside a glass of port to take the hand.
“Harstikke bedankt dat je mij uitgenodigd heb.”
“Graag gedaan,” Sir Jon responded. “Now, you haven’t seen Megan around have you?”
“Miss Harrison? Only briefly since I danced with her. A wonderful lady.” Bleeker grinned in a friendly way that was almost a wink, suggestive but not insinuating. Sir Jon simply clasped his shoulder and moved on, still scanning the crowd.
And so it went. Half a dozen familiar faces such as old Miss Kerias’s kindly concerns and the always red faced Padres Guarez stopped him and excused him as Sir Jon still looked. Finally his search came to an end along with the music of another chamber piece. The last strings faded to peace as Sir Jon’s awareness of the crowd slipped away to leave a single wonderful lady returning from the dance floor, Megan.
Sir Jon stood a moment, watched her collect herself and discretely make sure that she was properly unruffled as she made her way to a love seat near the window where she could let the warmth of dancing bleed off her. Sir Jon watched her, vaguely aware of th world coming back into focus, and regretting one very sour note that disturbed it...
“... those teats are magnificent, eh Randolph?”
The man in question, Randolph Burgess stayed silent but Sir Jon recognized the voice and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Lord Schronenberg was a pompous ass and had annoyed Sir Jon a number of times. But never before had it been Sir Jon’s fight to pick. This time he was afraid it would be. Sir Jon moved his attention towards Burgess who had been the man who just finished dancing with Megan. He as a small grower in his own right though he mostly made his money by acting as an in between agent for small trades. He was the sort of basically decent man who was likely to cronie for Schronenberg since all that was asked for membership into the circle was a willingness to prostitute his opinions.
“Yep “ he continued, “I think I’ll dance with her next and grab a feel of those little fruits. I’ll tell you,” he took a long drink from his glass, “Halley sure is a slick bastard, bringing in a trollop as a nanny. Hehe, I’d see if I can swing that by the old witch but then again, all my runts are off already...”
Sir Jon waited, letting his breath leave his body and rage to quiet but the effort was failing him. He watched from a dozen feet away the profile of Schronenberg. His presence was not entirely unnoticed as several of the fat and lazy souls surrounding Schronenberg did notice Sir Jon but sought discretion over loyalty and quietly made their own ways off.
“Hell, I’m sure she’ll take a nice shag after the way she was grinding against Hixson, right old man. I mean, I saw her from back here and ...”
At this Sir Jon’s temper finally snapped. It had taken little tempering to heat his mettle this time and striding behind Schronenberg, Sir Jon flattened his hand and as the others watched in shock Sir Jon smashed his palm down in a stroke against his guest’s cheek and sent him sprawling half from his chair and his drink scattered across several sycophants and their seats.
With fists clenched Sir Jon stood his ground and glared at the now flushed Lord Schronenberg.
“My god man,” he spluttered, “what the blazing hell is wrong with...”
“You are a gutless turd,” Sir Jon interrupted, forcing an abruptness into his already terse delivery. His throat looked tightly stretched as if he was fighting a scream.
Suddenly Sir Schronenberg lashed out with his own hand but Sir Jon brought up his own hand and caught Shcronenberg’s wrist in his palms and wrestled with him before the young Mr. Wilmington got his arms under Sir Jon’s to pull him back. Mr. Burgess did the same for Schronenberg.
Standing at barely arms length apart and restrained, Schronenberg appeared ready to cast his spittle at everyone around him while Sir Jon didn’t fight the hands holding him but burned his eyes into Schronenberg, studying him with vicious intensity.
Padres Guarez steps up, “Really, good sirs, this is too much. You should apologize for striking him, Jon.”
“Do not call him good anything, Father. I won’t apologize for striking a mangy dog to keep him away from a table, especially my own.”
Schronenberg, “You call me a dog?!” His outrage emanated like a raw heat.
“No, I call you like a dog. What I call you is a coward and the kind of trash that in the Queen’s service we discharged in foreign ports hoping that you would never find your way to Christian soil again.”
“And you are a motherless piece of diseased cock flesh, you arrogant bastard son of a whore!”
“You seem obsessed with finding whores where there are none, Mr. Shroneneberg. I won’t bother with the stories I could call up but I will not tolerate you hiding behind lies and innuendo, like a boy jerking off behind the shed in my home, at my table. You are a coward and a base one sniffing after Miss Harrison as swine would snuff for truffles."
"You call me swine!
"I say you lark among your cronies like a pig in shit."
“I will not take such an offense, Sir Halley!”
“Is that a challenge, Mr. Schronenberg?”
For the first time Mr. Shcronenberg seemed to recall that there was an audience but as he calmed a little he seemed to dedicate himself to his actions, “It is if you have the courage to take it.”
“I do and as the challenged I will name the means. Swords, tomorrow at dawn at the tar pits.”
Shronenberg snarled and left with a simple, “So be it.” His cronies quickly dispersed and Sir Jon turned away, not bothering to watch their movements.
Instead he turned to the crowd. “Continue the party,” Sir Jon intoned, trying to be light despite the rage in his eyes, “after all you can’t say your host hasn’t stimulated discussion.” A few polite chuckles spattered the crowd and Sir Jon motioned for the musicians to start up again as he turned to Michael Wilmington, still standing behind him.
“Well, Mr. Wilmington, care to be my second?”
“But,” he stuttered, “me, Sir? Why?”
“Well, you seem to have a clear head and decent arm. Both are useful in second. And a little medical skill, at least how to set a wound?”
“Why, yes, Sir.”
“Even better. Besides, there is one crucial skill in a second that will help you practice for command.”
Michael Wilmington raised his eyes in curiosity.
“Lying, Michael. Lying. Remember, tomorrow won’t happen.”
Sir Jon actually smiled thinly then and noticed a presence behind him as Megan stood there. Sir Jon turned and took her hand and kissed it, simply.
“Now, do me a favor Megan. It is getting late. Take the children to their rooms and help them undress. I will be up to tuck them in shortly but I have a matter to discuss with Michael here.”
Then, with an abruptness it was over for now and Sir Jon disappeared to consider the dawn.
As the crowd swayed between dance floor and dining tables one of the men who was kept in circulation on the arms of many ladies was Sir Jon. As the gas jets dimmed slightly with the deepening of night and the lowering of wine in the pitchers, Sir Jon found himself in the arms of lady after lady, trading platitudes. The most recent was a young lady on her second consecutive dance with Sir Jon, a lovely brunette with a blossoming frame who had held off many young men for another dance with Sir Jon.
She melted in his arms and let him guide her through the steps as he smiled down at her though his eyes often flirted away, seeking Megan Harrison among the crowd. Occasionally he would catch sight of her, often dancing, sometimes sitting, always surrounded it seemed by some local. As the minuet slowed to find its light applause Sir Jon took his partner’s hand, bowed and lifted her cheek for a slow, loving kiss.
“Thank you for the dance, Miranda.”
The young lady blushed, “No Papa, thank you.” Miranda stepped back, almost running into a young man that Sir Jon didn’t recognize but was about Miranda’s age and was obviously trying to drum up courage to speak to her.
Leaving the young man to his devices, Sir Jon returned to searching the crowed for Megan. Failing from his current vantage Sir Jon began a slow circle of the hall, his eyes darting as he walked.
“Meneer Bleeker, I’m glad you could attend.” Sir Jon sent out his hand to grasp Bleeker’s as he delicately set aside a glass of port to take the hand.
“Harstikke bedankt dat je mij uitgenodigd heb.”
“Graag gedaan,” Sir Jon responded. “Now, you haven’t seen Megan around have you?”
“Miss Harrison? Only briefly since I danced with her. A wonderful lady.” Bleeker grinned in a friendly way that was almost a wink, suggestive but not insinuating. Sir Jon simply clasped his shoulder and moved on, still scanning the crowd.
And so it went. Half a dozen familiar faces such as old Miss Kerias’s kindly concerns and the always red faced Padres Guarez stopped him and excused him as Sir Jon still looked. Finally his search came to an end along with the music of another chamber piece. The last strings faded to peace as Sir Jon’s awareness of the crowd slipped away to leave a single wonderful lady returning from the dance floor, Megan.
Sir Jon stood a moment, watched her collect herself and discretely make sure that she was properly unruffled as she made her way to a love seat near the window where she could let the warmth of dancing bleed off her. Sir Jon watched her, vaguely aware of th world coming back into focus, and regretting one very sour note that disturbed it...
“... those teats are magnificent, eh Randolph?”
The man in question, Randolph Burgess stayed silent but Sir Jon recognized the voice and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Lord Schronenberg was a pompous ass and had annoyed Sir Jon a number of times. But never before had it been Sir Jon’s fight to pick. This time he was afraid it would be. Sir Jon moved his attention towards Burgess who had been the man who just finished dancing with Megan. He as a small grower in his own right though he mostly made his money by acting as an in between agent for small trades. He was the sort of basically decent man who was likely to cronie for Schronenberg since all that was asked for membership into the circle was a willingness to prostitute his opinions.
“Yep “ he continued, “I think I’ll dance with her next and grab a feel of those little fruits. I’ll tell you,” he took a long drink from his glass, “Halley sure is a slick bastard, bringing in a trollop as a nanny. Hehe, I’d see if I can swing that by the old witch but then again, all my runts are off already...”
Sir Jon waited, letting his breath leave his body and rage to quiet but the effort was failing him. He watched from a dozen feet away the profile of Schronenberg. His presence was not entirely unnoticed as several of the fat and lazy souls surrounding Schronenberg did notice Sir Jon but sought discretion over loyalty and quietly made their own ways off.
“Hell, I’m sure she’ll take a nice shag after the way she was grinding against Hixson, right old man. I mean, I saw her from back here and ...”
At this Sir Jon’s temper finally snapped. It had taken little tempering to heat his mettle this time and striding behind Schronenberg, Sir Jon flattened his hand and as the others watched in shock Sir Jon smashed his palm down in a stroke against his guest’s cheek and sent him sprawling half from his chair and his drink scattered across several sycophants and their seats.
With fists clenched Sir Jon stood his ground and glared at the now flushed Lord Schronenberg.
“My god man,” he spluttered, “what the blazing hell is wrong with...”
“You are a gutless turd,” Sir Jon interrupted, forcing an abruptness into his already terse delivery. His throat looked tightly stretched as if he was fighting a scream.
Suddenly Sir Schronenberg lashed out with his own hand but Sir Jon brought up his own hand and caught Shcronenberg’s wrist in his palms and wrestled with him before the young Mr. Wilmington got his arms under Sir Jon’s to pull him back. Mr. Burgess did the same for Schronenberg.
Standing at barely arms length apart and restrained, Schronenberg appeared ready to cast his spittle at everyone around him while Sir Jon didn’t fight the hands holding him but burned his eyes into Schronenberg, studying him with vicious intensity.
Padres Guarez steps up, “Really, good sirs, this is too much. You should apologize for striking him, Jon.”
“Do not call him good anything, Father. I won’t apologize for striking a mangy dog to keep him away from a table, especially my own.”
Schronenberg, “You call me a dog?!” His outrage emanated like a raw heat.
“No, I call you like a dog. What I call you is a coward and the kind of trash that in the Queen’s service we discharged in foreign ports hoping that you would never find your way to Christian soil again.”
“And you are a motherless piece of diseased cock flesh, you arrogant bastard son of a whore!”
“You seem obsessed with finding whores where there are none, Mr. Shroneneberg. I won’t bother with the stories I could call up but I will not tolerate you hiding behind lies and innuendo, like a boy jerking off behind the shed in my home, at my table. You are a coward and a base one sniffing after Miss Harrison as swine would snuff for truffles."
"You call me swine!
"I say you lark among your cronies like a pig in shit."
“I will not take such an offense, Sir Halley!”
“Is that a challenge, Mr. Schronenberg?”
For the first time Mr. Shcronenberg seemed to recall that there was an audience but as he calmed a little he seemed to dedicate himself to his actions, “It is if you have the courage to take it.”
“I do and as the challenged I will name the means. Swords, tomorrow at dawn at the tar pits.”
Shronenberg snarled and left with a simple, “So be it.” His cronies quickly dispersed and Sir Jon turned away, not bothering to watch their movements.
Instead he turned to the crowd. “Continue the party,” Sir Jon intoned, trying to be light despite the rage in his eyes, “after all you can’t say your host hasn’t stimulated discussion.” A few polite chuckles spattered the crowd and Sir Jon motioned for the musicians to start up again as he turned to Michael Wilmington, still standing behind him.
“Well, Mr. Wilmington, care to be my second?”
“But,” he stuttered, “me, Sir? Why?”
“Well, you seem to have a clear head and decent arm. Both are useful in second. And a little medical skill, at least how to set a wound?”
“Why, yes, Sir.”
“Even better. Besides, there is one crucial skill in a second that will help you practice for command.”
Michael Wilmington raised his eyes in curiosity.
“Lying, Michael. Lying. Remember, tomorrow won’t happen.”
Sir Jon actually smiled thinly then and noticed a presence behind him as Megan stood there. Sir Jon turned and took her hand and kissed it, simply.
“Now, do me a favor Megan. It is getting late. Take the children to their rooms and help them undress. I will be up to tuck them in shortly but I have a matter to discuss with Michael here.”
Then, with an abruptness it was over for now and Sir Jon disappeared to consider the dawn.
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coyotepondering
Guilded Pervert
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Sir Jon walked into the bed room, appearing calm despite the recent conflict. Megan was beginning to learn his moods however and suspected that his demeanor hid something that seethed at his cracks. He looked to her as he entered, crossing in front of the toy ships that Jon Junior decorated his desk with, and saw that she diverted her gaze from him but kept him visible from the corner of her eye.
The room was quiet despite the three occupants and as he passed her Sir Jon put his hand to Megan’s shoulder and turned to speak to her.
“Could you go and check on Miranda while I speak to Jon for a moment?”
Megan bowed slightly and began to leave but Sir Jon didn’t let go of her arm and pulled her towards him. She looked up at him, tossing her hair from her forehead and Sir Jon bent down and kissed her cheek tenderly.
“Now go.” Megan left as Sir Jon turned to his son and crossed the few feet to his bed. Jon Junior scooted away from the edge, making way for his father to sit with him.
Sir Jon tussled his son’s hair, eliciting a small smile but it quickly turned to a strange grimace and he blurted, “Are you going to get hurt Papa?”
The smile was thin and simple as he replied, “I hope not son, but I might.”
“You’re going to fight him?”
“Yes. I will.”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to fight.” Jon Junior’s eyes were soft and a little moist while his father’s gazed at him with kindness but without the softness that he might have liked.
“Well son, there are times when a gentleman must not be a gentle man. You’ll learn more about this as you grow older but mainly it will be when you need to protect others.”
“You have to protect someone?”
“Yes. And I will do so. Mr. Schronenberg said some very bad things that could hurt someone that I care about and about me. I won’t tolerate that.”
“I understand Papa.”
Sir Jon said nothing but reached out and took his son in his arms and hugged him tightly, rocking him back and forth and patting his back.
After a moment Sir Jon tried to speak but found his voice choked and instead kissed his son’s eyes. “I love you, Jon. Now sleep and I’ll be home for lunch tomorrow.”
Sir Jon blew out the gas light and crossed the floor, hearing the wood take his leathered steps as he reached the door closed it. In the hall Megan waited.
Sir Jon leaned against the dark brown wall immediately under a gas light, casting long shadows down his face and drew a deep breath before speaking. “I don’t like lying to my children.”
Megan looked concerned, “Sir, are you?” She left the question unspecified.
“I am well enough, Megan but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. Only a fool faces steel without thinking about his own life.”
Sir Jon paused and looked around, “I won’t lie Megan. I never thought I’d have to kill again after I left the Queen’s service and I don’t miss it.”
“You could offer a draw, couldn’t you, Sir?”
“No. He would probably take it. He’s a coward but he’ll take it as free reign to continue. Cowards are dangerous when you give them too much rope or too little. I’ll have to cut his jib tomorrow and leave him with too little wind to sail on.”
“And you?”
“The risk is reasonable Megan. I would not have forced him to challenge me if I hadn’t some consideration for the outcome. I dealt with privateers for ten years, ten too long to think that fighting fair is a good idea.”
“And if ....”
“Then provisions have been made with my barrister. Miranda will take over ownership of the estate when she turns 16 and Jon will gain half when he reaches the same age.” Sir Jon reached out to stroke Megan’s cheek, “I sent out a letter last week. You’ll be taken care of as well.”
The room was quiet despite the three occupants and as he passed her Sir Jon put his hand to Megan’s shoulder and turned to speak to her.
“Could you go and check on Miranda while I speak to Jon for a moment?”
Megan bowed slightly and began to leave but Sir Jon didn’t let go of her arm and pulled her towards him. She looked up at him, tossing her hair from her forehead and Sir Jon bent down and kissed her cheek tenderly.
“Now go.” Megan left as Sir Jon turned to his son and crossed the few feet to his bed. Jon Junior scooted away from the edge, making way for his father to sit with him.
Sir Jon tussled his son’s hair, eliciting a small smile but it quickly turned to a strange grimace and he blurted, “Are you going to get hurt Papa?”
The smile was thin and simple as he replied, “I hope not son, but I might.”
“You’re going to fight him?”
“Yes. I will.”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to fight.” Jon Junior’s eyes were soft and a little moist while his father’s gazed at him with kindness but without the softness that he might have liked.
“Well son, there are times when a gentleman must not be a gentle man. You’ll learn more about this as you grow older but mainly it will be when you need to protect others.”
“You have to protect someone?”
“Yes. And I will do so. Mr. Schronenberg said some very bad things that could hurt someone that I care about and about me. I won’t tolerate that.”
“I understand Papa.”
Sir Jon said nothing but reached out and took his son in his arms and hugged him tightly, rocking him back and forth and patting his back.
After a moment Sir Jon tried to speak but found his voice choked and instead kissed his son’s eyes. “I love you, Jon. Now sleep and I’ll be home for lunch tomorrow.”
Sir Jon blew out the gas light and crossed the floor, hearing the wood take his leathered steps as he reached the door closed it. In the hall Megan waited.
Sir Jon leaned against the dark brown wall immediately under a gas light, casting long shadows down his face and drew a deep breath before speaking. “I don’t like lying to my children.”
Megan looked concerned, “Sir, are you?” She left the question unspecified.
“I am well enough, Megan but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. Only a fool faces steel without thinking about his own life.”
Sir Jon paused and looked around, “I won’t lie Megan. I never thought I’d have to kill again after I left the Queen’s service and I don’t miss it.”
“You could offer a draw, couldn’t you, Sir?”
“No. He would probably take it. He’s a coward but he’ll take it as free reign to continue. Cowards are dangerous when you give them too much rope or too little. I’ll have to cut his jib tomorrow and leave him with too little wind to sail on.”
“And you?”
“The risk is reasonable Megan. I would not have forced him to challenge me if I hadn’t some consideration for the outcome. I dealt with privateers for ten years, ten too long to think that fighting fair is a good idea.”
“And if ....”
“Then provisions have been made with my barrister. Miranda will take over ownership of the estate when she turns 16 and Jon will gain half when he reaches the same age.” Sir Jon reached out to stroke Megan’s cheek, “I sent out a letter last week. You’ll be taken care of as well.”
coyotepondering
Guilded Pervert
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Megan bowed and allowed Sir Jon to enter ahead of her, which he did with a smile to acknowledge her deferment. He entered, knocking a second before opening the door to alert Miranda.
She was awake and sitting up in bed, her blankets pooled around her waist like a discarded shell. The gossamer of her night gown did more to reveal her blossoming womanhood than hide it. Sir Jon sat by his daughter in the light starved room. The only lamp was dim with thin oil. He reached as if to stroke her cheek but grasped her around her shoulder instead as she launched at him and hugged her father tightly around his chest. Sir Jon returned the embrace and cradled her in his arms, hugging her head under his chin as he muttered something largely inaudible.
Miranda raised her moist eyes, “Really?”
“Yes, really.” He broke his embrace, only enough to let her tilt her head up.
“You promise?”
“I do.”
She hugged him again, “Then do it.”
“I will, my love.”
Looking tear eyed, Miranda settled back down in her blankets and looked over to Megan. The significance of their exchange was not lost on Sir Jon though its meaning was beyond him. Standing, Sir Jon lifted the cover of the beside lamp and with a gentle exhalation ended the fragile light.
“Sleep now and forget your fears.”
In the hallway, Megan waited for him. Her eyes seemed to accuse him, as if to say And should I forget my fears too?
Sir Jon turned from Megan, “Megan?”
“Yes, Sir Jon.” Her voice was measured and dulcet.
“Prepare for bed and come to my rooms.”
“Sir?”
“Was I unclear?”
“No, sir, but...”
Sir Jon returned to Megan and the strength he had used to visit with his children was gone from him. In its place was a the mast of an old ship. The strength was not the virility of active resistance but an old, simple strength that was part of its defining nature. Weather worn and sturdy, Sir Jon stood before Megan and took her hand in his. He traced her palm with his fingertips and brought them to his lips where he trailed his lips across her skin rather than kiss.
“I’ve thought of a handful of reasons. Some are partially true. I thought that maybe I should say that a man who is going to die should be comforted in his final hours.”
Megan looked hurt, her face and the turn away from him of her chin said what she did not, The joke is painful and bitter.
“But the simplest truth is this,” Sir Jon continued, “I’d like your company tonight. I’d like to hold you and feel that joy before I fight tomorrow. My children’s faces, your embrace - these are the things I want fresh in my mind, my reasons for living.”
A moment passed and Megan walked away. She had turned back to him before leaving and smiled enigmatically with a short curtsey.
She was awake and sitting up in bed, her blankets pooled around her waist like a discarded shell. The gossamer of her night gown did more to reveal her blossoming womanhood than hide it. Sir Jon sat by his daughter in the light starved room. The only lamp was dim with thin oil. He reached as if to stroke her cheek but grasped her around her shoulder instead as she launched at him and hugged her father tightly around his chest. Sir Jon returned the embrace and cradled her in his arms, hugging her head under his chin as he muttered something largely inaudible.
Miranda raised her moist eyes, “Really?”
“Yes, really.” He broke his embrace, only enough to let her tilt her head up.
“You promise?”
“I do.”
She hugged him again, “Then do it.”
“I will, my love.”
Looking tear eyed, Miranda settled back down in her blankets and looked over to Megan. The significance of their exchange was not lost on Sir Jon though its meaning was beyond him. Standing, Sir Jon lifted the cover of the beside lamp and with a gentle exhalation ended the fragile light.
“Sleep now and forget your fears.”
In the hallway, Megan waited for him. Her eyes seemed to accuse him, as if to say And should I forget my fears too?
Sir Jon turned from Megan, “Megan?”
“Yes, Sir Jon.” Her voice was measured and dulcet.
“Prepare for bed and come to my rooms.”
“Sir?”
“Was I unclear?”
“No, sir, but...”
Sir Jon returned to Megan and the strength he had used to visit with his children was gone from him. In its place was a the mast of an old ship. The strength was not the virility of active resistance but an old, simple strength that was part of its defining nature. Weather worn and sturdy, Sir Jon stood before Megan and took her hand in his. He traced her palm with his fingertips and brought them to his lips where he trailed his lips across her skin rather than kiss.
“I’ve thought of a handful of reasons. Some are partially true. I thought that maybe I should say that a man who is going to die should be comforted in his final hours.”
Megan looked hurt, her face and the turn away from him of her chin said what she did not, The joke is painful and bitter.
“But the simplest truth is this,” Sir Jon continued, “I’d like your company tonight. I’d like to hold you and feel that joy before I fight tomorrow. My children’s faces, your embrace - these are the things I want fresh in my mind, my reasons for living.”
A moment passed and Megan walked away. She had turned back to him before leaving and smiled enigmatically with a short curtsey.
Last edited:
coyotepondering
Guilded Pervert
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Sir Jon closed his eyes tightly as he drew his arms around Megan. The feel of her body against his tensed his body as his heart shuddered but his mind immediately felt clouded. He felt each finger grip at her and pull her closer as her night gown pinched up between his fingers. Sir Jon wasn’t sure if the heat was her’s or his but he felt it as if neither her night gown or his robe separated them. Through the opening of his robe Megan’s face pressed against his chest and he felt her nose nuzzle the hair of his chest. Sir Jon resisted pulling her up to kiss him and instead let his hands rub her arm and hip where he gripped her.
Minutes passed as he held her and it surprised Sir Jon at how quickly it came. Sleep fell over him, despite the thundering of his heart and the weight of Megan in his arms but it did not wash his awareness out. Instead Sir Jon’s senses slipped away but his awareness remained of every second for the wealth it provided. It was well after midnight when Sir Jon finally returned to his facilities. Megan hadn’t stirred from his arms except to put her own arms around him.
Leaning down Sir Jon brushed his beard across Megan’s temple and let his lips find her ear lobe, which he stroked with his tongue. Whether she had been awoken or had never slept, Megan then leaned back and faced Sir Jon. He stroked her cheek, looking at shallow light of her eyes in the dim room. Moon light illuminated little here but he could see the pools of her eyes like dark green water on a moonless night and he put his lips to her’s in a simple kiss that caused her to shudder against him.
Seconds passed and it seemed like hours before Sir Jon removed his lips, pursing them briefly as he lost contact to peck at Megan’s. “Megan?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“You know I’m returning don’t you?” He stroked her cheek and let his hand wander down to her arm.
He could barely see her nod in the moon light.
“Good,” he replied.
Stroking her arm, Sir Jon let his hand slide to the ties of Megan’s night gown and traced the buttons with his finger tips. His hands grasped the material and pushed at the button with his thumb while pulling on the cotton. It took force until Sir Jon nearly thought he would rip the button out but eventually it surrendered to him and a second quickly followed. With a gap open in Megan’s night gown Sir Jon watched her flush build as he stroked the bone between her breasts, his fingers brushing the flesh of her breasts.
Removing his hand as her breath quickened Sir Jon grasped her fingers in his hand and brought them under his own robe to slide them along his thigh until her finger felt the presence of his organ near it. It excited her but as Sir Jon removed his hand she seemed uncertain as to what she should do.
Sir Jon eased her uncertainty by closing his hand on her right breast and running his finger over her nipple which almost immediately hardened and he leaned down to kiss the base of her neck, a short distance from where his finger tips teased her nipple. A dozen times over Sir Jon let his finger slide over the sensitive nub until he pinched it and held it, increasing the sensation until it hurt just a little and then he released it and massaged the blood back into it, feeling Megan’s chest swell as he did it.
Almost instantly Sir Jon felt her fingertips reach his cock and stroke its flaccid length, making it stir. Sir Jon smiled as he kissed her neck.
“I’ll return in the late morning Megan, tonight I want to show you a little of why I will return. I’ll be returning for you.”
He smiled as she pressed into his chest and kissed his skin in response.
Minutes passed as he held her and it surprised Sir Jon at how quickly it came. Sleep fell over him, despite the thundering of his heart and the weight of Megan in his arms but it did not wash his awareness out. Instead Sir Jon’s senses slipped away but his awareness remained of every second for the wealth it provided. It was well after midnight when Sir Jon finally returned to his facilities. Megan hadn’t stirred from his arms except to put her own arms around him.
Leaning down Sir Jon brushed his beard across Megan’s temple and let his lips find her ear lobe, which he stroked with his tongue. Whether she had been awoken or had never slept, Megan then leaned back and faced Sir Jon. He stroked her cheek, looking at shallow light of her eyes in the dim room. Moon light illuminated little here but he could see the pools of her eyes like dark green water on a moonless night and he put his lips to her’s in a simple kiss that caused her to shudder against him.
Seconds passed and it seemed like hours before Sir Jon removed his lips, pursing them briefly as he lost contact to peck at Megan’s. “Megan?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“You know I’m returning don’t you?” He stroked her cheek and let his hand wander down to her arm.
He could barely see her nod in the moon light.
“Good,” he replied.
Stroking her arm, Sir Jon let his hand slide to the ties of Megan’s night gown and traced the buttons with his finger tips. His hands grasped the material and pushed at the button with his thumb while pulling on the cotton. It took force until Sir Jon nearly thought he would rip the button out but eventually it surrendered to him and a second quickly followed. With a gap open in Megan’s night gown Sir Jon watched her flush build as he stroked the bone between her breasts, his fingers brushing the flesh of her breasts.
Removing his hand as her breath quickened Sir Jon grasped her fingers in his hand and brought them under his own robe to slide them along his thigh until her finger felt the presence of his organ near it. It excited her but as Sir Jon removed his hand she seemed uncertain as to what she should do.
Sir Jon eased her uncertainty by closing his hand on her right breast and running his finger over her nipple which almost immediately hardened and he leaned down to kiss the base of her neck, a short distance from where his finger tips teased her nipple. A dozen times over Sir Jon let his finger slide over the sensitive nub until he pinched it and held it, increasing the sensation until it hurt just a little and then he released it and massaged the blood back into it, feeling Megan’s chest swell as he did it.
Almost instantly Sir Jon felt her fingertips reach his cock and stroke its flaccid length, making it stir. Sir Jon smiled as he kissed her neck.
“I’ll return in the late morning Megan, tonight I want to show you a little of why I will return. I’ll be returning for you.”
He smiled as she pressed into his chest and kissed his skin in response.
coyotepondering
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Sir Jon’s throat tightened as he felt Megan’s hand on his shaft and his breath caught in his chest. His hand slid away from her nipple and the fingertips returned to the buttons on her gown. He remembered the resistance of the buttons before and reaching the one immediately below Megan’s ample bosom, Sir Jon grasped it and ripped it free, startling Megan whose hand paused.
Sir Jon looked to Megan, “Don’t fret dear, the gown is easily replaceable,” and he returned to kissing Megan as he ripped half a dozen more buttons. Each one tore free, causing Megan to jump a little but not so dramatically as when she felt his fingertips slip down her stomach and touch the curls over her womanhood.
As he did this, he tightened his embrace of her as if to prevent her from breaking free in shock and kissed her again. His fingers pressed on, running through her curls and feeling the raw heat of her sex. And as his fingers reached there Megan grasped his shaft harder, pulling the foreskin around the crown of his penis and eliciting a slight shifting of Sir Jon’s hips, pushing his shaft through Megan’s hand.
Sir Jon looked to Megan, “Don’t fret dear, the gown is easily replaceable,” and he returned to kissing Megan as he ripped half a dozen more buttons. Each one tore free, causing Megan to jump a little but not so dramatically as when she felt his fingertips slip down her stomach and touch the curls over her womanhood.
As he did this, he tightened his embrace of her as if to prevent her from breaking free in shock and kissed her again. His fingers pressed on, running through her curls and feeling the raw heat of her sex. And as his fingers reached there Megan grasped his shaft harder, pulling the foreskin around the crown of his penis and eliciting a slight shifting of Sir Jon’s hips, pushing his shaft through Megan’s hand.
coyotepondering
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His heart slammed against his chest and Sir Jon became lost as he felt Megan’s thumb softly caress the crown of his cock. He sought Megan’s lips again as her hand stroked him, the first woman to do so in many years. A seizure grabbed at Sir Jon’s thoughts, a slight fear that reared madly behind his eyes but then he remembered, he remembered that his wife was gone and his future was here in his arms.
That thought motivated his hand, sliding through Megan’s wetness, his palm roughly sliding across her sex’s lips and stopping to cup her mound with his finger buried in her. With his lips pulling on her’s Sir Jon teased her sex with his fingertip, darting it back and forth to feel her squirm in his arms. As his hand dampened Sir Jon broke the kiss and moved his lips to her chin and then throat, kissing at the small hollow and holding Megan to him. As he did this he felt her legs spread open in invitation and pausing while pushing into her, Sir Jon roamed his thumb up through her folds to find the hard nub and stroke it.
Instantly Megan reacted, her back aching slightly at surprise and sensation. Sir Jon smiled and stroked it again before returning his hand to parting her vaginal lips and stroking inside her. At the same time he felt her possessive grip on his member continue and her fingers explore it, taking the bit of pre-cum from his head and smearing his shaft with it.
Gasping, Sir Jon reared up a little, using his free hand to grasp Megan’s chin while still slowly stroking in and out of her sex with his other.
Looking in her eyes, “My dear, if you continue that, I will spill all my seed into your hand and across your stomach.” Sir Jon grinned as he spoke, more challenging than reproachful.
That thought motivated his hand, sliding through Megan’s wetness, his palm roughly sliding across her sex’s lips and stopping to cup her mound with his finger buried in her. With his lips pulling on her’s Sir Jon teased her sex with his fingertip, darting it back and forth to feel her squirm in his arms. As his hand dampened Sir Jon broke the kiss and moved his lips to her chin and then throat, kissing at the small hollow and holding Megan to him. As he did this he felt her legs spread open in invitation and pausing while pushing into her, Sir Jon roamed his thumb up through her folds to find the hard nub and stroke it.
Instantly Megan reacted, her back aching slightly at surprise and sensation. Sir Jon smiled and stroked it again before returning his hand to parting her vaginal lips and stroking inside her. At the same time he felt her possessive grip on his member continue and her fingers explore it, taking the bit of pre-cum from his head and smearing his shaft with it.
Gasping, Sir Jon reared up a little, using his free hand to grasp Megan’s chin while still slowly stroking in and out of her sex with his other.
Looking in her eyes, “My dear, if you continue that, I will spill all my seed into your hand and across your stomach.” Sir Jon grinned as he spoke, more challenging than reproachful.
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coyotepondering
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It was a simple instinct that took hold of Sir Jon - his hips shifted as his length moved through Megan’s hand, her fingers teasing it, stroking in a countering rhythm. He looked at Megan, seeking her eyes and catching them as she looked away from what she was doing to him. And she paused briefly. Her cheek blushed as if his watching her changed things but as his eyes narrowed and lost focus, the tension in his shaft grew and Megan could feel it. Her blush didn’t fade but her timidity did and she stroked him forcefully, making a quiver begin in Sir Jon’s leg as he felt something in his gut build.
Megan let a nail stray across the surface of the member, watching Sir Jon’ face as his throat betrayed that the air he drew in to breath had become too little. He gasped for air. He heaved and at first Megan thought that Sir Jon had lost control but he gained control of himself and ran a hand along her shoulder, his fingers lingering and squeezing.
For his own efforts Sir Jon felt his hand go slack as it cupped Megan’s sex and he gripped, pulling his hand up as she ground her hips against his fingers to reassert his attentions. Concerned that he gripped at her too tightly or would hurt her Sir Jon looked to Megan but she was watching his hips and the only registration of his action was her own motion against his fingers as she bit her lower lip. The image shocked Sir Jon and his control fled. Like a small weight toppling a large pile, that image of attention and intent overwhelmed Sir Jon and her hand suddenly felt like fire against his skin and he knew that he couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Megan.” The name was said simply but pushed out with a guttural background to Sir Jon’s voice, as if he had to remember how to speak to say it.
In response, Megan looked to Sir Jon and saw him looking at her.
“You are going to receive it.” He said it plainly, letting Megan draw on her own understanding but his thoughts were no longer of the seed his body would betray from him and splash across her fingers and stomach. His thoughts were no longer of the inevitable warmth he felt rise to crisis in his testicles. Instead Sir Jon began to think of his hand and the body beneath it.
He pushed his palm down against Megan’s nub and rubbed as his fingers penetrated her. Sir Jon knew that he was seconds from giving Megan his seed and he wanted to feel her echo his pleasure.
Megan let a nail stray across the surface of the member, watching Sir Jon’ face as his throat betrayed that the air he drew in to breath had become too little. He gasped for air. He heaved and at first Megan thought that Sir Jon had lost control but he gained control of himself and ran a hand along her shoulder, his fingers lingering and squeezing.
For his own efforts Sir Jon felt his hand go slack as it cupped Megan’s sex and he gripped, pulling his hand up as she ground her hips against his fingers to reassert his attentions. Concerned that he gripped at her too tightly or would hurt her Sir Jon looked to Megan but she was watching his hips and the only registration of his action was her own motion against his fingers as she bit her lower lip. The image shocked Sir Jon and his control fled. Like a small weight toppling a large pile, that image of attention and intent overwhelmed Sir Jon and her hand suddenly felt like fire against his skin and he knew that he couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Megan.” The name was said simply but pushed out with a guttural background to Sir Jon’s voice, as if he had to remember how to speak to say it.
In response, Megan looked to Sir Jon and saw him looking at her.
“You are going to receive it.” He said it plainly, letting Megan draw on her own understanding but his thoughts were no longer of the seed his body would betray from him and splash across her fingers and stomach. His thoughts were no longer of the inevitable warmth he felt rise to crisis in his testicles. Instead Sir Jon began to think of his hand and the body beneath it.
He pushed his palm down against Megan’s nub and rubbed as his fingers penetrated her. Sir Jon knew that he was seconds from giving Megan his seed and he wanted to feel her echo his pleasure.
coyotepondering
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“Jon? You seem to be gaining a rather comfortable mode of address, Miss Harrison.”
He looked down at her, blue eyes framed by dark hair and beard. His face was stern and Megan felt her throat constrict, panicked that she had done something horribly wrong when she most wanted to please him. But then his cheeks relaxed and Sir Jon’s lips softened into a smile. His hand reached down and touched the stream of his seed that stretched across Megan’s pale skin, slowly drawing its way across her like a lazy river. He drew one finger down it and then pressed his palm flat and pushed across her stomach. She could feel the thin layering of his liquid being pressed into her by his palm, the same hand that a moment ago had been pressed into her sex.
“As well, you should Megan.”
Sir Jon climbed up from the bed and retrieved a wash cloth from a bedside stand and wrung it out after soaking it in the chilly water. He first applied it to himself, rubbing over his flaccid length and caressing his sack with it before washing it out again. Sir Jon then strode to the bed where he gingerly ran the cloth over Megan’s stomach and slowly slid the rough cotton to the joining of her legs.
The cloth was not the smooth perfect and perfumed linen of a lady’s toilet. It was the simple piece of scrap cloth that a man like Sir Jon preferred after years of a spartan shipboard life. And it excited Megan, feeling it now brush over her folds and rub across them. The cloth was different from Sir Jon’s hand, pliable but rough and while it didn’t push Megan to the sensations that his probing fingers did, the reaction was strong. She felt uncomfortable but wanted to close her legs around the cloth and the hand that held it and hold them there. But nearly as soon as she felt it, the sensation was also gone, its job to clean finished.
Megan’s eyes fluttered open and she was surprised, not having realized she had closed them. Sir Jon was laying down again and slid an arm across her breasts, pressing slightly under them and pulled her to him.
“Can you sleep, Megan?”
She nodded yes, a little unsure but surprised to find how sleepy she was.
“Good. I will only have a little while. A few hours perhaps and then Abel will awake me for the carriage ride. Perhaps I can sleep some .... en-route.” The last words were mumbled, following a yawn as Sir Jon laid down and let sleep take him.
Megan wondered at him, so awake one second and asleep the next. Was this some other trait of his, to sleep at need or had her presence.... her actions perhaps helped him ease his tensions?
“Thank you, Megan.....” The words half tumbled from his slack lips and his grip tightened, keeping Megan pressed against him, letting her know she was wanted in his arms.
He looked down at her, blue eyes framed by dark hair and beard. His face was stern and Megan felt her throat constrict, panicked that she had done something horribly wrong when she most wanted to please him. But then his cheeks relaxed and Sir Jon’s lips softened into a smile. His hand reached down and touched the stream of his seed that stretched across Megan’s pale skin, slowly drawing its way across her like a lazy river. He drew one finger down it and then pressed his palm flat and pushed across her stomach. She could feel the thin layering of his liquid being pressed into her by his palm, the same hand that a moment ago had been pressed into her sex.
“As well, you should Megan.”
Sir Jon climbed up from the bed and retrieved a wash cloth from a bedside stand and wrung it out after soaking it in the chilly water. He first applied it to himself, rubbing over his flaccid length and caressing his sack with it before washing it out again. Sir Jon then strode to the bed where he gingerly ran the cloth over Megan’s stomach and slowly slid the rough cotton to the joining of her legs.
The cloth was not the smooth perfect and perfumed linen of a lady’s toilet. It was the simple piece of scrap cloth that a man like Sir Jon preferred after years of a spartan shipboard life. And it excited Megan, feeling it now brush over her folds and rub across them. The cloth was different from Sir Jon’s hand, pliable but rough and while it didn’t push Megan to the sensations that his probing fingers did, the reaction was strong. She felt uncomfortable but wanted to close her legs around the cloth and the hand that held it and hold them there. But nearly as soon as she felt it, the sensation was also gone, its job to clean finished.
Megan’s eyes fluttered open and she was surprised, not having realized she had closed them. Sir Jon was laying down again and slid an arm across her breasts, pressing slightly under them and pulled her to him.
“Can you sleep, Megan?”
She nodded yes, a little unsure but surprised to find how sleepy she was.
“Good. I will only have a little while. A few hours perhaps and then Abel will awake me for the carriage ride. Perhaps I can sleep some .... en-route.” The last words were mumbled, following a yawn as Sir Jon laid down and let sleep take him.
Megan wondered at him, so awake one second and asleep the next. Was this some other trait of his, to sleep at need or had her presence.... her actions perhaps helped him ease his tensions?
“Thank you, Megan.....” The words half tumbled from his slack lips and his grip tightened, keeping Megan pressed against him, letting her know she was wanted in his arms.
coyotepondering
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Sir Jon looked at Megan, pondering the thought. He looked into her eyes, into her willfulness, into the fear behind her willfulness, or at least what he imagined it might be. And then he slumped, suddenly looking more tired and scared than Megan remembered him looking.
“Very well Megan. Come, but remember your first duty is to the children, always, even before me. So, if you intend to come, go wake them and attend to them in the carriage. They may ride with us.”
Whatever thoughts flooded into Megan were interrupted though as Sir Jon raised his hand to gain her attention. “But, you will have to mind them closely Megan. It is very unusual to bring children to such a thing and should.... things go badly .... well, I don’t want them near. I don’t want them to see.”
“But, surely you’re the better fighter. You said yourself that you plan on coming back.”
“Yes, well, that is a bit of a lie Miss Harrison.” Sir Jon turned away and faced the door as it creaked open. Able stood there with a sheathed sword that Megan recalled from the wall of Sir Jon’s study. Able was quiet and bowed to Sir Jon and didn’t acknowledge Megan’s presence, as if she wasn’t there in Sir Jon’s rooms. She nearly forgot to be embarrassed being caught but if Able noticed her blush he ignored that as well.
“Your weapon Sir, for when you’re ready for dressing.”
Sir Jon looked at it and said, “The other one Able, the old one that we oiled and tested last night.”
Able looked up and with something almost resembling a disagreeable tone, “Excuse me Sir, but this one has a basket hilt to protect your hand and you are better practiced with it.”
Sir Jon looked at him, “No Able, I am better practiced at exercise with it. It is an unbloodied blade. I would rather trust my arm to remember with a tool it knows.” Able left as quietly as he had entered.
Sir Jon turned back to Megan, “Shouldn’t you be waking the children?”
She remained unmoving. “Sir?”
“Yes.”
“What did you mean by a bit of a lie?”
His fingers were on the edge of the basin, almost caressing it as if he had never paid attention to its texture before. His voice was flat, as if discussing a minor fluctuation of crop yield rather than his life. “I mean Miss Harrison, that you must always enter battle thinking of victory. Doubt will kill you. But I am not so much the greater swordsman that I am the clear superior. He has some advantages and is certainly practiced if his reputation is to be believed. But I have mine as well.”
“Somehow I suspect you’ve killed more men, Sir Jon,” Megan said, hoping to bolster his spirits.
His clothing had been coming on bit by bit and the buttoning of buttons and clasping of clasps punctuated his words. “True. And I’ve killed most of them with the weapon Able is bringing me but the numbers mean nothing. It doesn’t matter how good you are, all you have to do is have one really bad turn of luck and you are dead and lying there its little consolation whether you were unlucky in your first or fiftieth battle. I know too many men who cursed their choices in death. And so I must think of my children before I think of myself.”
Sir Jon’s face looked tired, as if a sadness had returned that he thought he had left far behind him. It softened a little as he turned back to Megan, “Now, gather the children and be soft with them. They are scared and you must comfort them while my thoughts are elsewhere on the carriage ride.”
“Very well Megan. Come, but remember your first duty is to the children, always, even before me. So, if you intend to come, go wake them and attend to them in the carriage. They may ride with us.”
Whatever thoughts flooded into Megan were interrupted though as Sir Jon raised his hand to gain her attention. “But, you will have to mind them closely Megan. It is very unusual to bring children to such a thing and should.... things go badly .... well, I don’t want them near. I don’t want them to see.”
“But, surely you’re the better fighter. You said yourself that you plan on coming back.”
“Yes, well, that is a bit of a lie Miss Harrison.” Sir Jon turned away and faced the door as it creaked open. Able stood there with a sheathed sword that Megan recalled from the wall of Sir Jon’s study. Able was quiet and bowed to Sir Jon and didn’t acknowledge Megan’s presence, as if she wasn’t there in Sir Jon’s rooms. She nearly forgot to be embarrassed being caught but if Able noticed her blush he ignored that as well.
“Your weapon Sir, for when you’re ready for dressing.”
Sir Jon looked at it and said, “The other one Able, the old one that we oiled and tested last night.”
Able looked up and with something almost resembling a disagreeable tone, “Excuse me Sir, but this one has a basket hilt to protect your hand and you are better practiced with it.”
Sir Jon looked at him, “No Able, I am better practiced at exercise with it. It is an unbloodied blade. I would rather trust my arm to remember with a tool it knows.” Able left as quietly as he had entered.
Sir Jon turned back to Megan, “Shouldn’t you be waking the children?”
She remained unmoving. “Sir?”
“Yes.”
“What did you mean by a bit of a lie?”
His fingers were on the edge of the basin, almost caressing it as if he had never paid attention to its texture before. His voice was flat, as if discussing a minor fluctuation of crop yield rather than his life. “I mean Miss Harrison, that you must always enter battle thinking of victory. Doubt will kill you. But I am not so much the greater swordsman that I am the clear superior. He has some advantages and is certainly practiced if his reputation is to be believed. But I have mine as well.”
“Somehow I suspect you’ve killed more men, Sir Jon,” Megan said, hoping to bolster his spirits.
His clothing had been coming on bit by bit and the buttoning of buttons and clasping of clasps punctuated his words. “True. And I’ve killed most of them with the weapon Able is bringing me but the numbers mean nothing. It doesn’t matter how good you are, all you have to do is have one really bad turn of luck and you are dead and lying there its little consolation whether you were unlucky in your first or fiftieth battle. I know too many men who cursed their choices in death. And so I must think of my children before I think of myself.”
Sir Jon’s face looked tired, as if a sadness had returned that he thought he had left far behind him. It softened a little as he turned back to Megan, “Now, gather the children and be soft with them. They are scared and you must comfort them while my thoughts are elsewhere on the carriage ride.”
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coyotepondering
Guilded Pervert
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Sir Jon emerged from the carriage at the tar pits and tried to not think about the fact that he was leaving behind him a family. The phrase wife popped in his head and he pushed it away. Until just a few months ago he never thought he would think of a wife again and he found it too fulfilling. It threatened to take over his thoughts. Instead Sir Jon tried to focus on what a mentor had once told him, "when risking your life needfully, remind yourself - I do not want to die yet." It was simple advice but had served him well.
Behind him Jon Junior was fighting his instincts and hiding it poorly as he bit his lower lip, while little Miranda held her brother. Jon Junior was shaking and was terrified while his sister's jaw was firm and only her eyes betrayed any fear. She held her composure in a way that would have made a Spartan wife proud and it nearly broke Sir Jon's heart to see such strength in such a young girl. And behind her, holding Miranda's shoulders, was Megan.
It was the first time that Sir Jon could remember fighting for something personal. Not just duty or honor but something immediate and dear. It scared him. As the door to the carriage swung behind him Jon closed his thoughts and saw his second, young mister Wilmington approach him.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Twenty minutes passed as the men talked and the sun rose to a low point that emphasized the shadows. A stench laid over the land around the tar pits that made it distinct from any other stretch of land nearby. It was a bleached sort of land where the plants stopped growing, as if the shadows had physically ripped the growths up and eaten everything. Jon had no idea what primoridal circumstance had driven the ooze up out of underearth to soak up the ground but it had. The advantage was that it was a place rarely visited by man much less law so that undertakings such as this could be held without interruption. Sir Jon wondered how many illicit duels were fought here and how many men had found their way into the tar. Micheal and his counterpart were ready, motioning to Sir Jon and Sir Schronenberg to step into place.
Sir Jon looked at his antagonist and bowed lightly. Schronenberg had little if any sleep, his beard ragged. This mildly pleased Sir Jon. It might mean that Schronenberg lacked nerves but excess fear could make him unpredictably dangerous too. Sir Jon felt the weight of the rapier in his hand and moved it about his palm, readying it. For years he had practiced with a lighter Italian style blade and this older Norman one was like a solid bar of iron in contrast. Still, his arm recalled it, as if the fleeting moments he had been in battle were enough to burn the memory into his flesh forever.
Schronenberg grinned maliciously at Sir Jon and bowed slowly. Sir Jon squared his toes and took the time looking at Schronenberg carefully, resisting an urge to scowl. After their eyes had passed each other while bowing Sir Jon and his enemy stood and faced each other. They turned on a heel each and began the route six paces forward. It palced them close enough to touch blades but too far to strike without a powerful exposing lunge. A medeival writer called the distance the measure of a man and as Sir Jon tensed to turn he wondered whether the distance would measure the end of his life's thread.
It was time. Sir Jon turned and his opponent was there, almost exactly twelve feet away but all to close with steel extending his arm. Sir Jon's own arm moved automatically, moving in a clean arc to intersect any motion from Schronenberg. Had he been exercising Sir Jon would have brought up his tip high and either sliced across and down, or if caught, twist away. But that would have been with a lighter blade. Sir Jon stepped back and thrust forward roughly, using the heavy weapon without art but purposefully.
The thrust was parried but the blade didn't bouce away and remained against the blade. Sir Jon initiated a circular parry, quickly whipping both blades around and jumping back. He allowed himself less than a second of fear and then returned to guard, caught the next attack high and with a half circular parry tried flicking up but they were too far apart and again separated. The blades had only touched three times but the battle was only getting more dangerous. Sir Jon had wanted it over by now already. Fights should be won in seconds, not minutes and both men were red with exertion.
Behind him Jon Junior was fighting his instincts and hiding it poorly as he bit his lower lip, while little Miranda held her brother. Jon Junior was shaking and was terrified while his sister's jaw was firm and only her eyes betrayed any fear. She held her composure in a way that would have made a Spartan wife proud and it nearly broke Sir Jon's heart to see such strength in such a young girl. And behind her, holding Miranda's shoulders, was Megan.
It was the first time that Sir Jon could remember fighting for something personal. Not just duty or honor but something immediate and dear. It scared him. As the door to the carriage swung behind him Jon closed his thoughts and saw his second, young mister Wilmington approach him.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Twenty minutes passed as the men talked and the sun rose to a low point that emphasized the shadows. A stench laid over the land around the tar pits that made it distinct from any other stretch of land nearby. It was a bleached sort of land where the plants stopped growing, as if the shadows had physically ripped the growths up and eaten everything. Jon had no idea what primoridal circumstance had driven the ooze up out of underearth to soak up the ground but it had. The advantage was that it was a place rarely visited by man much less law so that undertakings such as this could be held without interruption. Sir Jon wondered how many illicit duels were fought here and how many men had found their way into the tar. Micheal and his counterpart were ready, motioning to Sir Jon and Sir Schronenberg to step into place.
Sir Jon looked at his antagonist and bowed lightly. Schronenberg had little if any sleep, his beard ragged. This mildly pleased Sir Jon. It might mean that Schronenberg lacked nerves but excess fear could make him unpredictably dangerous too. Sir Jon felt the weight of the rapier in his hand and moved it about his palm, readying it. For years he had practiced with a lighter Italian style blade and this older Norman one was like a solid bar of iron in contrast. Still, his arm recalled it, as if the fleeting moments he had been in battle were enough to burn the memory into his flesh forever.
Schronenberg grinned maliciously at Sir Jon and bowed slowly. Sir Jon squared his toes and took the time looking at Schronenberg carefully, resisting an urge to scowl. After their eyes had passed each other while bowing Sir Jon and his enemy stood and faced each other. They turned on a heel each and began the route six paces forward. It palced them close enough to touch blades but too far to strike without a powerful exposing lunge. A medeival writer called the distance the measure of a man and as Sir Jon tensed to turn he wondered whether the distance would measure the end of his life's thread.
It was time. Sir Jon turned and his opponent was there, almost exactly twelve feet away but all to close with steel extending his arm. Sir Jon's own arm moved automatically, moving in a clean arc to intersect any motion from Schronenberg. Had he been exercising Sir Jon would have brought up his tip high and either sliced across and down, or if caught, twist away. But that would have been with a lighter blade. Sir Jon stepped back and thrust forward roughly, using the heavy weapon without art but purposefully.
The thrust was parried but the blade didn't bouce away and remained against the blade. Sir Jon initiated a circular parry, quickly whipping both blades around and jumping back. He allowed himself less than a second of fear and then returned to guard, caught the next attack high and with a half circular parry tried flicking up but they were too far apart and again separated. The blades had only touched three times but the battle was only getting more dangerous. Sir Jon had wanted it over by now already. Fights should be won in seconds, not minutes and both men were red with exertion.
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