Thyme II Thyme (22 page)

Now it was my turn to rest a consoling hand over his. 'I think you're explaining it very well,' I said truthfully. 'Yes, I do understand, and yes, I can understand why you felt you couldn't say anything and just how difficult it would be where Anne-Marie is concerned. You think she might be jealous?'

'Yes, but not jealous in the usual sort of way, she just wants it to be her doing if the two of us end up as an item.' He smiled again thinly. 'We're supposed to be the followers, you see, and if Annie doesn't think of it first, then it can't possibly be a good idea.'

'Well, it might not be a good idea to say anything to her just yet. I mean, there's no telling what might happen in the future. And while I'm not saying no, well, I sort of only just met you. I mean, I know a bit about Andrea, the randy little bitch with a cock in her knickers, but I've hardly met the boy behind her. Let's give it a bit of time, shall we?'

'Yes, you're right,' Andy sighed. 'Besides, I don't expect you'll find much about me that you fancy hanging onto for any great length of time.'

'Oh, I don't know about that. I can think of one thing, at least.' I smiled. 'Look,' I said evenly, 'it's still only five o'clock and it won't be light for ages yet. Sitting around on these hard chairs is giving me a numb bum and it's warmer up in the bedrooms.'

'You mean...?'

'I mean come upstairs to bed with me as Andy for a change. And yes, I do mean to fuck, or make love, or whatever you prefer to call it.'

It was a curious sensation sliding under the covers with someone whom I'd had sex with several times before, including in public, and then snuggling up to one another like a couple of novice virgins, neither of us sure who should make the first move or what that first move ought to be. In the end, after a few minutes of silence, I decided I should take the initiative.

I raised my head, leaned across him and lowered my mouth to his, pressing gently against it before slowly sliding my tongue between his lips. His arms came carefully around me, holding me, the warmth of his body permeating my thin nightgown, the slight tremor in his muscles seemingly amplified as his chest pressed against my breasts.

'That's nice,' I whispered as I drew back slightly. 'This whole thing is very nice.' I reached down and felt for his groin, massaging gently when I found his cock already half aroused. He sighed and I felt his fingers exploring my right breast searching for my nipple. 'Mm,' I said, 'yes, that's so very sensitive there...'

'God, Teenie, I do want you so!' he whispered. 'I want you more than anything, but I don't want to ruin anything.'

'You won't,' I assured him. 'You won't ruin anything at all. Just relax and let me show you.' It reminded me of how I had all but raped Andrea before, with her flat on her back and her stiff cock unable to resist my advances, but this was different, for now we both had a choice and that choice was shared.

I rolled over and up on top of Andy, straddling him, and then lifted my weight off him to draw down his pyjama bottoms as far as his knees. The room was still in complete darkness so I worked by touch, running my fingers back up the front of his thighs and closing them around his now full erection. 'Whose is this?' I whispered.

'Yours,' he replied softly. 'All yours.'

'Yes,' I said, 'it's all mine.' And I took it, possessed it, devoured it, sliding myself down its entire length to settle myself on him, squirming my hips and flexing my internal muscles to grip him tightly. I felt his hands running up my stomach beneath my nightgown, his warm fingers stroking my flesh and then reaching up further to cup my breasts. His thumbs flicked across my nipples, which were now as hard as brass buttons, and so sensitive that his touch brought a cry from the back of my throat. 'Yes,' I breathed, 'all mine, Andy. You're all mine now!'

Whether or not I was ready to be all his, I neither knew nor cared at that moment, for it was a decision that would probably be made for me, for better or for worse, and only in the fullness of time...

Dawn. A deserted country road, deserted except for a small, dark-haired figure walking through the early mist and occasionally casting glances back over her shoulder as if fearful of what may be behind her. Because despite the bright uniform jacket hanging loosely about her shoulders, she is most definitely female. Her black tresses fall to her waist and her full, brown-skinned breasts are visible as the coat flaps open and closed in the breeze. Beneath the jacket she is naked, her bare feet now almost white from the dried mud and dust over which she has been trekking. She has travelled many miles now by night, the darkness her only protection as she moves determinedly towards her goal.

As the first red-gold tip of the sun glints between two dark-green hills in the east, she pauses to look away from the road over trees and fields, casting about for the sanctuary she needs while the new day takes its course again towards nightfall. Her eyes narrow as they fall upon a white smudge in the distance and she continues on her way again, still following the road. She knows she has a little time yet in which to settle herself as the smudge becomes larger, revealing darker outlines that form themselves into the identifiable rectangles of windows and doors.

She turns off the road onto a narrower track that is even more rutted and uneven but that takes her in a direct line towards the house. She climbs up a short slope to a small stand of sapling trees where she stops to observe the building from a hidden vantage point, noting the outhouses behind it and in particular the low shape of the hencoop.

As she stands there, the door of the house opens and a figure appears, another female, older than our traveller by a good many years and much more suitably attired against the chill dawn air. She carries a heavy basket which she sets down beneath the hemp line stretching between two rough-hewn poles, and takes from it the first item of her freshly laundered burden, tossing it over the line and securing it there with wooden pegs.

Indira smiles to herself and squats down on her haunches, her back resting against one of the trees. The farmer's wife continues to peg out her washing - blankets, sheets, breeches, a skirt and two dresses, dark stockings of rough wool - and the sun continues to climb in the sky. The rural day has begun and already the farmer is up and about and ready for his daily grind. He emerges from the house behind the woman and turns away to the nearest field and the two heavy horses Indira has observed grazing there.

It is the beginning of harvest time and the ripened crops must be gathered while the weather holds. The farmer - or is it his son? - will be busier even than usual, and so will his wife and any other family member big enough to wield a sickle or fill and carry a basket. The house will be empty and the hencoop will be as full as the washing line.

Indira smiles and settles down more comfortably to wait. The rumbling in her stomach will soon be answered and the rough coat, which has been her only protection against the elements for the past three days, will soon be discarded. She will leave the few coins which are in its pocket, leave them on the table in the kitchen of the farmhouse. It will be enough to pay for the hen she will take and for the few clothes she will need to better attire herself for the remainder of her journey.

She hopes it will be more than enough, for she is not a thief. They have taken her honour from her, it is true, but she knows she can remain honourable in herself, regardless. She will pay for her wants and needs, and pay for them with money that is the very least she is due after what the leering, jeering soldiers have taken from her.

She closes her eyes and relaxes. Sleep, if only for an hour or two, is much needed and she will awake with fresh determination to continue.

'I shall come, my little love,' she whispers to the gentle breeze. 'I shall come to you soon, have no fear.'

8.

I opened my eyes and saw that darkness had given way to full daylight. Bright early morning sunlight streamed in through the narrow window vents at the top of the walls comprising my kennel prison cell. My legs and arms were once again stiff and all but useless, and this time I resolved not to struggle to get myself upright. Erik would arrive soon and lift me over and up without the need for any undignified and exhausting struggles on my part.

I cursed silently. I had been snatched back again and this time from a moment that was proving to be very special for me as well as for Andy. Hopefully, I would eventually be returned to it. But what further miseries would I have to endure here first, and would Andy realise what was happening back in my own time?

The minutes ticked away and it was beginning to look as though Erik was going to be unusually late for work this morning. Always until now he had arrived early, within minutes of my waking, or so it seemed. Had something happened since I had last been here? Had perhaps several days, or even weeks, passed? I had no way of telling. All I could do was wait.

At last I heard the sound of his heavy boots outside and a moment later he entered my cell, ducking under the door lintel and dropping a sack into the corner. He stood for a moment looking down at me before he gathered me up effortlessly, lifting me into the air and turning me over to deposit me back in my required all-fours position. Then, to my surprise, he began removing the dogface mask, and prised my mouth open to release the clamps that held my tongue plate in position.

'Thank you,' I said, meaning it. I looked up into his placid face. 'Or do I still have to say woof?' I asked sarcastically.

'Woof you do not say the moment for at least,' he told me. 'But talk loudly must you not, for Miss Meg angry would be if she knew permitted to talk at all you were.'

'Miss Meg can go fuck herself!' I said testily. 'She's a nasty, vicious bitch who could probably do with a good fucking herself to get her stupid head right!' It was a ridiculous insult and very childish but it seemed to amuse Erik no end.

'Fucking of Miss Meg indeed a fine thought might be,' he chuckled. 'Icebergs I have seen that warmer are.'

'And a lot less dangerous, unless you happened to be on the Titanic. Oh, sorry,' I apologised, 'that hasn't happened yet.'

'Pardon please, but titanic very large means, does it not?'

'Yes, it does, but it was... um, it will be, the name of a ship.'

'A big ship?' he asked almost eagerly. 'With big sails?'

'A big ship, yes, but big sails, no.'

'Then big oars, in the olden times like as with my ancestors it was?' He made rowing motions with his arms.

I shook my head. 'No, not oars, but a big engine driven by steam.'

'Ah!' he nodded. 'The trains they have engines with steam. Seeing one I have been... no, two. Very noisy, very dirty, and very dangerous, I think, for too fast are they going.'

'They'll get faster, believe me, and even more dangerous.'

'Food have I brought for you,' he announced, indicating the sack. 'Meat and bread and fresh milk.'

'Thank you,' I said, and looked down my body past my padded bosom at my flattened stomach. 'I don't suppose...?' I began, but then shook my head. 'No, Miss Meg certainly wouldn't approve of you loosening my laces, and if you did and I pigged out you'd probably not be able to get them closed again. Oh, well.'

'Stand up you may and feed you I shall,' Erik said.

With great relief, I straightened up and let my elongated arms hang relaxed at my sides.

'Slowly you must chew, though, for cramps else you will surely get.'

I nodded and waited whilst he opened the sack and began spreading its contents out on the floor. 'Tell me something, Erik,' I said quietly. 'Just how much do they pay you to do this job?'

He turned and looked up at me from his crouched position. 'Money I get that is very good, more than getting I was when fishing.'

'Ah, you were a fisherman, were you? On a boat at sea?'

He nodded.

'And then you came here to England?'

'First went I to Prussia, fighting in their army to be, but then of fighting there was none to be done, so then to France and then to here, to Manchester, big city with many people. I work on canals. Very strong, see?' He flexed his bicep to illustrate a point that didn't need proving.

'And then you met Hacklebury, the master?'

'No, first I meet Miss Meg when very sick in the stomach I was. She give me medicine that stomach is made better by, and then a job she offers me travelling with her to guard her body. She bring me back to here and guard her body I still do, but also now I guard your body.'

'Do you guard her body the same way you guard mine?' I asked mischievously. 'You know, fucky-fuck stuff, and all that?'

He looked genuinely astonished. 'Not indeed!' he said in a tone that suggested the Pope was more likely to be a whoremonger than he was to even dream of such a thing.

'Ah, I see. That's Hacklebury's department, is it?'

Erik looked bewildered.

I rephrased the question. 'Sir Gregory and Miss Meg, they do the fucky thing, do they?'

'Knowing that I am not, but thinking it I do not either,' he replied. 'Miss Meg... no, she does not, I think, not even with the master.'

That, I thought, was quite interesting and seemed to bear out my most recent theory concerning the unlikely couple. Meg wanted control of Gregory, of course, but she wasn't trying to get it by offering him her own body, and neither did she love him, so it was all a mercenary thing where she was concerned. But what leverage did she have if not the oldest one of all?