A Quiet Country Break

My wife and I had rented this old Scottish cottage in a sheltered valley near the River Dee for a little early autumn getaway from the crowded city. The troubles over the past year caused by my wife's discovery of a long past extra-marital affair at work were easing after my full confession and promise that it was a moment of madness that had ended a long time ago. Finally we had agreed to put things behind us to concentrate on what we could save.

The hillsides around us were still gloriously full of heather and we had several very clement days of mild sunshine to enjoy walking the surrounding countryside, spotting wild deer and the occasional large birds of prey. There were very few other walkers about at this time of year and in the gloriously sunshine our problems and life in the city were soon forgotten.

Alas there are few things less consistent than Scottish weather, so when the inevitable rain came as a good thick Scotch mist in the morning I approached it with the usual stoicism. After all there is no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothing, and we had plenty of practise in taking our fresh air in the rain as well as the sun.

For once though my wife Sally demurred, saying she was a little tired and would prefer to remain indoors for the day. I did wonder whether this was some lingering resentment towards me and offered to stay with her, but acquiesced to her wishes that I should not miss out the enjoyment of the countryside. The damp weather had driven most of the fair weather walkers off the hills, and in the thin mist and fine drizzle they felt even emptier without Sally. But when I returned later that day, more than a little damp, it was to a gloriously warm peat fire and my wife curled up in an armchair reading a book on the history of the local area.

The weather looked at have set in for the next few days, and as I got ready the next morning Sally called off again saying she had a slight headache. I thought that some fresh air would be just the answer to this, but she said that she probably just needed a bit more rest. Not wanting to make a big issue of this I accepted and headed out again.

My second day of walking felt like travelling back in time to a wild land devoid of humanity, the mist and cloud thickening to obscure much of the land. As I was drying out in front of the welcome fire after returning later that day Sally recounted to me several of the more salacious tales of the conflicts between the old Scots clans. In particular those of the notorious Flora Boyd, the beautiful but strong willed White Widow of Rathdun who had held dominion over the local area during the years of political instability when the early Stewart Kings of Scotland called James proved to be terribly short lived, what with all the murder, disease, and constant warfare against the English.

Robbery, extortion, and cattle rustling seemed to be normal business for the nobility in these wild parts far from the royal capital of Edinburgh. To this Flora added kidnapping for ransom and murder, even being suspected of the death of her first two husbands, whose lands she inherited after short but troublesome marriages. Her third husband seemed to have preferred a quieter but longer lived life, escaping to a monastery in the south and leaving Flora to her own devices.

Not that Flora wanted for male company. By all accounts she had a host of lovers and admirers who she toyed with for a night or a season, taking their gifts and exhausting their passion before moving on. There were many stories of witchcraft as well, spells cast against her enemies or the targets of her desires, although of course such tales are often told of powerful women and unattached widows.

One of her more unique tricks seemed to be the kidnapping of the heirs to any local rich lord or merchant. After gathering intelligence on her victim she would dress in disguise and head to a nearby tavern she had heard they would visit, and then playfully seduce the young man before tempting him to her room. For most of the arrogant young nobles the chance of spending the night with a beautiful and energetic wench proved irresistible. Unfortunately there was a high price to be paid for their night of passion, as Flora slipped them a sleeping draught so that her and her accomplices could spirit the poor fool away to her castle deep in the hills.

There her victims would stay while negotiations where conducted with his family. Payment would have to be made promptly or Flora would ensure that their son would be "forever spoilt". Sally and I speculated on what this might have meant. I thought that this might have been one of the hideous medieval punishments of mutilation, but she maintained that this could have meant something else because the stories spoke of those men that displeased Flora being found wandering the countryside "entirely wanting in wit" which suggested that is was their mental state that had been effected not their physical.

Over the years it seemed that stories of Flora merged with much of the standard folklore of Scotland, those of fair ladies waylaying innocent travellers, of river mermaids singing siren songs, of faeries who invited you to dance and if you accepted you would not be seen again for many years. There were tales of her appearing centuries after her birth. Sally seemed to be becoming quite knowledgeable about the local folklore, and with these dark fairy tales in our minds we headed off to bed.

The next morning the weather was still very dark and damp, perfectly exemplifying the Scottish word "dreich", and again Sally passed on walking through the wet hills. She seemed to be very much more interested in the books of local history and folklore that she had dug out of the cupboards of the old house, some of the older ones looking like they were printed in the Victorian age. Those which had images were a mix of Pre-Raphaelite paintings of glamorous fairy women with long flowing hair bewitching helpless knights, while other had line drawings of beautiful fairy beings in the style of Aubrey Beardsley that quite sensuous, curved limbs reaching out from behind curtains and rose bushes to entwine themselves around the main characters.

I kissed her goodbye and received a passionate kiss in return which said that she missed my company as much as I missed hers. Outside the dark clouds of drizzle soon turned into good heavy solid bands of rain whipped up by the wind. I was certainly burning off the calories and foul air of the city, but found my thoughts returning to the comfort and warmth of cuddling up beside the fire with my wife.

The path my feet were treading was one I had take with Sally on the first day that lead up the nearby hill, although this time the view was quite different. Instead of wide vistas of heather covered hills I could only see a dozen feet in front of me, the rest being blanketed by rain and low lying cloud. As I ascended the hill following the well trodden path clumps of thick white cloud blew around me, at times looking like a flock of sheep or a herd of white horses.

Horses had certainly been this way recently, as there were droppings along the path. And at the top of the hill near the trig point my foot trod on a horseshoe, one side of which was bent far out of shape. I absentmindedly picked it up and found it old and rusty, although the rain had long washed away any redness leaving a hard dark black. It looked much abused and whether it was actually cast off from a horse or had been used by some locals as part of a game I was not sure. I popped it in the pocket of my jacket thinking to mention it to Sally on my return to see if there were any horseshoe games mentioned in her books of folklore.

Walking alone through such a closed off environment that lacked visual information can sometimes do strange things to the mind. I kept thinking back to the stories that Sally had told me last night, of dancing fairy women who lured and kidnapped unwary travellers. Heading down the hill back into the valley the sighing wind blew long wisps of foggy white cloud past me like the veils of an exotic dancer.

With the ridge behind me the air grew warmer and the scent of heather rose up, sweet and soothing. The days of walking through good weather and foul must have been taking their toll on me as I began to feel tired. I yearned to be back inside the warm cottage with my wife beside the peat fire, but I knew that I was still about an hour away.

Walking along the path I came to a fork that I did not remember from my first walk. The well trodden path went right, but my natural sense of direction made me feel that the cottage was to the left. I paused to look at the map, but it had no suggestion of a second path. Down in the valley around me the wind had died away and everything felt very still.

As I considered the right way to go I heard faint singing off to the left. At first I thought it was Sally's voice singing one of her favourite old folk songs, but I must have been a mile or two from the cottage and also there was a deepness to the tone that was not quite right. Deep and breathy, more like a torch singer of old, a yearning that was tempting, almost seductive, in its quality.

The left path seemed to the obvious way home, quicker than struggling the long way around the valley. I could be back in front of the roaring fire with Sally in my arms, kissing her sweet red lips, feeling her soft body and arms around me, warming me from this incessant rain. I could ask her about the horseshoe I had found, and my hand reached into my pocket to see if it was still there. As my fingers gripped the cold iron the singing faded away on the wind. If the singer was a fellow walker then she must have moved on toward her destination, as I knew I would have to do so as well.

Looking closer at the land to the left it looked wetter as it headed slightly downwards. A shortcut it might be, but one that I suspect would lead into the boggy ground around the stream, which would likely have become treacherous after the heavy rain. Better to stay high and dry, and take the long route back.

Several times during the slow trudge back I regretted my decision to take the long way, the ground might be firmer but the rain was getting heavy and the air around me colder, even with heavy fleece and waterproofs. The horseshoe in my pocket was a cold weight that several times I thought of casting aside. It was only the thought of having something solid from my walk, something to talk to Sally about, that made me keep it with me.

When I returned to the cottage I cast off my dripping wet clothes in the porch and hung them to dry by the door on a rack above a heater, clearly installed by the owners of the house who intimately knew the effects of Scottish weather on holidaying folk from England. But I could not see the warm clothes I thought I had left out before leaving.

I could see the flickering light from the fire in the front room but no sign of Sally. I called out and she replied from upstairs that she would be down in a minute. In the meantime I took the opportunity to warm my bones beside the fire, even though I was still in my t-shirt and boxers.

When Sally did appear she quite took my breath away. Gone were her usual practical clothes for a walking holiday and instead she was wearing a stunning sparkly green dress that I had no idea she had packed. In her hands were two glasses and a bottle of wine that had also gone unnoticed by me during the holiday.

"I thought you might need something to warm you up," she said as she poured out the wine and passed me a glass.

"Yes, it was bitterly cold out there on the way back." I tried to think of a way to mention the singing I had heard but in retrospect it seemed rather silly. In the warmth of the house with Sally beside me the whole thing seemed so remote and far away. In fact with the light fading away the whole world outside may as well have vanished.

"How's the headache?" I ventured after taking a few slips of wine under Sally's gaze.

"Oh, so much better now. Thank you for being so understanding." Her smile light up and set my heart beating slightly faster. It felt like the early days when we were just getting to know each other, the two of us curled up in front of a roaring fire with a bottle of wine.

She had even lit candles around the hearth, and with the fire they flickered and spun their light across the room, dancing across her dress, reflected in the wine, and sparkling off the necklace that hung invitingly above her breasts.

"I don't think I've seen that necklace before. Is it new?" I asked.

"Oh, I've only picked it up recently. Would you like a closer look?" Sally lifted the pendant of the necklace up towards my eyes. It was an intricate piece of gold jewellery that showed a tall trunked tree with many stems of ivy climbing and entwining themselves around it.

"It's beautiful," I said without thinking.

"The lady it came from explained the meaning to me. The ivy is an ancient pagan symbol of eternal life and love. Eternal life because it survives evergreen through to the winter to grow again in the spring. And love because it entwines itself around its companion, holding them tight in an eternal embrace."

"Doesn't that kill the tree?"

"No, that's a common fallacy. Otherwise you would have lots of dead trees everywhere, and where would be left for the ivy to grow? No, they form a bond to share life energy. Each lives for the other. And in this analogy the ivy is feminine and the long tall trunk of the oak tree is the male."

Sally's voice had taken on suggestive teasing quality, and when I swallowed I found my mouth dry so drank some more the sweet white wine while she continued.

"So the symbolism is the female ivy slowly wrapping herself around her lover, entwining about his limbs, holding him tight with love as they support each other."

The mix of roaring fire, flickering candles, and strong sweet wine was having a warming relaxing effect on me, especially after my long hard walk. Sally was gently moving the pendant back and forth in front of my eyes, letting the candle light flicker and sparkle off of it while I watched drowsily.

"It has been so long since I have had that closeness. So long since I have felt reborn." I didn't quite understand what she was saying. Was she referring to the problems in our marriage, or something missing from her life?

"There are so many things I have wanted to do, so many yearnings I have had while I have waited." Her voice seemed to be getting deeper, huskier, sexy and seductive. I wanted to say something, to convince her that everything was all right, that whatever it was we could sorted it out together. But whenever I tried to speak Sally set the pendant swinging again and my voice failed me.

"And I know that you will want to help me, to love me. You are such a good man, so loyal and trusting. You know that I can make you happy, so very very happy. No one else can make you as happy as I can, only me. You can love only me." I could only stare dumbly in agreement as Sally said these things which sounded so obvious. Of course I loved her, she must know that by now. There really was no one else.

"And this love makes you feel so good that you know you can just relax whenever we are alone together. You don't need to think, you just need to relax. Relax and listen to the soothing sound of my voice. It makes you feel so much love for me, more than you have ever felt before." What she said was true, I don't think I had ever before loved her as much as on that night.

"Yes, feel my voice, feel my love wrapping itself around you, entwining about you like the ivy about the tree, the long thick hard tree. Feel the trunk beginning to grow hard, so very hard. That is the power of your love for me engulfing you, making you forget about everything else." Listening to her seductive words I could feel myself getting hard inside my boxers. At any other time I would have done something, but facing Sally and that spinning sparkling pendant of love I could not move or think.

"Oh, my love. You don't need to worry. You don't need to think. You don't need to do anything. Just give in and let me take care of everything now."

In that moment I was hers, completely. I could not think of resisting as she gently pushed me back onto the fireside rug. The gold pendant was no longer in front of my eyes but my mind could still see it spinning around and around, the ivy entwining itself around the tree as her arms and fingers entwined themselves around me.

My mind was gone but my body was on autopilot as she rode me hard long into the night. I was her toy, her puppet, operating under her instructions, and she used me like she had a dozen lifetimes to catch up on.

I have only fragments of memory from most of that time, and I have never disclosed these events to anyone before. There was wine that was blood red, strange candles, strange incantations. And the more it went on, the more she took me, the more hungry and passionate she become. Whenever I faltered there would be some drink or scent or sexual trick to revive my ardour.

I must have been allowed to sleep at some point during the night, because I woke late in a grey morning feeling totally exhausted. Sally was already awake and looking down at me with the smile of a cat that has found the cream. I started to get up but her hands moved underneath the sheets to catch me, sinuously entwining themselves around my body and moving downwards to caress my cock.

"No, darling. I think you need to rest today. Rest and relax, here with me." From the movements of her hands it seemed obvious that sleep was not on her mind, nor would she relent in her effects to prevent one part of me from relaxing.

"Yes, sweetheart. It feels so good when you relax for me, doesn't. Just let yourself relax and sink into that soft warm soothing feeling. That feeling that makes you feel so good." As she continued to stroke me and my hardness increased, that drowsy hazy feeling from the night before started to creep up on me.

I tried to shake my head and yawn to wake up but Sally lips, still crimson red from the night before, locked themselves onto mine with a voracious appetite and I found myself slipping into that blissful dizzying erotic state of the night before. I wanted to take the initiative, to show her that I loved her, but whenever I tried to move she would whisper to me to relax and let her take control. And she did, once again controlling the pace to keep me hard while she satisfied herself on top of me. After what seemed like hours of blissful torture she finally had her fill and let me climax, and I immediately sank back down into a deep sleep.

I awoke again at lunchtime, half expecting and half fearing another round of love making, but Sally was feeling merciful. While she lay in bed she let me make lunch for the two of us, a large hearty meal to make up for almost a day without food.

As we rested together on the couch in front of the fire, I could feel Sally's hands playing with my hair as she whispered little phrases of words that I could not understand into my ear, words that seemed to be in some foreign or ancient language, words that made me feel dizzy and drunk with love for her. This wasn't like the voracious sex of earlier that day, this was different, the words entwining themselves about me, binding me to her, making me forget things she did not wish me to know.

Sometime later in the day I found myself staring out the window as squalls of driving rain beat against the glass. I wasn't thinking of my walks, I wasn't really thinking of anything, just watching the ever changing rivers of water running down the window pane. But Sally seemed offended at the lack of attention. She came upon me from behind, her arms wrapping themselves around me as she whispered strange words into my ear in her new deep voice, words that awoke that dreamy compliant feeling within me. I felt my mind melting at her touch and her words, and found myself getting hard even before Sally reached down to take possession of my cock and start another round of pleasure.