Under blossoming branches, spring may be welcomed. Upon sun-warmed lawn, at the bank of a small stream. The sun lingers here, going pink at last gasp of twilight...
In summer, the blossoms cover the ground as thick as snow. Scented snow, softening the earth. And the tiny flowers pink, purple and white skim along the surface of the stream, down to the Vienne...
By the time autum is cresting, the branches hang heavy with fruit. Plums, cherries, apples, pears, even lemons. It is a harvest festival for the birds, the peacocks of Chinon's gardens, and the gloved hands of the vintners...
Winter finds all but the stream quiet. Waiting upon the first moment of Spring. Barren branches eventually surrender their final leaves, turning the ground purple amid white of snow...
But in the vintner's care, the fruit of every summer and autumn is immortalized...
Where is the master of the house?
Inquisition of his staff may have given you more answers than you wished. He is out riding, said one. No, he is with the other master, said another. Ah, no... I believe I saw the master wandering in the gardens...
That one was half correct, as you yourself could feel. If you followed the burn upon the air.. that subtle touch of something Otherworldly on the wind... it will have led you from the gardens of the Milieu across the bridge of the inner moat and into a thicket of blooming trees...
The prized orchards of Chinon...
Here the plums and pears grow that are made into his brandy. He pours the fruit of five seasons ago into the glasses he drinks tonight. And the orchards are filled with early blossoms. Of the cherry, the plums, the pear trees. Their fragrance strong upon the air, their fruit beginning to weigh the branches. Future glasses of brandy, ready for the hand to pluck.
If you came that far, you would see him standing beside a broad stream that runs the orchards through, one of the streams that -- by his design -- feeds the Vienne River that runs around Chinon and nourishes its vineyards. Startling, in black and white. The black lambskin leather is soft, supple. Holding where it can, gathered where it must. And a shirt of white silk. Long sleeved yet -- but undone. And around his feet, relatives of his. Peacocks, with treasured plummage trailing behind them like the cloaks of Norman kings.
William is watching the stars, absently eating at one of the early pears.
Light and heady, the scents of the orchard wind around the bodies of trees.
And she did come this far... can you sense her own presence coming closer? Not as strong as yours, but definitely one to be noticed. It is more electric than burning... yet darkness still rides with it. It moves through the orchard, weaving about the trees, even if she does not... chaotic.
Soft leather creaks as she moves closer and closer, approaching the stream...and you. The raven-haired beauty does not speak, moving silently other than for the leather, as a predator stalks its prey. She is in cat-mode tonight, it seems, watching you with her sharp gaze.
Fishnet over a tanktop... didn't she wear that at one of her concerts a while back? She must have been in town to be wearing something like that out here. Out here, there's no need for the outfits she wore in the Americas... unless she were hunting.
There is that sense of Other on the air...
It is not Ian...
But knowing you are coming and going from Chinon these nights, there is no cause for alarm. Nor... if he thought you were stalking him would he let the game end so easily. He is so rarly stalked these days. But does he know? Or is it the blissful ignorance that those without such gifted senses live in, or the arrogance of those who think they would not be stalked in their own orchards?
William crouches, balancing upon the balls of his feet. Such grace for one so large. Lifetimes of war could only give birth to that sort of grace. Pieces of the pear are tossed in the grass, and the peacocks scramble after it.
The white shirt catches starlight. In how it folds about him, you know that it is open. The leather is too soft to squeak, it only silently grasps him, holds him. From this angle... do you see the reflection of moonlight upon a cross? Do you smell the cinnamon he wears upon his skin, constant reminders of magic cast? The magic that fills the colors that surround him with glinting, flickering lights.
William remains in the crouched and balanced position, resting easily. And indigo eyes are turned toward the stars, visible between the branches of an overarching cherry tree.
The stream's voice trips over the many stones. The low arching branches of plum trees shift slightly with a light breeze.
Still slowly she moves. Are you so wrapped up in your thoughts that you cannot sense or hear her, William? Or are you merely playing with her? Letting her think she can sneak up on the old knight?
Her gaze catches the velvet and the way it moves and hangs on you...she is familiar with seeing you thusly. Memories flood back, causing her to pause a moment. A cat-like grin spreads across her lips through the darkness..
And then she is in motion once more, moving between the trees... to come to stand behind one nearby. Not the one you look up through its branches...but one behind you, a little further away. She crouches slowly, trying not to let leather creak again, watching.
It is true... the old Norman... ah, me... creeping up on his 846 year on God's earth... does not have the hearing of a Toreador, such as his sire-lover. And so, until you reached that periphery, you did ... indeed... travel without notice. But as you move within the orchard more... and more... lashes downsweep and indigo eyes shift back. Did you catch the slightest motion of his head?
Or was it merely the wind moving his hair, and some play of shadows?
William remains as he has been. But this time as he inclines his head, his gaze wandering back to the star-filled sky, the corners of his lips are upturned in a slight, but warming smile.
It is not the leather he heard, but the presence he felt at the back of his neck, perhaps...
Yet... he does not stop you, nor is there anything other than the smile to give indication that he knows. And could he not be smiling at his thoughts? Or that the weather is so clear after such spring rains? Or that the air at last is warming? You hear him exhale and come to rest beneath that cherry tree. His crouch turning at last to a kneel... and then a sitting repose.
Lips curl upward in the shadow of the tree. She does not bother skimming your thoughts to figure you out... whether or not you know she is there, this will still be fun.
Time passes as she watches you move to sit beneath the tree. A breeze lifts the leaves of the trees, causing a shield of noise for her... and then she is in motion again, moving just slightly quicker than a mortal ever could...
Do you move?
Even if he could think of moving... and even with all of his preternatural speed... still for Plantagenet to leap up to his feet and then turn about? This would take longer than the instant you have to reach him. For... indeed... his sitting caused a distraction of sound. A moment in Time... where you could silently fold your motion...
He could move five times faster than a mortal -- a mortal's eyes could not catch him. He would appear and... disappear. Quite simply. And yet... a great knight on his ass is at something of a disadvantage to a small, willowy woman on her feet. And who says size is not everything?
Something slams into you quickly, with enough force to knock you over onto your side... It is not hard enough to hurt... in fact, hands grab you first, trying to cushion the blow perhaps... do you attempt to withstand this, or simply fall over?
You will be lucky if you do not bounce off of him...landing in such a way against two hundred and forty-someodd pounds of solid Norman...
And if he were expecting it, truly, this is precisely what would have happened. You would have flown into a wall of Plantagenet and ricocheted off of him. And he would not have moved...
If he were expecting it...
But this is a moment where he is caught unawares, and in this moment when you hit him there is actually movement. There is not so much, though, that he falls to the earth from where he sits. But you do dislodge him! And are gifted with the finest word in any language...
"Fuck!"
There was not time, you see, for being clever...
William shifts with something beyond nature. A knight's gut instinct reaction upon being rammed. It is a beautiful movement of deflection and redirection. One likely, you can imagine, was tried upon a battlefield more than 800 years ago. The deflection? Your own hands that grabbed at him were grabbed by his right hand. And the redirection?
To use your own motion, the energy and the momentum -- to get you on your back...
Caught unawares, herself, although she did expect some kind of reaction, Tori does not fight you. Even if she did have time to think about it, however, she would probably think twice about fighting you off. She did ask for this, even if not verbally.
Being careful to relax as she is moved by you so damage is at a minimum on her end, Tori remains silent for now...waiting..
What will you do, William? Do you realize it's her yet? Do you completely flip her onto her back? Do you attack? What is your response to this 'attack'? Your attacker does not fight back, dear knight.
Raven-black locks fly about her and you with the momentum...
The grass is soft, and that is where you are guided. In a motion that feels as if it takes forever, though it was over before the single beat of a bird's heart. It was when he touched you, that he truly knew you. And so.. by God's Grace, and William's courtesy... the landing is likewise soft. More roll, indeed, than flip.
And when the motion is complete, he is hovering over you. Palms to the grass and dark eyebrows arching. A moment later, William is laughing. A deep and quiet roll of sound. Smooth, even lilting in its way. And the smile that follows after slants with a wicked curve. "Throwing yourself at me, Mademoiselle... I'm flattered... but would it not be easier just to say... hello?"
Indigo flickers, sparkling in a wink...
But even with the levity, you can see the instinct rippling through him. Evident in the tightening of his form. It is like how ripples of water move greatly from the landing of a small rock upon a still pond, oui?
Even if she is undead, a full flip from you might have been rather harsh on her.
"I guess I am lucky you realized it was me and not some intruder, non?" Tori chuckles, looking up at your hovering form. Her ice-blue gaze flickers down, then back up, looking you over as she murmurs, "White silk... very... very... alluring..." Lips purse, but the corners curl upward.
Tilting her head a bit, she finally grins wickedly at you, murmuring, "Saying hello is boring... I was having too much fun..." Warmth radiates from her.. she has recently fed, it seems. "Besides... how often do I get a chance to catch the Lord of the manor off his guard?" she teases, poking you in the chest. She leans her head back in the grass and continues to grin at you.
There is no denying it. You have quite the view. The silk is so white it is almost silver. The buttons, were they fastened, are likewise of silk. But the shirt is undone and the view... unobstructed. From knight's chest to where the leathers begin, framed in white. His skin is all the darker seeming for it, nearly swarthy -- a deep bronzed-olive, ruddied with his own... recent feast. And from where You lay you can see quite clearly that it is indeed a cross that hangs about his neck. Pure gold, with rubies -- it was Henry's once.
William chuckles and rises to a kneel, a hand extending out to you to help you up, if you should wish it. "Ah, were you stalking me?" The grin spreads wide in sudden delight. "It has been so long... I was easy prey, oui?"
Placing a delicate hand within yours, she lets you help her up as she chuckles, "Mmmm... yes... I was stalking, I guess you could say. It had been so long that I had forgotten what it was like... and you were such lovely prey, until your reflexes got the better of you..." A single eyebrow arches at you.
She's half serious, from the sounds of it.
Looking you over again, she chuckles and murmurs, "William... I hate to say this, but... you look good enough to eat, my dear..." Shameless. Her gaze is very obvious. Why bother hiding it, really? She is a Toreador who likes to look.. and you probably don't mind being admired now and then.
Blink.
Can it be that Guillaume XI Count of Poitou, William Plantagenet Prince of England and France, once a great despoiler of Female Virtue, has forgotten what it was like to actually be complimented by one? Even as his hand closes upon your own and you are lifted to a sitting position -- in unison to his own motion from kneel to crouch again -- he has to think.
Did you just tell me I looked good enough to eat?
When it registers, it registers with a smooth smile. Slightly slanting. And dark eyes sparkle, violet and blue -- even with the dimmer light. Can you see the complexion slightly darkening?
A dark eyebrow lifts slightly and the smile deepens. And from William's throat -- and resonating in that chest you see so well -- there comes soft laughter. "Hmmm... once a crusader, always a crusader. It is a curse, mais oui." He tilts his head slightly, dark hair draping forward in a half veil. "Ah, do not hate to say it... I do not hate to hear it... like my cousins over there," a nod to the peacocks now some distance away due to all the commotion, "... I like to be admired..."
Oh, William, you are just feeding the woman.. The darkening of the complexion is certainly not missed by the Toreador who misses nothing. She can sense it as much as see it.. and it does not go without comment.
"Mm... William, if you don't stop blushing, I'm going to give Ian a reason to hate me," Tori murmurs quietly with a chuckle. There is a long pause... then the wink comes. How much can she make the old knight squirm?
What a wicked woman... she revels in this... If anyone else were here, she would not do this. You know this. But it is just the two of you, so she can tease you, can she not?
He cannot help it... even when it is not intentional!
But as he is a shameless flirt... from time to time... he cannot help but ask the question, "And what reason would this be?" The languid baritone moves across the English he speaks, a rare occurrence these days -- so heavily accented that syllables drag and lilt as English should not do. "Would you have your wicked way with me in this orchard...?" Again, dark eyebrows lift and the smile smoothens, "... where I once had my wicked way with ..." Too many to name. "... a variety of lovely things..." he leaves it at that. William chuckles, yet balanced upon the balls of his feet, his arms resting upon open thighs. It is not a pose that will go far in dissuading attention. "I will... do what I may about the blushing..." he adds in a whisper.
For a brief moment, her mouth drops open and she appears speechless. The sight of you and hearing your words... is nearly too much for her.
Regaining some of her composure as she remembers that it was she who was stalking, not you, Tori murmurs with an evil flash of a grin, "Mmm... I certainly would not.. I would at least drag you indoors where there was a comfortable bed or something... But... mmm... if you keep blushing, I might be forced to drag you off afterall..." There is something behind the grin.. there is some seriousness there. She lets you see that. She is alone now. And she is trying really hard not to let her frustrations find a way to take over... although if you keep blushing, she might not have much of a choice.
Laughter, again. It, like the flirting and the blushing cannot be helped. A natural reaction. For him, it is so. Always with a smile at the ready. Always, there is laughter promised at the edges of it. When it sounds, it is rich -- even when it is soft. "Poor William," he murmurs after, a syllable or two yet caught with the corner of a chuckle. "... he would not even know what to do with a woman anymore... let alone... one with your loveliness and energy. He would be.. quite lost, amie..." The smile is warm and genuine. He is speaking truth, even though there is a part of him teasing. "If your name was Thomas... then... we might be looking at a different evening..." Indigo sparkles with a wink.
William sits back with a soft groan -- even a man who is perpetually 25 has a hard time staying crouched like that forever. And as his back meets the trunk of the tree, several blossoms float downward.
"Drat," Tori says plainly. "You spoil all my fun," she says, mocking a pout at you.
Sighing, she sits cross-legged and murmurs, "I'm sorry.. In truth, I think I am missing Darius... even if he did run off on me. Forgive me, mon ami, if I made you uncomfortable..." Another wink is offered to you as she chuckles, "But... it was still fun..."
Stretching slightly, she teases you, saying, "You were such a ladykiller, my dear... I have some very fond memories of the two of us. And all I can say is this: Ian is one very lucky man." Winking at you, she decides that sitting the way she does is just not comfortable. She lies back in the grass to look up at the sky.
You are doing it again -- how can I not go red at that? Indigo eyes drift upward, even as the ruddiness moves over him again. A darkening of his complexion again. Even though brief, he cannot hide it from you...
You, who notice everything...
But you do have a good idea, and soon you are joined in the grass. He, likewise on his back, his eyes still to the stars. "Hmm... I will tell him you said so," he teases in soft reply. But you can see the smile that comes with it is more fond than teasing. Black hair against the green of grass, he turns his head toward you. "I am sorry about you and your Darius ... here...come here..." that last in a hush, even as he opens his arm outward. The white velvet is stark against both skin and grass. And offered to you, both velvet and Plantagenet as a pillow.
"Hmm... not uncomfortable, non... you are alright, hmm? From ramming me in the shoulder?" William grins. You may have a bruise to show for that. "You pout like a woman of France... Chinon is rubbing off on you..."
How can she say no to you? Without hesitation, she moves over, rolling onto her side to snuggle against you. Drawing in an unneeded breath, she murmurs softly, "Do not be sorry... you did nothing, so do not be sorry. I suppose it happens. For all I know, he is sleeping.." She tries to brush it off... but you know her... she is bothered by it. Not only emotionally, but physically. Why else would she be stalking a second time in the evening after having been fed?
Chuckling, she says softly, "I warned you about that blushing, William.. I might have to bite you..." She teases you again for it.
Hearing your concern, she shakes her head, leaning it against you as she murmurs, "Non, my dear friend... I am alright... really. I was the one who pounced, remember?"
"It will be hard for me to forget... I have not been pounced..." A pause. There is stillness, and the water of the stream can be heard again. William inclines his head so he may look to you and his eyes widen slightly. "...in a long time..." With a grin, he looks back to the stars, and his arm comes around you and holds you there. Fingers curl and uncurl, brushing back your hair. "You know..." William begins, his voice taking on a conspiratorial warmth, "... I have a host of beautiful young men who work for me... particularly those who work in the fields and vineyards... you do not have to have an empty bed out of any courtesy to me. I am certain that any one of them would be... happy to oblige...if you just need someone... even just to do this..." Hold you, even as I am doing. "When Ian was sleeping years ago now," it has been four or five now...maybe six...since that lonely time, "...this is what I missed the most..."
Just being held by one who loves you. But... you notice, that is what he is doing now. William turns his head, a brush of a kiss left upon your forehead. "I cannot help the blushing," he mulls after the kiss. The smile slants upon his mouth again. "Such a compliment...you are going to make my head swell with vanity... even more than it is already..."
Chuckling softly, Tori murmurs, "You should have Ian pounce you, if you can talk him into it... sometime when you don't expect it. Better yet... I should tell him to do it so that you don't know when it's coming..."
But, hearing your soft words about her empty bed, she sobers a bit. Draping an arm over the expanse of your chest, she hugs you, murmuring softly, "You are such a dear friend to me, William.. this offer is... almost too generous. You are certain they would not mind? That -you- don't mind? I.. I don't wish to impose. Don't do this because you feel you should... I will move on sooner or later..." There is something in her voice, however, which might tell you this comes as a relief to her... she has been lonely.
As you mention what you missed the most when Ian slept, Tori swallows a bit and blinks, as though fighting back sudden tears. "You will make me cry, William... I don't want to get my tears on your white velvet... it would be ruined..." Managing a short chuckle, she does at least manage to tease you a bit more, murmuring, "If I cannot make your head swell with compliments, who can? Well, aside from Ian.."
"Mon ami is the only one who can keep the great ego in check, God bless him," William whispers to words of Ian. While Ian praises, he also reins in. And with such an ego, that can become a constant occupation. Such is the hazard of living with an Angevin man.
Though clothed in velvet, it is no secret how strong the arm that holds you is. No matter how soft or gentle the touch, the large Norman paw can quite scoop you up. There is strength and tenderness in it. As it pats your side and then lifts again to skim over your dark hair. "I mind more that you sleep alone and are lonely when there is no need, cher," comes William's murmur, that languid baritone with its dragging vowels, the lilting consonants. "And there is not a man of France or Italy in this house who would turn you away -- well... apart from those who prefer the company of men," as I do. He chuckles quietly. "I will send Amadeo to the guest room tonight... wear something... red... you are beautiful in red... something silken... and trust me... Amadeo will not hesitate..." Amadeo. He is one of the Italian men who work at Chinon. A young man, in his early to mid twenties. "Send him away at dawn after he has held you... and call him again if you like..." William whispers. "I know how you feel... I but have a day or two between me and the last time I had or felt someone with me... and I begin crawling out of my skin. I do not know how I made it a month!"
Shaking her head, she murmurs softly, "Who would have thought that the 'Goth Diva' would find herself feeling so alone, hm? In New Port, I had my pick of men and I knew it... but I still chose wisely. Now... I am 'home', but I don't know many people... I am a stranger once more and.. it is harder, I think. I don't know how to describe it."
Lowering her gaze, she whispers, "I... I appreciate this, William... It is embarrassing, really. Don't tell Antonio or Christian?" They would be appalled. A Toreador who could not find someone for her bed on her own? She would be a laughingstock, most certainly, if this were to get around to her clan.
"You would be amazed at what I do not discuss with Antonio... and I make it a point to say next to nothing to Lausanne... it is better for business... so... they will learn of nothing from me," William says, and in his tone confirms. It is not their business. "It is... to be expected, cher... to be in a new land... where you have not yet made a lot of contacts. That will change... even within this year, I would imagine. Until then... and until you get settled wherever it is you wish to be... you are welcome to stay at Chinon...and to partake of what Chinon has to offer. All that I ask is for discretion... most of my staff do not know what goes on behind closed, immortal doors... but you know this..." And how to be discreet. That is the whole of the bargain.
"Perhaps it would be a good thing... while Ian and I are on our trip...for you to take your own venture. Perhaps to London or Paris... or even to the Palazzo di Medici." William turns his head toward you, indigo eyes fixing upon your face. "Meet others... I can give you contacts, my dear... people to meet... and from there... you will have no trouble doing the rest. In the meantime, you will find Amadeo to be..." The smile is smooth... and in its slant... wretched. "... eager and energetic..."
"I do not have a problem with being discreet, mon ami... and, I appreciate this...all of it. Most do not get such generous opportunities to meet such contacts. I will take your advice and look about, most certainly, while you are gone," Tori says, leaning close to kiss you very gently upon the cheek. A sister's appreciation.
As you mention the young Italian again, she chuckles and asks, "Now, what did you say? Something red? Silk? He has a 'thing' for such an outfit? I think I have something which fits that description..."
"What man could deny the color red on a woman with soft white skin and dark hair? It is the recipe for instantaneous lust..." A pause. "Why do you think I wear it?" And he chuckles. Ah, did you ever think you would be talking about how to lure men with William Plantagenet? How strange the world has become...
"Wear the red... and he will not disappoint you... he is... athletic...he rides my horses for me... when I do not have the time or when I am gone. He has thighs... " a pause. "... unbelievable. Trust me..." And the great hand pats your side again, cupping you to him for a hug. "I know you have no trouble with discretion," he murmurs. "I trust you... implicitly. With my house... my staff... " a motion of his hand. Whatever of mine I have. "You once cared for me thus, remember? Let me do so for you... even if not directly..."
Indigo eyes lift to the stars again. And for the kiss... again... there is a blush...
She smiles softly, replying, "Yes.. I did care for you thus... and I would do it again in whatever way I was needed." Even if it was just to hold you when you were lonely, as you are doing for her now. "This Amadeo... he sounds lovely, William..." the Toreador chuckles, picturing a man who rides your horses about when you're not here... Something flashes within her gaze.
"I will wear the red, yes.." Tori murmurs quietly, resting her head upon your shoulder... feigning not seeing the blush. Though you should pity Amadeo after this, William... he will get no sleep once you send him to her.
~*~ ~*~
The chamber is large, but retains an intimacy. Perhaps it is the warmth that honeyed stone walls capture. The stone floor is softened by a series of fine rugs, and the walls are adorned with near floor-to-ceiling tapestries, ranging from 13th and 14th Century Flemish to 17th Century French. To the immediate right as one enters is yet another large limestone and marble hearth. Congregated around it, is a sitting area of comfortable chairs and velvet pillows -- real opulence. There are ancient sconces and large candles to provide a soft glow of light, though electric is available due to modern renovations.
A wide and dark-stained canopy bed sits near a trinity of windows that give a view of the garden and glade below. From here, one may see the Windmill Tower and the orchards most closely.
The door has been left unlocked, open to whomever shall enter...
Candlelight flickers strange shadows upon the walls and floors from one end of the room. She has managed to learn to deal with flame of this magnitude over time. The sconces have been extinguished, leaving just the candles near the bed. If one were to open the door just a crack and peek inside briefly, it might even appear as though the room were in darkness... but there is enough light at that end to see a slender figure seated within a chair.
Crimson silk flows about her form, hiding delicate feet beneath the skirts of the robe. The neckline is deeply scooped, revealing pale flesh there. Raven-black locks drape about her like a shroud, nearly touching the floor as she sits.
She does not move... statuesque in the dim lighting. Candlelight flickers in her gaze as she stares at it... her attention drawn to it... she, the dark moth, drawn into the flame...
He was lying in bed, when a knock came to his door. Opening it, he spied his lord's face. And in an instant, not unlike a flash of lightning, both fear and desire moved him. But though the Angevin called him, he did not call him to the King's Chamber. To fill the great bed in the larger room. No, the lord kissed him, smelling of cinnamon, and then whispered his wish...
I want you to go to the summit of the western tower. There is a woman there very dear to me. It would please me very much if you would make her happy...
Who could deny the lord .. ever? Or when he asked with such whispered words? The promise... lingering there... that if this favor were done, the reward would be ample. And so the lord left Amadeo, his chosen groomsman, with a smile.
Pleasing her... is the same as pleasing me...
Amadeo moved without delay...
The door squeaks slightly as it is gently pushed ajar. "Signora..." he murmurs, his Italian held upon a mid-range voice. And he moves through the entrance, his eyes adjusting to the light. To the lack of light.
But you see him quite clearly. He is tall, not as tall as Willaim but more perhaps of Ian...nearly six feet in height. And as he half-turns to close the door, you see that he is lean, his build athletic. You detect the alkaline of a mortal's nervousness upon the air -- afterall, he is to please a woman he has not met (and women are not his forte!) -- and you smell the soap upon his skin, and almond oil. In this light, his red-brown hair seems dark. And his brown eyes are gleaming.
Posted by rowan at March 03, 2001 11:20 AM
