#raymond de merville fanfic

[linasofia]

Le Désir

Part 2

Fandom: Pilgrimage

Relationship: Raymond de Merville x OC Cecilia

Summary: Raymond is travelling along the coast of Ireland when a storm forces him and his men to seek shelter at a remote inn. When he spots the innkeeper’s daughter, he realizes the stay has potential to be more exciting than he first thought.

Warnings: 18+

A/N: This is the second part of this fic. You can read the first part here.

When Cecilia was finally allowed to go to bed that night, she was exhausted. It had nothing to do with the guests staying in the main hall unusually late, but with the fact that —after their encounter outside the pantry—it was even harder to ignore the knight with the intense cerulean stare. She was terrified he got the wrong impression of her offer, and she stayed as far away from him as possible without being too disrespectful. Restlessness crawled under her skin as she twisted and turned in her bed, but sleep refused to come easily. As soon as she closed her eyes she could hear his voice repeating her name. He was calling for her.

The sun rose—only to be captured behind heavy clouds for yet another day. The storm had slightly decreased in power, but the sound of the roaring wind was enough to make Raymond consider staying another night at the inn. He was lying on his back and watched a small, black spider crawl over the beams on the ceiling. Eventually it found a crack between the planks and disappeared from his sight. Raymond’s stomach growled, and the empty feeling in his belly pulled him out of bed. The familiar heaviness in his head was a reminder of the many pints he emptied the evening before, but he knew it would pass. Frustration and desire made him drink more than he usually did, and now his body paid the price. Cecilia. Just the thought of her made his blood heat up. As if he was nothing more than a peasant, she kept herself out of reach for the whole evening, politely serving his men at their table but ignoring him. Only on a few occasions he caught her glancing at him—when she thought he was not watching her. She seemed to forget her manners when he was near, and the darker part of him wanted to firmly remind her of the proper way to serve a knight like him.

Cecilia was up early and got ready for a new long day. It was her job to feed the animals in the stable—storm or not. The family’s sheep were still eating the grass they walked on, but the horses in the stable needed hay. Especially the visitors’ horses, whose owners paid good money for their stay. She wrapped her thickest shawl around her shoulders and shielded herself the best she could while walking. The strong wind tried to rip it from her, and she was grateful for the short distance between the buildings. Their stable was robust, with thick walls and a low roof. The small openings let the light in and hindered warmth from the horses from disappearing. Cecilia’s father often spoke about adding more space to the stable so they could fit more horses, but it required a lot of money. When Cecilia closed the heavy wooden door to the stable behind her, one of the horses—a beautiful buckskin with eyes dark as the night—neighed welcomingly at her. Cecilia was used to horses, and her father had taught her how to steer their old gelding when he pulled a cart, but she had never been allowed to sit on his back and had no knowledge of what kind of skills it required.

Quietly humming the song Cecilia used to sing to her sisters when they were children, she began working. Soon the smell of hay and the sound of horses chewing filled the air. The buckskin lifted its head and looked at Cecilia while eating. Never before had a more beautiful horse stayed in their stable, and Cecilia could not resist admiring the animal instead of going back to the house and continuing with her other chores. She pulled out the small apple she had carried in the pocket of her apron, and the horse instantly pointed its ears forward. Cecilia giggled, and with a hand on the horse’s neck, she offered the apple. The pleased chewing made her smile, and she started scratching the horse under its mane. The mare—for it was a mare Cecilia discovered—leaned against her hand as if urging her to scratch harder. It made Cecilia bolder, and as she continued, she allowed herself to dream about caring for the magnificent horse every day. Lost in her thoughts, she forgot about time, and Cecilia leaned on the mare and breathed in her scent.

Suddenly the door flew up, and before Cecilia had time to react, she saw a tall figure entering the stable. With a feeling of being caught doing something she was not supposed to, she stepped away from the mare. She assumed the interrupter was one of the men with the unfamiliar language who came to check how their horses were faring. Her heart was beating fast, but when she met the gaze of the approaching man, it skipped a beat. It was the cruel-looking knight—not one of his men—but he appeared more surprised than displeased. Cecilia lowered her head in a respectful nod, unable to come up with the right words for a proper greeting.

”Cecilia, I did not expect to meet you here.” His voice was low and rumbling but still strong enough to fill the stable.

”I feed the animals every morning, Sire,” Cecilia replied, grateful to be able to explain her presence. She refused to acknowledge her racing heart and blamed the uncomfortable situation. It was time for her to leave; she had already stayed too long.

”What do you think about my horse?” His question was so unexpected Cecilia first thought she heard him wrong. When she met his piercing gaze, a shiver ran down her back, and she could not decide if she liked it or not. Unlike the previous day, he was not dressed in his heavy armor. Instead, he wore a linen shirt with a deep cut, and the untied lacing showed off a good amount of his chest. Cecilia cursed herself for noticing.

”My Lord?”

”I saw you standing next to her when I opened the door.” A slightly accusing tone penetrated his words, and Cecilia could not stop the blush from spreading on her cheeks. There was no point in denying; it would probably only make him angry. And she wanted to avoid that—especially here—where they were alone. God knows what he could do to her.

”I am sorry, Sire. I did not know she was yours.” Cecilia lowered her gaze. Then she forced herself to answer his question. ”She is beautiful and seems very sweet.”

”She is a very different horse during battle, let me assure you that.” Cecilia noticed how his voice grew warmer when talking about the horse, and it made him appear less terrifying. He walked over to the mare and patted her gently while speaking words Cecilia did not understand. They sounded appreciative, and Cecilia became curious.

”May I ask what her name is, My Lord?”

”Éclair, it means lightning.”

”Éclair,” Cecilia echoed, trying her best to make it sound as exotic as he did.

Raymond smiled to himself when Cecilia repeated his words. Her soft, feminine voice was delightful to listen to, and the tone she used made him wonder how she would pronounce his name—if she knew it. He was certain she would never dare ask him, but Raymond wanted to hear her say it.

”I am Raymond de Merville,” he said and turned to look at her. The confused expression on Cecilia’s face only confirmed his assumption—her father had clearly not shared his guest’s name with his daughter. ”You will call me by my name when you serve us this evening. Let it be known that you have learned it.”

”As you wish, My Lord.”

Her reply was an appropriate, obedient response, and it pleased him. Raymond adjusted the large clasp on his heavy belt and instantly noticed how Cecilia glanced at it. He could not decide if it was fear or something else flickering in her grey eyes, but he highly doubted the innkeeper used his belt to make his daughters behave. She wiped her hands nervously on her apron, just as she had done the previous night when he cornered her in the narrow hall. The look in her eyes reminded him of a woman he met many years ago—a noble woman—with a very wealthy husband, and one of the largest houses in Rouen. The husband put his young wife on a pedestal and worshiped her. She truly had everything a woman could possibly need—except one thing she secretly desired. She was not allowed to do anything out of the ordinary, not even something remotely exciting. Social events at their home were her only breaks from boredom in her privileged life. When Raymond ordered her to kneel—naked—in front of him, she obeyed with the same nervous expression in her eyes as the look Cecilia now was giving him. He knew he impacted the woman’s life that night, but he left for good the morning after—never to return.

Raymond gave Éclair one last pat and left her to eat her morning hay alone. Then he turned his full attention to Cecilia. Once again, she glanced at the hard leather around his waist. When he stopped in front of her, he did not miss how she swallowed hard. A soft tingle in his fingers made him close his fist. He wanted to put his hand around her delicate neck and feel the soft skin vibrate as her breathing changed. If she had been a noble lady, he would never have watched her so shamelessly as he did last night—like a piece of flesh ready to be conquered. The strong ale certainly spurred his vulgar thoughts—and fueled his anger when she avoided him. She put on a strong face while working the previous evening, but now, in the low light of the stable, his sober eyes could see clearer. And what he saw pleased him greatly. The warm color on her cheeks did not come from carrying hay, he was sure of that. Cecilia’s grey eyes resembled the dramatic sky outside—but he wanted to light the fire in them.

”Éclair is very special to me. If you make sure she is well looked after—I will reward you.” Raymond deliberately spoke slowly to make sure Cecilia fully understood his promise. She blinked a few times.

”I will take good care of her, I promise,” Cecilia whispered back, unable to tear her gaze from his. The knight—Lord Raymond—was watching her so intensely she feared her knees would give in. Then he closed the distance between them while mumbling something in his own language. Cecilia did not understand a word, but she did not need to—her body trembled in response.

As Raymond let his gaze slip to Cecilia’s chest—where the linen chemise covered her pale skin—he smiled greedily. Her neck’s exposed softness begged to be touched, and he slowly lifted his hand. She did not protest when his fingers brushed over the fabric, and the feeling of her skin under his fingertips ignited his needs tenfold. He could easily force her against the wall, lift her skirt, and quickly take what he needed from her. Raymond doubted Cecilia would fight back, but as he said to Dugald the previous night—a willing woman gave him greater pleasure. So he did not proceed with his dark thoughts. Instead, he trailed the soft skin over her collarbone while steadily holding her grey gaze. He wanted to see if a spark could be lit, and when he withdrew his hand, she exhaled—revealing she had been holding her breath. Her lips parted ever so slightly, and it made him certain—she was not unaffected by his touch. If he were patient, she would undress in front of him out of free will. “Now I want to eat my morning meal,” he grunted.

Cecilia felt dizzy, and she was certain she was going to faint if he proceeded with the gentle attention he gave her chest. As if drawn to him by an unnatural force of nature, she could not calm her racing heart when Lord Raymond stood so close to her. He was still cruel-looking, but less terrifying when not dressed in his heavy armor. Even without his pauldrons, his shoulders were admirably broad. And up close, he was alluring—handsome even—despite his deep scar.

”I will see if my mother is done baking bread, My Lord,” Cecilia replied weakly. Her inability to think when he was near bothered her. When the tall knight nodded and took a step back, she blinked as if an enchantment was lifted from her mind. Then she fled—very ungracefully—out of the stable. Cecilia needed to breathe the fresh air and leave the captivating musky scent behind.

***

Darkness fell over the endless green hills, but in the inn’s main hall, warmth from the fireplace mingled with body heat from the people seated at the tables. Food was served in large portions, and the smell of roasted meat, gravy, tobacco, and ale filled the air. Cecilia and her sisters were busy trying to fulfill their guests’ wishes, and the steady stream of ale secured a pleased mood among the men. Cecilia had been occupied all day with different things her father asked her to do. The storm had almost knocked off some of the heavy branches on their old apple tree, and Cecilia spent a good amount of time trying to secure it. If they lost so much of the tree, they—as well as their guests—could say goodbye to many delicious treats. Her father did not need to explain how important the work was.

Raymond sat at the end of the same table as the previous night, and from there, he had a perfect view of the room. Cecilia had forced her hair into a thick braid, and he could see small strands of hair curling at the back of her neck when they escaped her ribbon. The braid would fit perfectly between his fingers, and as he watched her walking up to him with a hesitating smile on her sweet lips, he fantasized about wrapping the long braid around his hand.

”Your ale, Lord Raymond,” she said softly as she placed the foaming pint in front of him.

”Thank you, Cecilia.”

Raymond could hear how Dugald choked on his pint, and when he turned to his friend, he was met with a wide grin.

”What have you done to the poor girl?”

”Nothing—yet,” Raymond groaned darkly and took a large gulp of ale. What he said was true, but the night was far from over. A raw chuckle came from Dugald before he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

”A barmaid with such hair must be fiery. I wish you a pleasant night.”

Raymond did not return his grin—he was too distracted by the way Cecilia leaned over the table to pick up some empty pints. The apron tied around her waist accentuated her feminine shape, and he was certain he was not the only man who took notice. Deep inside his core, an echo of his heart's rhythm pulsated, driven by his most primal instinct—lust.

The evening followed the same pattern as the previous night—and many other evenings before that. Only the guests were different. One after one, they disappeared to their awaiting beds, and soon only two guests remained. While Cecilia and her sisters cleaned up, Raymond and Dugald were still seated at their table. Their conversation was held quiet, but Dugald looked at the copper-haired women repeatedly, and then suddenly, he gave a loud, unpleasant laugh. He stood from his stool, said something neither of the women understood, and left. Raymond remained seated.

”It is late. You have both earned a chance to rest. I can clean up the rest,” Cecilia said to her sisters, taking the role as the one in charge when their father had gone to bed. Both Alice and Isabella glanced at the knight in the corner. He was just emptying the last of his pint, and they doubted he would order another now when he was alone.

”Are you certain? I do not like leaving you with him,” Alice whispered as she nodded discreetly in the direction of the knight.

”I am certain. You do not need to worry. Besides, we are almost done. Then I will go to bed as well.”

Alice and Isabella looked at each other and then accepted her offer. It had been a long day for them all. ”Remember, you can always scream if you need to. Father will hear you—and so will we.” Isabella reached for Cecilia’s hand and squeezed it gently.

”I know. But that will not be necessary. Nothing will happen.”

They left, quietly chattering, and Cecilia took a deep breath. The confusing feeling from the morning in the stable returned to her chest, and she glanced nervously at their last guest. He did not move, nor did he look at her. For a long time he sat there, deeply lost in his thoughts it seemed, and she wondered what to do. Her father had only one rule for late servings—and she was not allowed to leave a guest alone. If the guest wanted to drink or eat, money could be earned. No matter how late. She decided to approach him.

”Can I get you anything else, My Lord Raymond?”

He looked up from his empty pint. At first, she thought he did not hear her, but then he lifted his long index finger and signed for her to come closer. She obeyed, and when she was standing next to him, he suddenly spoke.

”It depends on what you are offering me, Cecilia.”

”You can have anything you want,” she heard herself say, and it made her blush. It was her forbidden fantasy speaking, a result of their encounter in the stable—but not the words she planned to say. It sounded too indecent and highly inappropriate.

”Anything? Is that so?”

He placed his large hands on the table and stood slowly from his chair. Once again, she was reminded of how tall he was. A sly smirk rested on his alluring lips, and Cecilia had to force herself to stop looking at his mouth when he spoke.

”There is something I really want.” Cecilia almost stopped breathing when he placed a hand on her waist. ”I think you know what I mean, Cecilia, do you not?” His voice was husky again, and Cecilia both feared and longed for what was coming. ”But—I only want what you give me freely. I will not pay for your delightful company.”

The knight’s choice of words shocked her, but then his large hand gently squeezed her waist, and she gasped at the strong reaction it awoke in her. She wanted to protest—she never offered to warm his bed the evening before—but her body refused to listen to her. Something dark glimmered in his cerulean eyes when he pulled her closer and bent down to whisper a few raspy foreign words in her ear. His lips were so dangerously close, and she could feel his warm breath against her skin. Then his voice grew thicker. ”Stop me now—before it is too late.”

”I will not stop you,” Cecilia breathed. She knew she was playing with fire, but she could not resist. The low groan in her ear was enough to make her whimper, and Lord Raymond wrapped his arm possessively around her. His hungry kiss tasted of warm ale, and when she moaned in surprise, he slipped his tongue between her lips. With a firm grip around her lower back, he let his tongue explore hers in the most sensual way, and Cecilia gripped his linen shirt. It felt soft in her hands, and she was grateful he was not wearing his hard and unpleasant hauberk.

Raymond eventually tore himself from Cecilia. He needed her badly, and the lovely, displeased moan she let out as he abandoned her lips told him that she desperately wanted him to continue. But not in the main hall. It would not be the first time he pressed a woman's upper body against a table and took her without looking at her face, but he wanted more from Cecilia. Much more than a stolen moment in a place where they could be discovered by her sisters at any moment. Or worse—her father.

”Will you be missed if you are not in your bed?”

”I do not share a room with my sisters. They will not know.” A sudden shyness fell over her face, and the sweet expression made him even more eager.

”Then you are coming with me.” With a grip on her wrist, as if he was afraid she would try to run, he pulled her with him—to the room her father appointed him.

Raymond closed the small, wooden door and locked it from the inside. Then he turned to Cecilia, who was waiting—smilingly—for him. The room was not large, but the innkeeper had assured Raymond it was the best they had. Raymond suppressed a grin when he thought of how he was planning to show his gratitude for the superior room: by having the innkeeper’s oldest daughter moaning into the pillows. With heat boiling in his blood, he quickly pulled her in for another kiss. When they first met, she seemed terrified of him, but now, as he kissed her shamelessly deep, she let her small hands rest on his chest. But Raymond had other plans and when he abandoned her lips to place a long row of wet kisses down her neck, Cecilia moaned approvingly.

”You are far too dressed,” he growled against her soft skin. ”What a shame if I was to ruin this.” Raymond tugged at the sleeve of her chemise, and Cecilia could not decide if it was a threat or not—but she obediently reached for the lacing in her dress. The green fabric soon fell to the floor, and her slightly too-short chemise revealed a large gap between her stockings and the hem. Raymond groaned as his gaze fell on her legs. The sight of Cecilia’s soft skin made him impatient, and he reached for her chemise and roughly pulled it over her head. Instinctively she tried to shield her naked body from him, but as she did, he grabbed her wrist and forced it to her side.

”Sire, I—”

He hushed her with another low groan. ”You are not allowed to speak now, Cecilia. I want to have a look at you.”

Cecilia took a deep breath and let her other hand fall to her side as well. Wearing only stockings somehow made her feel even more exposed than being fully naked, but the way the stern knight was taking in every curve of her body was arousing beyond imagination. His voice alone had the most devastating effect on her prudency, but when he muttered more of those words she could not understand—she knew she was in deep trouble. She remembered the first time she had undressed in front of a man. It was several years ago, and he was only a few years older than her. Cecilia blindly gave him her heart; he made love to her in the grass on the other side of the green hill while herding the family’s sheep, and he was gentle with her—until one day, he disappeared. But he never gave her the kind of looks she was given now, and she sensed Lord Raymond’s brutal hands would handle her differently, too. She bit her lip as his gaze set fire to her skin. Or at least it felt as if he did. Suddenly he reached for his shirt at the back of his neck and pulled it over his head. Cecilia gasped as he tossed the linen shirt on top of his armor. Lord Raymond’s upper body was unlike anything she had ever seen. His skin was a map of his many fights—full of scars in different shapes and lengths. The firmness of his muscles in his arms and shoulders was no doubt the result of a lifetime wielding a sword. But what really made Cecilia’s core burn was his well-sculpted chest covered in dark, curly hair she instantly longed to touch. Lord Raymond radiated something she could not even put words to. He was a dangerous man, and as far as one could get from the tender young man Cecilia used to think so highly of.

Raymond proceeded to remove the rest of his clothes, fully aware of how Cecilia immodestly studied him. With a confident smirk, he reached for her wrist and pulled her close again. The sight of her aroused body filled him with desire, and he resolutely wound his arm around her waist and effortlessly lifted her up, using his other arm to support her legs. As if she weighed not more than a shield, he marched over to the bed while Cecilia wrapped her arms around his neck for support. The heat from her body could not be mistaken, and when he laid her down and eagerly covered her body with his, he knew she was more than willing. And she was a feast for his eyes. During the morning’s early hours, while the light slowly returned to the green hills, he spent a long time picturing her naked body. To his satisfaction, reality—by far—exceeded his fantasy.

With a well-placed knee between her thighs he forced her to spread her legs for him. She did not protest when he grabbed her stocking-covered legs and pulled them wider apart, nor did she try to push him away when he slipped his hand between their bodies. Instead, she welcomed his rough fingers on her skin with a sweet series of low moans. He knew he advanced quickly, but his needs grew stronger with every heartbeat. As his fingers reached her most delicate softness—he grinned in triumph. No words were needed to confirm the arousal summoned in her blood, and when he eventually withdrew his fingers, they glistened—coated with her lust.

Cecilia watched Lord Raymond as he inspected his fingers, and the satisfaction in his eyes caused her to blush. His cerulean eyes seemed darker when he turned his gaze back to her, and it made him look even more grim than before. His face was so close to hers, and his breath felt warm against her cheek when he harshly covered her mouth with one of his calloused hands. She tried to object, to ask what he planned to do to her—and why he needed to silence her so brutally. But his hand effectively hindered her words, and Cecilia suddenly became grateful for not being the untouched maiden he might have thought she was. With a single thrust he buried his full length in her, and she cried out into his palm. Lord Raymond’s feral groan vibrated in her ear.

”I would love to hear you scream louder, but I cannot allow you to wake any of your kin.” He pressed his hand tighter over her mouth as he started to move his hips. His impressive girth was merciless, and she fought to adjust around him. It very soon became clear to Cecilia what the biggest difference between Lord Raymond and her previous lover was.

When the initial shock faded—and her body accepted the new sensation—Cecilia was able to relax. The friction between his sharp meaty sword and her soft slickness slowly turned from pain to bliss, and she moaned quietly in rhythm with his movements as he found a pace they both seemed to crave. With his full weight, he pinned her down on the bed, and joined by carnal lust, their bodies aimed to burn as one. All of the sudden, he removed his hand from her mouth while rasping low warnings in her ear—yet something in his tone made her think he actually wanted her to disobey him.

Pearls of sweat formed at his temples, and when she ran her palms over his back, he hummed approvingly. It felt like stroking one of the hot stones after baking bread, Cecilia thought, as she caressed Lord Raymond’s upper arms. He was on fire—but so was she—and every firm thrust urged her closer to the one thing she instinctively knew he could give her. She was not unfamiliar with her own body and what it required, but prior to the moment Lord Raymond trapped her beneath him, she was convinced all men needed guidance to pleasure a woman. When the intoxicating knight impaled her, she realized she had been wrong.

While supporting himself on his elbows, Raymond breathed in the sweet, feminine scent that was Cecilia’s. He was reminded of the sea below the cliffs when he traced a small salty drop—formed on the side of her neck—with his tongue. Her frantically beating pulse drummed under her sensitive skin, and he longed to mark her with his teeth—but held back. In her hair lingered a faint smell of smoke, and he could easily picture her lighting the fire in any of the large fireplaces. When her body gave up its initial resistance, it allowed him to penetrate deeper, and the way it changed her breathing almost drove him over the edge too soon. But he desired more, and therefore, he fought to regain control over himself. He sensed it would be well worth the wait. Determined to see her eyes cloud over, he focused on the moves which caused her to unconsciously dig her fingers into his back. With every thrust, Raymond urged Cecilia closer to the moment when she would fall apart under him. He craved it—like a thirsty man desires cold ale. She met every rock of his hips with a desperate need, and her soft moans confirmed what her body already from the start revealed to him.

Cecilia lost contact with everything but the feeling of Lord Raymond’s movements, and all she could do was to follow the demands of her body. The low grunts in her ear suddenly turned to hoarse, indecent whispers. During their heated rendezvous, Lord Raymond seemed to prefer his own language—but the meaning was far from lost. Heat started to build in her core, and the sensation made her breathing short and ragged. Without doubt, he noticed the change because suddenly he wrapped his fingers around her neck—hard enough to cut off her ability to create coherent words.

“Be quiet now—like a good girl,” he hissed in her ear, and the warning made her body tense and tremble. Flames licked the inside of her thighs and when they met the burning fire deep inside her, an inferno of heat rushed through her body. Her skin was ablaze, and she gave a soundless cry as she clenched around him. Cecilia stared up into Lord Raymond’s eyes—only to see his cruel expression soften—before he grimaced and joined her in the bliss of white heat. Thunder seemed to roll between her ears, and when she finally came to her senses again, she realized he had removed his hand from her throat.

His chest collided with her breasts as Lord Raymond collapsed over her. He was heavy, but she did not care about breathing becoming harder with his massive body shielding hers. Panting as one, they rested, as if changing the position would break the spell that allowed them to move in harmony. Cecilia hesitatingly stroked Lord Raymond’s back, and when he did not react, she gave him a gentle hug. She almost immediately regretted it, but he did not seem to disapprove.

Suddenly he sat up with her legs on each side of him, and once again, she was allowed to admire his physique. At first, she expected him to speak, but when no words came, she felt slightly uneasy. Lord Raymond wrapped his long fingers around Cecilia’s ankles and then slowly let them run along her stockings. His touch was less rushed than before, as if he wanted to take the time to really feel the shape of her calves through the fabric. When his fingers reached the garters, he let out a dark hum. A trace of a smile was visible on his lips, and then he started to untie the knots she carefully made the same morning. The stream of foreign words he mumbled when he peeled off her stockings with surprising gentleness were filled with admiration. This time Cecilia did not blush at his sensual inspection of her body. When both her legs were bare, Cecilia smiled at him.

”You are very beautiful,” Lord Raymond’s accent was heavier—as if his mind had trouble keeping the languages separated.

”Thank you,” Cecilia replied quietly while basking in his gaze. He placed his scorching hands on the inside of her thighs and squeezed firmly. It did not hurt, and yet she whimpered and grasped the sheet. She could not tell if it was his way of showing affection.

”I…” Cecilia struggled to find the right words. ”You probably want to be left alone now, Sire. I should leave you.” She made an attempt to sit up, but he forcefully pressed her back on the mattress.

”You are not leaving my bed,” A dark shadow fell over his features, and he leaned forward until his face was inches from hers. ”I am far from done with you.” His growl sounded both as a promise and a threat—and Cecilia's body shivered in anticipation. She had a feeling she would be sore the following morning, but she would gladly stay with him. As the knight—whose cruel look she had learned to appreciate—positioned himself over her once more, she became aware of a small difference in the room. It was quiet. The storm was no longer tearing at the roof.

💙 If you like my writing, please consider spreading the love and reblogging.💙

Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @enchantzz @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @kibleedibleedoo @mariannetora @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra @rachel1959 @knittastically @quiall321 @medusas-hairband @fulltimecrazy @s0ftd3m0n @emrfangirl @glimmering-darling-dolly @lilith15000 @clumsy-wonderland @theawkwardbutterfly @exhausted-humxn-being @beenthroughalot @chaikittie @piscesvancouverite @sotwk @dontaskmehowdontaskmewhy @mrsdurin

[fizzyxcustard]

Regarding the ask game about fanfic, I present to you this : ⭐

Go wild with the sequence you want to rant about. Feel the glee as you type an answer to this ask.

Thanks ☆♡☆

I’m so sorry for not replying to this sooner. In fact, I’ve been musing over which sequence to write about. It’s so incredibly hard to pick just one sequence, and my mind, for some reason, keeps coming back to this glorious bastard:

My first Pilgrimage fic was “Wrong Place Wrong Time”, which I had such a blast writing and am considering re-writing. I think the fic needs work and could be made so much better now I’ve got more Raymond knowledge and experience under my belt. So, ahem, the sequence.

I’m going to choose this one:

“Every woman I have bedded has given themselves to me by choice. I have never had to resort to force with any woman.”

You chuckled wryly. “So no one can resist you? Talk about arrogance. Now I can see why you haven’t got a wife.”

Raymond stepped towards you again. “And do not lie and tell me you are not finding it difficult resisting temptation. I sense it all over you. As for taking a wife, that can soon be changed.”

His gaze penetrated you, curling around you tightly, and warmth spread throughout your entire being, forcing fear away, although only for a brief few moments. The next thing you realised was Raymond’s lips against yours and his hands cupping your face. You could not deny that his kiss was hot, electric and caused something to snap in you. That instinct you had been so terrified of unleashing was finally loose. Your kiss deepened, and you could taste wine, until his lips left yours and delved down your neck and onto your chest. Words would not come as you gasped. He left a trail of red hot fire down you.

His hand cupped your breast, teasing your nipple beneath the clothing. And you heard him growl. It was primal and animal-like. The growl drew a deep groan from you, followed by a word which you could not even fathom yourself. The word had become lost in translation from your brain to your lips as the arousal took you over.

You didn’t even notice as Raymond pushed you against one of the wooden pillars. Your whole body was on fire and he continued on kissing you hungrily, his tongue gently licking against your skin, paired with the tickling of his stubble.

But your rational mind began to make itself known and you opened your eyes, looking around and realising what was happening. “Raymond, stop!” you called out. “Please…” you begged. But he continued on kissing you, lapping at your breasts like an animal. “STOP!” you demanded, shoving him away.

Raymond glared at you, his eyebrows lowered and his eyes cold. “Do not deny that you enjoyed that!” he snarled. You were both panting, and you could feel the heat burning your cheeks and chest.

Without another word you raced out of the barn, not even caring if he followed you, or worse, tried to hurt you.

**

This scene is the first true interaction between the female reader and Raymond, and the sexual tension and frustration is monumental here. I really can’t put into words how much I adored writing this story, even though it’s riddled with mistakes and needs re-writing. It was my first venture into the Pilgrimage fandom.

The reader is so aware of her attraction to Raymond, but ultimately she’s scared of letting go. She’s scared of her own feelings and also of him. Gradually he’s worn her down to this scene, but she still takes the control back. And that’s what really keeps Raymond obsessed with her. She’s different. She has respect for herself. She’s proud and honours herself.

Raymond is using all his power to get her to see there’s something between them, even though he knows she knows. She just won’t admit it. And that frustration he feels is at bursting point. It’s more frustrating having someone deny you who you know is attracted to you.

Man, I love this fic! Not for its quality, but for the sheer passion I wrote it with. I love projects like this. And I hope I can find another one.

Here, have some more Raymond.

Wrong Place Wrong Time, which is ultimately a time travel romance, can be found here on AO3, or in my masterlist (pinned at the top of my blog)

Psst! One last thing. There’s also a part 2. 😉😉

As always, if you wish to be added to my fic tag list (for all fics, a particular story or a particular character), then please message me and let me know. All comments and reblogs are appreciated more than you know. And asks are always welcome!!

Happy reading, writing and thank you for making it this far!

[shiinata-library]

Waking up in the Middle Ages [1/14]

Relationships: Raymond x OC

Summary: A modern French girl woke up in the Middle Ages, she was excited about mediaeval things until she realised it was less fun than expected.

On AO3

Note 1: I'm still alive! My life is complicated at the moment, and I have a lot of WIP of Kíli and Bilbo stories, but I'm a bit blocked on it, so I'm moving on to something radically different!

Note 2: the OC is French but the dialogues are in English to make it easier for everyone to understand.

Chapter 1

“Are you a knight?” Sophie, a French petite woman with brown eyes and long wavy chestnut hair, asked when she saw a man wearing armour stopping his tired, heavy steps in front of her. “Your armour is great! Shouldn't you have a horse if you are a knight?”

This very morning, she woke up alone in a cold forest she never knew. It wasn’t the only thing she didn’t know. How did she get here? Why didn't she meet anyone walking all day in this dark forest even in the afternoon? Why was this man dressed like a knight? Plus, he seemed hurt.

“Are you in pain?” she asked as she approached her hand to his bloody neck.

In a violent, quick gesture, he chased her hand. The metal of his gauntlet hurt her and she immediately frowned, stepping closer to him.

“I just wanted to help you! No need to react like that!” she shouted, her anger surpassing her fear at the sight of his face becoming furious. “Can you talk at least, or do you just hit people instead of answering? Even if you can’t talk, you don’t have to be like that! Let me help you.”

This time he grabbed her wrist firmly, very firmly, and his other hand went to the pommel of his sword. Sophie winced at the gradual pain, but she didn’t give up. She sighed as she tried to take back her hand.

“Fine, I won’t touch you. Can I just follow you to the next town? I don’t know where I am so…”

With an angry, haughty gaze, he made a no with his head, then he winced, some blood escaping from his wounded neck, even though it was covered by a piece of cloth. Instinctively, she came closer to him until she saw his furious gaze. Raising her hands in front of him, she apologised and promised she won’t touch him as she stepped back.

Leaving him no choice, she followed him. His steps were determined so she thought he knew where he was going, but when the sun began to set, she seriously started to doubt it.

“Admit you’re as lost as I am…” Sophie said as she was collecting wood to make a fire, which she guessed by seeing him stop walking to collect some.

His only answer was a half-sigh, half-groan. Well, maybe he was tired of hearing her talk all afternoon, but his armour was so intriguing! So detailed, so real! Something was so captivating about him! Next to him, she looked ridiculous with her normal clothes: a black slim jean, a green hoodie, and her sneakers. However, in the middle of the forest, he looked more normal than her.

When the night was totally dark, she was freezing. At first, it seemed a good idea to camp next to a river. She could easily drink or clean her hands, but now the cold prevented her from sleeping. Even the fire he made wasn’t enough. So she waited until he fell asleep to lay down next to him. His armour was less cold than she thought. Maybe it was thanks to the fire. In any case, she ended up sleeping.

The awakening was more brutal than she thought. The sun was barely rising when Sophie felt a nudge in her back. She grumbled as she sat up, rubbing her eyes. The knight looked at her as furiously as the day before.

“I didn’t touch you. I was only cold…” she sighed as she stood up to drink some water.

The first day was fun but if he already started the day by hitting her, she should abandon him. Who wakes someone up like that seriously?

After he put out the fire, Sophie thought the time she would go pee behind a bush he would disappear, but he was still in the same place when she came back. Weird, but something told her it wouldn't be the weirdest thing she would see today. As she was shaking her hands to dry them, her gaze ended up on his wounded neck.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take a look at your injury before we leave? It seems serious. You should clean it, at least with the river’s water, otherwise it will get infected, if it isn't already.”

Her tone was more serious than yesterday because she really started to worry about him. He looked at her for a moment before sitting down as he removed the piece of cloth around his neck.

Well, it was worse than she thought. She wasn't ready for this, plus she hadn't eaten since yesterday, so she almost fainted. The tree next to her was a good support.

Inspire. Exhale. Inspire. Exhale. Inspire… It’ll be fine.

She took his piece of cloth and cleaned it in the river. Then, she walked to him and sat down in front of him.

“Do you want me to try to clean your wound? Just a little. It looks fragile, and I don't want to make it worse.”

He looked at her for a long time motionless. It was hard to understand him with such angry eyes all the time, but she finally understood in his eyes he agreed. She cleaned his wound as best as she could and went to rewash the cloth. After drying it as much as she could, she gave it back. He couldn’t help but wince when he put it back around his neck.

.

Their morning walk was quiet and boring. Like the day before, the forest was the same and her companion was still mute. Could he talk with a neck like that anyway?

Plus she was hungry, so hungry! She would eat anything!

Apples! She ended up finding apple trees! She shouted of joy, startling the man next to her. She climbed a tree as she used to do when she was young, and picked four apples. Once one the ground, she gave two of them to the man.

“Oh, maybe I should cut it into pieces so that you chew as little as possible. Hm, I don’t have a knife. Do you have one?”

He looked at her with an eyebrow raised as he took a knife out of his armour and cut his apple himself. His neck was injured but not his hands. Feeling stupid, she looked away from him as she ate her apples.

Finally, after two new hours of walking, they arrived in front of a castle. Sophie was overexcited to go. 

“Is that a real mediaeval castle? It’s quite developed but it doesn’t look like a renaissance’s one. Oh, I’m so excited to visit it! Are you from there? Are you making a film in it? It looks great! So real! I love mediaeval things!”

A new expression appeared on his face. Another than “I’ll kill you if you touch me” or “Are you stupid?”. Now, it was more “What are you talking about?”, but still angry, of course. Could this man have had any eyes other than angry ones anyway?

As she walked to the castle, Sophie observed everything. The more she approached the castle, the more her good mood faded. Everything looked too real to be a film, and there were no film cameras. Was it real? How was it possible? Did she arrive in a place where people lived in mediaeval times? Like the Amish or is it a multi-day festival where people are in costume?

Everything seemed too real to be a festival. The mud and dirtiness were too real. The first time she saw the knight, he didn’t look clean, while her clothes still smelled of her washing liquid. Speaking of clothes, as she was walking in front of the entrance of the castle, everyone looked at her like a circus freak, yet her clothes were full of dust and her shoes were full of mud… It was true her clothes had nothing to do with theirs, but please, there were even children pointing at her!

Once they passed the drawbridge and entered the castle walls, she wondered if coming to this castle wasn’t a bad idea after all. Perhaps she should find another town, quieter and normal. The only advantage she had was that no one seemed to dare approach the knight. As much as they looked at her strangely, they lowered their eyes when they noticed him and went on their way.

Who was this man to scare so many people? Alright, just his eyes were scary, but there was something. Was it wise to follow him? Wasn't he going to sell her or trade her for food?

A shiver ran through her body but it was too late to turn back as the tall wooden door of what appeared to be the main dwelling of the castle opened before her.

“Sir Raymond de Merville,” a guard started as he bowed.

English wasn’t her native language, but Sophie was used to hearing English and usually understood when a person spoke in that language, but here she only understood a few words like "wait" or "master".

Sir Raymond de Merville as he was named by the guard nodded, then turned to look around with his arms crossed on his chest, visibly irritated. Sophie slowly came closer to him silently and did the same.

Sophie didn’t think a second she could be in another country. All the time she spoke to him, she spoke to him in French. It was surely the reason he never talked to her. She lowered her head, thinking about how much she must have annoyed him.

Yet, Sophie had one particularity. The more scared she was, the more she talked. So she didn't hesitate to try to talk to him again.

“Where are we?” she whispered, still in French, as she looked at the castle. “Why is everyone dressed like in the Middle Ages? Is it a cult? Will you sell me for a sacrifice?”

When she was about to ask him the same thing in English, she heard a small laugh but when she turned toward him, his smile faded. She frowned as she hit him on the arm.

“I’m serious! What makes you laugh?” she grumbled until she saw his eyes becoming angry and his gauntlet cracked as he clenched his fists. “Oh, I’m sorry. I promised I wouldn't touch you…”

For once, she didn’t try to speak again. She remained silent, as if speaking could give him a reason to sell her, or worse. 

When the guard came back, he opened the door and let him enter. Then, the guard’s eyes turned to her, expecting she would say something, but she didn’t know what to say or how to speak to him. His English sounded weird, or rather very old, something she never learned. 

Plus, if she truly was in a place like the Middle Age, anything a woman would say could be used against her, and she didn’t want to die today. Sophie realised she couldn’t speak as she wanted from now. It was already a surprise Sir Raymond de Merville didn’t kill her on the road…

“With me,” she heard in English in a beautiful baritone voice as the knight walked inside.

“Wow, your voice is beautiful!” she whispered to him in French as she joined him, hoping he understood what she said.

His only answer was the usual look “Are you stupid?”, but his eyes were just a little bit less angry than before.

.

In the castle, it was easy to understand who was rich and who was poor. The poor were running everywhere with simple clothes while the rich were just sitting and laughing, dressed in beautiful clothes. As much as Sophie was repulsed by things like people eating with their dirty hands or servants whose feet were so dirty that their toenails were as black as the floor, her eyes couldn't help but be amazed by the architecture and decoration of the castle or the outfits that people wore, both rich and poor.

Speaking of which, Sir Raymond de Merville seemed richer than any other knight. Even from his back, his behaviour and his gait showed he was important. Something she hadn’t noticed when she was in the forest.

The guard led them in a big room, in front of an old man who looked the richest of the castle. Sitting on an armchair behind a table, he stood up when the knight walked toward him. The other people found the plate more interesting than the knight.

“Sir de Merville,” he started as Sophie followed the knight, looking attentively at the old man to understand him. Yet, the only words she understood was “mission” in a way too much police tone.

The knight didn’t wait to answer. His first sentence was easy to understand, “It has nothing to do with you.” He replied in a low, severe voice. The next sentences were talking about “horse” and “room”, but it wasn’t the thing she was attentive to. The knight’s behaviour was still but his tone was harsh. The tension in the room was almost palpable. 

The rich man sighed and called a guard. He spoke to him, ordering him some words, until his look turned to Sophie. His old eyes made her so uncomfortable that she hid behind the knight.

“Please, don’t abandon me…” she whispered as she tried not to touch him. 

Sir de Merville sighed as he moved a little away from her. Sophie’s heart started to pound. Would he really sell her? For a room or a horse? For both? She wasn't even worth either of them at that time in history.

“I’m his healer!” she said in English, with her poor French accent, while her heart was about to explode.

The old rich man burst out laughing, and he wasn’t the only one after her intervention. The whole table laughed at her, men and women alike. One of them almost choked on his wine.

If she knew where to run away, she would leave immediately, but the castle seemed like a labyrinth for her, so she stayed still, looking at the floor until the knight spoke. His words were short but they all stopped to laugh before he firmly took her upper-arm and pulled her to follow him. The old man’s guard followed them as well, showing the way.

.

Once the guard left and a servant brought them something to eat in their room, Sophie could relax. Except the part where they were in a small room, alone, for the whole day and night. Something was different from sleeping outside, but she chased all her thoughts.

Thinking will be for later, now she must eat while she can. As she sat over the table, she tasted some plates, hoping she wouldn’t fall sick afterwards. Some of them were hot, so she ate them quickly, still leaving him a share. The knight removed his gauntlets, sat over the table, and ate in silence. Sophie was almost used to his silence, but now, she had a lot to ask him.

“Sir de Merville,” she started in English. “Thank you for not selling me to this old man. Can you just explain to me where I am?”

He chuckled before resuming his seriousness.

“Speak French. Your French is bad, but your English is worse,” he said in French in his now usual low tone.

His French was also difficult to understand for her, but it was better than English. Hearing him speaking French made her beam.

“You speak French! Then, you could understand me all this time! But your French is bad too, I–” she shouted with joy in French until he glared at her. “Oh, I’m sorry. So, where are we?”

“We’re in Ireland. Now, let me sleep.”

She always wanted to visit Ireland but not in this way…

The discussion seemed close since he stood up and laid down with his armour on the only bed, his back to Sophie. It wasn’t the night, so she wasn’t tired yet. She started to observe the room and touched everything as discreetly as possible, but when she heard the knight groaning, she put the candlestick she was holding on a table. 

Finally, she should sleep. No one could know what will happen tomorrow, so she might as well enjoy the warmth of the fireplace and sleep warmly. She took two covers in a trunk at the end of the bed and made a makeshift bed by the fire, hoping she won't end up full of ashes like Cinderella.

.

The next day, Sophie woke up at the sound of the knight’s armour. She sat up slowly, looking around the room to remember where she was. At the view of the knight, she quickly remembered everything. It wasn’t the kind of man she used to see when she was in her time, or her world. 

The knight was removing his piece of clothes around his neck.

“Hello Raymond, did you sleep well?” she said as she rubbed her eyes until she saw him looking at her with the look “I’ll kill you if you touch me”. “What have I done now? Oh maybe your name? How were people called in the Middle Ages? Not by their first name, it seems. By name? The whole title? I’m not going to call you Sir Raymond de Merville every time. Oh, by the look on your face, I suppose I should.”

He just replied with a sigh as he stood up to clean the piece of clothes in a water’s basin. 

“You really should find a healer to help you,” she said as she stood up and tapped her clothes to remove the dust. “It’s already a miracle you survived with this injury.”

“I don’t have the time for that. I need to live quickly to find a way to go back to France,” he grumbled as he replaced the piece of cloth around his neck.

“Oh! Can I go with you? I want to go home. Please, Sir Raymond de Merville,” she tried. “You will need an assistant, right? Knights always have a… How do you name him? The boy who follows you everywhere to help you.”

“You don’t seem useful at all,” he replied firmly as he put his gauntlets back. 

“Please! I will do anything you want!” she said as she ran to him until you remembered not to touch him. “Please, please, please!”

The knight opened the door and exited the room. Leaving the door open, he waited, looking to the right and left, before sighing “Follow me, but not a single word on the road”.

Sophie had never smiled more than at that moment. She quickly put her covers on the trunk and took her bag with her. 

The sun was barely rising and the wind was cold. According to the leaves of the trees, she had already understood it was the end of summer, and that wasn’t good. Living in the Middle Age was already hard, but in autumn or winter, she wouldn’t survive. Following the knight to France was the better thing to do. Maybe if she went to the place where her home will be hundreds of years from now, she could go to her time. It was the only solution she could find for the moment, so she decided to follow one of the scariest men she has seen in her life. 

Sir Raymond de Merville went directly to the stable. A young boy seemed to recognize him and brought him a horse with everything he needed to ride it.

“I need two,” he said but the boy made a “no” with his head. “It wasn’t a question.”

“I, hm, I don’t know how to ride. I don’t need one,” Sophie timidly said, receiving an annoyed look from the knight. “I can walk.”

The boy’s eyes shifted from Sophie to the knight several times. Without saying anything, the knight took the horse's reins and left the stable. Sophie quickly said a thank-you to the boy before following the man who was already checking the horse. 

After getting on the horse, he held out his hand to Sophie to help her to mount. She managed to get before him not without difficulty. He, who didn't want her to touch him, was now so close that she could feel his breath on her neck. To avoid thinking about it, Sophie concentrated on the landscape. Everything was trees, roads, and small houses. Nothing to do with the cities or even the countryside where she came from.

In the middle of the day, they took a break only to eat apples and let the horse rest. In less than half an hour, they resumed their trip. Sophie remained silent all the time, afraid that he would leave her in the middle of nowhere. Yet, there were so many things she wanted to say or ask! Maybe she could ask quick questions, right?

On the way in a quiet forest, Sophie cleared her throat. 

“What year is it?” she asked, not moving, her gaze still on the landscape.

The knight took his time to answer. Maybe he was in his thoughts, but he finally replied in a sigh: “1209”.

The 13th century, it could have been worse, but it could have been better. Sophie thought of his answers and all that it implied in terms of what she remembered of that period. A long time passed before she asked a new question.

“How long will it take us to get to France?” 

“A month, or two. Depends on the boats.”

Oh, right, boats. 13th century’s boats. It made her think so long that the night was about to fall and the humidity was already beginning to be felt. At least, it hadn't rained since she arrived!

As they dismounted the horse, Sophie understood they would sleep outside tonight, in a small cave. After helping him to gather some wood for the fire, they ate fruits and bread they bought on the way, with his money of course. 

As the first night they spent in the forest, she waited until he fell asleep to lay next to him, and in the morning he gave her the same awakening as the other day. After helping him to clean his neck, they resumed the journey.

Since the first day she arrived in the Middle Age, she wondered how and when she could take a bath. She only washed with the cold water of rivers to the most intimate places or those that could smell. So, she hadn't really washed for 4 days and she hated it. The water from the rivers was always very cold so she hoped they ended up in an inn tonight.

“Do you think we will sleep in an inn tonight?” she finally asked as the sun was high in the cloudy sky.

“Do you have the money for it?” he said, his first words from this morning.

“I could sell some things from my bag,” she answered, shrugging. “I have some objects I’m sure anyone could be interested in. Do you want to see them?”

“No. Don’t move or you will fall,” he said, still looking in front of him, as if she wasn’t here with him. “We will go to an inn when we get to the port.”

“What port?”

“The port to reach England.”

“How long will it take us to–”

“Two days. Now, silence or I leave you here.”

Ireland’s countryside was kind of beautiful, but she didn't want to be abandoned here, so she remained silent. 

Two days passed like the others. The knight bought food when they crossed villages, he made the fire before the night fell, he led the horse... In short, he did everything while Sophie followed him as quietly as possible. A few questions here and there, but nothing compared to the first day of their meeting. Sometimes she even fell asleep on the horse, her back against the rigid chest of the knight.

The afternoon they arrived at a big city with a port, Sophie’s smile came back, and her words returned. She was so excited about everything: Middle Ages port and boats, people, architecture, food, and oh! Maybe a bath?

They directly went to the port to ask when the next boat to England would leave. All the captains he had spoken with told him they would only leave in the morning. They had no choice but to stay in an inn for the night. 

Sophie could hardly hide her smile. 

They got off the horse and she followed him without a word. The knight walked in the city until he stopped to speak to an old man. Sophie didn’t understand what they talked about but she saw the knight giving the reins’ horse to the old man while he gave him a little bag of money. 

Still silent, Sophie followed him to an inn, then to a room. The room was warm and dry. The opposite of all the nights they spent outside. She smiled at the view of a bed and a couch. Such a luxury! She knew in the Middle Age an entire room cost a lot, maybe one third of the price of the horse, so she tried to help him.

“Do you want me to sell some of my things to pay you back for part of the room?”

“No,” he said as he started to remove his gauntlets, then his boots. “Don’t leave the room.”

“But I need to pee…” she sighed

“God! You’re worse than a dog! How many times did we stop during the day?”

He sighed as he saw her silence with a putting face. Sometimes she was testing his patience like a kid and he hated it.

“Go, but do it quickly. I’ll need you.”

“For what?” she shouted, impossible to hide her surprise.

“They will bring a bath, and with my neck, I’ll need you. You said yourself that you would do anything to travel with me.”

For the first time, she saw him laugh, surely because of her reaction. She stepped back a little, trying to compose herself. She had to help him to bathe while she couldn’t even touch him to heal him. She had trouble understanding him, but did she have a choice?

“Alright. I’ll be quick!”

Without delay, she left the room. After finding a discreet place to pee, she went to the marketplace. She was amazed by what she saw. Although the mud and the humidity were everywhere, the villagers seemed to be in a good mood. Sophie found a shop looking like an apothecary and approached it. She asked an old woman to exchange a remedy for her new notebook from her bag. Surprised by the quality of her product, she gave her several ointments and herbs, and then it took her a while to make Sophie understand what they were for. Not to forget anything, she wrote everything down in another notebook.

When she went back to their room, the knight was looking at her with his usual angry eyes. She dropped her things on the table and ran to him. The bath was already in the room while he was always fully dressed.

“I’m sorry! I’ll help you! Stand up.”

With a grunt, he stood up and raised his arms. Sophie had no idea how to remove an armour, so she touched everything until he commanded her all the things she had to do in the right order.

Surprisingly silent, Sophie did perfectly and quickly what he told her. When he was only in very light shirt and trousers, she started to raise the bottom of his shirt, but he quickly grabbed her two wrists. Her eyes raised up to his with incomprehension.

“What are you doing?” he asked with a low voice.

“What? I’m helping you. Don’t you want to take a bath?” she replied, frowning.

“Exactly, I'm going to take a bath. It's fine now, I don't need you anymore,” he said as he let her wrists go.

She looked at him entering the bath with his clothes until she remembered Middle-Age’s people never bathed naked, afraid of the diseases that the water could carry.

Sophie sighed to have missed the opportunity to see him naked. What little she had seen and touched seemed particularly muscular. Too bad.

“Give me the soap,” he ordered once he was laying in the water.

“Can I have a bath as well?” she asked as she fetched him the soap on the table with a hopping smile.

“You don’t need one.”

“Of course I need one!” she said as she crossed her arms on her chest. “I didn’t wash for days! My clothes are dirty from sleeping on the floor and I didn't even have the time to wash them! I’m sure I stink! I need a bath!”

“You don’t stink…” he loudly sighed. “Give me time to finish my bath in silence and the water should still be warm when I'm done.”

With a big smile, Sophie nodded. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than the icy river water.

Leaving him to bathe in silence, Sophie observed and touched everything in the room, just like the time she had stayed in the castle. Some objects were so strange for her that she couldn’t know what they were used for. 

Focusing on a small object on the table, she jumped when he stood up in his bath and ordered her to bring him his towel. Or a dry piece of cloth called a towel.

She reacted quickly as he walked in front of the fireplace, his clothes dripping. After she gave his towel, she returned to her object, trying to focus on it while the knight’s wet clothes fit his whole body very perfectly.

Once he was dry, she had to help him to get dressed. The faster she went, the faster she could take her bath, so she hurried. Once he was fully dressed, she asked him to sit on a chair.

“Why?”

“Because I bought an ointment to heal your neck. Don’t move, I will apply it to your clean wound,” she said as she got the ointment from her bag and put it on the table before turning to him.

“You will do nothing!” he said in a low voice as he took her wrist firmly.

“You're hurting me,” she only said with eyes as angry as his own. “Just sit down. I won’t kill you! Why would I want to kill the only person who helped me? Just–”

His grip became even firmer and Sophie squinted. Not wanting to leave him without care, she insisted.

“I just want to help you because you helped me.”

She didn't know if it was the tone of her voice, her determined eyes, or her words that convinced him, but the knight ended up sitting in a chair without moving. Sitting in front of him, she applied the ointment with delicacy. Once she finished, she noticed his gaze. Something had changed. It was 5% less angry than before, or maybe 10%!

Sophie stood up, smiling.

“It's over! I leave you free! You can go wherever you want when I take my bath.”

“Wherever? I paid for this room, I won’t leave this room.”

“W-what? I don't want you to see me naked! Go out! I’ll be quick!”

The knight tried to stay but Sophie insisted so much, with so many endless words, that he preferred to leave.

Once she was alone, she could remove her clothes and enjoy the bath, now lukewarm. The soap didn't have a smell but it seemed to work well despite the water being dirty from the previous washing. All traces of dirt under her fingers were gone and her hair seemed much lighter and fresher.

When she finally felt clean, she stood up and grabbed a dry towel. Fortunately, they had several of them! Out of the bath, she wrapped a towel around her and took another to dry her hair. She walked to the fireplace, hoping she would dry quickly. But she didn’t dry as quickly as she thought., and when she heard the door open, she instinctively turned towards the noise, seeing the knight enter. She froze while he entered as if nothing happened.

“Hurry up and get dressed, it's almost time for dinner. You–” he started while he was closing the door, then he finally looked at her. “Why are you naked?”

It was the first time she saw his surprised eyes. He ran a hand over his face before taking a step toward her. 

“You’re a woman?” he said in front of her, his eyes still full of surprise.

She wanted to step back but the fireplace prevented her. With her towel wrapped around her, her feminine forms were more visible than in her clothes. She never told him she was a woman, but for her, it was obvious.

“Of course, I’m a woman,” she said as she restarted to dry her hair. “No need to come closer to see it. Wait, did you think I was a man?”

“You wear trousers, of course I thought you were a man!” he shouted. “A young man, more like. Where do you come from to be a woman and wear trousers? Do you know that it is the death punishment for women who do so?”

Sophie had totally forgotten that she was wearing trousers. It was so normal for her. She felt stupid, and she didn’t want to die. 

“I never wanted to lie to you,” she said shyly as her eyes looked down. “I thought you knew. I–”

“Leave!”

“W-what?” she tried to say.

“I understand why you said you will do everything to follow me now,” he said more coldly than ever before.

“No! This has nothing to do with I'm a woman!” she shouted, as much shocked as disappointed. “I really offered to help you! I never thought–”

“I don't give a shit, get out of my room!”

His last sentence was so cold and so aggressive, like a bark, that Sophie couldn’t say anything more. She remained quiet as she got dressed while he was looking through the window.

Her hair still wet, she took her bag but put all her ointments on the table with the explanations’ page. Focus outside, the knight didn’t react when she talked to him last night.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Sir de Merville. I hope you have a safe journey to France.”

As she closed the door behind her, she wiped the few tears she couldn't contain. Frustration, anger, disappointment, and sadness were eating her away from the inside, but the worst part was the hunger that had already started several hours before.

This story is now longer than I planned so I'll only post it on AO3.

>> The second chapter

[sorisooyaa]

Prompt: “Sunrise” and Raymond de Merville

I mean....come on, it was Raymon and sunrise.... soo yeahhh:

tbh, I blame @linasofia for all the Raymond thoughts she put into my head about Raymond smh YOUR FANFICS STARTED THIS!! OWN UP!!!

[lathalea]

The Devil and the Witch

Dear diary, today I was a very bad girl and instead of writing clean fluff like any other proper author would as request for their friend 🤭, I ended up with several thousand words of filthy smut. Whoops! ;) @fizzyxcustard I hope you'll forgive me for the smut instead of angst 🤭😈😏

Fandom: Pilgrimage (2017) Relationships: Raymond de Merville x Witch!Reader Rating: E (18+) Author's notes: Smut, filthy smut, and rough Raymond. I played kink bingo when I wrote it. Kink list: slight dubcon (if you squint), semi-public sex, praise kink, sexual denial, dirty talking, size kink, beard kink, unprotected intercourse

Proceed at your own discretion.

Special thanks to @linasofia and @legolasbadass for encouraging me to post this fic, you she-devils! 😈😈😈

The Devil and the Witch

In the fairytales you read as a child, witches were always old and creepy. They had rotten teeth, hooked noses, and claw-like nails. A proper witch had a broom and a mandatory black cat, too. You were different: your teeth were in a much better condition (thanks, Colgate), you were definitely younger and your nails looked cute with that translucent nail polish. No brooms nor cats around – you were allergic both to cleaning and cat hair. Perhaps you weren’t the very model of a mediaeval Irish witch, but you were doing your best.

What was an allergy-prone, toothpaste-loving girl like you doing in a place like mediaeval Ireland? The answer was simple: you had no idea. It was the 21st century when you visited the Green Island for a vacation. When walking around the ruins of an ancient castle, you slipped into a mysterious narrow stone passage and followed it, but when you finally reached the exit on its other end, you found yourself in a mediaeval village, 800 years before your time, with no way of returning. 

An elderly woman named Dubheasa found you. She recognized that you were not of her world – she called herself a seer, but the locals called her “the Witch”. She offered you to stay with her at the edge of the forest and you accepted her invitation, having nowhere else to go. It turned out that she was a kindhearted person with a great knowledge of herbs and natural remedies. She took you under her wing and taught you all that she knew. That was five years ago.

Now you were the Witch. Dubheasa passed away last winter, leaving her trade to you. The locals, even though they were still distrustful of you, visited you often to seek help in their ailments, to ask for advice or solutions to their problems. You weren’t as skilled with the herbs as your predecessor, at least not yet, but your 21st century knowledge made up for it quite well. The life you lead suited you. Somehow, you didn’t miss the pollution, the city noises, and the stress of modern life. Plus, this place had knights. Real, fierce knights wearing armours that perhaps weren’t too shiny, but those virile men had swords, horses, banners, and everything else a knight should have.

There was one knight who ticked all your boxes. The Devil. That’s how the locals called him and the first time you looked at him made you think that this moniker fitted him more than well. He was tall and dark as the devil himself, ha had devilishly handsome features accentuated by a scar on his cheekbone, and his steel gaze made you think of the flames of hell. His powerful, broad shoulders, his physique of a warrior, his bearing – everything about him exuded raw male power. There were tales of his fierceness in battle, of his bloodlust and cruelty, and yet you felt drawn to the Devil like a moth to a flame. You tried to deny it, but it was the truth. 

His name was Raymond, the only son of baron de Merville, and you couldn’t take your eyes off him whenever you saw him at the castle, as he passed through the village on his dun horse or rode out with his men. You would catch a glimpse of him many times only to find that he was staring straight into your eyes with that intense gaze of his. After several such occurrences, you learned to be more careful. The last thing you wanted was for him to think you were some harlot, a loose woman. Proper maidens modestly averted their gaze whenever a man looked at them. They certainly didn’t ogle handsome knights like the Devil and they surely never thought about how it would feel to kiss him, how his beard would feel brushing against the skin of your breasts, what a beast he surely was in bed and whether Mother Nature blessed him not only with large hands but also with other sizeable appendages. Okay, you weren’t perhaps a very proper maiden, but you tried very hard to blend in. And so you visited the nearby village and castle from time to time, selling herbal tinctures and other products. If luck was on your side, you sometimes saw Raymond training in the courtyard, muscles bulging under his linen shirt, and those images gave you quite a few pleasant dreams during your lonely nights.

One day, as you were at the far edge of your garden, taking water from the well, a group of soldiers on horses stopped in front of your house. You frowned – only the local villagers visited you, never the soldiers nor the finer folk from the castle. And never Raymond de Merville himself. You swallowed, seeing him dismounting his horse. This wasn’t yet another of your steamy dreams. Raymond was truly here, entering your garden and approaching you swiftly, after ordering his soldiers to wait for him.

“So you are the Witch,” the Devil eyed you from head to toe with a dangerous glint in his eye. “I’m afraid so. And you are the famous Devil,” you made a pale imitation of a curtsy. You weren’t one for courtesies. “Sir Raymond de Merville to you, lass,” he grunted with a frown. This was a different time and one word of a temperamental noble could make you hang in a blink of an eye. You were too fond of your neck for such activities as hanging, so you played along.

“Of course, Sir Raymond,” you corrected yourself. “What brings you to my humble abode, my lord?”

“You, Witch,” his frown deepened as he spat these two words. 

“Well then, how can I help?” you put the bucket filled with fresh water on the ground.

“This has been continuing for far too long. You will release me from your spell at once!” Sir Raymond commanded you.

“I’m sorry but… what? What spell are you talking about?” Now it was your turn to frown but then you hastily added the customary title, “my lord.”

“I am speaking of the spell that you cast on me! I saw you lay your eyes on me that day during the fair. Since that day I can barely think of anything else,” he grunted, taking a stride towards you, his chainmail clinking. “I see you everywhere I look! You sneak into my dreams! The vision of you haunts me every waking moment. Your hair, your face, your…” Raymond shook his head and fell silent.

Were you hallucinating? 

“Remove your spell from my person with haste!” Raymond de Merville’s gloved hand rested on the pommel of his impressive sword.

Uh oh. Am angry man and a sharp blade. You lived for too long in this time to know how it usually ended. Although… what was that thing he said about your hair…?

“I don’t know where you came to this conclusion, but I have not used any spells on you. You have my word for it. I don’t even know how to use magic!” you shrugged, trying to play cool and telling your brain to shut up and ignore his words. The Devil was extremely alluring, especially from this close, but it was clear that he must have spent too much time riding in the sun or something to say such things about you of all people.

“Do not lie to me, Witch! I do not know why you are tormenting me so, but you need to stop it! I am ordering you!” Raymond fumed, his nostrils flaring dangerously. He was even more formidable when he stood before you like this, with his strong frame, thick, dark beard, and eyes sharp as the hardest steel.

“Do as I say or there will be consequences,” he added coldly, muscles dancing on his clenched jaw.

“Allow me to repeat myself, my lord. I do not put spells on people, I have more important things to do,” you retorted, taking the water bucket from the ground. “And now excuse me while I go about my business. The animals need to be watered. Have a good day, Sir Raymond.”

With these words, you turned your back to him and walked behind your house towards the barn. The door to the wooden building stood open before you when you heard heavy footsteps behind you. Sighing wearily, you adjusted the grip on the bucket’s carrying handle and turned around, ready to face the Devil again.

It all happened in a blink of an eye. He closed the distance between you with a smirk on his devilishly handsome face, ice-blue fire burning in his gaze. He covered your hand with his and the water bucket fell on the ground with a thunk and a splash.

“A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t carry such weights,” he half-spoke, half-growled, lowering his face towards yours. Raymond towered over you; he was even taller and more robust from up close and emanated some kind of powerful energy that made you freeze in place, all your witty remarks suddenly forgotten.

“What happened to your sharp tongue, Witch?” He lifted your chin with his hand. His gloved fingers felt coarse, almost unpleasantly so against your face. “Not so eager to oppose me now, are we?”

“I told you already, I put no spells over you! I am innocent!” you managed to utter, avoiding his piercing gaze, ignoring the emotions his closeness woke in you. This rough devil of a man with his rough manners oozed danger and you realised that he, the baron’s son, didn’t take well to disobedient subjects.

“Are you now?” His words made you think of a growl of a feral beast and he bared his teeth in a mocking smile. “There is only one way to find out.” Before you knew it, he pulled you close and covered your lips with his. Raymond kissed you as if he were a hungry wolf and you were his prey. You forgot to breathe. A faint cry of surprise left your throat but his mouth was taking possession of yours, demanding everything from you and more, conquering, his tongue brashly exploring  your mouth. He was insatiable to the point of making you dizzy. All the coherent thoughts left your brain, there was only the scraping of his luscious beard against your soft skin, his teeth grazing your lips, his palm splayed across your back, pressing you hard against his torso. “Well, well, well, who would have thought? You don’t kiss like an innocent maid at all,” his growl filled your ears. Contrary to your expectations, this was not a growl of disappointment.

“I never said I was an innocent maid,” you offered, thankful for the support his arms gave you. And speaking of who would have thought – who would have thought that a kiss from a knight would leave you not only breathless but also weak in the knees?

“You have never looked like one to me,” he caught your lower lip between his and then staked out a trail of wet kisses towards the side of your neck, leaving your skin on fire. “I saw you many a time. Your eyes are too hungry. Perhaps you are not a witch after all, but a common wench.”

Your heart skipped a beat. He has definitely noticed all the surreptitious glances you cast at him whenever you saw him. And here you were, thinking you were careful.

“I don’t know what… what you mean,” you sighed faintly when Raymond’s hand tilted your head to the side and his scorching lips assaulted a sensitive spot on your neck. He knew what he was doing to you.

“You don’t know?” he rasped out, facing you again, his darkened eyes set on your lips. “No…” you swallowed, hoping he hadn’t noticed more. This man was like a hot spark on a heap of dry firewood. And you wanted to burn. Badly.

“Then let me show you,” without any warning, he pressed his lips to yours and then swiftly took a step forward, still pressing you into him.

Your back slammed against the barn wall, driving the air out of your lungs. You were squashed between the wooden plank and his powerful body, your breasts helplessly flattened against the metal links of his chainmail, and the only thing you could think of was his lips and his beard violating your lips and every piece of uncovered skin without mercy. “What…?” you started faintly, but then he wedged his knee between your legs and his inquisitive lips returned to your neck. You were supposed to protest at this kind of harsh treatment, most women probably would in your place, but his ministrations made molten lava flow through your veins. Nothing, not even the kisses of your long-time ex from your time made you feel this way.

That was when Raymond’s hands started roaming your body. One rested on your hip while the other quickly found its way to your right breast and closed over it rapidly. A stifled yelp escaped you. A rumbling chuckle filled his chest at the same time as his powerful thigh moved slightly upwards, pressing against that special place at the juncture of your thighs and stoking the liquid fire inside you. You fisted his tunic instinctively, unable to ignore the heat pooling between your legs.

“You are enjoying this as much as I am, wench,” he rasped into your skin while lips travelled across your shoulder and down your cleavage, his prickly beard burning a new trail on your skin. “I can feel it.”

“Raymond, I…” you spoke dazedly.

“Sir Raymond, wench,” he pressed harder against you, lifting your chin to meet his demanding gaze. “Understood?”

“Yes, Sir Raymond,” you took a deep breath, overwhelmed at the sensations this commanding man woke in you.

“That’s a good wench,” he leaned in, kissing you hard and this time you answered with a matching fervour, your tongues fighting for domination in a duel of lust. Your fingers ran through the short hair on the back of his head. Raymond hummed low and grinded his thigh against the most sensitive part of your body, kindling the flames of desire inside you even more. His hand found its way into your chemise, pulling it down with one swift move. You heard the sound of ripping fabric and a whiff of cool air danced on the skin of your suddenly exposed breasts, a wave of arousal washing over you at his bold move. He was so unlike the men you had known in the modern times. You couldn’t imagine a man tearing a modern bra off you like this. Life in the 13th century taught you to dress like women of that time in Ireland. A long chemise was enough – panties and bras were a thing of the future.

Raymond’s greedy gaze rested on your newly uncovered skin and you saw how his tongue licked his upper lip.

“What have we here…?” His mouth covered the pebbled tip of your breast while he rolled the other nipple between his gloved fingers, making you arch your neck and whimper. You wondered how many marks he would leave on your skin once he was done with you.

“Look at you, wench, so eager,” he murmured against your breast with a smirk. That was when you realised that you pressed yourself into his thigh at a slightly different angle, moving your hips to the rhythm of his ministrations.

“Kiss me,” you managed to reply, feeling the familiar feeling growing between your legs, but then his thigh disappeared. You whimpered in protest and lifted your eyes at him.

“Are you ordering your liege?” his scarred face made you think of a cursed demon straight from the deepest pits of hell, hints of anger darkening his eyes.

You shook your head and a wicked little smile danced on your lips, “I need you to kiss me, Sir Raymond. Please, my lord?” 

“That was better, wench. Do not forget yourself again,” not waiting for your reply, he pulled off his glove with his teeth and then gave you another rough, insatiable kiss, crushing your lips with his.

A large, hot hand found its way under your skirts. It moved against your skin almost all the way to your hip and then cupped your uncovered mound. His fingers brushed against your folds teasingly, back and forth, making you let out a moan. 

“Your quim is as wet as the sea, wench,” he grinned. “Do you know what it means?”

Panting, you said, holding on to his arm, “Will you tell me, Sir Raymond?”

His lips brushed against your earlobe when his raspy voice found its way to your very core, “I’m going to plough you senseless.”

The heat deep inside you ached at the Devil’s words as you bucked against his hand, making him chortle triumphantly. You turned your head to kiss him, but his hands covered your bottom and hoisted you to his height. With a giggle, you wrapped your arms around his neck and felt his groin against you as you wrapped your uncovered legs around him, your skirts bundled up around your waist. Raymond’s hand dove between you, its back brushing against your moist folds and soon you felt something very hot and hard pressing at your entrance.

“Are you going to… oh… plough me senseless now, Sir Raymond?” you met his steel eyes, your lips skimming against his lightly. 

“Only if you are a good little wench,” his gaze sharpened immediately and a smirk appeared on his face. Raymond pushed hard into you, filling you instantly to the brim, stretching you deliciously. You were barely able to adjust to his size. Were all the mediaeval knights so well-endowed?

“You… You’re so… huge,” you gasped, barely able to form a full sentence.

“And you will take every single inch of me,” he murmured, never taking his eyes off your face, and then plunged deep inside you with one long thrust until he was seated to the hilt. “All of it.”

You gave out a lengthy moan and heard a horse neighing. Biting on your lower lip, you suddenly recalled the soldiers waiting for their lord on the road. And then he thrusted again, making you repeat your moan.

“We can’t do this,” you whimpered, holding on to him. “Your men…”

He slammed into you before you could finish the sentence, making you cry out with pleasure even louder than before.

“My men will wait until I’m done with you, wench,” Raymond pressed his forehead against yours. You felt every single of his words deep inside you, as deep as his powerful hardness delved into you, throbbing against the velvet of your inner walls. Another movement of his hips. Another intense stroke. Another one of your moans. He was conquering you, body and soul, one thrust at a time. “But they will… please, oh, they will hear…” you muttered as the next thrust hoisted you higher against the barn wall, delivering a new wave of pleasure.

“Let them hear your moaning, wench,” he rammed into you harder, making you see stars under your closed eyelids. “Let them know how well you are serving their lord.”

He repeated his movements, slowly but forcefully,  a sweet, intense sensation forming in your lower belly. “Please, oh, Raymond…” you whimpered, bracing yourself for yet another hard thrust that would send you one step closer to ecstasy.

It didn’t come. Your eyelids fluttered open, meeting the Devil’s cold stare. He wasn’t moving.

“What did you say, wench?” the Devil growled, holding you trapped between his chest and the wall.

“Raymond…” you mumbled, recalling the rules of this dangerous game. “Forgive me, Sir Raymond, I forgot myself.” You clenched around his hardness, making him let out a groan. He felt large, almost too large for you, but at the same he fit perfectly inside you, a sensation you have never felt before with any other man. A lightest of shivers ran through your body, a herald of more intense pleasure to come. “I have told you not to forget yourself, have I not, wench?” he spat out the words while his fingers fondled your breast roughly, pinching your nipple lightly between his thumb and forefinger.

“Please,” you whimpered, clenching around him again and trying to move your hips on your own. You ached for him to move inside you, you wanted this man badly, you craved for the rapture only he was capable of giving you. “I need more of you.”

“And yet you said we couldn’t do this,” he rolled his hips against you, grinding into your sensitive nub, making you whimper again. Then his gloved hand moved to your neck, caressing it slowly and then closing around it, but allowed you to breathe, thick leather bruising your delicate skin. When he spoke again, his voice seemed to be full of anger or some similar emotion as he spoke slowly. “You have disappointed me, wench.”

“Sir Raymond… Please, my lord… I am very close,” you pleaded. At that moment, you would have said anything, promised everything, just to make him thrust into your wanton heat again, trapped in the hell of your own lust and hunger for him.

“First you need to learn your lesson,” the Devil’s piercing gaze rested on you, making you shudder as you once again felt the roughness of his glove on your neck. “If you wish me to continue, you will do as your liege commands. Do you understand?” “I do, Sir Raymond,” you whispered.

“You will not come until I tell you to. I want to have my way with you first. Will you be a good little wench and obey me?”

“I will do as you say, Sir Raymond,” you heard yourself say and then his hand moved away from your neck, lifting one of your legs under your knee and resting it against his shoulder.

You felt much less in control in this position, much more open and vulnerable, and yet the thrill of what was to come made you ignore your doubts.

“That’s a good wench,” he growled and baring his teeth, he suddenly pounded into you, delving even deeper inside you than before, at a new angle. And then he repeated his motions, once, twice, thrice, more, until you lost the count. You were sure that your loud, frantic moans were heard by the soldiers, but you didn’t care at this point. With your back arched your hips meeting Raymond’s hardness with each stroke, you couldn’t think about anything else than him covering your body with his, claiming every single inch of your body with his bold, powerful thrusts.

“See now? Very good. This is how a good wench takes his liege,” Raymond grunted into the crook of your neck, his beard bristling against the sensitive skin of your throat. “You do it so well. I may get used to your tight little quim.”

Everything he did, his rough caresses, his thrusts, each of them faster and more intense than the one before, made you balance at the edge of pure ecstasy, clinging to him, begging him for release.

“Do not dare to come, wench,” the Devil ordered in a low growl. “I am not done with you yet.”

“So close…” you mumbled through your swollen lips, your body shivering in anticipation, on the verge of bliss. You were losing the last shreds of control over your own body. “Please, my lord, let me come…”

Raymond grabbed your arms that encircled his neck moments before and lifted them, pinning your wrists with ease against the wall above your head.

“I said no! Not until I allow you to, wench,” he warned you and thrust swiftly inside you, making the barn wall wobble dangerously.

He made you think of a relentless machine, of a powerful engine going continuously, without mercy, pummeling into you mercilessly. Your moans turned into helpless mewling, your hips bucked and your body began to tremble again while Raymond’s movements became erratic, every single of them bringing you closer to completion.

“Not yet, wench,” he rasped again, squeezing your tender bottom. Waves of pleasure washed over you with each of his thrusts and you did not know where he ended and you began any longer. 

Raymond rammed into you with a series of short, final thrusts that went straight to the core of your being, and as he groaned, you felt a wave of heat spill inside you. That was what sent you over the edge and the bliss consumed you whole with the intensity of a supernova. Darkness claimed you and you could only feel his strong arms around you and your raspy breaths intermingling.

An eternity passed when you came to. You lay in your bed but didn’t remember getting there at all. Raymond lay by your side, resting on his elbow and observing you closely like a hawk. He wore only his undershirt and trousers, his weapon and armour no longer shielding his strong body. It was dark outside and only a faint light of a candle made the room somewhat brighter.

“What happened?” you sighed, feeling the sweet soreness between your legs.

“I am beginning to believe that you may be a witch after all. But I found a way to break your spell,” the Devil smirked, the darkness of his beard accentuated by the white of his teeth.

“Have you, Sir Raymond? What is it?”

“Disciplining you, thoroughly,” the Devil offered, cold steel flames igniting in his gaze.

“Me?” you batted your eyelashes in mocked innocence.

“You were a very bad wench, were you not?” he smirked, brushing his fingers against your cheek. “You came without my leave. Now I will have to punish you for it.”

Without a pause, Raymond leaned over you and gave you a rough kiss that told you everything you wanted to know. You were definitely looking forward to the punishment administered by the Devil himself.

💙💙💙 Read it? Like it? Spread the love and reblog it! 💙💙💙

📜 Searching for more stories to read? Check out my masterlist!📜

Taglist (feel free to let me know if you'd like me to add you/remove you from this list): @fizzyxcustard @shrimpsthings​ @dark-angel-is-back @sherala007 @amelia307 @anyaspidergirl-blog @jotink78 @rachel1959 @saltwater-in-the-afternoon @linasofia @justfollowtheroad @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @legolasbadass @yourqueenunderthemountain @reblogunderthemountain @guardianofrivendell @elrawienthewhite @xmly-xo @tschrist1 @nelleedraws @beenovel @vee-vee-writes @mcchiberry  @dumbassunderthemountain @errruvande @laurfilijames @emrfangirl @s0ftd3m0n @lilith15000 @kami-chan1512  @ragsweas @enchantzz @aduialel @myselfandfantasy @thewhiteladyofrohan @elliepie1226 @middleearthpixie @i-did-not-mean-to @blairsanne @fckmini @clumsy-wonderland @mailinsblogofstuff @enchantzz

[middleearthpixie]

Runaway 

Armitage Summer Splash #10 ~ with thanks to @fizzyxcustard and @lathalea for this challenge!

Trope: Kidnapped

Quote: “You always told me that you’d never hurt me”

RA Character: Raymond de Merville 

Relationship: Raymond x Fem!Reader

Warnings: unprotected sex, angst, misogyny

Rating: M

Word Count:  3,682

A/N: I used Google translate for the French phrases, so I apologize if they are incorrect. 

***

You hadn’t moved in over an hour except to blink every now and again. Rather, you sat, knees drawn to your chest, back up against the rough bark of a fallen tree, and stared moodily at the fire crackling loudly, a stick popping as it shifted in the flames before being consumed. You ignored everyone and everything around you—the dull ache in your back, the fatigue burning in your eyes. You just watched the flames as they danced, slowly at times, like a woman trying to seduce her partner and other times, far faster, almost frenzied in their movement. They soothed you, those flames, they helped your mind wander for a bit, carried you away from your reality, if only for a little while. Because in your reality, you were the stick being consumed by the flames of your life, powerless to stop it, no matter how badly it burned. 

“You should eat.” Raymond’s deep voice came from behind your left shoulder, oddly gentle. You scowled at the fire. He could sound as gentle as he wished, it changed nothing. 

He came around from behind you, his sword slapping softly against his left thigh. The others were asleep already, worn out from a long day’s journey across the rocky terrain. Sleep was the furthest thing on your mind, for each step across the landscape meant you were another step closer to being returned to your father.

And being forced into a marriage you did not want.

Yes, you were definitely the stick.

Another branch popped. And yet, you still did not move. 

He settled on the log bracing your lower back. “So you still refuse to speak to me?”

You hadn’t said a word, not uttered a single peep, in almost two days. You only looked at him when you absolutely had to and even then, you only hoped he knew how you looked through him. You tried his patience hour after hour, just as you had the entire time you’d known him.

For all anyone could guess, you and Raymond had only just met when he’d snatched you from your bed at the run-down inn where you’d sought shelter from a drenching downpour two nights prior. They’d be hard-pressed to believe that you’d known each other practically your entire lives. You were close as children, even more so as you grew older, and at one point, you were almost positive he’d ask for your hand. You’d loved him from the time you were old enough to know what love was, and although he’d never spoken the words aloud, his actions said what he could not where you were concerned. He looked out for you, would lay low anyone who thought to mistreat you. He’d given you your first kiss when you were both by thirteen summers old. It was only a matter of time before he’d take you to wife.

But then, the winter of your eighteenth year, he’d left. You didn't know where he’d gone, or why he’d gone. All you knew was that he’d gone. And with him went the frivolous dreams you’d once had of winning his heart. Impossible. He had no heart. 

“Very well. I suppose I will leave you to your thoughts.” He slapped his hands against his thighs, then slowly rose. 

“Why? Why would you do this?” Your throat felt scratchy, your voice almost as scratchy from lack of use. But, as angry as you were at him for taking you from the inn, your curiosity, as always, got the better of you. 

He paused as you looked up at him, meeting your gaze directly. He never shied away from any confrontation, no matter how big or how small and this was no different.

He didn't say anything at first, but just studied you. In the soft glow of the dancing orange and yellow flames, he looked utterly exhausted. Dark smudges shadowed beneath eyes you knew could be blue or gray, depending upon his mood. In his youth, he’d been strikingly handsome, almost impossibly so, and as he settled into manhood, he’d only grown handsomer still. Time didn’t diminish his powerful his good looks, just as the scar on his face could not diminish them. You wondered where he’d received it, who had given it to him and why? It began—or perhaps ended—at his right temple, curved along the sharp ridge of his cheekbone, and curled up to just beneath that eye. It made you wonder what other scars he bore, as you had no doubt there were others. 

It was too dark to tell whether his eyes were blue or gray, as they hovered between the two, depending on his mood, but his gaze was direct, meeting yours. “Ah, you’ve not forgotten how to speak.”

“That is no answer.”

“I owe you no answer.”

“Of course not. It is only my life you’ve ruined.”

A low chuckle rolled toward you, but there was no mirth in his laugh, no emotion whatsoever. He’d grown even colder as he matured and you wondered if his heart had instead become a block of ice by now. 

“Your life. Tell me, how have I ruined your life?”

“By stealing me from my bed, throwing me first over your shoulder and later across your horse to drag me back home. That’s how.” You jerked back toward the fire. “Why? Why could you not simply leave me be? You had no cause to kidnap me, you know. I was fine exactly where I was.”

“Kidnap you? I did nothing of the sort. I was tasked with retrieving and returning a wayward fool of a girl who thought to try to avoid fulfilling a bargain by running away.”

“A bargain I never made.” You got to your feet, your body humming with the need to move. No one was supposed to find you. You were supposed to simply vanish into the mist and never be heard from again, to be able to start a new life in a new place.

But no. Raymond tracked you down in less than a week. 

You scowled at him. “Have you any idea what you’re doing? Or do you only care about the gold you’ve been paid?”

“I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Do you? You are delivering me into the hands of a man old enough to be my father, who thinks nothing of brutalizing anyone or thing he believes deserves it. That will become my life, the object of his brutality. Think you I deserve that?”

“A contract is a contract and it is not up to me to decide whether or not it is to be enforced.”

You stared at him, shaking your head. “I did not agree to the terms.”

“That is of no matter. Why would anyone care if you agreed to them? That’s foolishness talking there. Your opinion on the agreement is moot. There is a reason for that, you know.”

Your gut kinked at the quiet finality in his voice. “So, that’s it, then. You think my father and Comte de Verlaine should feel free to take whatever liberties they wish where I am concerned? That I should just be quiet and accept my lot in life and marry that wrinkled old prune of a man? To let him do as he will with me when the mood strikes, however that mood shall strike.”

His hands came to rest against his sword’s pommel, one atop the other, and he merely shrugged. “It matters not to me where you go once I’ve left you on your father’s doorstep. You should not have run, but—”

“And you should not have stolen my freedom from me.”

His eyes widened for a moment, and the firelight glinted off his dark hair as he shook his head. “You are a fool, to choose living in squalor over living in comfort.”

“I would rather wallow in a gutter than lay with Verlaine.” You spun about and marched away from him, toward the wide river to the east, picking your way around reeds and rocks and anything else in your path. 

You never heard his boots on the ground, but then he seized you by the arm and spun you about to face him. “What would you have me do, then?”

“You swore you would always look out for me,” you told him, narrowing your eyes even as your heart ached worse than it ever had before. “That you would never let anyone hurt me. Do you remember that? To you remember that promise you made to me? You always told me that you’d never hurt me! And then you left. You left and now here we are, with you taking me to another!”

“You wanted what I could never give you,” he told you, shaking his head before turning toward the black ribbon of rushing water weaving through the countryside behind you.

“You could give it, you chose not to.” You also turned to the water, wrapping your arms about yourself as the night’s chill bit into you. “Do you know what you will deliver me to? A lifetime of misery, is what. Misery and more misery. He will expect children and the thought of giving him them nauseates me, Raymond. It terrifies me. He is… repulsive.”

“As am I.”

“No,” you shook your head, glancing over at him, “you are only in your own mind. I’ve never seen you that way and you know it.”

“There is nothing I can do. I am bound to see this through to the end, my personal feelings be damned.”

“There is something you can do. You can and you know it. And again, you simply choose not to.”

“I do not have the luxury and you need to stop thinking of me the way you wish me to be, for I am not the man you think I am.”

You sighed softly, letting your eyes close as tears stung them. “So I am realizing. And I must confess, I find it greatly disheartening.”

“What would you have me do?” His voice grew harsh, and without warning, he grabbed you by the shoulders, spinning you to face him. “Tell me, what would you have me do?”

You stared up at him for a moment, then shoved up onto your toes and caught his lips with yours. His entire body went stiff at first, but then… then he yielded and your heart rose. First, his lips moved slowly against yours. Then they parted. His tongue slid into your mouth as his arms eased about your waist. His hands flattened against your back, swept up along it. Heat rose from the linen shirt he wore, his armor shed and left by the fire earlier. Through the fabric, you felt the solid rises of muscle across his chest as you let your hands glide across him, up to his shoulders, around to the back of his neck. Your fingers stretched up into his hair, damp from the night’s fog. 

He softened his kiss, his tongue no longer plunging in to snake about yours, but rather it caressed yours, more gentle than you’d ever thought him capable. His arms tightened about you, and as your breasts pressed harder into his chest, he actually moaned softly into your mouth. 

Your eyes grew so heavy-lidded, you couldn’t keep them open if you tried. Not that you tried at all. No, you let them close, let the delicious headiness of arousal wrap itself about you. You’d dreamed of this moment for so long, when Raymond would finally admit his feelings for you. He’d come so close before he’d left. Now, he’d admit the truth. And you could run away together and begin a new life somewhere and just… be happy.

His arms fell away from you, then his sword hit the earth with a soft thunk. A moment later, he caught you by the hips, then slid both hands up along the curve of your waist, skimming along the front of your dirt-spattered, wrinkled bodice. He cupped both of your breasts at the same time to make you  shiver against him. The heat from his palms sank into you in a most delicious manner and without thinking, you let your back arch, pressed your breasts deeper into his hands. 

Raymond broke the kiss roughly, gathering a handful of your hair in a fist to tug and as your neck bowed, he devoured it like a ravenous wolf. There was no hesitation in his movement, in his actions. He knew exactly what he was doing and for a moment, bright green jealousy slashed through you at the thought of the women he’d probably been with and upon whom he’d perfected his skills.

You chose to ignore that. Each kiss came harsh against your sensitive skin, your scalp tingling from his tugging on your hair. Still, you smiled into the darkness and let him pull you down into the damp earth. 

He pinned you beneath him, his body hard and unyielding as he continued his onslaught against your neck, the scruff of his beard scraping sensually against your skin. That anyone could happen upon you only heightened your senses, made each caress, each kiss, that much more enticing. You didn't care if anyone caught you. All you cared about was losing yourself in Raymond, in making him lose himself in you if you could. He bit teasingly into the slope of your shoulder, then soothed it with a sweep of his tongue against your skin. You returned the favor, smiling when he shivered against you and breathed, “Do that again…”

You did. His skin was salty and musky, hints of leather and iron woven in, and as your teeth clamped against him, he gave a hard thrust that sent fire running riot through you. You’d dreamed of this moment for so long, when you would claim him as yours for good, and you were not the least bit shy when you gripped two handfuls of sweat-stained linen to tug up. 

It slid easily along his back and over his head and you let your eyes feast on what you’d bared. You’d never seen him undressed before, but had only imagined for yourself what his body looked like. He defied even your dreamiest of expectations. 

Swells of muscle wrapped along his arms, across his shoulders. Dark hair spread wide across his chest, covered him from shoulder to shoulder and down over his belly to the waist of his trousers. Oh, he was a fine specimen of a man, your knight, and you were not about to let him go. You slid your hands through that hair, surprisingly soft, and smiled when your fingernails against his skin elicited a husky moan from his lips. You brushed your fingertips over his nipples, let your nails scrape them, and each teasing touch had him pressing his hips hard into yours, which sent white-hot pleasure streaking through you.

It wasn't enough, though. You had to touch him, had to feel his skin bare against yours, to feel him bare against you. You’d burned for him since you were old enough to understand what lust was, and now you were so close to having him, you could practically taste him.

His hand was rough against your calf as he reached beneath your skirts to sweep up along your leg. Your thigh. Your skirts bunched about your waist, the cool night air dancing along your bared skin. You shivered at his touch, at the gentle way he caressed your thigh, the way he swept his hand up to cup your backside. His fingers traced back down over the curve of your backside, up and over your thigh to disappear into the darkness between your legs and then—

“Oh!” You couldn’t hold back your gasp as he slid his fingers thorough your curls, then thrust a single finger inside you to tease you where you ached the most for him, where you positively burned for him. At first, you tensed against him, but then he did something with that finger, stroked something very sensitive and highly pleasurable and your gasp melted into a purr. 

He bent to seize your lips once more, his tongue thrusting into your mouth in time with the finger he thrust inside you. He swirled both. Drew both back only to come at you again. The pleasure twisted through you, billowing like smoke, bubbling like boiling water, filling you with a yearning you’d never experienced before. Everything inside you was so tight, you were almost afraid you’d shatter like glass before much longer. 

Raymond wasn’t at all gentle as his thumb brushed the pearl nestled within your folds, nor did you wish him to be for when he teased that bead, a bliss so raw and sweet tore through you, all you could do was cling to him, your fingernails biting into the sweat-dampened skin of his shoulders, while you shuddered beneath him. 

The harder you dug your fingernails into his skin, the harder he teased, and the hotter the fire burned. Your mind went blank, the inferno inside you raging out of control, your body ravenous for his and demanding his to soothe that need swelling within you. You rocked your hips to meet him, to savor the pleasure pulsing through you now. Oh, you wanted him more than you’d ever wanted him before and so you caught the bindings of his trousers to tug open.

He shuddered against you when you found him, when you wrapped your hand about that sleek, hot part of him to stroke. You were’t shy, nor did you hesitate, but instead you moved along that thick length and smiled as he moaned into your mouth, as he moved his finger faster inside you and his thumb harsher against you. You explored that part of him as best you could, considering how you burned for him.

With a low growl, he slid his finger free, fumbled slightly in his haste to tug your hand from him, and a moment later—

The pain came swift and sharp and mercifully short-lived and then he was inside you, pushing his way deeper into you, moaning low as your body slowly accommodated him, slowly allowed him full entry. You squeezed him, smiling as you pressed your knees against his sides. You had no idea he would feel so thick, so full inside you, that he would only seemingly barely fit you. You trembled around him, murmuring, “Oh, my love… yes…” as he seated himself and went still against you. 

Your name floated to his lips in the softest of whispers, and his kiss came lingering and sweet as he gave you a moment to acclimate to having him inside you. Then he thrust, and your knees clamped tight against his sides as you moved with him. This wasn’t quite how you envisioned giving him your virginity, but you didn't mind as his lips claimed yours once more. It took you a moment or two to adapt to his rhythm, to meet his thrusts, but when you did, he shivered against you and a low moan rose in his throat.

He moved more easily inside you now, your arousal combining with his to make each thrust silken, more sensual, more absolutely wonderful than you could have ever possibly imagined. Oh, you could so easily become spoiled by his lovemaking, by the absolute bliss he introduced you to with each one of his powerful thrusts. You looked forward to many, many more nights spent this way, and wondered what else you could do that would feel just as sinfully sweet. What he could do to you. What you could do to him. Oh, you would love discovering all of it with him. 

Your insides knotted in a manner more delightful, more wickedly delicious, than you could have ever imagined. He surged harder, thrust deeper and as you teetered on the edge of nirvana, he drove hard to shove you into he abyss.

“Raymond!” Your voice rang out into the darkness and you didn't care who heard you as he thrust hard and with a guttural oath, his body spilled into yours. He shuddered hard against you, his hip grinding up into yours, his release hot and powerful and unlike anything you ever felt before. You melted around him, your thighs firm against his ribs, your body greedily squeezing every last bit of pleasure from both you and him. 

He sank against you, his breathing rough and ragged and smoky about the edges. A soft kiss swept along your neck and he whispered, “Je t’aime. Je t’ai toujours aimeé, ma chérie…”

Tears stung your eyes at his confession. Brushing your lips against his ear, you murmured back, “Je t’aims aussi…”

He trembled against you, fighting to slow his breath, and then, with a low grunt, he withdrew and you shivered at the loss of his fullness inside you. You expected him to stretch out beside you, to gather you in his arms and spend the rest of the evening planning your future together, lying entwined beneath the inky black sky spattered with twinkling stars until you drifted off to sleep in his arms, secure in his love.

But, to your surprise, he got to his feet, tugging his trousers back into place as he did, then crouched to swipe up his shirt once more. As he drew the linen over his head, he said, “You should try to sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us come the morning.”

You just stared up at him. “But… but, I thought that you and I—”

“Nothing has changed. I will still see you returned to your father.” 

Your eyes stung as he turned and walked back toward the fire, leaving you to sit there, hands folded in your lap, your skirts winkled and creased from being bunched about your waist while he took his pleasure. And as you tried to make sense of what had just happened, the skies opened up. 

Did you like this? Love it? If so, please love, reblog, comments and all that fun stuff!! 💜💜💜

Taglist: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knitastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @ggfamert @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78

[birdkeeperklink]

It's Ficback Friday again!!! Today I'm finally getting around to doing a proper rec post for @fizzyxcustard 's 'Wrong Place, Wrong Time' two-part series, which is a Pilgrimage fic, but I don't feel you need to have seen the movie to understand it. I mean, I have seen the movie, so I may not be the best judge, but I feel like enough of the relevant information is given that it's not a requirement.

So this is a Raymond de Merville/Reader series - I have to tell you that I really don't care for Reader character stories normally. It's nothing against them, but my brain usually can't wrap around it? I did not have that problem here after the first chapter. It didn’t even matter anymore because I was so invested that my brain silenced whatever protests it usually has.

It also got me into the romance so well. I got invested hard in this one. I was rooting for Raymond and Reader every step of the way, and a lot of that is down to how it's handled.

There's just so much going on in these fics psychologically, with the attitudes of 1209 France pitted against modern ideals, and the darker, primal side of our natures versus the intellect, and the nature of love. I think you'll find it interesting even if you don't agree with the actions taken.

And it's just an emotional opus - I was so moved, I wept several times, for different reasons, and I just felt so wrung out yet satisfied at the end of it. I was still thinking about it several days later, which doesn't happen often for me.

If you have seen Pilgrimage, I think you'll agree that Raymond is portrayed perfectly here, as well - and if not, then you may find him fascinating nonetheless.

Oh - I almost forgot about the sex, lol. I'm...somewhere? on the ace spectrum? So sex scenes don't have a lot of appeal for me - I enjoyed these ones, because it was more than the physical. The emotions were kept very involved throughout, which allowed me to stay connected to the characters on an emotional level. I'm no expert, but I think if you enjoy sex scenes, you'll enjoy these.

Basically, this is a great series, one of my favourites, and you should read it. ❤️

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Pilgrimage

Pairing: Raymond de Merville/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Violence, Murder, Pregnancy/birth, Major Character Death (see tags for additional warnings)

Summary: (Part 1) "A series of imagine drabbles which have steadily built up into an oncoming fan fiction. You find yourself in 1209AD after a science experiment has gone wrong, and you are now making a new life in a small village in France. However, Sir Raymond de Merville has his eye on you and will not take no for an answer. You both embark on a passionate love affair which leads to Raymond's downfall." (but don't worry, part 2 makes it better)

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Grey - Finished now on Ao3

A ghost story about Raymond de Merville...

Fandom: Pilgrimage

Characters: Raymond & OC

Rating: General

Warnings: reference to death, reference to faith, not very creepy, not super sad...

Teaser:

Once again, he awoke as from a stupor. There were no clocks, and he did not remember sleeping or eating since becoming aware of his surroundings, an indefinite amount of time ago.

He wandered the halls slowly; even the sound of his own footsteps was denied to him here, the haunting consisting of his utter non-existence. Deprived of the sound and fury that had accompanied him through the few years he had lived, he padded noiselessly across the vast expanse of the never-ending house with its charred walls and empty-eyed lamps.

No light for Raymond de Merville. All the vestiges and pleasures of life had been stripped from him, and he was damned to walk this empty house forevermore.

👻 @fizzyxcustard so, it's done :D

[elven-wine-lover]

The Taming of Thorns - Chapter 2

Pairing: Raymond de Merville / OFC 

Warnings: None as of yet. YET. (insert maniac laugh). 

Enjoy (hopefully)! Feedback is always welcome. :)  Read it on Archive of Our Own: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13410333/chapters/30881019 

In retrospect, I was foolish and careless. I was determined not to let the invaders ruin our harvest feast, so I made a promise to myself to pretend as if they weren’t there. Not listening to the whispered warnings not to dance so exuberantly, to talk less heartily with the village men.

Nonsense, I told myself. I had always danced, not well but enthusiastically, and I had always talked to everyone openly, be they man or woman. We were in Blackwater, not in the royal courts of distant lands. For most of the evening and long into the night, I actually thought I had gotten away with it.

That changed when I went into the city hall’s storage room for more ale. I should not have gone alone.  

“How suitable your name is, after all.”

I stopped abruptly. I did not like how he made me feel, how his voice could tempt me to believe he was more than just a violent brute. “What?”

His hand on my cheek, travelling down to my throat. “Intoxicating.”

I flinched back, out of Raymond’s reach. He scared me, no matter how hard I tried not to let it show. Too tall, too broad, too violent and harsh. He didn’t belong here and I wanted him gone, but at the same time the knowledge he never would go away easily twisted the knife in my side.

“Your uncle clearly failed in his duties.”

“What? He took good care of Ella and me when our father went to the Holy Land,” I replied indignantly. It was true, more or less – Thomas may not be a great man, but he was not a monster and he had tried to do well. I could not ask for more under the circumstances.

Either way, I was in no mood to have this discussion now, or any day, not with him. I clutched the small barrel of ale tightly in my hands. How had he even gotten here without me hearing him approach? I had not seen him throughout the evening, had dared to hope he did not care for “pagan” feasts. Had he been sitting, watching in the shadows this whole time?  

“He did not get you a husband,” Raymond replied coolly, his eyes on my breasts, my hips. “You are clearly ripe for one.”

He wasn’t the first to make such a remark. Though he was the first one to phrase it so bluntly, so salaciously. “That is for me decide, nobody else,” I muttered. Certainly not by him.  

Suddenly, my wrists were in his grip, the barrel in my arms that had served as a shield crashing to the floor and my body forced to arch against his. “Did you think,” he seethed, “I allowed your pretty sister to be off the hook without some form of recompense?”

No, not like this. I struggled against his hold, trying not to think of the tales I had heard. Of what men could do to women. I did not dare imagine what a man like Raymond could do to a woman like me; any woman, to tell the truth. “My sister was never yours to take in the first place!” I spat and pushed him away with all the strength I could muster. “Neither am I. We are not toys for you to pick up when you like and discard when you’re done with them. Perhaps your French women like it that way – I, for one, do not.”

He looked almost amused as he glared at me. “Wake up, sweetling. The world does not play by your would-be rules. The strongest win, and they take what they will,” he growled. His fingers were tightly woven into my hair, leaving me without leeway to flee. He was no more sober than I was, but the lucidity he displayed nonetheless made him even more terrifying.

“Then why haven’t you taken Jerusalem yet?” I whispered. I cried out when he released me so suddenly I stumbled.

“How could a heathen ever understand?”

“Do you?” I challenged. “Do you even understand? Your compatriots may be devout Christians, but I fail to see the same fervour in you.” My fate was already sealed; it was tied to this man for as long as he remained in Blackwater. I had apparently piqued his interest, for whatever reasons. Why should I not say what was on my mind? There were few things he could do to me that were worse than what I was already living through. Rather he brutalised me than my sister. That was my only goal now: Keep Ella away from them, keep her safe.  

“I have given enough for God,” he seethed. “I certainly don’t need to be lectured by a heathen girl like you.”

“I didn’t invite you to follow me,” I growled.

He looked at me again, and it reminded me of a wolf who had caught sight of delectable prey. “Oh, but you did, Maeve.” Suddenly he was too close to me again, one hand on my hip while the other took my chin firmly and forced me to look up at him. “The way you danced tonight… made it all too clear you wanted this.”

“What?” My exclamation was close to a screech. I pushed hard against his chest, managing to at least get a breath of distance between us. “I dance how I please, not to please others. Let alone to invite… to invite this!” What did he think I was? Desperate? Property? Shameless? All of it?

“Maeve?”

I used Raymond’s split second of distraction to break free from his hold, just as William came in. Frowning at the scene before him, he slowly asked: “I just wanted to see… if you’re okay? We’re getting thirsty out there.”

Dear, sweet Will. He would never stand a chance against Raymond, but in this moment, he was the saviour I needed. My heart pounded loudly in my chest. “Sorry, Will – I got interrupted,” I added sharply as I picked up the ale and followed William out before the situation could escalate.

Back at the fire, I released the breath I had been holding. But I could not shake the feeling of Raymond’s gaze, his hands upon me. They haunted me even as I lay in bed.

#

For days, I dreaded leaving the house just for fear of seeing him, being alone with him. When nothing happened, I relaxed and went about my usual business.

Foolish, again. I had forfeited every right to call myself independent and smart. It took all of three days for the summons to come to our house. Asking – demanding – me to visit him. Supposedly because of the way I handled the distribution of corn. I suspected other motives.

“You wanted to see me?” I said tensely. Why was I asked, commanded, to be here? I was not the leader of this town. Politically or elsewise, I had nothing to offer. Certainly Raymond de Merville cared nothing for corn.

“Yes. Sit.”

I could have rebelled, could have refused. I decided to save my energy.

“Tell me about this town.”

I blinked in confusion. He sounded calm, almost interested. As if he had not forcefully made Blackwater his home and stationed his army of brutes outside our doorstep. “There is nothing to tell. It is a town, like so many others.” I would not spy for him, if that was what he was after.

“Certainly there is more to it.” That dangerous edge had returned to his voice, hidden by the deep baritone of his, but it was no less sharp for it. “This is Gaelic land, yet an English town is allowed to prosper, to be at peace. One might think you had a deal with the Gaelic heathens.”

“Not everyone tries to make a home by coming in, swords blazing and threatening every breathing soul. Some do try the diplomatic way, by talks and truces. Cooperation,” I added, knowing this might be dangerous. “We do not invade on their land, and they let us be. That is the only deal we have with them.” I was stretching the truth, and omitting quite a few facts completely. Raymond de Merville was in no way entitled to knowing them.

He sat down opposite me and waved at someone behind me. “Is that so.” Disbelief, veiled as its mocking opposite. I would have to try harder, if I wanted to be left standing by the time this game was done.

A plate of food was placed before me, next to a goblet generously filled with wine. I looked up, confused – was I to be his taster now, make sure nobody would poison him? I was tempted to poison it myself. “Eat,” Raymond ordered instead as another plate and goblet were put before him.

“I don’t-“

“Eat,” he repeated. “Allow me the indulgence of your company.” Blue eyes sparkling with mockery, and something darker.

“If it is company you seek,” I began hesitantly, “there are better choices.” What would ‘company’ even mean? This man made me uneasy, scared me even, yet my sinful pride would not allow me to do the sensible thing and back down. To disappear into the shadows and become invisible to him.

“That is for me to decide.”

It sounded final. With a sigh, I picked up my cutlery. It shamed me to admit it, but I was hungry and the food smelt good. I haven’t had wine in… years, I think. I hadn’t liked the taste then, but now it tasted like heaven. I couldn’t think about what Raymond might demand as payment for this dinner – it would have turned the delicacies to ashes in my mouth. I wasn’t worried about poison. If he wanted me dead, all he had to do was lift his sword.              

No, I worried about the demands. The feeling of entitlement, which he already possessed in abundance. If all it took for him was a village dance for him to think I was asking for male company at night, I dreaded to think what he might make of us dining together.

Lest you judge me, bear in mind that these were hard days, and the food before me was more luxurious than I had ever seen, smelled or tasted. Would I sell my body for it? No. Once again, I deluded myself by telling the rational part of me that my body had not been asked for in exchange.

Of course it hadn’t been, I realised later. Raymond de Merville didn’t trade. He took, and if he was feeling generous, you got something out of it, too. If.

[meandrichard]

And now there's Pilgrimage slash

And now there’s Pilgrimage slash

Here.

[linasofia]

Le Désir

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3

Fandom: Pilgrimage

Relationship: Raymond de Merville x OC Cecilia

Summary: Raymond is travelling along the coast of Ireland when a storm forces him and his men to seek shelter at a remote inn. When he spots the innkeeper’s daughter, he realizes the stay has potential to be more exciting than he first thought.

Warnings: 18+

Summer had only recently turned its back on the endless green hills, and the evenings were not yet characteristically dark—but the wind howling from the sea brought an icy foreboding of an approaching storm. Along one of the most dramatic coasts of Ireland, far from what was considered to be real civilization, the great distance between the inns often left travelers with no other option except sleeping under the stars. The landscape offered a spectacular view, and during summer, when the winds were mild, it was as close as one could get to paradise. But as the days turned shorter, the strong force of nature tested the persistence of anyone traveling along the coastline.

During their return from yet another mission, Raymond de Merville and his closest men rode in silence up the winding path. The wind tore at their cloaks, and the horses’ manes whipped angrily from one side to the other. Thankfully, it had not rained since the previous day, but Raymond’s mood was still sour. He hated sleeping on a damp bedroll and longed for a warm, dry bed. Any bed. His buckskin mare walked with her head bent to the side as if trying to shield her eyes from the wind, and he gave her a gentle stroke on the neck. She had carried him through many dangers, and he valued her more than he would ever admit. His father, Baron de Merville, had questioned his choice of horse more times than Raymond could remember. In the Baron’s opinion, a larger and heavier horse was more suitable for a knight, but Raymond liked the speed and temper of his mare. He had never seen a faster horse, and what she lacked in strength, she compensated with willingness and bravery.

The sun was slowly coming to rest behind the fast-moving clouds in the west, and the small group of riders searched for the old inn at the far end of the rocky road. Among the loyal group of soldiers accompanying Raymond, only his closest man—Dugald—had stayed at the inn before. Raymond vaguely remembered the location and the meals served there. It was a remote outpost, and the temperamental knight discovered it a few years earlier when he took the same godforsaken route. Focused on the task at hand, Raymond urged his horse forward. They needed to find the inn before they lost the light. After that, only hard rocks and the merciless wind awaited the exhausted horses and their riders.

Suddenly, a small collection of buildings appeared at the very end of the steep cliffs. With new energy in their bodies—fueled by the thought of strong ale—the group quickened their pace, and right before the last rays of light disappeared, they reached the stony yard in front of the inn. Candles were lit inside, and the innkeeper himself—a short, stocky man with a ginger beard—was busy sealing the small windows for the night. The approaching storm was not to be taken lightly. Thrilled to have a noble guest, the innkeeper assured Raymond they could find shelter within his walls before Raymond even had time to dismount his horse. Fair settlement would come later, but for now, the company was welcome to enjoy whatever the house had to offer.

Cecilia had been up since sunrise and dutifully done all the chores her father assigned to her. Only a few years ago, her main responsibilities were limited to serving their guests during the evening and caring for the sheep while the sun was up. But lately, probably due to her father’s increasing age, Cecilia more and more often found herself doing other tasks as well. While her mother spent most of her time preparing or cooking food for the steady stream of guests, Cecilia and her two younger sisters helped their father with everything he would have asked of a son—if he had one.

As a young girl, Cecilia overheard her father speaking to her mother about their incapability to conceive a boy. After their third daughter, and a good amount of tears, her parents understood that God would not bless them with another child. It became a great concern for Cecilia’s father, who—like so many other men—took an heir for granted. The thought of having one of his daughters take over the inn when he could no longer manage was unthinkable. Even if the girl’s mother did everything to convince him, there was no point. On the day of the argument, Cecilia swore to prove him wrong. Even if her father would never leave the inn to her, she was determined to show her value as a hard-working woman, and the older she got, the more difficult tasks she was entrusted with.

The inn was unusually empty, and Cecilia looked forward to a quiet evening. Maybe she would even have time to have a cup of warm cider with her mother. As she was sweeping the floor next to the door, raised voices from outside caught her attention. Her father’s voice sounded excited, and he was talking—or rather shouting—to someone, but she could not hear what was said. A horse suddenly neighed loudly, and Cecilia realized they had new visitors. Before she even had time to put on her cloak, the door was brusquely opened, and a man of impressive height bent down to avoid hitting his head while entering. When he straightened his back, Cecilia became certain he was the tallest man ever coming through their door, and she could not help but gasp when she took in the sight of him. The man’s dark hair was unruly—clearly from the removal of his mail coif—and he had traces of dust on his face, the kind you get from spending a long time on the road. Still, his short beard was well maintained, and under his dark eyebrows, a pair of cerulean eyes gleamed in the dim light. His jaw was set in a displeased expression, and Cecilia did not doubt he was as terrifying on the battlefield as he looked. A deep scar ran from his temple all the way to under his eye, and it made him look even more grim. His armor—together with the coat of arms on his chest—revealed his powerful status, and Cecilia averted her eyes while blushing. She had no right to study him so intensely, and he would certainly not approve.

A couple of other men soon followed the knight, and when her father finally appeared at the door, Cecilia sighed in relief. Even if she was used to handling most types of men while serving—not all travelers were gentlemen—there was something dark and unpleasant about the man who walked over—with no small amount of self-confidence—to the largest table in the room and sat down at the end. Another dark-haired man took a seat next to the first and then followed the rest of their company. Soon the men demanded ale and roasted meat to be brought to the table, and Cecilia looked at her father with a question on her face.

“What are you waiting for? You heard the men, did you not? Go see what your mother has ready.”

Cecilia sighed again. She would have preferred to keep sweeping the floor.

As the strong wind tried to rip the land apart, the heat from the fire warmed the newly arrived group of men, and as soon as their plates were filled with hot meals, their initial grumpy mutterings were replaced with laughter and merry chattering. Only one face remained displeased.

Raymond sat quietly and ate his roasted chicken directly from the bones. The skin was crispy—just the way he liked it—and well-seasoned. The innkeeper's wife was a good cook, and Raymond swallowed the last of his food together with a few mouthfuls of ale. It was the best meal he had enjoyed in days, but he was still not satisfied. He told Dugald to order another round of ale, hoping it would help him let go of the restless feeling in his chest. The howling wind increased in power, and he was grateful they reached the inn before nightfall. He could hear the wind tearing at the roof, and the house creaked as it fought back.

It did not take long before the young woman arrived with more foaming ale. She offered sweet smiles to all his men while handing out their drinks, but when she placed his pint on the table beforef him, she did not even meet his gaze. A short “Sire,” was all he got before she quickly walked away. Raymond watched her as she grabbed a broom and started sweeping away the mud they had brought inside upon their arrival. He was surprised he did not notice at first how beautiful she was. Her thick copper hair was pulled back and held in place with a ribbon, allowinghim to study her facial expressions as she worked. The way she moved her body made Raymond think of dancing—something he had not done since he left Rouen. Her waist was slim, and he briefly wondered how it would feel to put his hands around it. He took another mouthful of the strong ale and allowed himself to shamelessly admire the curve of her hips. It was something special about her that he could not really explain to himself. The young woman glanced at their table on several occasions, but not once did she meet his gaze.

When he finished his second ale, the burden of stress in Raymond’s chest was almost gone. The men around him became louder, and Dugald made an attempt to get the barmaid’s attention for yet another round of pints.

To Raymond’s displeasure, the ale was brought to the table by another young woman. The new girl was a significantly younger copy of the first, no doubt her sister. As she placed the pint in front of Raymond, he grabbed her wrist. She met his cold, intense stare, and her smile died on her lips.

“The woman who brought us food, what is her name?”

“Cecilia, Sire. Please, let me go,” the girl responded with a frightened look in her eyes.

“Tell Cecilia she is not done here,” Raymond muttered and lifted his hand. The girl practically ran away from the table, and Raymond wondered if she would tell her father—the innkeeper—or if his message would be delivered. Cecilia. Pretty name for a pretty face, he thought as he met Dugald’s amused look.

Dugald leaned in closer to Raymond and held his voice down. “Taking an interest in the soft flesh?”

“Mind your own business, Dugald,” Raymond snapped with a clear warning in his tone.

“For the right price, I am sure she can be persuaded to warm your bed tonight, if that is what you need.” Dugald ignored the icy stare Raymond shot at him. If it were not for their long friendship, Raymond would never have allowed Dugald to speak to him like that.

“I do not need to pay for a woman’s company, you know that.” Raymond took a few large gulps of his new ale and then grinned. “Besides, if I take a woman to my bed I prefer someone who actually wants to be there. Harlots lie dead on their back—a willing woman is far more interesting.”

“Fair enough,” Dugald laughed and looked appreciatively in the direction of the younger of the women. “One thing is certain: they did not get their looks from their father.”

“Cecilia, I need to speak with you!”

Cecilia turned at the sound of her youngest sister’s voice. She had gone to offer her mother some help but was pulled to a quiet corner and hushed when she tried to ask what was going on. Alice's voice was rushed and she kept her tone down.

“The scary-looking knight at the end of the table was asking for you. He asked for your name, and I gave it to him. I am sorry, but I could not refuse him. Did you speak to him?”

“I did not, I just gave them what they wanted.”

“He said you are not done yet. What does he want? Shall I go tell father? So he keeps an eye on them?”

“No, I can handle it myself,” Cecilia said with a confident smile. “We do not need to worry him.”

“Alright, as you wish. But I do not like the look on that man’s face. He looks cruel.”

Cecilia peeked around the corner, out into the main hall where their guests were seated. The room appeared even darker than usual now thattheir father had covered the windows. Candles and lanterns were placed on every table, and they spread a faint, warm light over the different faces. The knight with the horrifying scar was in deep conversation with the man next to him and paid no attention to anything else at the moment. Or so she thought.

“He does look grim, I agree. But we have seen worse, I think?”

“We have. Just be careful. And scream if he tries to touch you!”

“I promise! Stop being so dramatic, you are making me nervous with your thoughts. I am sure the evening will be quiet. Let us serve them ale, that will keep them happy.”

The sisters exchanged smiles, and Cecilia took a deep breath and stepped out into the main hall again. Alice’s words rang in her ears. He knew her name. Why did he ask for that? She did not have time to think of an answer, for as soon as she made her presence known, she had new requests to fulfill. The few other guests staying at the inn had taken their seats at another table, and Cecilia was glad for the distraction. She wiped her hands nervously on her apron and started working with a forced smile on her face. More meals and ale were prepared, and Cecilia and her sister hurried to serve the new group of hungry guests. As she worked, she could not help thinking of the knight. When he stepped over their threshold, she instantly saw the unusual color of his eyes, and the way he moved as he walked past her almost made her heart stop. He was danger personified, but a secret part of her liked that. She knew it was stupid, but she wanted to glance toward the other table and see if he was still as stern after all those strong ales.

Raymond instantly noticed Cecilia when she walked back into the room, and he did not care about Dugald’s inappropriate comment about it. Once again, he was reminded of her beauty as she smiled welcomingly at some other guests. But frustration grew inside him the longer he watched her. She had refused to look at him as soon as they were seated, and yet everybody else was treated with warmth. He emptied his pint and slammed it down on the table, earning a frown from Dugald and a cheer from the rest of the men. They quickly followed his example, and soon voices were raised for even more. It was going to be a long night, he thought, if his men kept drinking like that. But with the storm raging outside, what else could they do?

A feminine laugh, light and clear as the water in a spring brook, rose over the tables and landed like a sharp slap on Raymond’s face. He could not explain why it made him bitter, but he demanded to know why she ignored him—Raymond de Merville—while other men were generously met with kindness. The strong ale chased away the restlessness, but, it awoke something else instead. Desire. He stood up from the table, and without even a look at his men, he followed Cecilia when she once again left the room.

Cecilia was on her way to the pantry when she heard steps from heavy boots behind her. Before she could react, a warm, large hand wrapped around her wrist, and a not-so-gentle pull made her spin around and collide with a broad chest dressed in a stained burgundy surcoat. The masculine scent of musk mixed with leather and smoke surrounded her, and in the narrow passage, she had nowhere to go—she was trapped without any possibility of getting away from him. He towered over her, and she had to stretch her neck to meet his gaze. A small gasp escaped her lips as she stared into his cerulean eyes. She could not really make out the stormy expression in them, but the frown on his face told her that he was not pleased. Cecilia instinctively put her hands on his chest to push him away from her. The long hauberk made his upper body even harder than she assumed it was. Not that she had thought about that while sweeping the floor.

“Are you avoiding me?” His low, commanding tone was unlike any other voice she had ever heard. Who was this man, and what in the Lord’s name did he want?

”Sire?” Cecilia tried to think of a suitable answer. The truth was that she had indeed deliberately avoided any type of interaction with the man. In her mind she had the picture of him clear: he was a cruel man, a merciless slayer, and he had sworn to serve the crown—for as long as he lived. She was not sure what crown, for the men at the table spoke a language she did not understand, and the knight in front of her had an accent laced with a softer melody than her own. But he was also dangerously alluring, with his sharp jaw, patrician nose, and the confidence of a true warrior. And his lips. One quick glance at them made her warm, and she cursed herself for her reaction.

”I said, are you avoiding me?”

She forced a smile on her face and secretly let her fingernails dig into the soft skin of her palms.

”Of course not, Sire. I was just going to get some fruitcake, if you and your men would be interested in having some.” Cecilia knew most people had a change of mindset when threats were involved, but the man just stared back at her. The clouds in his eyes seemed to slowly fade away, and Cecilia exhaled a little too loudly.

”I am sure my men would appreciate some.” His breath was warm, and he smelled of ale. It was not unpleasant, but Cecilia would rather die than admit it.

”And you, Sire?”

”I have no interest in fruitcake, Cecilia.” She flinched at the way her name sounded when spoken by him. He made it sound exotic—like an endearment even.

”Is there anything else I can get for you?” Cecilia did not approve of the weakness in her voice. This was not how she usually handled guests who had too much to drink, and with a frustrated sigh, she pressed her nails deeper into her skin. He was no different, she told herself—no different at all.

”No,” he said, but something sparked in his eyes. For a second, Cecilia thought he was going to touch her, but then he took a step back and freed the passage.

”Let me know if you change your mind, Sire,” Cecilia replied, but as soon as the words were out, she wanted to sink through the floor. That did not come out as she intended. What if he thought she was implying another type of service? She had heard of women offering their company to guests for payment, but that was not what she was doing. “I did not mean to—”

”I will keep that in mind,” he cut her off with a grin. Then he turned and strode back to his men, leaving Cecilia in the narrow hall with blushing cheeks while his musky scent lingered like something forbidden in the air.

💙 If you like my writing, please consider spreading the love and reblogging.💙

Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @enchantzz @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @kibleedibleedoo @mariannetora @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra @rachel1959 @knittastically @quiall321 @medusas-hairband @fulltimecrazy @s0ftd3m0n @emrfangirl @glimmering-darling-dolly @lilith15000 @clumsy-wonderland @theawkwardbutterfly @exhausted-humxn-being @beenthroughalot @chaikittie @piscesvancouverite @sotwk @dontaskmehowdontaskmewhy @mrsdurin

[linasofia]

Le Désir

Part 3

Fandom: Pilgrimage

Relationship: Raymond de Merville x OC Cecilia

Summary: Raymond is travelling along the coast of Ireland when a storm forces him and his men to seek shelter at a remote inn. When he spots the innkeeper’s daughter, he realizes the stay has potential to be more exciting than he first thought.

Warnings: 18+

A/N: This is the final part of this fic. You can read the previous parts here.

She was warm—a lot warmer than usual—and when she tried to move in her bed, she scratched her elbow against the rough wall. There was not enough room to rotate, and her hazy mind started to slowly put things together. The warmth under the thick blanket was not only hers; she was not alone. Cecilia woke with a gasp, and a few heartbeats passed before she remembered where she was. When her eyes adjusted to the light, she noticed the large candle in Lord Raymond’s room was put out. She had no memory of seeing the knight—who snored peacefully beside her—blowing on the flickering flame. It could only mean she fell asleep before he did. Had he watched her sleep? The thought made her uneasy.

She made a new attempt to move, and this time she managed to roll to the side without getting trapped in the sheet. Lord Raymond let out a groaning sound and stirred in his sleep. Cecilia froze. He reminded her of a wild animal—a predator even—and she did not want to wake him. She was not ready to deal with his piercing gaze yet. Lord Raymond exhaled loudly and relaxed the fine muscles on his face. The traces of dirt were gone, and considering how clean he smelled when he first lowered himself over her, she assumed he visited the inn’s massive wooden tubs to refresh sometime during the previous day. Long, dark lashes framed his eyes, and even if she could not see his irises, she had no trouble remembering their unusual blue shade. Cecilia found it difficult to guess how old the knight was. His hair was dark—both on his head and chest—and his beard thick. It was still completely unaffected by age. He had the physique of a warrior at the peak of his life, but the lord was not a young, inexperienced man. Time had carved small valleys around his eyes, and when he smiled at her the previous night, they appeared deeper. She liked his smile, for it brightened his features just as the sun chased away shadows during the morning’s earliest hour. The deep scar on his face looked old, and once again, Cecilia wondered how he got it. It must, no doubt, have hurt enormously. Even if she was certain he had done far worse to many opponents, she felt a hint of pity for him. Suddenly she wanted to trace the rough line of the scar with her fingertip but she quickly pushed the idea away. Lord Raymond touched every inch of her body the night before, and she caressed a good part of him in return, but a touch like that felt too intimate. She smiled when she thought about how he admired her curves after peeling off her stockings. It was hard to believe the same gentle fingers later wrapped her braid tightly around one of his hands and firmly forced her to arch her back as he took her from behind. He seemed to have endless stamina, and as the night fell over the green hills, Cecilia was pulled into his world of desire, lust, and satisfaction. It was not strange, Cecilia thought, that she had fallen asleep in his bed. The last memory of the night was how Lord Raymond came to rest beside her and pulled her close so her back rested against his chest. His burning hot sword left traces of his silvery stream on her skin as he pressed himself against her.

Soft light seeped into the room, and Cecilia prayed it was early so nobody would realize she did not sleep in her own bed. She knew she was expected to feed the animals and then return to the main hall as soon as possible, but leaving the bed was not easy. Inch by inch, she slowly moved away from the warm body resting next to her. As quietly as she could, she then stood from the bed and collected her clothes. She had no options except to dress in the middle of the room, so she began the process while keeping an anxious eye on the soundly sleeping knight. When she was finally done tying the lacing in her dress, she proceeded to make her hair presentable. Her braid was completely destroyed after a night in the lord’s bed, and when she ran her fingers through her locks, it felt unmanageable. Cecilia let out a frustrated sigh as she tried to comb it with her fingers, and when she finally succeeded in arranging her thick copper hair into a new braid, she hoped it looked decent enough. Then she quickly walked over to the door, took a final look at the alluring man in the bed—and turned the key in the door’s lock.

A clear blue sky met Cecilia when she stepped outside. With a surprised smile, she blinked a few times to let her eyes adjust to the brightness. It felt as if the storm was a bad memory, soon to be forgotten, and only the broken branches on the ground gave witness to the incredible forces nature released over the eastern coast of Ireland. The small birds with orange chests had returned to the old apple tree, and Cecilia could hear their distressed alarm calls as she walked by on her way to the stable.

Raymond woke from a deep, satisfying sleep and found the spot next to him empty. He sighed heavily. When he fell asleep the previous night, Raymond was certain he would start the following day buried between Cecilia’s lovely thighs. If she slept with her back against him, he would have gently lifted her leg and teased her most sensitive parts before slipping through her wet folds. But if she, for some heavenly reason, slept on her stomach—Raymond grinned at the thought—he would not have bothered with the teasing. He wanted to silence her again and listen to her muffled plea as he selfishly took her one last time. Just the thought of it made the blood boil in his groins. Absently, he stroked himself and groaned as he summoned the memory of her aroused smell and the feeling of her slickness around him. With another groan he grabbed the pillow next to him and buried his nose in it. The sweet, feminine scent that made him feral last night still lingered on the fabric. Raymond inhaled deeply and felt a rush of arousal flooding his body. One thing was certain; he needed relief before he could eat his morning meal.

The horses welcomed Cecilia with curious eyes. The stable smelled of horses and straw, and as she handed out piles of hay, she could not resist thinking of the fascinating man she left while he was still sleeping. She made it from Lord Raymond’s room undiscovered, and so far, her secret was intact. A part of her longed to be back with him to be able to feel the warmth from his body and bask in his heated gaze. His embraces were overwhelming—but she liked the way he handled her—and his superior strength was both intimidating and arousing.

When all horses were fed, Cecilia stopped at Éclair’s side. The mare looked at her, then sniffed expectantly on her stretched-out hand. Cecilia smiled, pulled out the apple she was hiding in her pocket, and offered it. The horse took it gently from her hand, but then the apple was gone in the blink of an eye. Only a few loud chewing sounds were heard before Éclair swallowed the pieces. Then she inspected both of Cecilia’s hands one more time with an expectant expression in her dark eyes. When the mare realized Cecilia did not have any more treats, she turned her interest back to the hay again. Éclair had the clear contour of a saddle on her back. Dried sweat made her silky coat coarse, and Cecilia decided to go over it with the bristle brush she used on their gelding. As soon as she started brushing, the horse came to rest one of her hind legs by tilting onto the toe of the hoof. She let out a long, pleased sigh in a clear sign that she liked being cared for. Cecilia took the time with her, and when she finally was done, she patted the mare’s neck. Éclair was a sweetheart, and Cecilia had a hard time imagining the beautiful buckskin during battle.

”I thought I would find you here.” The dark voice behind her made Cecilia jump. How in heaven’s name did he get inside without her noticing? Éclair lifted her head and looked at her master as if he was truly interrupting an enjoyable moment. Hay hung from her mouth, and she kept chewing as he approached them.

Cecilia gave him a shy smile. ”Where else would I be, My Lord? The horses need their morning hay. It is my responsibility.”

”I would have prefered if you were still in my bed,” he responded with a dark smile, making Cecilia blush like the sky on a warm autumn evening.

”I thought I stayed too long, My Lord.” Her voice sounded a bit unsteady, and she bit her lip.

”Not long enough,” he groaned as he stopped by her side and placed his large hand on the horse’s back. Cecilia took a step back, unsure what to do. Lord Raymond ran his hand slowly over the now soft coat, and Cecilia could not help glancing at his fingers—the same fingers which he used to give her great pleasure the previous night. Then he turned to Cecilia.

”I promised you a reward if you took extra good care of Éclair. I can clearly see that you kept your word.” He reached for the pouch in his belt and opened it. What happened next filled Cecilia’s mouth with an unwelcome, sour taste. Lord Raymond placed two silver coins in her hand. She stared at them—it was too much. ”For your excellent service,” he said with a tone she was uncertain how to interpret. It was a possibility, of course, that he really meant the extra attention she gave his horse. But Cecilia felt dirty, just like one of those women she had heard stories about. The unfortunate ones who earned their money by taking a countless number of men to their beds. She knew it was bad enough that she had followed him to his room, but to accept payment for it—that was something completely different. Yet she knew how much her family needed the money, so Cecilia slowly closed her fingers around the coins. They burned in her hand, just as the shame on her cheeks.

”Thank you, Sire,” she mumbled as she backed away from him. “Please, excuse me, I have to go.”

For the second time in two days, she left the stable in a hurry, but this time tears stung in her eyes. The sun blinded her as she slammed the door unnecessarily hard, and she almost expected Lord Raymond to come after her. But he did not. Instead, she reached the main building undiscovered and fled to her room. She needed to be left alone, if only to pull herself together. With a tortured whine, Cecilia collapsed on her bed. She wrapped the blanket around her and buried her face in the pillow. Then she screamed as loud as her lungs allowed her. Tears welled up in her eyes, and while she pressed the pillow harder to her face, her tears wettened the soft fabric of the pillowcase. Cecilia blamed herself and her weakness for the pain in her chest. She should have known better than to listen to her body’s deepest desire. If one played with fire long enough, it was unavoidable to get burned.

Eventually, Cecilia ran out of tears, and when only quiet sobs caused her lips to tremble, she tried to collect her thoughts. Deep inside, it was not the acts of the previous night she regretted—it was the way she had reacted after Lord Raymond gave her the silver coins. She had accepted them, knowing the sum was too high for the grooming of his horse. She had accepted payment for her body. Suddenly she recalled him saying that he would not pay for her delightful company, and it made her feel even more stupid. Of course, he could say that when he handled his transfers of money so smoothly. Her skin still smelled of him, and she cursed the heated memories it awoke. Cecilia lay on the side and pulled her knees up so she could hug them. She felt lonely and exhausted. Every part of her body ached—a reminder of the rough treatment she received the night before. She lost count of how many times she saw the white light that caused her body to explode in a storm of pleasure. During the late hours, she learned that Lord Raymond possessed impressive control over his lower body.

A quiet knock on her door pulled her from her thoughts. ”Cecilia, are you in here?” Her youngest sister’s clear voice easily penetrated the thick door. It made Cecilia question how long she had stayed in her room.

”Yes,” Cecilia answered and coughed as she tried to clear her voice.

”May I come in?”

Cecilia sighed. She wanted to be alone, but she could not say that without waking the worry in Alice’s compassionate heart.

”You may,” she replied and pulled the blanket over her head. The door made a familiar squeaking sound as Alice pulled it open. Then followed her sister’s light footsteps as she walked over the wooden planks. Finally, she felt how Alice sat down and took her hand.

”Are you not feeling well?” The warm concern in her youngest sister’s voice made Cecilia’s throat tighten as if someone had put a rope around her neck. Or a hand.

”Not really, no.”

”Have you eaten? Can I get you anything?” The blanket was gently pulled from her face. ”I can tell father that you—,” Alice went silent. With a deep sigh, Cecilia met Alice's worried gaze. She knew her eyes were swollen, and there was no point in denying she had been crying. But she was not ready to share the reason behind her tears. At least not yet.

”What is wrong?” The soft words were enough to make Cecilia flinch under the weight of her self-loathing.

”It is nothing really, I am just being stupid and emotional. I already feel better.” The last part was a lie, but Cecilia tried to avoid questions. An approaching headache, as a result of her tears, started to spread at her temples.

”Is it that time of the month?” Alice suggested with a kind smile. All three sisters suffered from mood changes once a month, and they had formed a mutual understanding between them. They all knew the sacrifice their bodies had to endure.

”Yes,” Cecilia lied again. A sigh of relief left her when Alice squeezed her hand. They were necessary lies, and if it could prevent further questions from her sister, Cecilia would do it again. Alice did not continue, and it made Cecilia relax her shoulders. Neither of them spoke, and Alice stroked the upper side of her older sister’s hand.

”The cruel-looking knight and all his men are gone,” Alice suddenly said. Something in her tone caught Cecilia’s attention. ”I think it is a relief. Father made good money—I’m sure he did—but I did not like having them here. I do not trust them.”

Cecilia nodded quietly. So Lord Raymond was gone. She did not have to face him anymore, yet she was not sure how she felt about that. Alice looked at her with an uneasy expression in her eyes. Her sister seemed to hesitate as if she wanted to speak of something but was uncertain of how. A dark shadow fell over Alice’s sweet face, and it cut like a knife in Cecilia’s heart. She could sense something was wrong. Suddenly she became afraid Lord Raymond laid a hand on Alice, and it made her feel nauseous. If he did, it was her fault. She should have stayed in the stable with him and allowed him to satisfy his hunger. Her youngest sister was, as far as Cecilia knew, still untouched, but what if—

“The knight approached me when they were finished with their meal. First I was scared, thinking I did something to upset him. But he wanted to leave a message—for you. He made me promise to say this when we were alone. He wants you to know that he will take the same route again when he gets the opportunity. And he requests the same stable hand. What does he mean, Cecilia?”

Cecilia felt how the blood left her face. She knew exactly what kind of message Lord Raymond meant to send. He intended to come back—only God knows when. Cecilia deliberately bit the inside of her cheek to avoid revealing the conflicting emotions rushing through her body. She was certain Lord Raymond wanted to make his intentions known because he was convinced he had gained control over her. That she would gladly accompany him in his bed and welcome his feral behavior. Her heart raced at the thought of being trapped beneath him once more, and his scent seemed to grow stronger in her nose as if it wanted to make sure she had not already forgotten him. But he was right, she admitted, as the memories of his exploring hands made her body ache. She would gladly give herself to him again. That cruel-looking bastard was right.

💙 If you like my writing, please consider spreading the love and reblogging.💙

Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @enchantzz @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @mariannetora @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra @rachel1959 @knittastically @quiall321 @medusas-hairband @fulltimecrazy @s0ftd3m0n @emrfangirl @glimmering-darling-dolly @lilith15000 @clumsy-wonderland @theawkwardbutterfly @exhausted-humxn-being @beenthroughalot @chaikittie @piscesvancouverite @sotwk @dontaskmehowdontaskmewhy @mrsdurin

[linasofia]

Petite Voleuse

Part 5

Fandom: Pilgrimage

Relationship: Raymond de Merville x OC

Summary: When stealing something of great value and importance from a man like Raymond de Merville you never could have foreseen how your life would change.

Words: 4,6K

Warnings: 18+

A/N: This is the last chapter of this fic but an epilogue will follow. You can read the previous parts here.

Special thanks to @lathalea & @legolasbadass for your support.💙💙

French Ma petite voleuse - My little thief Le Baron exige votre présence - The baron requests your presence J'arrive sous peu - I will arrive shortly

***

The long winter was nothing more than an cold, endless waiting; waiting for the sun to rise, for new logs to catch fire and increase the temperature in the tent, and then, the nervous waiting for Raymond to return sometimes during the evening, never knowing if his mood will make him crave me in a way that leaves me bruised, or if he will settle for a less rough treatment. During the darkest months, it felt like the warmth would never return to these lands, and the merciless winds from the sea would tear the canvas of the tent apart. Then suddenly my prayers are heard and the birds start to wake me again with their songs and longing for love. They are not the only ones, I realize as I watch the sleeping man next to me. During the early mornings, when the encampment is silent and Raymond’s arm rests heavily around me, I allow myself to dream about intimacy underother circumstances. If I was free to come and go as I please like the birds outside, how would it feel to be held by the man by my side?

When you sleep together with someone long enough, you get to learn a lot about them. Raymond is a restless sleeper, his nights are often active and he seems to dream a lot. I cannot ask him about the contents of his dreams, but sometimes he hugs me tightly as if he is seeking comfort and if I, in those moments, return the hug, he calms down. I am sure he has no memories of it when he enters the conscious state, but on a few occasions, I have suspected he is awake, but still lets his arm rest around me.

The sun has not yet stretched its rays of light over the horizon and the tent is dark apart from the red glow from the fire. I am carefully pulled from my dreamless sleep and instantly recognize Raymond’s chest against my back, his breath warm against my neck and his unmistakable hardness pressed against my naked skin. At first I wonder if he is experiencing a dream, but when his hand glides over my stomach and down my thigh I no longer doubt that he is awake. My dizzy mind tries to fathom his actions; Raymond has never woken me for lusty moments before and the way he caresses me makes me shiver with delight. His calloused hand teases my skin while his short beard scratches my shoulder and his teeth scrape my skin when he gives me a possessive bite.

As his hand finally reaches the softness between my thighs, I let out a weak moan and part my legs just enough to give him a little more room.

“You have become such an obedient voleuse,” Raymond rasps into my ear. His fingers slip easily between my folds, and he grunts as I dare to lean against him. “This belongs to me,” he mutters as he gently circles his fingers deep inside me. I try to be quiet as he crooks his fingers just the right way, but he knows far too well how to play my sleepy body so it suits his interest.

“Give the guard something to dream about, let him hear you.” Raymond continues and my cheeks burn as I think of the poor man outside, who can most certainly hear my filthy noises. But I know it pleases Raymond, and when he is pleased, I get rewarded. So I do not hold back. After teasing me beyond sanity, he abruptly removes his fingers, and I whimper at the loss. I was so close and Raymond knew it. If I could, I would have cursed at him.

With a deep groan, he takes his hot spear in his hand, adjusts himself, and without even giving me a moment to brace myself, he forces his thick length all the way to the bottom of my aching womanhood. I cry out and his raw chuckle reminds me of how much he enjoys this. When he moves, I feel every inch of him, but he is more gentle when he is lying on his side. His large hand closes over my breast and he holds me in something that feels like an embrace. In this position, his thrusts are slow and deep and the sensation both arouses and confuses me. He must be just as sleepy as I am, why else would he take me like this and not on my back, or his personal favorite, the position which gives him the most control over me; on my stomach with my head held down into the furs. Raymond rocks his hips against me and his massive girth is in a way easier to handle like this, but at the same time, the slow movements make my core burn in the most sensual way. When he suddenly withdraws, I almost beg him to continue, but I press my lips tightly together, to prevent such words slipping from me. I feel his hand between our bodies, teasing me with his hard shaft and when the thick head brushes over my rear opening, I hold my breath.

“It has been several full moons since I used you this way.” I bite my lip at his words. Raymond has different ways of taking what he wants from me, and a few times he has preferred an even more barbaric style. The first time I was shocked, but as with everything else the cruel knight has done to me, my body accepted and great pleasure followed.

He pushes through my folds again, this time with a more determined pace. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness and with one hand he holds me close as the climb towards relief starts again. I know what he wants and he knows how to get it, and with a combination of harsh words and praise he has me trembling in his grip. Raymond finally climaxes with a hoarse moan and he pulls the deepest cry of relief from me as I shatter around him. We both gasp for air, but he does not let me go as he usually does as soon as he has emptied his load. Instead he rests behind me, lets his breathing calm down against my shoulder, and when he eventually slides out of me, it is with a deep, satisfied sigh. For the first time, he seems to hesitate, but then he rolls away from me and pulls the blanket over his body. I should join him and go back to sleep, but my mind refuses to rest. Raymond’s odd behavior occupies my thoughts, making sleep impossible. And then there is that remark which I try my best to not think of.

“It has been several full moons since I used you this way.”

The first time he parted from his familiar routine was when he found out that my body followed the phases of the moon. When the moon is full, my body twists in pain and colors my hands red when I wash myself. Deep in my heart, I know what he says is true: there have been full moons without pain, no boiling of a red stained cloth over the fire and certainly no delusional dreams that often follow in the footsteps of my monthly suffering. The meaning of his words sends cold, unpleasant shivers down my spine, and the anxious beating of my heart keeps me awake until the birds wake to perform their morning serenade.

A few mornings later, I stare, devastated, at my breakfast which left my stomach not long after I finished it. Nausea tears me apart from the inside, and I can no longer ignore my suspicions. As I do my best to clean myself up, I map the signs my mind did its best to make me forget. With a tortured sigh, I lay down on the bed while the whole world is spinning fast around me. The tent seems to close in on me and I shut my eyes to protect myself from my blurry vision. It can’t be true!

Eventually, the dizziness and the nausea stop and I manage to sit up. With a clouded mind, I realize that I have a long time to go before the next meal is served. But I shall not complain, I have lived through worse. Hunger is not an uncommon feeling for me. I have seen and felt all the stages of starvation.

It started with the passing of my father. Everything was arranged for me, I was to marry the son of one of my father’s newest acquaintances, a man I knew nothing about and had no interest in learning to love. I only saw him once, but that was enough to have me running in another direction. The man’s dead, pale eyes were something I knew I would never grow accustomed to. If my father had been in good health, I am sure he would have turned the offer down, but he wanted to secure my future. May the Lord forgive me, I did not stay to see his body being lowered down into his grave. From that day I was a free woman, but far away from my roots, I soon discovered that life was hard for a loner.

My father was never rich, but as a simple tradesman, he saw wealth in different things. The old woman next to our home wrinkled her nose in a displeased grimace every time she heard me repeat the foreign words my father taught me. Apparently it was highly unseemly but I greedily learned it all, for as my father’s only child, I wanted to make him proud. He, in turn, raised me both like a daughter and a son.

Sadly, I have no memories of my mother. She died while bringing me into this world and my father never spoke of her. I always assumed that his grief was more than he could bear, and that it shortened his life. What I learned about men and women before I ran away from what was left of my home, I learned from the old lady. With time I realized that the truth was far from her terrifying stories, clearly told to scare me and keep me untouched. I was not inexperienced when Raymond forced himself upon me, but until then I had never been with a man not of my choosing.

I curse the day I saw him from afar, entering the river, naked. His belongings lay on a large rock, the decorations on the hilt of his sword and dagger glittered in the sun, and as he dived under the water and swam further from the bank, I made a dangerous decision. With haste I approached the rock, grabbed the dagger, then turned and fled. It was the opportunity that made me a thief. I did not plan to steal from the Baron’s son, but the temptation and the protection the dagger would give me was greater than the knowledge of how wrong it was. Besides, Raymond was never meant to find out and I trusted that my feet were fast enough. I had not counted on meeting his closest man in the outskirts of the forest, but Dugald did not say anything, he simply looked briefly at me. It took a long while before I understood that they had figured out what had happened to the dagger, and more importantly, in what direction I was running.

Tears sting in my eyes and I bite hard on my knuckles to prevent myself from crying. I had been so close to getting away. If I only had stayed in the forest and not tried to reach the other side of the beach. The memory of Raymond’s ferocious look when he pulled me from the water will never leave me. He has always been frightening, even if the many nights in his bed have taken the edge of the worst fear. I know most of his temperamental moves and have accepted the fact that his heated body is keeping me pleasantly warm at night. Even so, I still dread what will happen when he gets tired of me. Will he let me go, or will he give me to his men for their loyal services?

In the following days, I become even more sure of my catastrophic state. The pattern repeats itself and it is only the pure fear of Raymond finding out that stops me from collapsing at his feet when I help him with his armor in the morning. I am no oblivious maiden, I know very well what grows inside me. Thankfully, the period with nausea passes quickly and my strength returns to me, but the worry in my heart grows stronger every day. I do not know how long it will take before Raymond can see the changes my body is preparing itself to undergo.

Late at night, while he sleeps calmly with his arm around me, I go over my options again. I cannot tell him, it will only result in tragedy. I highly doubt he will set me free, so I fear he will send the child away after it is born. Or worse. Even if I do not face the same faith as my unfortunate mother, I will never see my son or daughter in their eyes, Raymond will certainly make sure of that. While I suppress a whimper, I think of the only thing I can do to save both myself and the little life I secretly carry. I need to escape, there must be a way, and I do not have much time.

With spring comes more light and longer days gives me even more time alone. Raymond’s duties keep him away from the encampment for increasingly longer periods and I can only guess that it will continue this way. I need to act. I cannot sit and wait any longer. When the time comes, I will take the leap, but if I hesitate, I will never be free from his tight grip. Raymond told me after our first night that I was not allowed to touch the opening in the tent and so far I have not dared to disobey him.

My hands tremble as I carefully peek out from the tent the first time. Outside the landscape is bursting with colors. The sun is shining from a clear blue sky and I need to shield my eyes for a while before I gaze up and see the large black birds circling above the encampment. They seem to play a game with rules known only to them and their excited cries travel far. My gaze comes to rest on the treeline where life is returning to the old and sturdy beeches and fair green leaves rustle in the wind. Everything around us is reborn, only the muddy path between the tents bear the memory of the long and hard winter. No wonder Raymond’s boots are always covered in dirt.

Suddenly, I spot a small caravan emerging from the forest and I instantly recognize Raymond on his horse. Tall and broad, he stands out among the men in armor. Some of his men are walking behind him and then follows a cart, accompanied by a smaller group of men. They do not appear to be soldiers and my curiosity makes me stand completely still next to the small opening in the tent. As they come closer I frown. The men are dressed as monks. What is a group of monks doing here?

As they come closer, I can see their faces clearly and some of them look nervous. A young novice walks beside an unsettling looking man dressed in white. He reminds me of Raymond’s distrustful squire and I shiver with discomfort. When the men approach, it is obvious that they are heading towards the Baron’s tent. Raymond turns his head just as his horse carries him by and for a short moment it feels like he can see me. I gasp and take a step back. My heart races and my stomach transforms into a hard knot. What if he did? I have broken a rule and now I fear his punishment.

That evening, the laughter and shouting never seem to end. The newcomers have clearly woken the fire in the Baron de Merville and I hear his voice louder than I ever have. I can tell by the noise that he is not skimping on his fine wine, and when I finally fall asleep, the night by the fire is far from over.

Raymond is drunk when he returns, far worse than he has ever been. His shouting at the guard wakes me and to not upset him further, I throw myself out of bed, ready to assist him. As I methodically help him to undress, layer after layer, his mood seems to soften. When I place the final piece of his armor in its place on the bench, he suddenly pulls me close. There is a dark heat in his eyes, but also something else. Eagerly, he covers my lips with his and kisses me roughly. His tongue demands access to my mouth and I obey, unable to protest. The kiss is raw and filled with carnal needs, nothing like the kisses I have received previously in my life. He tastes of wine and tobacco and when his fingers dig into the skin on my back, I whimper into his mouth. He groans in response but then, without a warning, he releases me.

”You drive me crazy sometimes, ma petite voleuse.”

Then he stumbles resolutely to bed, motions for me to follow and when I do, he pulls me close again. Soon his heavy snoring fills the tent and I do not dare to move. He must have been both more exhausted after a day in the saddle and much more drunk than I first assumed. The warmth from his body makes me sleepy and when I drift back to sleep again, it is with the taste of him on my lips.

”Sire Raymond!” The unfamiliar voice outside the tent wakes us both. A low curse is heard from Raymond as he pushes himself up to a seated position.

”Sire Raymond, le Baron exige votre présence!”

Raymond groans and smacks the frame of the bed.

"J'arrive sous peu!" he then roars back and I flinch beside him. His temper is showing its worst side today. Raymond rises from the bed, stretches his body and for a short while I cannot stop myself from admiring his muscular back and strong thighs.

”You are forgetting your duties, voleuse.” His voice is hard, as if he needs to remind me of my place after the kiss last night. ”Do not make me wait.”

I rush out of bed and hurry to grab his first layer of clothes. Since it became warmer he never lets me get dressed before he takes his leave so I stand before him naked, and for some reason, I feel more exposed than ever. I know he cannot possibly see any change in my body, but when his tired eyes roam my body, I involuntarily hold my breath. He lifts his hand and to my great surprise, he cups my cheek.

”Be good,” he mutters and when I meet his gaze, he gently runs his thumb over my lower lip. With a grunt, he then storms out of the tent, leaving me breathless and confused. It felt like a goodbye.

I dress and finish the few tasks I have invented for myself, in order to have something to do during the day. When I am done, I suddenly become aware of how quiet it is. The usual shouting and all the other noises belonging to life in the encampment are silenced, as if a storm has swept over the tents and erased all living things. Not even the dogs are barking.

I peek out in the gap by the opening and the scene at the far end of the encampment is something I have never witnessed before in my life. All the men are gathered, including Raymond and Baron de Merville, and they are all down on one knee with their heads worshipfully bowed. Only one man is standing; the monk in white.

I take a few steps back while my brain is processing what I just saw. Then I look back out again. All of the men, with their backs against me, even the guards. Even my guard. The monk seems absorbed by the ritual he is performing and— Then it hits me. This is it. This is the moment I have been waiting for. Praying for. In the blink of an eye, I swiftly grab the blanket from the bed, fold it sloppily and tucks it under my arm. I ignore the scent of Raymond, captured in the fabric, for I know it will make me hesitate. Instead I picture the treeline behind the tent, I know it is not far. It is now or never. With a hammering heart, I slip out of the tent and make it undiscovered to the backside. Still no sound from the crowd. I breathe through my nose, trying to calm myself down. My whole body is trembling with fear but I take one final look over my shoulder and then I do it. I run. For my life.

A part of me expects turmoil behind me, but I reach the forest without even a raised voice from the group of men. As I continue to run, as fast as I can, I think of the monk in white. I wonder if he saw me. It is possible, since he was the only one facing my way. But if he witnessed my escape, he did not say anything out loud. Maybe he understood. Or maybe a desperate, fleeing woman was not important enough for him to stop the Mass he was celebrating.

I do not dare to take the road over old farmer Byrne’s fields. The risk of being seen when he is out with his mare is too big. For the right price, or simply out of fear, he will tell Raymond or his men anything they want to know, if they come by and ask him. Old Byrne is a gentle soul but I do not dare to try my luck at his house again.

When our paths crossed, several summers ago, he was kind enough to give me shelter and in return I worked on the fields. I was used to hard work and the quiet life on the small farm suited me. Most of the harvest went directly to Baron de Merville. In return, Byrne received a few silver pennies and protection. It was during one of our many deliveries, I saw Raymond the first time. His gaze was merciless as he barked out orders from the back of his horse, and Dugald was silently waiting next to him. I averted my eyes before Raymond could pierce me with his stare and I let out a sigh of relief when he urged his beautiful horse forward and rode away from the encampment.

I choose the opposite direction, with unknown terrain but less risk of exposing myself. My naked feet stumble over rocks and treacherous roots, I slide down steep paths and low hanging branches scratch my face as if to mark me as a con. But I have already paid for my crime with my body and it has to end. Today. So I keep pushing myself forward even though my lungs burn in my chest. The air is fresh in the forest, no smoke from the fire and no stench from animals or humans pollute the surroundings. I can taste the freedom and it fills me with strength. This time I will make it. My life can start again. Our lives.

Far off in the distance, I suddenly hear dogs barking.

💙 If you like my writing, please consider spreading the love and reblogging.💙

Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @enchantzz @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @kibleedibleedoo @mariannetora @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra @rachel1959 @knittastically @jaskierthelover @quiall321 @medusas-hairband @fulltimecrazy @s0ftd3m0n @emrfangirl @glimmering-darling-dolly

Let me know if you want to be added or removed.

[linasofia]

Petite Voleuse

Epilogue

Fandom: Pilgrimage

Relationship: Raymond de Merville x OC

A/N: The epilogue to Petite Voleuse. You can find all chapters here.

I look into his expressive steel blue eyes. His dark hair is unruly and a smile spreads over his face as he takes my hand. He knows so well how to get what he wants and my love for him makes my resilience falter when he sticks his hand in mine and squeezes it. I wish for him to be happy, to never doubt that he is loved and even if I have very little, I want him to have everything.

”Can I go and play in the woods?” Ciaran repeats his question and this time I nod and his smile explodes in a warm contagious giggle.

”Be home before the sun sets,” I remind him and he nods.

”I promise.”

Then he is gone, with the speed of lightning, and I return to my evening duties. He is a good boy, and the farmer is kind to him, letting him only do less heavy work so he still has energy left to play with the farmer’s son.

I am not proud of the things I had to do to survive, to get here, but when I finally found a farm who took me in, there was no point in trying to hide my state.

When the trees surrounding the farm appeared to be on fire, I gave birth to my son with the help of the farmer’s wife, and I will forever be grateful that she was by my side that night. We bonded during the late hours and I do not think I would have made it, if it was not for her.

Ciaran is so full of life and he seems happy, but sometimes I can tell that his thoughts travel far, despite his young age. When he asks about his father, I always repeat the same made up story about a loving husband, who was a brave soldier, but died by the sword of an enemy. He loves to hear how brave his father was and I suppose that part of the story is true. The real story, he must never know. It is with a small pain in my chest I think of how much my son resembles Raymond. The color of his eyes and their shape are identical to Raymond’s. His hair is the same dark shade and Ciaran is already taller than most boys his age. The day he becomes a grown man, I hope he does not break a young woman’s heart.

Deep inside, I still fear that Raymond will somehow find me, even if I am far away from him now. He sometimes visits me in my sleep and my vivid dreams make it harder to forget, but time has made the wounds less sore. During early mornings, when the sun rises and paints the sky pink, I even allow myself to think fondly of him. The kiss he gave me and the gentle caress that followed was the last time he touched me. I still have not figured out what feelings he hid in the depth of his eyes that morning and maybe I never will. I cannot help wondering what happened to him. Did he search for me when he discovered I was gone? Did he stay in the area or was he sent out on yet another mission by his father? It feels strange to not know if he is dead or alive, but for every autumn that passes, its significance decreases. I am free.

💙 If you like my writing, please consider spreading the love and reblogging.💙

Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @enchantzz @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @kibleedibleedoo @mariannetora @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra @rachel1959 @knittastically @jaskierthelover @quiall321 @medusas-hairband @fulltimecrazy @s0ftd3m0n @emrfangirl @glimmering-darling-dolly

Let me know if you want to be added or removed.

[linasofia]

Petite Voleuse

Part 4

Fandom: Pilgrimage

Summary: When stealing something of great value and importance from a man like Raymond de Merville you never could have foreseen how your life would change.

Words: 2,5K

Warnings: 18+, smut, verbal abuse, non-con

A/N: This is the fourth part of this fic. You can read the previous parts here.

French Ma petite voleuse - My little thief Tu t'es languie de moi? - Did you languish for me?

Special thanks to @lathalea & @legolasbadass! 💙

The days gradually become shorter, the sun seems shy, and the nights carry an icy wind from the sea. The full moon must have shed its pale light over the encampment at least two times since I first saw it on the night I was fettered to the pole, but it is hard to follow the changes in the environment when every day in my canvas cage is the same. My life follows a strict routine, forced upon me by the man whose moody temper and raw treatments I have grown accustomed to. I wake up, often before he does, assist him when he gets dressed, then I spend the day alone with only my thoughts as a distraction. At night, he returns to take out his frustration, anger or, on rare occasions, his excitement, on me. Afterwards, we both come to rest, drained of the last drops of energy as a result of the intense climax, but I always fall asleep with mixed feelings in my chest. The first nights I spent in his bed were torture; I felt like I was sleeping on a bed filled with thorns. But lately, I often wake up with his arm draped around my waist. If I, in those moments, close my eyes and try to forget where I am, his unconscious embrace feels almost pleasant.

One morning when I slip out of bed after Raymond, the cold in the tent is worse than usual. I cannot stop my body from shivering when I hand him the different pieces of armor, and the sensitive skin on my breasts stands guard under his piercing gaze. For some reason, he usually lets me be in the morning. His lust peaks during the night, and like a beast, he likes to satisfy his darkest needs in the shadows, where the light from the flickering fire does not reach. The bed is always partly illuminated and a relatively safe place to be. It is when he drags me to one of the thick, steady poles holding the canvas over our heads that I know the night will be long and my skin will ache the following morning.

When I place Raymond’s cloak over his shoulders, he suddenly reaches for me and lets his warm hands travel over my cold skin. I try not to lean closer to him, for his touch is more gentle than before, and my body seeks his warmth without my consent. I force my teeth to stop chattering as I meet his gaze, and for a second, he looks like he is about to say something. Then he abruptly turns away from me, and his groan hangs in the air while the opening to the tent closes behind him. I throw myself back into bed and pull the blanket and the extra fur up to my nose, desperate to feel what remains of the warmth from the night. The blanket smells of Raymond, and I close my eyes. His musky scent is no longer something I want to scrub off my skin as soon as I can, and I have accepted it as part of my life now, for as long as he deems necessary.

The young man who brings me food announces his arrival later than expected and he enters with a quick glance in my direction. I have not spoken to him since my failed attempt to plead for help and I have no desire to. He places the bowl on the table, then reaches inside his pocket and pulls out a small box. After he puts the little dark wooden box next to the bowl, he turns to me.

”I bring something of value to you.” He pats the box.

I peek at the item and then instinctively pull the blanket tighter to my body. I do not like the tone in his voice. He is a snake, but I do not dare to tell him that.

”I did not accept your offer,” I whisper, afraid he will come for his payment. His greedy eyes roam the blanket as if he seeks to catch a glimpse of my naked skin.

”You could have got it sooner if you had accepted. Sadly, for me, I was told to bring you this.” Disappointment fills his voice and I stare at him in disbelief.

”By who?” I lower my gaze as soon as I realize I have said too much. It is not my place to ask questions. But the young man does not take the opportunity to reprimand me. Instead he answers ”Sire Raymond himself.”

With one last long stare at me, he finally leaves me alone, and as soon as I am certain he will not return, I jump out of bed to open the box. My porridge can wait. I hold my breath as I open the lid with trembling fingers. A gasp falls from my lips and tears well up in my eyes over this gift that to many is not much, but to me is the whole world; inside the box is a thin needle and thread. I can finally repair my dress. It will at least keep me a little warmer and I will not have to endure the humiliation of being in bed or wrapped in a blanket every time my food is delivered. I close the lid and grab the bowl but when I take the spoon I see another great surprise. Someone has poured generous drops of the sweetest nectar in the forest over the porridge: wild honey. I do not know why I suddenly have been given this treat, but I can only think of one person ordering it, and reluctantly, I send a grateful thought to Raymond.

I eat in a hurry, eager to do something meaningful with my time, and the meal is even more filling than usual. As always,I scrape the bowl empty, careful not to miss any drops of honey. When I am done I place the bowl back on the table and pick up my dress that has been resting on a small stool ever since the night Raymond brutally tore it apart. I run my hand over the stained fabric. Finally I can look forward again. Hope rises in my chest, and I permit myself to dream of the wind playing with my hair and caressing my cheeks as I walk over endless green fields.

It is very late when Raymond returns, and the familiar sounds from the men by the fire have almost died. The day’s impressions and tensions are making me tired but as soon as I hear Raymond’s booming voice outside, my heart beats faster and fills my body with adrenaline. I hold my head a little higher when I step forward to greet him, wearing my dress with the long, almost invisible, seam in the front. Without a word, he starts to undress, layer by layer, and I assist him in tense silence. Only his tunic remains when I allow myself to glance at his face. Even if I know what to expect from him, I still jump when he grabs me by the throat. His thumb caresses my skin, and his eyes shift to the same colors as the flickering fire. If I had not seen it before, I would have been terrified of the dark look in his eyes. When his other hand travels over the worn linen fabric, a cruel smile forms on his lips.

”This dress reminds me of the first time I took you.” His grip around my neck tightens, and I feel my pulse drumming at my temples. ”I did not plan to keep you in my bed this long but you turned out to be much more enjoyable than I thought.” He leans in close to me, and his breath fans my cheek as he purrs something I do not understand in an alluring tone I have never heard him use. Then his grip on my throat tightens even more, and small stars appear before my eyes. I place my hand on his forearm in a wordless plea for release.

”Ma petite voleuse, I know you enjoy this too.” His voice drips with lust. The bastard is right; my body hums in tune with his harsh treatment, and I cannot ignore the effect his voice has on me.

“I will spare your dress tonight,” he murmurs as he grabs one of my sleeves and pulls until the fabric glides down and exposes my bare shoulder. “If you want to keep it in this condition you will take it off whenever I want you to. If you hesitate or refuse, I will rip it off your body again.”

I nod, and the pressure around my neck slowly fades away. Feeling the ground sway under my feet, I gasp for air and wonder if the day will come when his grip will cause me to faint. It has come close at times and he seems to enjoy all types of control over my body. Maybe this is what he refers to as another type of punishment. Raymond takes a step back and folds his arms over his chest. His lips form a grin, and without taking his eyes from my cleavage, he rasps a single word: “Undress.”

I swallow hard; my throat feels sore after his tight grip but not worse than it has been before, it will pass before the night is over. Before his eyes, I lift the dress and pull it over my head. I do not leave it on the floor, but instead I fold it and put it on the stool. The fabric is more than just a dress, it now symbolises hope and deserves to be treated accordingly. When I meet Raymond’s ravenous gaze, he nods at the bed. He does not need to use words. I understand what he expects from me.

I lie back on the bed and watch Raymond put another log on the fire. His strong shoulders flex in the warm light as he pulls off his tunic and when he steps up to the bed, I stop breathing. Raymond truly has the body of a warrior and I can only imagine how skilled and ruthless he is with his sword in battle. Feral hunger fills his eyes when he takes in my naked body, spread out on his bed, on his command, and my vulnerability is once again reminding me of his superior strength and power. With the unmistakable confidence of a knight, he covers my body with his and pins me to the bed. Obediently, I spread my legs for him and the shame and lust wash over me in an intoxicating combination. I feel his impressive spear press against me but he does not enter me at once.

”Tu t'es languie de moi?” he groans in my ear and when I do not answer him, he forces my knees even further apart. I put up enough resistance to make him use his strength and I know it gives him satisfaction. His moan turns to a raw chuckle when his fingers reach between my thighs. ”I know you have.”

I whimper when he adjusts himself and with a deep thrust he buries his spear in my heat. Even if I am stretched around Raymond’s massive girth every night, I still struggle initially to adjust to his size. But soon enough my body gives in and welcomes every movement of his hips.

Raymond is a violent man and sharing his bed involves bruises and soreness, but it also means ferocious peaks of satisfaction when he pushes me beyond my limits. It did not take long before I realized that he finds perverse amusement in my vocals, and the louder I am, both in pleasure and in pain, the more he acknowledges my needs as well. Tonight is no exception and when I fall apart under him, he joins me with a long stream of words that sound more like a curse than praise.

Panting heavily, he heaves himself on his hands while my body still shakes from his intense treatment. Without a word, he stares down at me and I meet his gaze with a growing feeling of anxiousness. He usually takes what he wants from me and then falls asleep. That is much easier to deal with than the current piercing gaze that makes my mouth go dry. Afraid I have done something to displease him, and now have to pay for it in a sinister way, I close my eyes in an attempt to calm myself down. Unexpectedly the thought of his gift appears in my mind and when I remember that I have not yet thanked him for it, I open my eyes again. Maybe it will direct his thoughts in another direction.

”Thank you for the gift this morning,” I say quietly.

Raymond does not answer me but he tilts his head a little to the side and the smallest of smiles briefly dances in the corner of his mouth. It softens the cruel expression on his face, and for once, he looks almost content. But the moment is gone in the blink of an eye. With a grunt he moves to my side and comes to rest on his back. The dark hair on his chest curls when damp, and as he scratches his chest with his large and calloused hand, I cannot stop myself from observing his fingers. Something about his hands is truly appealing, and when the blood is washed from them, they are capable of the most satisfying actions. Raymond pulls the blanket over both of us, but instead of turning away from me as he usually does, he stays on his back and tucks one arm under his head. It feels more intimate to lie like this, and sleep will not come easy to me. my mind tries to process the staggering day and night. I watch the look on his face soften and it becomes clear that Raymond clearly does not share my problem with sleeping because his chest heaves with every deep breath he takes and an aura of calmness surrounds him. Have you missed me? His question finds its way to my consciousness and occupies my mind. I want to shout ”NO!” to his face, but lately I have felt more excitement than fear when he towers over my naked body. Do I miss him or is it just my miserable loneliness that plays tricks on my brain? If we had met under different circumstances, how would my feelings towards him have been? The most important question makes me anxious and it is the question I try to run away from; will I miss him the day I slip unnoticed from his grip?

Did you like it? Please like, comment or/and reblog! ❤️

Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @enchantzz @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @kibleedibleedoo @mariannetora @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra @rachel1959 @knitastically @jaskierthelover @quiall321 @medusas-hairband

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed.

[linasofia]

WIP game. Horse?

Hi @enchantzz,

This is from a new fic I'm writing for my favorite bad boy Raymond de Merville. (🥵) The first chapter is almost ready…😉

The wind tore at their cloaks, and the horses’ manes whipped angrily from one side to the other.

Thanks for the ask! 💜