A HIGHLAND TALE
BY LEELEE AND SEEKERONE
RATING: 17+ for the whole series. This Chapter is fairly clean.
CATEGORY: Sc/Sk, Mulder/O, and then who knows?
Comments:  Thanks to Cat for her insights and beta!
Summary: Skinner and Scully try to find a very lost Mulder
WARNING: This is a working copy with only two chapters finished.
Which means that we have no idea in what direction this adventure
will lead us. The pairings and content may (and probably will) change
as we go along. So please do not archive until we post the completed
version. One thing that we are sure of is that you should not
starting reading this series if ANY of the past subject matter of any
of our stories has ever offended you, that includes kinky sex,
bondage, spanking and so on. Don't trust us to make this overly
polite and mushy.
By posting this as a WIP we are asking any input you can give. If you
like it please, please send us a note, include any wild thoughts you
may have, and help out. clueseek@swbell.net Viceyy@aol.com

Chapter 1

Why had she turned the heat off before she went to bed last night,
Scully wondered. She was freezing. Her body felt drugged, so heavy
with the sleep that even opening her eyes was a chore. Deep sleep
like this had eluded her so often lately that she tried to ignore the
fact that she was shivering and fall back under its spell. But it
wouldn't work. Her bed felt hard and lumpy. Snuggling into the covers
didn't help. There didn't seem to be any covers. The sleepiness was
fading slowly and with every beat of her heart, her bed felt harder
and colder.

Waking completely, she squeaked in surprise to find herself staring
into a pair of small brown eyes about six inches from hers. She and
the squirrel both jumped. The creature ran about three feet up the
nearest tree trunk and flicked its tail as it chattered at her.

What the hell? Scully shook her head in disbelief as she looked
around. She wasn't in her bed. She wasn't even in her apartment. She
was lying on bare ground. She was naked. Above her were tall trees.
Their leaves a riot of fall colors. Between the branches peeked a
startlingly blue sky.

She breathed in the earthy smell of dirt and growth and rotting
foliage and lay perfectly still. All her energies on controlling the
shivers of her body and blending into the stillness around her. She
didn't want to move. She wanted to go back to sleep and ignore this
extremely bizarre dream. But she couldn't. The fact was she was
outside, in some type of a forest and she seemed to have forgotten
her clothes.

What the hell had happened to her?

Closing her eyes tightly, she tried to feel every part of her body.
Doing a mental inventory of her parts and pieces. Had she been
attacked? She couldn't feel any injury other than a soreness that
could have come from lying on the hard ground too long.

Had she been raped? She tightened her legs at the thought. No.
Considering how long it had been she would be able to recognize that
pain right away.

She heard a moan from somewhere beside her and her eyes flew open.
Turning her head to the side, she jumped up to a defensive crouch
only to quickly recognize the nude body sprawled out near her.

Walter Skinner, her boss, was flat on his stomach naked and
apparently unconscious. All her protective instincts kicked in and
forgetting her exposed state she leaped over to him to see if he was
all right.

She gently touched his neck.  There was a strong but slightly slow
carotid pulse beneath her fingers, however his skin felt cool to her
touch.  She couldn't find any blood or signs of other injuries and he
didn't seem to have any obvious broken bones.

Okay. Let's get a second opinion here from the expert, she thought as
she sighed in relief.  She shook his shoulder to wake him and
whispered "A.D. Skinner. Sir, wake up," in a voice hoarse from
disuse.

He rolled over and groaned. His nude body stretching out on the
ground. Opening his eyes a fraction to see her concerned face above
his. She held her breath when he gave her a sleepy smile and
stretched his arms up to hold her. It was such an amazing sight. But
then the reality of their situation started to register. Looking
around at their surroundings and then down at his nude body, the
horror on his face matched her own.

"Agent Scully! What the hell.. Where are we?"

They both looked around in amazement then back at each other. Staring
at their nakedness only until they both, as if on cue, look away in
embarrassment.

The only comforting thought she could come up with was that who ever
had done this, seemed to be long gone. She looked around for tire
prints in the soft earth.  Nothing. Not even a trace of a footstep.

It was almost as though the forest around them was a virgin one. It
was as though the forest around them was a virgin one, full of bird
sounds and the squirrel that was busily burying an acorn under a pile
of leaves.  The branches of the impossibly huge trees kept out most
of the meager sun. They couldn't be that far from DC, maybe in one of
the National Parks?

She wrapped her arms around herself and fought the incessant
shivering. It felt like it was getting colder by the second.

"Okay. What's the last thing you remember?" Skinner's voice was
hushed. As though the people who did this to them could overhear. He
sat up and crossed his arms over his chest matching the protective
pose she had taken.

She looked around again warily. Trying so hard to remember. "The
Marston think tank." She finally answered. "We were walking down a
corridor and you opened the door to the main lab. Remember?"

"Yeah." Skinner answered, looking intently into her eyes. Without his
glasses, his eyes appeared intense enough to bore through her
body. "I had just gotten in an argument with Dr. Feld. He had told us
to go to the lab if we wanted to and stormed off. But then what?"

The memory of Dr. Feld's bizarre anger at their questions about his
work and then walking beside her boss down the long hallway was
clear. But then it became all jumbled. Flashing lights and the odd
smell and taste of ozone in her mouth. A helpless feeling of falling
and not being able to catch her breath -- then nothing.

They sat silently on the forest floor for a while. "We were drugged,"
she said at last. "Had to be. They stripped and dumped us out here
hoping we'll die of exposure."

The thought brought a clutch of terror to her chest. Not for herself
or Skinner, but for her partner. Mulder had been missing almost a
week. If the Lone Gunman were right, and he had been investigating
Feld, then odds were that this was how he ended up -- cold, alone and
dumped in this forest without a stitch of clothing to protect him.

Her body began to shake even harder and looking at Skinner, the
worried expression on his face indicated he might be thinking the
same thing.  Would they find Mulder dead? She fought the feelings of
horror and panic she felt.

Skinner rubbed his hands up and down his arms. Looking around he
finally cleared his throat and said, "Look, where ever we are, we
need to find water and kind of some shelter before it gets dark. Then
we can start looking for Mulder"

Scully nodded numbly in agreement as she crouched lower to the ground
and tried to warm her legs with her arms

Skinner was already up and walking around on unsteady legs peering at
the ground as though looking for any tracks that would show in which
direction Feld had left after dumping them here. But she knew he
would find nothing. No tracks. No disturbances in the piles of leaves
that had fallen down from the tall trees. Nothing, even the squirrel
had vanished.

She pulled her knees up and hugged them close to her chest. Hiding
her face at the improbable sight of her boss walking around nude in
front of her.

They would have to find their own way out. And quickly.

"Scully, there's a little creek over here," Skinner called. "Damn,
it's cold as  ice water," he muttered as the water dripped from his
hands.

"Sir, for god's sake, don't drink it.  You know about the pollution
in National Forests. There's no telling what's in there," Scully
warned as she got up and stumbled toward him.

"Is that where you think we are? A national park?" His look was
politely skeptical.

Scully just looked at him blankly, daring him to come up with any
other less reasonable idea.

"Anyway, dehydration's a bigger risk than contaminated water, right
now," was his gruff comment.

Scully bit her lip as she watched sunlight bounce off the water
droplets dripping down his chest.  Focus on the problem, Dana, she
scolded herself. She stooped down to scoop up a hand full of water
herself.  It was so cold; it almost hurt to drink.  But Skinner was
right.  They couldn't risk dehydration and they certainly had nothing
to carry water in.

When she thought she couldn't drink any more, she turned to get up
and came face to face with Skinner's crotch. Jesus! She had to get
home safely if only to tell Kim that their girls' room speculation
had been true. Hurriedly glancing up, she saw Skinner watching her.
Do something. Say something. Quick, she thought.

"That way," she said firmly as she pointed downstream.  "We'll try
and follow the water.  It should lead us to civilization, sooner or
later."

Skinner just stared at her a moment before nodding.  By unspoken
agreement, he walked ahead. Survival instincts had kicked in quickly
and they walked briskly through the forest. She knew he was walking
in front of her to protect her modesty and was glad for it. In return
she tried very hard not to ogle his sculpted muscular back and firm
ass.

The chill quickly destroyed any curiosity she had about his body.
Despite the fast pace they were taking, she still felt even colder
with every passing moment. Thoughts of dying of exposure in the dark
forest kept her short gait up with his much longer one. But there
just didn't seem to be anything but more dark forest. More tall
trees. More natural odors and the occasional scurrying noise coming
from the piles of dry leaves. But no signs of civilization.  No
discarded beer cans.  No cigarette butts.  Not even a reminder from
the National Park Service about not feeding the animals.

She made Skinner rest only twice in spite of the fact that her bare
feet hurt. Once after the first hour when she had painfully stubbed
her toe on a large rock and once again a few hours later when she
felt she would cry from the cold. She was beyond caring about their
nakedness at that point. Skinner sat down beside her and held her
close. No body warmth could be shared though. He felt like ice
against her equally cold skin. It was the image of them being found
like this, dead and frozen and clutching one another in a hopeless
attempt to stay alive, that pulled her back to her feet at his gentle
prodding.

Chivalry was lost on his part and she was beyond caring as they
bumped into each other's near-hypothermic bodies like drunks and
continued to walk as best they could. They began to leave a trail of
muddy, bloody footprints on the rough path from the cuts and bruises
on their feet.

She felt a sob stuck in her throat at the hopelessness of the
situation. Her legs were about to give out and she would then beg
Skinner to go on with out her knowing he would refuse.

They came across the hut so suddenly that they both wasted precious
moments staring at it in shock. Finally Skinner grabbed her arm in a
firm grip and with surprising strength, managed to propel them
through the animal hide covered opening.

He started to yank the hide down to cover their freezing bodies, but
then he stopped and looked at a branch that was shoved into the log
wall. A plaid blanket hung from it and he yanked it down to cover her
with. He found another one in the corner tucked in what looked like a
handmade basket of coarse linens. Wrapping it around him, they both
savored the meager warmth and looked around at the structure in the
remaining dim light.

Rustic didn't quite describe it, Scully thought. It looked like the
hut of some kind of hermit. The walls were rough-hewn logs with
either dark mud or pitch pressed into the cracks. The floor was hard
packed dirt. The only furniture was a crude table and a bench made
from a split log. Two piles of straw took up the rest of the small
structure. It smelled like the owner kept his livestock inside. There
was another basket near the one with linens. It held some unwashed
turnips and what looked like old crockery. There were carcasses of
small animals hanging from the exposed beams. A large fireplace
against the back wall dominated of the small cabin.

They both rushed toward it when they realized that the ashes were
still giving off small wisps of smoke. Grabbing some of the straw,
Skinner used it as kindling to set the two small logs on fire he
found leaning against the wall.

Within minutes the logs were blazing and for awhile they were too
intent on rubbing the feeling back into their hurt and dirty feet to
question their good luck. Without even speaking, Skinner began to
frantically rub her arms and shoulders and she reached up and did the
same for him.

Finally, as if to break the tension Skinner asked, "Think this was
how the Unabomber lived?"

Scully looked at him in bemused wonder.  It took three hours of nude
hiking in the wilderness to bring out her boss's sense of
humor?  "It's got to be some kind of eco-nature freak or hermit.
Would you look at this place?" she responded.

They both looked around at the small structure. Whoever lived there
was either crazy or one of those people who shunned everything about
the modern world. No candles or lamps, just the firelight flickering
in the small room.

"Whoever they are, bathing is not high on their to-do list. This
blanket smells like it belongs to street person." Scully pointed out
with a grimace.

The numbness wearing off, Scully got up and looked in the basket of
linens. It turned out to not be bed linens like she thought. But
rather course linen nightshirts that fell below her knees when she
hurriedly pulled one on and tied it at her throat with a piece of
twine. She wrapped the plaid blanket around herself and threw the end
over her shoulder like a toga. Skinner got up and did the same.
Stripping off the blanket, he looked huge in the tiny cabin. His nude
body seemed to take up even more space than if he were fully dressed.
The nightshirt fit him more snuggly and fell just below his groin.
The blanket was not large enough to do much more than wrap about his
waist. She shook her head and banished a comment about him looking
like Sean Connery. He wouldn't appreciate her levity and she had
always found Sean Connery to be way too sexy to start comparing him
with her boss.

They piled straw close to the fire and laid down as close as they
could to it. The fire on her left and Skinner on her right. Her feet
still felt like ice and she wiggled her toes close to the fire. The
warmth made them ache and looking at Skinner lying next to her she
saw that he was watching her movements and seemed fascinated by her
feet. She wished she had the nerve to snuggle up next to him and get
really warm. Without saying a word, Skinner reached down and took her
feet in one hand. Tucking her cold toes between his legs right above
his knees, he settled back down and closed his eyes. His thighs felt
strong and warm and any embarrassment she felt at the intimate
gesture was quickly forgotten as the after effects of the hypothermia
caused her eyelids to fall shut.

The sun had disappeared and they could hear the night sounds of the
forest even through the sturdy walls.

Someone lived here. Someone who had been here recently, and they
should take turns sleeping and keeping watch for when that person
returns.

Within moments they were both fast asleep.

End of Chapter One

 A HIGHLAND TALE 2/?
BY LEELEE AND SEEKERONE
RATING: NC-17 for the whole series, although this Chapter is probably 
R. 
CATEGORY: Sc/Sk, Mulder/O, and then who knows?
Comments:  Thanks to Cat for her insights and beta!
Summary: The Lady finds The Fox
WARNING: This is a work in progress and develops as we write it. So 
please do not archive until we post the completed version. 
One thing that we are sure of is that you should not starting reading 
this series if ANY of the past subject matter of any of our stories 
has ever offended you, that includes kinky sex, bondage, spanking and 
so on. Early appearances to the contrary, this is not an innocent 
bodice ripper.
By posting this as a WIP we are asking any input you can give. If you 
like it please, please send us a note, include any kinky plot ideas, 
and help out. clueseek@swbell.net Viceyy@aol.com

Chapter 2

The tall dark-haired woman sat in the window embrasure of her solar 
quietly munching a manchet roll and sipping her morning ale. The Lady 
Rhiannon particularly enjoyed this time of day in her keep. The late 
fall sunshine was warm through her sleeping shift.  She glanced 
around her peaceful solar and silently rejoiced that for once, no one 
was waiting to speak with the lady of the manor.

Lady Rhiannon was not particularly beautiful by the standards of her 
times. Her forehead was too high and there were laugh lines around 
her dark eyes. She was an older woman, probably in her forties, but 
still with much of her legendary spirit and all of her equally 
legendary sexuality intact.  

She felt a soft head butt her hand and looked down into the eyes of 
her son, the underage laird of her clan.

"Good morning, Laird Bruce," she teased as she brushed her lips 
across his soft little boy hair. Much like his late father in the 
morning, he grumbled something as reached for a piece of bread. By 
the Blessed Lady, how she missed that man, in her life and in her 
bed.  Her husband had been gone three years, fallen by a Welshman's 
spear during a border raid.  Theirs had been a rare love match and 
now her son was all that remained of him. 

She gathered the boy up in her arms and they both watched the sunrise 
and the castle begin to wake up.

Rhiannon heard her servants stirring in her chamber and knew that her 
day was about to start.  She finished the last of her bread and gave 
her son a hug.  "Even if we dinna have a chaplain right now to teach 
you your letters, young man, I want you to write them this morning.  
Before you go out to the butts for your archery practice, hmmm?"

The innocent nod in response was as far as she got before two of her 
pages burst in the room with some of the hunting hounds.  Lord Bruce 
was off her lap and gone in a flurry of boyish excitement.  

Rhiannon sighed. Her chaplain had died of the bloody flux on St. 
Gannon's Day, three fortnights passed.  God rest Father Bryan's soul, 
and she crossed herself in his memory, but why did he have to die 
now? Her son desperately needed a tutor.  He was eight and it 
wouldn't be that long before he would start taking more 
responsibility in the clan's councils. It wouldn't do for 
him to be as unlettered as any crofter's son. And where could she 
find a tutor in the highlands?

Isabel, one of her late husband's kinsmen, was standing by the 
washbasin with  water and fresh towels.  Rhiannon reluctantly pushed 
off the sun-warmed stone. She knew that the reeve, her steward and a 
dozen others would be awaiting her in the great hall. She frowned 
faintly. Jamie, her Captain of the Guard should be reporting in too.  
If what she suspected had happened last night, he was in for it this 
morning.  

She pulled off her shift and began to wash in the cold water.  
Something puzzled her about Isabel this morning and then she noticed 
the dark marks on the slight blonde's neck.  In a flash of memory, 
she remembered how her late husband used to leave the same marks on 
her neck and how her maids teased her about it.  

"Will now.  Did yer enjoy yerself last night?" she asked with a 
knowing grin as she dried her hands.

Isabel blushed but nodded her head defiantly.  "Aye," she said 
faintly.

"And, if you wind-up with a bairn, will he stand in the church door 
with you?" she asked gently.    Rhiannon had seen too many women 
disgraced and desperate, and the clan system could be cruel if the 
father failed to acknowledge the child.

"Jamie says.." Isabel started.

"Twas Captain Jamie, you were with then?"  Rhiannon cut in.  She 
couldn't say why the idea of her maid and her Captain of the Guard 
bothered her so much.

"O' course not.  He was tupping with the laundress and the scullery 
maid.  But Jamie says that Donald is one of his best men. It would be 
a good alliance for me and . .." Isabel fluttered on about her plans 
with the young clansman, but Rhiannon's mind was elsewhere as she 
tied her kirtle and reached for her gown. Jamie with the laundress 
and the scullery maid? Now, it was her turn to flush as the picture 
her imagination created.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Most of the everyday business of the keep was handled quickly by the 
Lady that morning.  Rhiannon made her decisions and gave her orders 
quietly from the big wooden chair by the fireplace of the great 
hall.  Her servants and clansmen knew better than to challenge her 
decisions.  She was backed by the High Laird, The Bruce himself, and 
usually she was just and fair with her people.  Her steward was 
busily trying to transcribe the accounts and punishments decided that 
morning in the clan's big record book, Rhiannon noticed.  She shook 
her head slightly in despair.  He was a good man, but he was no 
scribe.  May the Holy Virgin Mary have mercy on us, should we ever 
try to find anything in his writing.

Jamie was waiting to approach her, when she gestured for him to stay 
where he was and walked over to him.

"Captain Jamie," she greeted him. He bowed politely in return, his 
hand on the dirk in his belt.  Lord but he was a handsome man she 
thought.  Like her late husband he was taller than she was, a rare 
thing among the men she had known. Grey hair at his temples threading 
through the sable locks, cat green eyes and muscles that came from 
long hours in the practice yard.  If she ever considered another 
serious relationship, but no, she thought.  Not a clansman, much less 
a kinsman.  They wanted too much in response. Marriage. Rights over 
her and her dowry.  Control. Far more than she was willing to give up 
at this point in her life.

"Has the watch been quiet?" she inquired politely as they walked 
through the rushes towards the great door.

"Aye.  We caught a thief stealing from one of the crofter's and he 
awaits your pleasure in the dungeon," was the terse reply.

"He dinna ask for hospitality?" she paused to question in 
puzzlement.  Hospitality was never denied a kinsman.  It was one of 
her responsibilities to her clan.

"Outlander," was the response.

"Ah, well." She would see to the man after she finished her 
inspection of the rest of her keep.

She stopped walking and turned to look up at him. "Your men 
celebrated late and long last night.  My maids have spoken of it."

"No one was forced," he growled.

"That's as maybe.  But my great hall smells like a garderobe," she 
said firmly as she picked up her long trailing skirts.  "If your men 
piss and shit like dogs in the rushes, then just like the kennel boy 
they shall clean it up afterwards."

"You canna mean that?" he looked at her in disbelief.

"I do," came the firm reply.  "Let them work off their drunk by 
sweetening this chamber.  All the soiled straw hauled out to the dung 
heap and fresh put down. And Jamie," she paused to grab the front of 
his tunic.  "If they do it again, by the tears of Our Lady Mother, 
they'll piss sitting down."  

They glared at each other for a moment before she released him. She 
always got a thrill whenever she clashed with her captain. She knew 
the look that came into his hard green eyes well. He was not the type 
of man to back down to anyone and certainly not a mere woman. But he 
was an honorable man who had been devoted to her husband and had 
easily transferred that loyalty to her son. So she knew he would obey 
her in this. 

He bowed stiffly and she watched him stalk away. No, she thought, a 
relationship with Jamie would never work. He had the benefit of his 
sex and she had the benefit of her rank. Two people in their 
positions could never get along. And it just felt too good to have 
him do her bidding.

Rhiannon smiled slightly.  She liked to change the rushes every month 
anyway.  And this way, maybe those roistering drunks would learn a 
lesson. Now for her tour of the rest of the keep.

The day passed quickly.  Since the great hall was being cleaned, 
dinner was served to the lady in her solar. Others ate wherever they 
could.  Lord Bruce and his friends climbed up one of the apple trees 
to enjoy the last of the fall fruit and avoid the necessity of 
practicing their letters. 

Rhiannon was reviewing her responsibilities over the last bit of 
roast pheasant, when she remembered.  The Outlander.  He was probably 
a run away serf, but still, she wanted to see him before he was 
brought to her for judgment.

The guardhouse was quiet she noticed as she walked down the stone 
hallway to the dungeon stairs.  Those men who were left were 
polishing armor and kept their eyes to themselves.  Rhiannon grinned. 
If she knew Jamie, he'd taken a piece out of them for their part of 
the rousting last night, much less the cleaning up.

The dungeon was cold and damp since it was close to the moat.  The 
cells were small and usually empty.  Rhiannon's clan was fairly 
prosperous and she didn't tolerate anything other than the occasional 
border raid.  Even she didn't try to stop that.  It was just a part 
of being a highlander.

Her long over mantle rustled as she paused to light a torch in a near 
by brazier.  Sure enough one cell near the end was locked.  She 
walked that way.

The light from her torch flickered dimly on the man in the cell.  He 
was sprawled out in the straw and Rhiannon caught her breath.  Dear 
St. Margaret, this was no run away villien.  He was obvious tall, 
with long lean limbs like one of her greyhounds. And in spite of the 
bruises, his skin was white and clean where it showed through the 
torn homespun shift.

"You, there," she called in a husky voice.  The man jerked awake and 
the collar pulled against the chain holding him to the wall.  The 
chain's metal links were normal size and not so heavy that he 
couldn't move easily she noted.  Dark brown eyes stared into hazel 
green ones. He swallowed and struggled to his feet.

"I am Lady Rhiannon, keeper of the clan McKinnon until my son comes 
of age.  Who are you and why did you steal from one of my kinsman?"

The man ran his hand distractedly through his hair.  "Uh, well ...my 
lady.  I'm  . .  not from here. I'm sorry about the food and 
clothes.  I'm willing to pay, .. sort of." 

"Pay?" came her skeptical response.

"Well, not exactly pay.  Uh...  I don't have any. . . coins, but I'm 
willing to work.  I can read and write or do labor. But..."

Rhiannon chuckled as she unlocked the cell, "And what would one of my 
crofters want with a clark?  They have no call for papers."  She 
moved forward to stand in front of her prisoner.

"So I discovered when your guards found me," he agreed ruefully as he 
brushed his bloody lip. The chains rattled against the wall.

Rhiannon looked at him closely in the dim light. The features of his 
face very pleasing to her eyes. With full lips and a strong nose and 
wisps of brown hair falling over his forehead. She felt her breasts 
tingle at the sudden image of those lips wrapped around them.

It had been far too long, but her duty to her clan came first.

She put on her best look of displeasure and asked, "Your speech is 
strange, Outlander. Where do you come from?" 

He looked to be searching for an answer before answering. "I'm from 
the continent. Near...Calais."

She knew it was a lie. She could see it in his posture, but she let 
it pass. There would be time to find the truth later. Images of him 
lying under her baring his soul to her in gasping breaths while she 
slowly rode him, pacing herself with each deliberate stroke, taunted 
her. She felt her body responding to this odd but beautiful man more 
than it had responded to anything since her husband had died. 

Even clashing with Jamie hadn't brought such a response to her. Maybe 
it was the sight of the chain and collar around his neck. Her fingers 
clenched around the torch in her hand. 

"So a thief from Calais? And do you have a name or should I just call 
you Sir Thief?"

"My name is Fox Mulder.."

A fox with a chain and collar around his neck. A tame fox as her 
plaything. How fitting she thought. And how enticing.

"Do you know what happens to someone who steals from my clan?" the 
voice was cold as she placed the torch in a nearby bracket. Her hands 
were then placed firmly on her hips as she stared up at him.

"I believe that the usual penalty in this period was hanging," came 
the uncertain response.

"Nay for the first time.  The first time, we just cut your right hand 
off."  

Her statement was made in jest. Although legally she could impose 
such a punishment, she had never ordered anyone maimed. And she 
certainly had no intention of causing this particular body harm. But 
his look of panic at her statement and hurried apologies made her 
want to laugh.

"Look.  I'm sorry. I'm willing to make amends any way I can but ..." 
She saw him shiver in the cold damp air.

Oh she could definitely come up with a way for him to make amends. 
She just had to do it in a manner that befits her as a lady. Suddenly 
something he said came back to her.

"If ye can truly read and write, show me." Rhiannon said as she 
handed him a blackened twig from her torch.  

His hand seemed to shake slightly as he took the twig and slowly 
wrote on the stonewall, "Le Morte De Reynard."   

"French. Very good.  Perhaps the Fox will not wind up thrown to my 
hounds after all.  What else? Latin? Greek?"

The man just nodded mutely at her and her body surged with 
satisfaction. She could take care of the problem of her son's 
education and with it, if the blessed Magdalene smiled on her plans, 
her own problem at the same time.

"Verra well then.  My son has need of a tutor.  You shall work off 
your penalty by teaching him his letters, numbers and Latin," 
Rhiannon said slowly. 

Fox started to say something, but she stopped him by stepping in 
close. She could tell he was as curious about her as she was about 
him. Up close he was even more impressive. Long limbs that she could 
get tangled up in, large hands with tapered elegant fingers. Rhiannon 
had to fight the urge to press her body against him. Lifting her hand 
she brushed her finger across his mouth. Feeling his full lips. Then 
she slid them slowly down his chest stopping when she felt a taunt 
nipple under the coarse loose shirt. The blackened twig fell the 
floor from slightly shaking fingers.

At his sharp intake of breath, she looked into his surprised eyes and 
rubbed her finger over the hard nub. "Yea'll tutor my son during the 
day" she said in a husky voice her face close to his  "and then sleep 
on a pallet by his bed at night.  I'll keep the door between my 
chamber and his open. That way 
ou can hear me if I call for you to . . . read to me at night."   

Pulling back from him, she looked down and smiled in gratification at 
his obvious response to her words.

A fine bedmate, this Fox would be.  And even if she quickened because 
of their nighttime games, well an outlander spouse would hold no real 
power over her in the clan hierarchy. She would still be the Lady 
Rhiannon.  Who said the female McKinnon couldn't have everything?  

Unlocking the chain from the wall, she stepped back and looked him 
over in the yellow torchlight. She'd leave the collar on, of course.  
The steel band around his neck would mark him as a prisoner, even one 
with limited freedom.  But the thought of this man chained, walking 
behind her was just too tempting. She looped it round her hand and 
turned to leave the cell.

Her lips curved softly around the words "Come with me, Fox Mulder."

End of Chapter Two

 A HIGHLAND TALE 3/?
BY LEELEE AND SEEKERONE
RATING: NC-17 for the whole series, although this Chapter is probably
R.
CATEGORY: Sc/Sk, Mulder/O, and then who knows?
Comments:  Thanks to Cat for her insights and beta!
Summary: The Redhead and The Boss Meet the Natives
WARNING: This is a work in progress and develops as we write it. So
please do not archive until we post the completed version.
One thing that we are sure of is that you should not starting reading
this series if ANY of the past subject matter of any of our stories
has ever offended you, that includes kinky sex, bondage, spanking and
so on. Early appearances to the contrary, this is not an innocent
bodice ripper.
By posting this as a WIP we are asking any input you can give. If you
like it please, please send us a note, include any kinky plot ideas,
and help out. clueseek@swbell.net Viceyy@aol.com

Chapter 3

Scully woke first, sat up and just stared at the sleeping man beside
her for the longest time. The after effects of their brush with
hypothermia left her groggy and weak. The cabin and the forest around
it were quiet in a way that felt otherworldly to someone used to the
noises of the city. A sudden gust of wind blew in through the hide
covered doorframe. The thick skin flapped for a moment letting in the
morning sunshine.  The light streaming through the opening contrasted
with the shadows of the dim cabin making Skinner's sleeping form look
like a painting. Highland warrior asleep after the battle, she would
call it. Oh, and after ravishing his red headed captive all night,
too, she silently added, trying not to laugh at her own foolishness.

It felt so strange to wake up to him two days in a row. At least this
time he was dressed. Sort of. The coarse dingy shirt he had on did
nothing to disguise a chest that Schwarzenegger would envy. And the
plaid that was wrapped around his hips had ridden up and she had the
pleasure of viewing his strong thighs. All those years this fabulous
body hiding behind his boring gray and navy suits, she thought
wistfully. She felt her body responding against her will to this
amazing sight.

She knew she should just wake him up. They were in a dangerous
situation, with no weapons, no food and no back up. But he just
looked so gorgeous lying there in front of the dying fire and it had
been forever since she had responded this way to someone.

And then there was the fact that something looked about ready to
materialize from under that plaid. She could see the stirring of
Skinner's morning erection. She held her breath in anticipation and
for a brief moment forgot to feel ashamed of herself. That was until
she felt the hairs tingle on the back of her neck and knew, with out
even looking up, that he was awake. She raised sheepish eyes to the
man she had been shamelessly ogling. A man who she hated to remember
was also her boss.

"Good morning, Agent Scully."  He was looking up at her with one
eyebrow cocked just enough to make her flush.

"Good morning sir," came her embarrassed reply. She jumped up and
tried to pretend nothing had happened, that she hadn't been enjoying
a steamy fantasy about pulling that skirt up and wakening him with
her mouth, then slipping astride that erection and sliding it all the
way in her. Enough Scully, she thought. She stepped away from where
he was getting off the floor and yanked her fingers through
impossibly tangled morning hair. The snarls and tugs gave her a new
focus.

She looked with feigned interest around the dark corners of the
cabin. In the cold morning, it seemed even bleaker and dirtier than
the night before. She could sense Skinner stretching behind her and
heard his yawn. Her embarrassment angered her. So she was checking
him out. Hell, he should be flattered. The double standards she had
dealt with her whole adult life were always rearing their ugly head.
A little voice inside said it was no okay to be checking out your
boss, no matter how good looking he was.

Her glance slid sideways. Damn, she berated herself. She would NOT
look to see if his plaid was now in place.  She would step quickly
outside and take care of her personal needs. Then they could figure
our where they were and how they were going to get out of here.  The
morning breeze was cold and crisp.  Just wonderful, she thought
sourly, not even an old fashioned out-house, much less any
ecologically-sensitive recycled toilet paper.

When she walked back into the cabin, Skinner was holding up two dirty
turnips from one of the baskets.  He grimaced and said, "It looks
like the room service menu is limited."

Scully was just about to give into the demands of her growling
stomach and eat one of the turnips when a noise came from outside.
Hoof beats, dogs baying, and a man's shout.

Knowing that the owner of the rugged cabin could be coming back, and
questioning the sanity of anyone who would choose to live in such
surroundings, they both looked around for any means to defend them.
Nothing.  No knives, axes or even strong sticks lay about. The
firewood had been used to get the now cold fireplace going the night
before and the owner hadn't left anything else handy.

The cabin only had one entrance, so fleeing out the back was not an
option. They did the only thing they could. Skinner pushed the hide
door covering out of the way again and they walked out to see what
type of person lived there.

Their mouths fell open in shock.

Entering the clearing were a pack of huge gray hounds and four shaggy
bay horses that pawed the ground nervously at seeing them. Scully
barely saw the horses though. It was the riders that caught her
attention. She had never seen anyone who looked like they did. Their
faces were wild, almost feral with dirty long hair that brushed
massive shoulders and matted beards that covered most of their faces.
With her doctor's eyes she could tell that standing up they would
only come up to Skinner's chin, but they were all stocky and powerful
looking. They had huge swords clutched in large beefy fists and
leather shields hanging on their bare backs. Two of them had a quiver
with arrows on their backs and longbows tied to their saddles.  The
only clothing they had on were leather boots that laced up to cover
their calves and plaid skirts covering their waists that fell to mid
thigh. Scully closed her eyes tightly and the reopened them quickly
to see if she was seeing it right. They weren't skirts. These four
stocky, frightening men wore kilts!

A larger man rode out of the forest beside them and pointed his sword
straight at Skinner. He was as muscular as the others but could
easily match Skinner in height. Scully felt her mouth go dry at the
sight of him. Dark brown hair that was streaked with gray and
piercing green eyes. Give him a good bath and shave and the man could
grace the cover of all the bodice-ripper romance novels she swore to
her partner she never read.

With a barked command to the others, the man got down off his horse
and walked up to Skinner warily.  They seemed to be ignoring her all
together. Looking around she plotted a way to get away from there,
but before she could act, two of the men had her by the arms and tied
a rough rope around her wrists. Skinner wisely didn't move. He now
had three swords pointed at his chest. She caught Skinner's eye and
could see he was as confused as she was about how to react. But the
threats of the swords were very real. One touched Skinner's chest
right near his heart and when the point pressed in, it drew a drop of
blood that looked scarlet against the rough cloth of his shirt.
Scully held very still, willing him to cooperate. She breathed a sigh
of relief when Skinner slowly raised his hands until they were up in
the air.

The tension that had been rolling off the men in kilts immediately
eased and a smaller one with a horrible scar that snaked through his
bushy beard, grabbed Skinner's arms down and tied them in the same
fashion as Scully's.

"Hoo are ye? And what have ye done to with Malcolm?" came the gruff
inquiry. The accent was so thick that Scully had to listen hard to
understand what he said.  Who the hell was Malcolm?

Skinner seemed to brace himself as he stared at the leader.  "Who is
asking?"

The man cocked his head to one side, and muttered "Outlanders."  The
man drew himself up to his full height and glared at them.  Then in a
loud growl that sounded like Skinner after one of Mulder's more
outrageous case reports, "I'm Jamie McKinnon. Captain of the Guard to
the Lady McKinnon and Warden of her castle."  He raised the heavy
broad sword and press against the side of Skinner's neck. "I'll ask
ye agin, hoo are ye?"

"I'll talk to the lady, then. My business is with her."

Dear lord, Skinner was trying to bluff through this, Scully thought
desperately.

The two men glared at each other like two snarling dogs. Then Jamie
reluctantly nodded and glanced at his men. "Well, get at it, then.
That bastid Malcolm stole two good ewes from my lady's flocks.
Find 'em."

With their wrists tied in front of them, one man stood with sword
raised while the others searched the cabin. She wanted to talk to
Skinner to figure out where they were. It was clear that this was not
a national park. The men sounded and looked like extras from
Braveheart! But every time she tried to whisper to Skinner, the one
left guarding them lifted his sword higher and made a threatening
gesture. Finally she fell silent and just waited.  One of the hounds
decided to sniff her crotch and the man with the sword laughed as she
tried to push the dog away. The damn dog was the size of a small pony.

Within moments the men came out of the cabin. The one who called
himself Jamie, walked over and looked Skinner over again before
grabbing the rope that bound him and tossing it to one of the men.

Walking over to stand in front of her, Scully felt a chill pass over
her, as the man's large size seemed to block out the sun. She jerked
her head away when he reached up to touch her hair. Keeping her eyes
on the ground and not responding to his chuckle. "Who cropped your
hair, wench? Ar ye a runaway nun or a whore?" His voice was
deceptively soft.

She didn't have a clue how to answer.

"Are ye mute then? Or just feisty and in need of taming?" His fingers
stroked down her cheek and she yanked her head back and gave him her
best 'don't fuck with me you sonofabitch' glare.

Jamie threw his head back and laughed before tossing her rope to
another one of the men who had remounted his horse. The rope jerked
as he tied it to his saddle. Then with a tug, they were forced to
walk behind the raiding party away from the crude cabin that had
given them shelter and back into the dark forest.

There was no way of telling how far how far the horsemen dragged
them, the hounds snapping occasionally at their heels. A few times
the men sped up their gait and she stumbled. Skinner tried to steady
her as best he could with tied hands. Giving her worried looks and
even calling out for the men to slow down when she finally fell and
was dragged a few feet.

Jamie looked back with a disturbed frown and called the men to a halt
before dismounting. Walking over to her, he lifted her roughly to her
feet. His hands lingered on her shoulders for a moment before sliding
intimately down to her hips.  He seemed to ignore Skinner's growl and
reached around and quickly squeezed the globes of her ass before
stepping back to look at her.

"For all your cropped hair, you're still a bonny lass. Will ye ride
on me lap fer a while then?"

She wanted to punch him hard in his gorgeous face.

"Get your hands off her." Skinner snarled.

Jamie turned to Skinner and sized him up with his eyes. Scully could
tell that physically they would be an even match. She just hoped this
didn't come to blows.  They need to find a way out of here, not
antagonize the locals.

Placing his large hand on the back of Scully's neck, Jamie turned and
addressed Skinner coolly. "She is your wife or your leman then?"

Skinner took a step closer to where they were standing, but the only
reaction from Jamie that Scully could tell was a slight tightening of
the hand that was gently caressing her neck.

"She belongs to me and no one touches her."

Jamie defiantly continued to stroke the back of her neck while not
taking his eyes of Skinner. "You are built like a warrior,
outlander."

"I have fought in my share of battles." Skinner said as he walked
closer until he was standing directly in front of them. Scully felt
tiny being boxed in between such large men. She hated the feeling and
fought the urge to shove Skinner backwards and knee Jamie in the
groin. In spite of his rough words, his touch was gentle now and his
fingers were causing havoc on her senses.

"Fur whose flag did you fight these battles, Outlander?" Jamie
demanded derisively.

"The U.S.A. But now, I owe no allegiance."

Scully tried to catch Skinner's eye. Owe no allegiance? What kind of
game was he playing? This Jamie was obviously some kind of paranoid
cultural outcast. Was Skinner trying to convince him that they were
too? Running from society? Willing to forgo all modern amenities,
contact with the outside world and, by the smell of it, personal
hygiene to be a part of this bizarre group?

What ever he was doing it seemed to be working. Jamie let go of her
neck and stood back, with his hands on his hips. "What's a use ain?"
he asked in puzzlement.

Skinner shrugged.

Scully looked up at Jamie and could see his derisive grin. "Yer a
free sword, then?"

Skinner nodded, his brown eyes staring at the other man.

"Well, this may be good fortune fur ye. The Lady McKinnon has need of
services such as yours. Despite the truce the borders raids grow
fierce. If ye can fight," there was a distinct touch of challenge in
the voice.

Border raids? Truce? God, we've got to be very careful, Scully
thought. This guy was truly delusional. Skinner didn't seem to be
even fazed by all the man was saying. He seemed to be thinking over
what Jamie had said.

"I can fight," he replied.

Jamie grinned as he pulled the short knife from his belt. Scully
jerked back as with one quick move, as he slashed the ropes around
Skinner's wrists. He tossed the knife back to one of his men who
caught it casually with one hand.  Skinner rubbed his hands to bring
the circulation back.

"Prove it, Outlander. Let's see what ye kin due."

No sooner where the words out of his mouth than Skinner made his
move. Scully gasped softly as the two men flew at each other. Skinner
might box and know the FBI self defense moves, but this was no-holds-
barred street fighting. The men around her were cheering Jamie as he
jammed his fist into Skinner's stomach, and then straighten him up
with a punch to the jaw. Then there was a sudden quick twist and
pivot and it was Jamie who was lying flat on his back with Skinner's
hand at his throat and his knee in the stranger's groin.  Scully
wanted to cheer herself but bit her lip. It wasn't over yet.

"I can fight," Skinner repeated softly.

Jamie stared up at him and slowly nodded. "Aye. I thin ye can."

"My name is Skinner, Walter Skinner. And, my services could be
bought . . . for a price." Skinner finally said slowly. He stood up
and carefully held out a hand to pull Jamie to his feet. "I am in
need of a weapon and horse. Also I am searching for a man."

"Weapons and horses, the Lady has in plenty, Outlander.  But a
man..." Jamie was now confident enough to grin at him as he accepted
the hand up.  "Are ye one of those, then Walter Skinner?  What do you
want with the wench here?"

Skinner's snarl was almost feral. "He ran off and he was under my
command.  That's the reason we're out here. And when we find him, I'm
going to whip his sorry ass, personally."

"Ran off did he?" Jamie crossed his arms over his broad chest and
looked deep in thought for a moment. "An outlander like yourself?"

At Skinner's nod, he continued. "A scribe, mayhap, named Fox?"

Scully straightened up quickly and stared at him, almost afraid to
hope. "He is a thief who is working of his debt by tutoring the young
McKinnon."

Scully felt a rush of excitement at his words. These men had found
Mulder! He was alive.  Skinner was right then in going along with
this farce. With any luck, they could get to Mulder and all get back
to civilization.

Jamie ordered one of the men named Owen to untie her and while she
rubbed at the abrasions left from the ropes, he spoke to
Skinner.  "The scribe must pay his thief debt, but if you will fight
for the McKinnon, by Saint Emory, I'll see that you have a weapon and
horse and are well paid. When his debt is done, you kin have him. We
will go on to the castle and rest there tonight. Tomorrow in the tilt
yard, I will see if you are worth the price."

Jamie remounted his horse and they were allowed to walk behind them
at a slower pace. The terrain became rockier as they went along.
Scully winced every time she stepped on the sharp rocks that littered
the rugged trail they were following. The forest was full of dark
evergreens that stretched up to the small piece of blue sky she could
see.  Birds and small animals were everywhere.  She kept looking for
any signs of normal life, discarded beer cans, tire tracks, even a
Morley cigarette butt would be welcome.  Nothing but forest so
perfect it looked like a Sierra Club poster.

Late in the afternoon, Jamie stopped by a small stream and allowed
them all to drink. One of the hounds immediately waded in and began
to chase minnows in the shallows. The men laughed as cold water
splashed everywhere.

Scully sat next to Skinner beside the stream and they both soaked
their feet in the frigid clear water.  She could see that Skinner's
feet were as cut up as hers were. At least the horses were being
watered downstream from them the thought with gratitude.

Jamie tossed Skinner some hard rolls and a hunk of extremely smelly
cheese.  Scully thought that nothing had ever tasted so good as they
ate the meager snack.

The man with the scar came over and stood above her looking her over
before he squatted down beside her. He smelled foul and she could see
very clearly that the man had nothing on under his short kilt. He
gave her a near toothless leer and said "Like what you see wench?"
before reaching down and fondling himself.

Scully felt her stomach roll and thought for a moment she would
vomit. Then, she cried out in surprise as Skinner grabbed her and
hauled her over onto his lap. Holding her tightly against his chest,
he stared at the man and growled in a sinister voice. "I said she is
mine!" he repeated as he rubbed her breast through the coarse linen
shift.

The filthy man seemed to be about to take issue with this. One hand
had dropped to his knife and he had begun to rise when Jamie called
out to him. "Leave the wench be, Angus. He'll grow tired of her soon
enough and we'll all get a sample of her wares."

Angus sneered at Jamie's words, but rose and walked away.

Scully had never wanted her gun so bad! She was practically sitting
on top of Skinner and he was holding her in a death grip to his chest
with one large hand caressing her breast. She tried to jerk out of
his grasp, but he held her tight. His body felt huge and hard
underneath her. Her whole body began to ache and tingle in response.
Finally she hissed in his ear "Let me go, damnit! Right Now!"

Skinner pushed her off his lap so quickly she almost fell over. He
gave her a glowering look as she sat back down beside him.
Straightening her clothing, she glared right back. What the hell was
the matter with him, she wondered, he didn't have to publicly molest
her to keep the man away.

She looked around to make sure no one could hear her before asking
Skinner "What the hell was all that mercenary crap about?"

"I'm just trying to play along Scully. It's clear these people are
from some kind of doomsday cult. If they think we want to join them,
we'll be able to get to Mulder."

She knew he was right and took a deep breath to expel some of her
anger at him for his manhandling attitude. He was only trying to
protect her. It's just that she hated when the men in her life did
that.  For god's sake, she was a trained agent and could take care of
herself. And he didn't have to keep hold of her after Angus had lost
interest, much less continue to rub her breast. But then she
remembered how he tenderly had warmed her freezing feet the night
before and her anger deflated.

She wanted to talk more about all that was happening, but Jamie came
over and demanded all of Skinner's attention. His speech was strange,
but it sounded like Jamie was saying something about someone
named 'The Bruce' and him calling a truce with 'The Son of
Longshanks'. Her head felt like it was spinning. Jamie seemed to
think that they didn't know about these events because they were from
Calais. Why Calais of all places? That was in a small medieval town
in France.  They didn't sound French.

Where the hell had that bastard Feld dumped them anyway? This whole
situation was so bizarre her head was starting to pound trying to
keep up with it. It was simply impossible. She had paid attention in
her European history courses enough to know that these men seemed to
believe that they were all some how in thirteenth century Scotland.

She and Skinner had better find Mulder quick and get the hell away
from here, she thought. The men's conversation started to sound like
a blur to her. She was cold, dirty, hungry, and so tired that she
stopped trying to make sense of Jamie's words.

Jamie finally rose and the men mounted their horses as she took up
her position walking along next to Skinner. The sour smell of horse
sweat mingled with the squeak of the leather harness. Ignoring
Skinner's occasional conversation with Jamie as he rode beside them,
Scully concentrated on the pain in her feet, her aching muscles and
her hunger. As frightened and confused as she was, she hoped they
would get to where ever they were going soon. If not, she was afraid
she would end up crippled for life.  But then she felt Skinner stop
beside her and heard his soft gasp. Looking up she saw what had
shocked him.

Side by side they stood on the crest of a hill overlooking a large
meadow. A rolling pasture that seemed to stretch for miles with grass
so green it almost looked blue. She could see clusters of sheep
grazing and the small figures of shepherds and guard dogs milling
about.  Farmers seemed to be harvesting grain in tidy open fields.
Tiny cabins with thatched roofs like the one they had spent the night
in dotted the landscape.

Once again she was reminded of a painting. But this time it wasn't a
fantasy of her sexy boss sleeping.  What confronted her eyes was a
scene that resembled an Andrew Wyeth painting she had seen on her
last vacation to Maine. But instead of pastoral scenes of barns and
farmhouses, dead center in her vision rose an immense stone wall that
surrounded what looked to be a real life medieval castle.

Scully stared at it speechless. She turned to Skinner for any kind of
logical explanation, but the expression on his face knocked the
breath from her body.  The last thing she remembered was his look of
disbelief as for the first time in her life, Dana Scully fainted.

End of Chapter Three

A HIGHLAND TALE 4/?
BY LEELEE AND SEEKERONE
RATING: NC-17 for the whole series, although this Chapter is probably 
R. 
CATEGORY: Sc/Sk, Mulder/O, and then who knows?
Comments:  Thanks to Sylvie for new meticulous beta and Cat for her 
insights!
SUMMARY: The Redhead and The Boss find the Fox 
WARNING: This is a work in progress and develops as we write it. So 
please do not archive until we post the completed version. 
One thing that we are sure of is that you should not starting reading 
this series if ANY of the past subject matter of any of our stories 
has ever offended you, that includes kinky sex, bondage, spanking and 
so on. Early appearances to the contrary, this is not an innocent 
bodice ripper.
By posting this as a WIP we are asking any input you can give. If you 
like it please, please send us a note, include any kinky plot ideas, 
and help out. 
clueseek@swbell.net Viceyy@aol.com

CHAPTER 4

Scully was vaguely aware of being carried. Just for a moment, she 
nestled down in hard arms and heard a grunt in response. She could 
feel a heart beating beneath a rough linen shirt. Hmm, reading a good 
bodice ripper novel right before bed seemed to carry over into some 
fantastic dreams, she thought as she nuzzled her mouth against a 
sweaty neck. Opening her lips, she tasted his throat. It was warm and 
salty. Usually, the hero didn't smell quite so . . well. . earthy. 
And he never muttered something about the heroine weighing a lot for 
her size. What the hell? She came back to full consciousness with a 
start.

Skinner was carrying her in a strong grip against his chest. One arm 
supporting her back, the other looped under her knees. When she felt 
his large hand move to grip her bare thigh, she gasped in surprise. 
Looking up at Walter Skinner in shock, she put on her most demanding 
voice and said, "Put me down, right now."

"Gladly," he replied setting her down on her sore feet.  Scully 
smoothed down the borrowed shift which had ridden up her thighs. 
Didn't these people know about underwear? she wondered.  She paused 
to get her balance on the rocky ground and glared up at her boss. He 
was still dressed in the makeshift kilt. His glasses were gone and 
his chin was in great need of a shave.  Jamie, who was riding close 
by, laughed at her indignation and spurred his bay palfrey on toward 
the castle.  

Skinner started to follow, but Scully caught his arm.  "Where are 
we?" she hissed.  "This is no doomsday cult. You're the one with all 
the ideas. What the hell is going on here?" 

"All right. You want to know what I think?" he glared back at her. 
She nodded slightly relieved to hear his familiar growl. "I think we 
better concentrate on finding Mulder and getting the fuck out of 
here.  Where ever or when ever *here* is." He turned quickly and 
walked after the men.  
 
Scully stared at him in disbelief. He didn't really think? They 
couldn't be? No! Surely, there had to be some explanation. Dear God! 
Is this all real?

The horses snorted, picking up the pace; the animals knew a stall and 
extra hay was waiting for them. One of the farmers harvesting in a 
nearby field shouted a welcome to Jamie. Even the hounds seemed to be 
happy about being home. Scully stumbled forward.   

Unless they were still under the influence of some very strange drugs 
courtesy of Dr. Feld, They were walking up to what looked like a 
medieval castle. I can't believe it, she thought. This actually looks 
a fully working medieval castle.  A moat. They actually had a moat! 
She stopped to stare again, in disbelief.  The green slimy water 
glistened in the lingering sunlight. Wait 'till the public health 
guys get a look at this. I've seen pond scum that was cleaner. Her 
mind was reeling as Skinner took her hand and pulled her across the 
thick oak planks of the drawbridge. Scully looked up in disbelief at 
the massive lattice hanging above her head as they entered the huge 
tunnel. The portcullis, she remembered from her medieval history it 
could be lowered as a barrier to invaders.  

The gigantic granite stone walls looked cold, slightly damp and 
definitely uninviting as they walked through the gatehouse and into 
the inner ward.  She glanced up; on the high walls, she saw soldiers, 
obviously on guard duty, a green banner flying from the parapet. That 
wall must be twenty feet thick and maybe two or three stories high.  
 
The late afternoon sun highlighted a scene out of a movie, complete 
with livestock and filthy, peasant extras milling about in the 
courtyard. Jamie dismounted and a grubby stable boy led the tired 
horses out to a perimeter building. "Cool him down good, before you 
wash him, Bryn."  Jamie called.  Scully thought the boy could do with 
a good washing himself.  These people seemed so authentic. But her 
common sense fought against what she was seeing. 

The hounds headed through an open door way and into a huge hall like 
they belonged there. Scully continued to look in disbelief at the 
scene around her. Chickens scratched in the dust, and two or three 
sheep with long, matted wool were bleating piteously. She heard the 
pounding of metal on metal and wondered if it were a blacksmith. On 
the positive side, there was a wonderful smell of cooking.  She 
turned, sounds indicating dinner was in preparation were coming from 
the building on her right.  Her stomach rumbled at the thought of 
food.

A few of the women shouted questions at Jamie about them as they 
followed the hounds toward what appeared to be the main building. 
Jamie answered with good cheer. He paused to grope one of the servant 
girls drawing water at the well. The girl laughed loudly and swatted 
his hand away. 

Skinner kept shooting glances at her. She was unsure what he was 
trying to tell her, but assumed he wanted her to follow his lead and 
play along. A horn echoed loudly across the yard, and everyone began 
to head in the same direction, laughing and talking.

"Well, come on then. Since that worthless chaplain died, we dinna 
have to wait for him to stumble through evensong before supper," 
Jamie called over his shoulder as he headed for the tallest building 
in the complex.

They entered a large hall, with a floor covered with relatively clean 
straw. Rushes, they called it, Scully remembered. The hall was smoky 
from fires burning in a huge fireplace along one wall.  Dogs were 
snarling at each other over a bone in one corner, and a pack of 
ragged children yelled at each other as they ran in the door. Men 
wearing clothes like Skinner's, sat on rough wooden benches at long 
picnic tables. Scully noted they were relaxed, talking and laughing, 
while the poor women ran back and forth, bringing food and tending 
the fires. Her stomach growling in response to the smell of cooking 
meat and baked bread.

The table grew silent as Jamie led them over to it. A few eyes were 
on her, but most were on Skinner. She could see why when she looked 
around. Most of the men were shorter than he was. 

"This is Skinner. A free sword from Calais who seeks a new laird," 
Jamie announced in a booming voice. No mention was made of her and 
Scully realized that Jamie had never even asked her name. What would 
he say? And this is his cropped-headed whore?

The men all murmured a greeting to Skinner, and despite wary looks in 
his direction, moved down the benches to make room for the new 
arrivals. Jamie directed Skinner to sit, but when Dana went to 
follow, he grabbed her arm. Jamie's grip on her upper arm was tight. 
His eyes, when he looked down at her, weren't cruel though. He 
gestured toward the fires. "No, wench. Only ladies are allowed to sit 
with the men. Harlots and lemans must sit by the fire and serve."

Scully knew her face was as red as her hair at his words. Harlot! 
Fuck this! She wanted to scream her frustration with this whole 
situation. Looking at Skinner, she tried to make her eyes convey her 
extreme anger. He had better do something to correct this man, and 
damn quickly! But Skinner just gave her a small smile, followed a 
quick swat on the bottom. "Dana, go get me some dinner."

She glared at him for a moment, then turned to throw that same glare 
at Jamie. Jamie looked as if he were on the verge of laughter, so she 
straightened her back and marched toward the fire. The room had grown 
quiet again at her display of temper. When she reached the fire, a 
short, blonde woman handed their version of a plate.  It was a hard 
flat roll almost like facoccia bread, piled with steaming meat.  A 
pottery mug was filled with something that smelled like strong beer. 
The blonde woman gave Dana a shy smile and gestured back to the men's 
table.

She brought it back to the table and placed it unceremoniously down 
in front of Skinner, but not before grabbing a large chunk of meat 
for herself. Jamie's laughter followed her back over to the fireplace.

Slowly, the hall returned to a loud level of noises and shouting. The 
young woman who had given Scully the food for Skinner brought her 
over another flat roll she called a trencher and mug of her own. The 
meat tasted gamy and too many spices had been used to cover the 
slightly rancid taste.  But Scully decided she was too hungry to 
care. The drink tasted alcoholic and had a sickly, sweet flavor that 
she couldn't stand. After finishing as much as she could stomach, she 
rose, asking the young woman for water.

The young woman, called Isabel, gave her a strange look, but brought 
her a mug of brackish water. Scully ignored the awful taste and drank 
it.

She leaned her back against the wall and looked around the hall. The 
men seemed to spend a great deal of time eating and talking. Skinner 
seemed relaxed, joining in the conversation and occasionally, tossing 
one of the hounds a bone to gnaw on. What he said to the other men 
was a mystery. She was too far away to hear, but everyone seemed to 
be accepting him. Look at them! They might as well be old army 
buddies swapping stories at a reunion, she thought with some disgust. 

The women gathered around another smaller table and were eating their 
own meal. Everyone had a knife, but fingers were the utensils of 
choice, she noted, as one of the women wiped her greasy hands down 
her dress.  Scully could tell they were curious about her. Isabel 
came over at one point, trying to start a conversation. But the young 
woman's heavy accent combined with Scully's extreme fatigue made it 
difficult.  Finally, Isabel gave up and went back to her food. 

Scully's eyes kept darting back to where Skinner was laughing at 
something Jamie said. They seemed to be getting along well. Maybe 
Skinner has finally found his male chauvinist soul mate, she thought 
bitterly. Only ladies can sit at the table indeed you sonofabitch! 
she thought. All she saw were a bunch of poor over-worked drudges.

But then, she saw whom Jamie must have been referring to. Walking 
down the staircase was a tall, dark-haired woman dressed in a long, 
dark blue dress. She was such a contrast to the other woman in the 
hall that Scully couldn't help staring. She wasn't even traditionally 
beautiful, but with her height and bearing, she was definitely 
striking. The dress was cut low across the bodice Scully noted.  The 
damn woman had boobs that were nearly falling out of that tight under-
dress thing. She snarled to herself, just what she always wanted to 
see, the medieval version of a playboy bunny. Skinner would choke on 
his ale.

Following behind her was a small boy, and dear God! Mulder was 
holding the boy's hand. Looking tall, pale, and a little ungainly in 
a kilt, but Mulder! It was Mulder! Thank God! She wanted to run over 
and hug him, then knock him upside the head with her stale bread 
plate. She gave him a quick look of relief and watched as he looked 
nervously around to the lady before he spotted Skinner.

She watched Jamie rise, and with a short bow, addressed the lady 
before he turned he turned and introduced her to the "free-sword," 
Skinner. Skinner stood and bowed over her hand. Scully stared in 
incredulity. He actually bowed to her! And then she saw the woman 
cock her head, then, heard the hearty female laughter at something 
her erstwhile boss said. Scully was ready to kill them all.

The three turned to stare at Mulder and the woman reached out and 
caressed his cheek. Why the hell was he wearing that stupid metal 
collar? Scully wondered.  Skinner growled something and Mulder hung 
his head. The lady laughed again, and with a final nod, proceeded to 
the table on a raised stage at the end of the hall. The child and 
Mulder joined her. Isabel brought goblets and plates, real plates 
Scully noted, and one of the men began carving a roast for her. 
Another servant brought a basin and everyone at the high table washed 
their hands.

Mulder kept darting quick nervous glances across the hall to Scully. 
She could tell he wanted to talk to her, but had to trust her partner 
to wait for the right time. He suddenly jerked and looked down in 
shock at the lady beside him.  The long tablecloth hid her movements, 
but Scully was willing to bet that her hand was sliding under that 
damn kilt. The lady grinned up at him and Scully saw the rush of 
blood tint his face as he stared down at his plate.

"Where is the harper?" came the rich alto voice. "I would have music 
tonight." Out of the shadows near the back of hall, several musicians 
strolled to the front of the hall. The harp was a small instrument, 
similar to the ones Scully had seen at Renaissance fairs. The 
musicians began with a happy ballad and the sounds of laughter and 
clapping filled the air. 

Course after course was served in the hall, the stewards constantly 
filling the goblets with that sweet ale. Scully saw "Miss Medieval 
Castle" carefully feed Mulder a bite of fruit tart from her plate.  
She looked at him like he was desert, Dana thought, as he nervously 
chewed the piece of stewed apple.

Finally, after everyone had finished eating, the lady's family left 
the hall to retire above stairs. Mulder mouthed the word "later" to 
her as he passed by the fireplace.  The room became warm and Scully 
fought to keep her eyes open in the stuffy air.  Time to see if 
the "free sword" had enough dinner, she thought as she walked 
carefully back to the men's table. 

All round her, people were leaving the hall. The room grew dark as 
the fires and torches burned low. True, her stomach no longer growled 
at every opportunity, but now she ached in every tired bone in her 
body. Exhaustion made her stumble in the thick straw, and she nearly 
fell when strong arms clamped around her. She started to struggle in 
the dim light, then realized it was Skinner who was holding her. She 
relaxed slightly at his comforting touch.

"Well, I'll leave ye here then," came the amused voice Scully was 
starting to hate. Jamie thrust a rough blanket at Skinner and told 
them to bed down anywhere. "The wench should keep ye warm enough for 
the night," he said with a wink and a pat on her bottom. She tried to 
twist around to glare at him, but Skinner tightened his grip. Damn 
it, she'd been mauled more in the past 24 hours than any time since 
junior high school, when she punched out John Wilson for getting 
fresh.

Scully looked up into stern, brown eyes as Skinner pulled her close 
against him and rubbed a hand up her back. A slight sheen of 
perspiration across his forehead glistened in the firelight. His face 
looked so different without his glasses. All of his usual 
professional detachment seemed to be gone. It was like being held by 
a man, and not by her boss. She was so tired and his body felt so 
large and strong, that for a brief second, she wanted to relax 
against him. The sensation unnerved her and she tried to twist away 
only to have Skinner hold her tighter. "Look around at what is 
happening here, Scully." he said in a soft voice.

Scully dragged her eyes away from his and looked around.  She saw 
that the attention that had been focused earlier on Skinner, was now 
focused on her. A small group of men at the table were eyeing her and 
talking to one another. She could see by their gestures that they 
were sizing her up as a bed partner. A cold shiver of dread ran 
through her body.  Even with her FBI training, she wouldn't be able 
to put up much of a fight against all of these stocky warriors. And 
after watching them fondling the other servant girls all night, she 
also knew they wouldn't leave her alone after being told she was a 
whore.

Damnit! This was all Skinner's fault. She stiffened in his arms and 
prepared to let him have it for not coming up with a better story 
when she saw the troubled look in his eyes. He glanced around once 
again and she felt his hand smooth up over her shoulders and cup the 
back of her head. She barely heard his whispered "Sorry" before his 
lips bent down and touched hers. 

His mouth was warm and he tasted slightly sour from the ale. She was 
stiff for a moment, but then he began to move his lips over hers and 
she felt her own mouth softening. One of his hands held her head 
still while the other started to stroke up and down her back. The 
hypnotic movements were leaving paths of warmth that she could feel 
through the rough fabric of her shift. She couldn't help but wonder 
what havoc those hands would cause against her bare skin. Her body 
was melting from the sensation and she felt the warmth between her 
legs. His tongue reached out to brush across her bottom lip and her 
mouth seemed to open of its own accord. She tasted his tongue as it 
slid into her mouth, the sour taste of ale giving way to a sweeter 
flavor that made her press against him. Her breasts, without the 
barrier of a bra, were deliciously abraded by her coarse shift. She 
started to kiss him back. His hands held her tighter when she ran her 
tongue against his. The kiss deepened and Scully slid her hands over 
his shirt to brush across his nipples. Skinner moaned slightly, and 
began to press even harder against her mouth, making her breathless. 
She felt his arousal through the loose folds of his kilt and fought 
the urge to pull back and gasp for air. She didn't want this to ever 
end.

"Ah..hem.. Maybe I should come back later?"  She heard Mulder's voice 
behind her, effectively bringing her back. She jerked out of 
Skinner's arms and turned to see him watching them with an amused 
look on his face. She didn't know whether to hug him, punch him in 
the nose or just send him back upstairs.

End of Chapter 4

A HIGHLAND TALE 5/?
BY LEELEE AND SEEKERONE
RATING: NC-17 at least.
CATEGORY: Sc/Sk, Mulder/O, and then who knows?
Comments:  Thanks to Sylvie for new meticulous beta. "Towards" is too
a word!
SUMMARY: Fox learns the realities of life in a medieval Scottish
castle.
SPOILERS:  Don't think so.  Sort of our own little AU.
DISCLAIMERS:  You-know-who created you-know-whom.  The rest are all
ours, with some genuine historical characters visiting such as Robert
the Bruce and Edward II.
WARNING: Graphic sex, some S & M and a little spanking in this
chapter.  So, much for the innocent bodice ripper time travel. We're
getting down to the real smut now.
FEEDBACK: Worshipped, adored, read and reread again and again.  Drop
us a note and let us know what you think:  clueseek@swbell.net
Viceyy@aol.com


Highland Chapter 5

After the end of the long evening meal, Lady Rhiannon quietly walked
toward her son's chamber. She couldn't remember when she'd had a more
interesting evening. The scribe Fox and her son walked ahead of her
toward Lord Bruce's sleeping quarters. She smiled as she watched him
walk, thinking about him and the other new man in her castle.

Captain Jamie had presented the freesword, Skinner, to her.  A very
striking man who instantly aroused her senses.  And he knew her
prisoner, the scribe Fox, who also recognized him.  Now her curiosity
was aroused and that wasn't all. Her body was as excited as a maid's
on Mid-summer's Eve.  How did these two men know each other?  Where
they friends?  Master and servant?  Or even closer? Were they
lovers?  She grinned faintly. It had been a long time since she had
taken two men to her bed and watched them pleasure each other.  Not
tonight, though.  Not until she'd taken the Fox herself, tasted him,
felt every inch of him in her and discovered his carefully kept
secrets.  But later, she promised herself, it would be a scheme to
consider.

The heavy wooden door from her solar squeaked as she pushed it open.
The candle she was carrying shed a faint light in the young laird's
chamber. She smiled, remembering how the Fox had blushed sweetly when
she caressed his thigh under the table. How responsive he was to her
touch.  Now, she would see if he was just responsive in her bed.  She
walked softly toward the pallet where the scribe was sleeping.

"Fox," she called quietly as she leaned down to look at the
bedding.  "I am restless tonight.  Perhaps you could read the
Confessions of the Magdalene to me?  A most instructive text. . ."
she broke off suddenly.

The blanket was crumpled and the cot was empty. She stared at it,
first in disbelief and then in cold fury.  If Fox had compounded his
sins by running away, she'd tie him to a post and take a whip to his
bare ass herself. She quickly turned and headed out the chamber door
toward the main staircase.

Rhiannon moved quickly down the stone steps into the great hall.
Mayhap he was just visiting the outside garderobe, rather than using
the chamber pot. It was certainly possible. He didn't seem to know
much about living in a civilized household. Her long skirts rustled
quietly through the rushes as she walked quickly toward the heavy
wooden door leading to the stairway down to the great hall.


The Great Hall

"So it's the Gunman's theory that Dr. Feld discovered a way to
actually travel back through time.  That's what caused me to
investigate him in the first place." Mulder was speaking in a voice
barely above a whisper. He held up his hand at the familiar,
disbelieving look from Scully and continued. "While that might be
scientifically interesting, what he planned to use it for was to
alter stock market transactions, saving his .com start-up from
financial disaster. Well...obviously that kind of criminal tampering
with the U.S. economy would reek financial havoc."

It was almost like it always was. Skinner sat across from where she
was sitting next to her partner. His brow wrinkled and his chin
rested in the V of his thumb and index finger as he considered
Mulder's latest bizarre theory. Scully sat slightly turned toward her
partner, one eyebrow raised almost to her hairline in a pretense of
disbelief.

It was the exact same poses they had taken so many times in Skinner's
office. Mulder expounding some absurd theory that would outrage most
science fiction writers. Her counter hypothesis disposing of his
theory based on sound scientific evidence and logic. And Skinner
trying to figure the whole mess out. Except they weren't sitting at
Skinner's familiar desk, much less in the Hoover Building in
Washington, D.C. 2001 A.D.

They sat at the trestle table where Skinner had dined, where Scully
had been warned that 'her kind' was not allowed.  In the middle of a
medieval keep. In the highlands of Scotland.  In what Mulder was now
telling them was the Year of Our Lord, 1324. And heaven help her,
Skinner was wearing a kilt and Mulder looked like some kind of
Internet porn star in an iron collar with a chain hanging from it.

The hall was almost dark and deserted. The stocky warriors who had
eyed her seemed to have given up and went searching for more willing
bedmates. Scully tried to ignore the great hall settling down for the
night around them. She attempted to overlook the lingering smell of
food, spilt ale, wood fires and unwashed bodies. She focused on what
Mulder was saying and tried her best to disregard the sounds of the
dogs and people sleeping in the rushes. She wanted so badly to look
at this objectively, rationally and scientifically, to find some sane
logical explanation.

But it just wasn't working. The reality of her surroundings validated
everything Mulder said. Unless they had been drugged and were
hallucinating this whole experience, this was all too real. She
pondered the pharmaceutical theory only long enough to remember the
feel of Skinners body pressed against her own. That had been very
real. The lingering wetness between her legs confirmed it.

Mulder had gone to see this Dr. Feld after a tip from the Lone
Gunmen. He had instantly become curious when Feld had showed him his
collection of ancient Druid manuscripts and writings.  Finding a
common bond in their fascination with extreme possibilities, the two
men had talked well into the night. Feld argued that he felt time
travel was possible, based on Einstein's theories of relativity, time
and space. But he had several problems. If modern science could send
someone back, how could he prove it?  And could they be retrieved
from wherever they went?  Could anyone in ancient history send them
forward again? The key, Feld proposed, lay in hidden records of the
philosophers, mathematicians, astrologers and scientists known
throughout Britain and most of northern Europe as the Druids.

Mulder, for once, presented himself as a skeptic. But apparently Dr.
Feld felt he had a perfect lab rat in her open-minded partner. After
talking late into the night, Feld had shown Mulder his lab. Then next
thing he remembered, Mulder  woke up just as they had. Nude, cold and
lost in the woods.

Scully cringed at the memory of their desperate race to safety. Her
body was still feeling the effects of the hypothermia and panic. She
reached out and stroked Mulder's arm when he told of his lonely
experience. Of how he had found little to eat and no way to get warm
for days before being caught by Lady Rhiannon's men hiding in a
crofter's hut.

Her cold fury at Feld grew. In using them as guinea pigs in his
damned experiment, he had nearly killed all three of them. If they
ever got back, she would personally see his sorry ass thrown in jail.
Who the hell was he to play God with their lives?

Skinner didn't seem to share her anger, the theories, or anything but
an all consuming, totally focused interest in the here and now. He
drilled Mulder for every possible bit of information about this
place, the culture and the people. And Mulder had learned a lot in
one day here, thanks to Rhiannon's bright and talkative son.

The young boy who would one day be the lord of the clan McKinnon, was
named Bruce, after their king. All of Scully's medieval history
classes finally paid off as she recognized the tale Mulder told.
Robert the Bruce was the Scottish King who signed a 13-year truce
with Edward II. Unfortunately, the weak homosexual King of England
would end up being murdered some six years hence by having his rectum
impaled with a hot poker. They knew the treaty would eventually come
to naught.

"But one of the factors we must be critically aware of, is
interfering with this time line.  We can't let slip anything we know
about their future," Mulder counseled.  "I know it sounds like a bad
Star Trek episode, but we cannot risk changing the course of history.
The Clan McKinnon is influential in later Scottish history.  If
somehow we alter that, we could find a very different world when we
return."

Scully nodded grimly.  "Well there's not too much chance of a camp
follower like me having that opportunity, is there?"

Skinner let out a great sigh at Mulder's look of censure and tiredly
rubbed his eyes. "I know, I know. I should have said she was my wife,
but it's not like I really understood the situation."

Scully saw true regret in his face and felt herself softening toward
him. "We'll just have to do our best to fit in," she said. "And if
that means humbly deferring to you men, I will" She tried to smile,
hoping to ease the tension and joked. "Of course, that also means
I'll have to do quite a bit of ass kicking later to put you both back
in your places."

Mulder offered a wan smile at her joke, but Skinner seemed to dismiss
her concerns to focus again on their problems.

Mulder had just begun to tell them of his plans to find out more
information from the child when she heard a rustling behind her. She
watched Skinner stand up and bow. Dana could feel Mulder tensing
beside her. He shot her a look that was almost sheepish and she
turned to see the Lady Rhiannon standing there. Her face was a mask
of displeasure. And it all seemed directed at her partner.

In the dim light, Lady Rhiannon almost overlooked the trio sitting at
the deserted table. Well a day.  So her Fox hadn't run far back to
his burrow.  She paused to listen and her brows drew together in
puzzlement.  Lone Gong-man?  Was that what he called the Gong-
Farmer?  Of course they worked alone.  Who wanted to associate with
the peasant who cleaned out the garderobe chutes?

She waited a moment more, only able to hear bits of the conversation
over the snoring of her clansmen. But when Fox said he planning to
talk to Lord Bruce about the Druids, she decided she'd heard enough.
The late Father Bryan had warned her of them.  She'd na risk her
son's immortal soul with talk of those heathens.  She strode firmly
toward the little group, all thoughts of silence forgotten.

They broke apart quickly, the freesword rising to his feet.  The crop-
headed whore was sitting between them and obviously had been part of
their counsels.  And what was the woman to them?  Isabel said she was
the freesword's leman, but Rhiannon thought it was more than that.
That was one more thing to ask the Fox when she got him back in her
bed where he belonged.  She drew herself up to her full height and
stalked toward the trio.

"My Lady," the freesword said courteously and offered her a polite
bow.

Rhiannon ignored the older man for a moment and turned to address her
scribe. "May hap, I did not make myself understood, Fox of Mulder.
You will compensate my clan for your thieving by tutoring my son and
warming my bed."  She caught him firmly by the chin and stared into
wide hazel eyes. "Unless you wish to return to your cell in the
dungeon and face clan justice, you would do well to keep that in
mind."  She felt his slight shiver as she pulled him to his feet by
the chain around his neck.

Even in the light of the dim hall, she could see his face turning red
with embarrassment. Ignoring his unease, she turned to the couple at
the table and continued with a frown, "As for you, freesword, you
have not sworn loyalty to me yet, nor proven worthy of my
hospitality.  But I will tell you and your whore this, leave the
druids alone.  We are a Christian household here, and I will na'
tolerate heathens and devil worshipers.  Now, I suggest you bed
down.  You will have to prove yersel' in the tilt yard tomorrow or
you will be gone."

Skinner and his leman said not a word. She tugged on the short chain
hanging down from the slave's collar, she spun on her heel and walked
back toward the main stone staircase.  Fox stumbled after her, nearly
tripping in the darkness.  There was a sharp crack of a hand swatting
something and a muffled grunt as darkness fell in the hall.


In My Lady's Solar

Fox's chain rattled as the Lady Rhiannon stormed down the hall, her
leather slippers echoing on the bare stone floor of the upper hall.
He attempted to pause before Lord Bruce's chamber door, but Rhiannon
gave a quick jerk on the chain to disabuse him of that notion.  The
heavy wooden door to her solar squeaked again as she yanked it open
and then slammed it shut behind them.

Moonlight flooded the large empty room. There were rugs and
tapestries for warmth and soon there would be heat enough without
building a fire, she thought. Fox stood motionless in front of her.
She could feel the tension rolling off him. Rhiannon noted that the
main focus of her scribe's attention seemed to be the heavily
canopied and draped bed, as large any in the kingdom, a betrothal
gift from her late husband. It had been a sign of things to be in her
marriage.

The chain rattled as she dropped it and she left him standing
quietly. She knelt by the dying fire to light a taper, then lit the
large candles in the floor stand.

"Well, Foxling?" she purred as she stood by a small chair in front of
the candle stand.  Rhiannon saw him peering at her as he tried to
read her expression, but she knew her face was hidden in shadow.

"Uh . . .Yes, ma'am? . . . My Lady?" he stuttered as if his mouth was
dry.  She saw him rubbing his bottom where she'd slapped it going up
the stairs. A shiver of delight passed through her. He was so tall
and lean. She slowly looked him up and down. Her eyes lingering on
his long limbs. Her hands clenching with the desire to feel his firm
flesh under her fingertips.

"You will disrobe and approach me," she gave the firm order in a
husky voice.  She saw his throat move as he tried to swallow.  "Do
not keep me waiting, Scribe.  You have already earned one punishment
tonight."

His fingers were shaking slightly she noted, as he unfastened the
clasp on his kilt. It fell to the floor with a rustle of woolens. He
grabbed the edge of his undershift and pulled it slowly over his
head. His bare chest gleamed at her in the firelight as she watched
him walk toward her with lowered eyes.

"Stand here," she commanded with an upraised hand. He stopped
obediently in front of her.

By the blessed St. Mary Magdalene, he was a beautiful man, she
thought as she gazed at him.  A few pale scars on his chest and one
small round mark on his shoulder.  An arrow that missed his heart,
she wondered as she reached out to run her finger over it. His skin
was warm and smooth to the touch and she grinned as she saw his
nipples peak. Ah, my scribe is sensitive too.

She continued with her slow exploration, feeling his hard body under
her hands. She had never felt such soft skin on a man before. It was
as satiny as a child's. The iron of his muscles underneath telling
her that this was no child, but a man full grown. Moving around
behind him, she rubbed her hands slowly down his back and felt him
shiver. Her sex became very wet to feel it. She stood back and looked
at his figure from behind. Long legs like one of my greyhounds, she
thought.  Ah by our lady, he has as fine a butt as could be wished.
And soon several more red marks would join the one that she'd given
him earlier on the stairs, she decided.  Not harsh punishment like
the rascal deserved, but a hand spanking to arouse his blood and
hers.  Still standing behind him, she slid her hand carefully around
his hip and fingered his rock hard erection.  He was blessed in that
area too she noted. It was hot and heavy in her hand. A groan sounded
from deep in his chest and he thrust slightly into her hand. She
gripped his cock firmly.

"Ah, this pleases you?" she whispered as she pulled him against her.
Her silken nightshirt rustled as he bucked and twisted in reaction to
her tight grip. His weight felt wonderful against her heavy breasts.
She continued stroking his hard cock until he finally nodded in
response.

"Uh. . .Yes, Lady. . ." came the faint uncertain murmur.

Like the finest Damascus steel encased in velvet, she thought as she
caressed him. I have just the sheath for your sword, Sir Scribe.  His
whimpers warned her that he was close and she rubbed his balls now
tight against his body.

"Not yet, Foxling," she whispered. She felt him loosen slightly and
the crisis passed.

She pressed her face into his neck. His smell so much more pleasant
than the men she had been with. Like her husband, Fox seemed to
believe in washing. The only other man who she had noticed going
against superstitions and bathing regularly was Jamie.

She quickly banished thoughts of her captain and the many times she
had watched him down at the lake. Tonight, she would focus only on
her new pet and not on someone she couldn't have. She licked the back
of her scribe's neck and felt his body shuddered at her
ministrations. A fine treat for a lady. Salty and as tasty as any
pasty served at high table, she thought. Hmm, NOW, I think, she
decided as she bit down hard on his shoulder. She heard him gasp and
he tried to break free of her hold.  She smiled as she finally opened
her mouth and gently kissed the injury.

"You will understand and obey me, Foxling," she said firmly as she
finally walked around to face him.  He stood staring warily at her as
he rubbed his neck.  She smiled as she slid her hands around his neck
and pulled him down to kiss.  It was a long kiss of claiming. His
lips were soft and full over hers and she pressed her breasts hard
against his chest. Smiling into his mouth when his hands clutched at
her desperately. The motion telling her that he was hers.

"Undress me. Now," she ordered hoarsely when she finally stood back.
She saw him gulp nervously and reach cautious hands toward her silken
nightdress.  He slid it carefully over her head and then bit his lips
while he debated what to do with the garment.

Rhiannon smiled as she took it gently from his hand and dropped the
robe on the floor. She captured his wrist and felt his pulse pounding
as she led him to the chair. "Come here," she said as she seated
herself like queen giving audience. She noted his cautious stance as
she played with his fingers.

"You have been remarkably disobedient for a new bond slave.  I think
some correction may help teach you the error of your ways," she said
in a mock growl.

As he started to comment, she reached up and brushed her fingers
across his generous mouth.  "Shh, Foxling.  Not a word from ye."

He didn't resist as she pulled his stiff body down over her lap. Her
fingers tightened their hold on his wrist and pinned it to the small
of his back. She rubbed her hand down his spine lightly and
delicately scratched a nail across his firm butt cheeks. The taps
began lightly, interspersed with gentle strokes and the occasional
kiss or lick. They gradually grew in intensity as his skin turned a
glowing pink. There was a pulsing between her legs while she watched
his beautiful ass wiggle after each firm slap. Squeezing her legs
tightly together, she felt the wetness coating her thighs. She had
almost forgotten how exciting this could be. It was time to increase
the intensity. Fox was ready and so was she.  Suddenly, the lady
struck and struck hard.

"Oww," came the hoarse shout from near the floor.  The man starting
twisting and squirming, trying to get up.

"Be still, slave!" She ground out and felt him relax back onto her
knees. He wiggled his hand loose, and dropped it to the floor to
brace himself.  She gave him one hard slap, and then another. That
started him squirming and a slight moan came from between his
clenched lips.

His ass was already a dark shade of pink in places, but now she could
see she'd missed quite a few spots. She lifted her hand and brought
it down as hard as she could. "Oooww!" exclaimed Fox with a deep
expiration of breath. "Damnit.  That hurts!"

"It's supposed to hurt. Now be quiet, naughty boy!"

Fox began to moan as she slapped him hard again and again. He writhed
and groaned, arching his back and thrusting his bottom upward. She
could feel his cock, swollen and hard, leaking onto her thigh. Her
breathing was as harsh as his was. She could feel his excitement
matching her own.

"Oh, please!" he finally gasped.

"When I summon you to my bed, Foxling, you will join me," Rhiannon
emphasized with another hard swat. The crack of an open palm striking
flesh was loud in the quiet room.  "Not hide below stairs with your
friends."

Her handprints were starting to show red against the pink skin. She
continued for a few moments more and then slowly decreased the
intensity and began softly stroking the trembling man again. His body
had lost its previous rigidity. He lay gasping and limp over her
legs.

"Ah, now.  What's that I feel?" she whispered as she slipped her hand
down between his legs.  He was so aroused. Hard and hot and leaking.
His balls were heavy and tight in her hand as she rolled them back
and forth.  "Stand up and face me now."

"I heard you talking with the freesword about returning to home, to
the place called Dee Cee.  If you run away from me before your debt
is paid, I will take a whip to this fine ass, as well as brand you
with my mark.  You are mine, Foxling, until I set you free. Remember
that." The voice was accustomed to ordering the affairs of a large
and important clan.  There was no doubt or weakness about the
decision.

Fox stumbled to his feet and looked at her warily as she pulled him
between her open legs.  "I can reward you too, scribe," she murmured
against his hard stomach. Her excitement was beginning to overpower
her. The licking and kissing began as slowly as the spanking had. A
soft tongue teasing his navel, then slipping down further.  A cool
breath blown against his hard cock.  Then with a glance up at him
through long lashes, Rhiannon kissed the wet head and sucked all of
him into her mouth. She felt his hand brush her hair hesitantly as if
unsure that she would allow his touch. The lady laughed to herself in
delight and then remembered something her late husband adored.  She
began humming deeply in her throat, a suitably pious "Nom Nobis," of
course.  The scribe whimpered in response as she grabbed his tender
butt and began kneading it.  All restraint forgotten, he began
thrusting hard into her mouth.

"Close.. Oh God.. I'm ... I'm. . ." came the hoarse shout.

Then with one last hard push, she felt his man's wetness spurt into
her mouth. She lazily licked and kissed him until the last tremor
ended.  He looked down at her in awe as she slowly rose to her feet
from the chair.  They stared at each other for a moment and then the
lady deliberately ran her tongue over her swollen lips.

"But you didn't. . . I haven't done anything. ." he started again.

"Shh, Foxling. . . Didn't anyone ever just pleasure you for the joy
of it, Sir Scribe?" she asked with a smile.

He stared at her blankly.

"Come, then.  The night is young still.  And my bed is much softer on
a tender bottom."

End of Part 5

A HIGHLAND TALE 6/?
BY LEELEE AND SEEKERONE
RATING: NC-17 at least.
CATEGORY: Sc/Sk, Mulder/O, and then who knows?
Comments:  Thanks to Sylvie for new meticulous beta. Also announcing
the new grandmasters (or mistresses if you prefer) of the run on
sentence.
SUMMARY: Scully discovers her own version of the Loch Ness Monster.
SPOILERS:  Don't think so.  Sort of our own little AU.
DISCLAIMERS:  You-know-who created you-know-whom.  The rest are all
ours, with some genuine historical characters visiting such as Robert
the Bruce and Edward II.
ARCHIVE: We jest be delighted.  As long as you take the whole thing
and let us know so we can come visit.
WARNING: More Graphic sex in this chapter.  So, much for the innocent
bodice ripper time travel. We're getting down to the real smut now.
FEEDBACK: Worshipped, adored, read and reread again and again.  Drop
us a note and let us know what you think:
clueseek@swbell.net  Viceyy@aol.com

HIGHLAND 6

The afternoon sun sparkled on the droplets running down her breasts
and bounced off the tiny waves of the crystal blue lake. The loch was
icy cold, but Scully didn't care.  She was greasy, smelly, dirty and
might have picked up a flea or two from last night's makeshift bed in
the rushes.  She needed to get clean, and she needed time by herself
to think, or maybe, not to think.

She rolled over and made a jackknife dive to the bottom when she
remembered how they had slept last night. Skinner was lucky she let
him live after the way he mauled her. She refused to ponder her oh-so-
obvious response to his hard body pressed against hers. She had just
leaned into him and opened her mouth to his kiss when her partner
rudely interrupted them. After Mulder's departure last night, Skinner
had roughly pulled her down on a blanket pallet in the rushes and
ordered her to stay there.  She found it damn hard to sleep when he
wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him.  Despite
exhaustion, she had lain awake for hours wondering. What would he do
if she slipped her hand down his leg? Or carefully stroked his cock?
Or turned around and gave him a love bite on his neck? It wasn't
until the fires had burned down to embers and the hall was cloaked in
darkness, that she finally gave up on her bodice-ripper fantasies and
slept.

And then this morning, she woke up to the feel of his hand on the
back of her bare thigh and a big morning erection poking her in the
stomach. God, she could still smell the morning warmth of him as she
nuzzled his chest.  Stop it Dana, she thought, that's the main reason
for this cold swim.

Isabel, who it seemed was some kind of housekeeper, had sent her to
work in the kitchen. It was a hard job that consisted of preparing
the meals and serving them in the hall. The work was made even harder
when she realized she would have to avoid the grabbing hands of the
men of the castle. She had made a bad situation worse when the ever
charming scar-faced Angus had grabbed her ass from behind.

"Here's a fancy tidbit I'd like to break me fast with." He had said
while his hands had wandered up to grab her breasts.

Her FBI training kicked in, and with no conscious thought, Scully
reached around and slammed the thick mug of ale against his fat
head.  Angus had fallen, landing heavily in the rushes. If Skinner
hadn't quickly grabbed her, Angus would have gotten a swift kick to
the groin to accompany his aching head. Now the ugly little troll was
glaring at her at every opportunity and holding his aching head.

Scully didn't know how she'd gotten through the rest of the morning
without killing something. After helping prepare meals for so many
people, she had added a layer of grease, spilt ale and wood smoke to
the smelly shift she wore. Finally, she couldn't stand it for another
minute and demanded to know where she could bathe and wash her
clothing.

Isabel had looked at her in disbelief as she scratched blonde
curls.  "Well, lass.. there's a small loch not fer away . . . but by
our lady, the water's cold enough to freeze yer titties off, and
forgive me sayin' but ye ha not got a lot to spare."

Scully, ignoring the remark about her perfectly adequate B-cups,
insisted on bathing, and Isabel, after another glance at the still
glowering Angus, insisted on accompanying her.  At least as
housekeeper, she had access to the laundry and extra soap.

A group of young boys were there, throwing rocks into the lake and
chattering at each other in a thick mixture of Gaelic and English.
Scully briefly thanked whatever fates had dropped them here, for
putting them so close to the English border. She knew that any
further north and they wouldn't be able to communicate at all.

Isabel called a greeting to the boys and calmly began to strip off
her clothes. Scully just watched in amazement as the boys continued
playing without staring at the incredibly lovely young woman's nude
body. Isabel walked into the lake until the water came up to her
knees and called to Scully to bring the bar of strong smelling soap.

Of course, Scully thought. Despite the fact that Isabel was a
relative by marriage to the Lady Rhiannon of the castle, she was
still basically a servant. And privacy and modesty it seemed were
reserved for the titled members of the household.

There was something intriguing, and even liberating, about Isabel's
uninhibited attitude though, Scully thought, as she slowly pulled her
shift off her head.  The lake was beautiful and unspoiled as any
classic Turner landscape.  And it had been a long time since she had
gone skinny-dipping.

Isabel cried out a warning for her not to go too deep, but Scully
ignored her as she struck out toward the center of the lake. The cold
water felt wonderful against her nude body. She could feel the dirt
and grim that had clung to her washing away.

Flipping onto her back, she let her body float to the surface. She
had always been a natural swimmer, it was just part of being a Navy
brat. She closed her eyes against the sunshine and thought of her
partner. She had been worried after the Lady Rhiannon had hauled
Mulder back upstairs last night like a runaway serf. But there was
really very little that she or Skinner could do at that point.

And this morning, when the clan's people were breaking their fast,
Mulder appeared looking none the worse for the evening's activities.
Even if he did keep idly rubbing a rather large hickey just above
that stupid iron collar.  He had that same slightly dazed, stupefied
look that he had worn during the X-File with that bimbo Dr. Bambi,
she grumbled to herself. Admit it, Scully, she thought, he looked
like he'd been well fucked and enjoyed every minute of it

The sun felt warm on her face and the sensation of her breasts
bobbing above the surface made her feel free and relaxed. She could
almost laugh out loud at the impossibility of the situation. Here she
was, stuck in medieval Scotland and trapped in a primitive culture.
There was no way home that she knew of, and she was skinny-dipping.
She was lying back, floating in lake, enjoying the forbidden treat of
being completely naked. Well hell, she thought, Mulder's getting laid
for the first time in years.  Skinner's playing the Scottish version
of Cowboys and Indians with Jamie.  This X-file won't fall apart if I
have a little fun too. God knows, I deserve it, she decided.

She lifted her head slightly when she heard Isabel speaking.  "I've
ner seen the like of it. First she sinks under, and now by all the
saints, she's floating there like a log."

Scully chuckled to herself and had decided to ignore the girl when a
familiar laughing voice boomed from the shoreline.  "Come out of
there, ye crazy wench! Ye'll drown for sure!"

"Oh, shit!" Scully cried out and ducked quickly underwater. She
stayed submerged until she felt her lungs would burst. Surfacing, she
knew what she would find.

Sure enough! Jamie was standing next to Isabel and slowly unwrapping
the kilt from around his waist. He was laughing at her and shaking
his head in amazement. Isabel seemed totally unconcerned by the fact
that Jamie was there. She went unconcernedly back to her bathing
while chatting with the man. He entered the water beside her and was
splashing water over his chest.  With a loud laugh, Jamie sat down in
the water and presented his back to Isabel for scrubbing.

Scully looked around in desperation, treading water.  She tried to
think of a way to get back to shore and dressed without them seeing
any more than she had already exposed. She finally decided to just
wait them out. She floated out deeper where she could be alone and
kept one ear on what they where saying.

Her head snapped around to look at them when she heard Mulder's name.
Jamie seemed to be upset that the Lady Rhiannon was paying so much
attention to her partner. Apparently, they hadn't figured out what
she had already guessed. That Mulder and Rhiannon had obviously spent
the night together. It dawned on her that this could be dangerous for
all three of them. Rhiannon was the lady of the castle and as such,
spending the night with a prisoner was a very brazen thing to do. The
way that Rhiannon practically drooled over Mulder would give it away
soon enough. So much for medieval ladies being the image of modesty
and piety. Lady Rhiannon wasn't much of a lady after all.

Isabel seemed to be consoling Jamie over Rhiannon's behavior, but
Scully heard very little of it. Scanning her eyes along the
shoreline, she saw Skinner standing with his hands on his hips and
looking at her with a bemused expression on his face.

Her breath caught at the sight of him. The stubble on his face was
filling in surprisingly quickly and she could tell that in just a day
or two he would have a thick brown beard. She shivered in the cold
water thinking how it would feel on her tender skin. Mulder had quite
a beard growing too, but he just looked scruffy. Sometime during the
morning Skinner had taken his shirt off, and like Jamie he was now
wearing nothing more than the kilt belted around his waist.

Scully took a deep breath to calm her racing pulse at the sight. His
chest was splattered with mud, but it didn't seem to take anything
away from the breathtaking vision. Take the man out of DC, strip him
of his boring suits, and he looked every bit the Scottish warrior.
Part of her desperately wanted a camera. She knew she could retire
after selling copies to every woman in the Hoover Building, if they
ever got back there.

Meeting his eyes, she was taken back by the heat she saw there.
Against her will, she began swimming closer to shore. When her feet
touched ground, she stood with only her bare shoulders showing.

Skinner didn't even blink. Just began to remove his kilt. She
steadfastly kept her eyes locked with his even though he dropped the
kilt and was walking into the water toward her. Finally looking away
from her, Skinner took the soap from the bare breasted, laughing
Isabel and headed out to the deeper part of the lake.

She stood still in the water. Unsure of what to do while she watched
him duck under water near her. How was she supposed to get out of
this? Jamie and Isabel were out of the lake and pulling on their
clothes already. Scully watched them walk off with a sense of near
panic. She heard Skinner swim up beside her.

All right Dana, just be calm, she thought.  This doesn't mean
anything. Just forget how clear this water is.  She put on her most
unconcerned face and turned to look at him. But before she could
think of anything to say, he handed her the bar of soap and turned
his back to her.

"It looks like one of your duties is to wash backs. Get with it,
girl."

She gaped at his very large bare back for a moment, before laughing
out loud. He sure had guts. She would give him that. She steeled
herself to swipe the soap over his back. Maybe even with a scratch or
two from her broken nails thrown in for good measure. But the second
her hands touched him, she knew she had made a mistake.

The muscles of his back felt hard under her slick fingers. Even the
cold water couldn't stop the heat she felt radiating off him. She
lathered his shoulders into a lather and felt the warmth spreading
from her fingers, up her arms and over her entire body. He moaned
softly when she kneaded at the knots she found there. The vibrations
of the moan taking the same path as Skinner's warmth until it rested
in her breasts which were now peeking out from under the water. Her
nipples were like two hard pebbles and she fought the urge to touch
them to his sleek back. Rub them across it and see if she could make
him lose his mind. They were chilled from the water and he was so
very hot.  The shouts of the boys coming back near the lake jerked
her away from the fantasy. The soap dropped from her hands and her
arms dropped nerveless to her sides.

Taking a deep breath, she asked, "Uh. . . How did it go with Jamie?"
At this point, standing nude in the water behind her boss, she didn't
really care. It was just her need to hide her nervousness that made
her ask.

"Jamie was able to best me at swords, but I kicked his ass in hand to
hand and with a knife.  So it looks like I'm hired." He said the
words nonchalantly, turning around to face her. His eyes slowly moved
down from her face and rested on the tops of her bare breasts. He was
looking at them like a starving man. Her body began to shiver in
response.

She had to stop this. Turning in the water, she started for the shore
when his large arms suddenly circled her from behind. His body, huge
and hard, pressed up against her back. His erection pressed like a
fiery rod between them. She stood stock-still and let his hands roam
over her. Up her abdomen to cup her breasts. Down to stroke between
her legs. She couldn't pull away if her life depended on it. And in
all honesty, she didn't want to.  She had lost all will, except for
one thing.  She wanted Walter Skinner. His lips grazed her ear and he
began to nibble on her earlobe. Shooting sensations down her body and
tying her stomach up in a tight knot that she knew would build and
build until she exploded in his arms.

"We both want this. Don't pull away. Just let yourself go." He
whispered in her ear as one of his fingers eased down between her
legs and slipped between her folds.

The water lapped against her front and his intensity burned her back.
The sunny day seemed blinding while she stood there and let him touch
her nude body. Stroking and petting and nibbling her neck until she
closed her eyes and did what he asked. No fear. No defensiveness.
Just let herself go with a cry. Her body arching against his. Wanting
him to lift her and impale her on his cock. Never wanting it to end.
His body and the cool water owning her completely.

She stretched her arms behind her to pull his head tightly against
her neck. His breath was rasping in her ear and she matched his
breathing with gasps of her own. Her body felt on fire for him. His
hands breaking down the last of her resistance.

"Please" She gasped and nuzzled his ear.

Skinner lifted her and turned her around until she was cradled in his
arms. Her legs clinging to his waist. Her swollen sex rubbing against
his abdomen. He kissed her until she was dizzy for lack of air. Their
tongues mating furiously. She grabbed his shoulders and hung on.
Whimpering her need into his throat.

His hands were kneading her ass. Lifting her even higher so he could
fill her. Her body jerked when she felt the head of his cock touch
her pussy. Reality reasserting itself. The sounds of the lake and
distant voices of the boys suddenly got louder. They had to stop, was
her frantic thought.

But then he pulled her down onto him. Stabbing into her only enough
to let her body become accustomed to his large size. She felt an
answering rush of fluids and her crazed need for him returned.

She broke away from his mouth and let her head drop back with a moan.
Skinner lifted up slightly and pulled her down to split her further.
Lifting her head, she looked deeply into his eyes. The passion she
saw in his face was mixed with determination. She almost came at the
thought that he was fixated on completely filling her with his huge
tool.

Her name came out as a grunt as he grabbed her hips tight and yanked
her down fully onto his cock.

She arched her body back so far that her hair floated in the water
and a wail escaped her.

He didn't move. Just let her float there, anchored to him by her legs
entwining his waist and his large cock stuffed into her body. She
felt so full and yet so free. It was the most erotic sensation in the
world.

Finally his hands gripped her back and he pulled her to him. His
movements so gentle she thought she would cry. She wrapped her arms
around his back and hid her face against his neck. She could feel the
shudders running down his frame. A groan came from deep in his chest
and caused her painfully hard nipples to rub against him. He took her
hips and lifted her. Pulling her back onto him just as she felt his
cock about to slip out. Over and over he did this. Her cries
punctuating each full impaling.

The muscles of his back rippled under her hands. She could feel him
holding back. Going easy on her. The water washed away her body's
juices and she was glad for his gentleness at first. But then her
need for release took over and she started to beg. "More,
please . . .  Harder. . ." He answered by panting harshly in her ear
and quickening his pace. Grinding herself against him, she found her
own rhythm. One that rubbed her swollen clit against his body and
increased the friction to the point that she covered his lips with
her own to distract her. She wanted to feel him fall apart. She knew
she could feel it coming. She could read all his emotions so easily.
For the first time in the years that she had known him, she felt his
every emotion pounding into her body and into her soul.

Skinner attacked her mouth as severely as he was attacking her body.
Thrusting into her with his tongue in tune with the pounding thrusts
of his cock.

His body felt like iron. Her mind was spinning out of control. The
burning friction of his cock rubbing her pussy raw and she just
didn't care. She couldn't hold off the explosion. It shot through her
and wrenched his name from her lips. Flying, flying, feeling him
bellow against the skin of her throat followed by the mild pain of
him biting down on her tender skin. His body exploding into hers.

They clung so tightly together. The hazy world coming slowly into
focus. She felt the pain between her legs and wanted to will it away.
Skinner seemed in no hurry to let her go and she rested her head
against his shoulder, letting herself come down from the ultimate
high.

A movement from him caused her to whimper and he was suddenly pulling
her free. He placed her back on her feet and looked deeply into her
eyes.


His voice sounded hoarse, "Scully, are you all right?"

She almost laughed at him. The best orgasm, hell the best sex of her
life and he was worried?  "I'm tougher than I look, old man." She had
meant it to come out amusing, but the words had the opposite effect
on him. Instead of the smile she expected, she watched as a cloud
crossed over his face. Worry and tenderness was turning to anger and
something she could have sworn was fear.

"I didn't mean to be so rough with you." he said gruffly. "I just
wanted to give you what you've been begging for."

He turned and began to walk out of the water before his words fully
registered on her still sex-foggy mind.

Begging for? *Begging for?*

"What?" She felt her body surge toward the bank and where he was now
pulling on his kilt. "What kind of an asinine thing is that to say?"
Her voice was rising and she couldn't help it. Rational thought flew
out of her mind. The fact that someone could walk by and see her
facing him down was unimportant. Standing nude with hands on her hips
became even less important.

Skinner wouldn't meet her furious gaze. He was contemplating the knot
that he was tying around his waist. "Come on, Scully. We're both
adults.  You've been all over me since we got here," he murmured.

"I've been all over YOU? You arrogant son of a bitch. You've been
treating me like I'M your damn whore!"

His eyes, when he finally looked up and stared at her were solid
black with rage. "I just kissed you, touched every inch of your body
and fucked you senseless. Now, let's see if we can keep it together
until I
can get us the hell out of here!" he shouted.

He could get us out of here?  That does it, she thought. She'd show
the macho fucking pig something.

"Sure! Fine! Whatever!" She shouted and turned, stopping to grab up
her clothes.

Without looking back at him she tugged the shift over her head and
went in search of her partner.  She knew Skinner hadn't moved from
the shoreline. She could sense him standing there watching her. But
she'd be damned if she would turn around to see if his emotions were
as plain as they had been earlier.

End of Chapter 6

A HIGHLAND TALE 7/?
BY LEELEE AND SEEKERONE
RATING: NC-17 at least.
CATEGORY: Sc/Sk, Mulder/O, and then who knows?
COMMENTS:  Thanks to Sylvie for patient meticulous beta. Due to her
thoroughness, she now gets to proof the headers as well.
Also the medieval term "leman" originally meant "lover"
or "sweetheart," not "whore."  It was used exclusively for females
(at least in what I've read). "Longshanks" refers to someone with
extremely long legs. Edward I of England was sometimes called Edwards
Longshanks, although probably not to his face  Life is a continuing
search for knowledge.
SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully go on a little unauthorized side trip.
SPOILERS:  Don't think so.  Sort of our own little AU.
DISCLAIMERS:  You-know-who created you-know-whom.  The rest are all
ours, with some genuine historical characters visiting occasionally,
such as Robert the Bruce and Edward II.
ARCHIVE: We'd love it.  As long as you take the whole thing and let
us know so we can come visit.
WARNING: While this chapter is more plot than smut, the whole series
is definitely NC-17+. Steamy sex, spanking and so on.
FEEDBACK: Worshipped, adored, read and reread again and again.  Drop
us a note and let us know what you think:  clueseek@swbell.net
Viceyy@aol.com
And, until we get our long delayed web site up, if you'd like to have
new chapters sent right to you, send an e-mail to: slswa-
subscribe@yahoogroups.com and subscribe to our broadcast list.

Chapter 7

"Where the hell is yer crop-headed whore?"  Rhiannon was proud that
her voice wasn't echoing off the battlements above her head.  Even
so, the noise in the small armory instantly went still, except for
the crackling fire in the forge and the whir of the grindstone.  The
three men at arms dropped their eyes and avoided her glare.

Her voice might not be shouting, but the lady of the clan was clearly
furious.
Her hands were clenched into tight fists and her glare was as
dangerous as any weapon in the armory.  A frustrated Rhiannon had
planned a little afternoon interlude in her chambers, but it seemed
her pet Fox was nowhere to be found. As a result, she was damn angry
and not in the mood to be crossed.

Images from the night before floated up in her memory. Her solar was
dark and chill in the late autumn night, but her huge canopy bed was
as warm and soft as her lover's eyes.  The scribe was still bashful
about being called to her bedroom, acting like a virgin on their
wedding night.  He had hesitated as if he were uncertain about
pleasing her and Rhiannon thought that his other lovers had been
fools.  This man needed to be explored slowly, seduced and petted
like a nervous courser. Her horse had calmed down with gentle
handling, and so would this man.

And she was right.  The scribe was an exciting lover, and when she
had teased him to a fevered heat, he was as rough and tumble as any
solider.  Rhiannon grinned to herself as she remembered the night
before - his groans as she licked his nipples.  The way he swore when
she pinched just below the sensitive head to stop him from coming.
The shifting weight of his balls as she rubbed the large sac.  The
salty taste of his sweat and come. And finally, the glorious sight of
him, stretched out under her as she rode his hard cock. The way he
arched his back to push into her as she milked him. The feel of his
hands as they hesitantly reached up to caress her breasts.  The
keening cry he gave when at last, she allowed him to come deep inside
her.  Then afterwards, she had pulled him close to her and he fell
asleep with his head on her breasts like a babe.

The freesword lay down the fine throwing dagger he'd been examining
and gave her his full attention.  He had frozen for a moment, as if
gathering his control. He drew himself to his full height and walked
toward the woman standing in the doorway.

"Excuse me, my lady?"  Skinner looked at her with a polite question
in his eyes, but she could see anger there too, even in dim light.
Hmm, thought Rhiannon.  He's not nearly as controlled about this as
he would like to appear.  Her long green overdress rustled as she
moved closer to confront him.

"Yer leman.  Er, rather, your leman and my scribe. They're na' in the
castle Gawter Skinner.  Sa. . . Where ar they?"

Skinner took a deep breath and crossed his arms in front of his
chest.  "I have not seen either Dana or Fox since early this
morning," he responded quietly.  But somehow it sounded like the hot
steel hissing as it was plunged into a vat of water to temper it.
There was no mention of the fact that Scully had ignored him all
night and slept by the fire with the other housemaids.  "But she
belongs to me..."

"Humph," came the response as the lady spun around on her heel.  Fool
men always thought they owned the woman.  Maybe the red-head had more
sense and gumption than he thought.

"By St. Severious' blood, if they've run off to those Druids, . . . "
Rhiannon left the threat hanging in the air as she stormed out of the
building and back into the courtyard.

The bailey had become a whirlpool of activity as the Lady snapped out
orders and the clan's people scurried to obey.

"Fergus, saddle my courser.  Rauf, have the kennel boy get the
hounds. The Fox hounds," Rhiannon snapped.   She turned briskly to
Skinner.  "Kin ye ride well enough to keep up?"

Skinner gave her a jerky nod. His body was rigid and he seemed as
angry as she was.  Rhiannon noted how his jaw was clenched tightly
and he glared at her. The stable boy led out a tall gray gelding.
The freesword yanked the reigns out of the boy's hands in a fury. His
girl Dana was in for a surprise when he found her. Rhiannon would see
that they were both made to pay for this foolishness.

"De ye have a dress or shift that the gel has worn?"  The kennel boy
asked.

Skinner guiltily shook his head he adjusted the stirrup. "She just
has the one," he replied gruffly as he gathered the reins and
mounted.

Rhiannon glowered at his broad back as he swung up into the saddle.
If that was all he'd given his leman no wonder she'd run away.
Perhaps she would keep an eye on the girl after they were found. She
did deserve punishment, but not as harsh a one as Skinner would
probably mete out.

"Isabel, Fox is a longshanks but there's a pair of old hosen he wore
in my son's chamber.  Fetch them."  The petite blonde gathered her
skirts and hurried back into the main part of the stone castle.

A groom led out a big glossy bay that pranced in the afternoon sun.
Rhiannon paused to stroke the muscular neck for a moment. She
remembered another nervous male and his response to a gentle touch.
Then, she gathered the reins as Fergus tossed her up onto the horse's
broad back.  Skinner gave her a look of amazement as she settled in
the precarious sidesaddle and brought the anxious horse under control.

"Jamie," Rhiannon called.   "Ye'll keep my castle safe.  They canna
ha' gone that far.   We'll be back ere dark."

Her Captain of the Guards was leaning negligently against the well in
the inner ward. He pushed off and strolled toward the hunting party.
He stopped by the lady's horse and calmly grasped the bridle.   "Nay,
I'm Captain of your Guards.  I ride with ye. Devil take that
worthless scribe, anyway."

"I dinna have time. . " she started.

"Then dinna try," came the gruff reply. "Herth, Ogaile, Ihon ye ride
with us."

The men nodded as they ran to stables.  The baying of hounds suddenly
added to the confusion as six large spotted dogs joined the group.
Isabel came hurrying down the steps from the hall and handed the boy
holding the dogs a pair of smelly pants.  He immediately showed it to
the hounds who sniffed it eagerly and started their
traditional "yolt, yolt" in response.

"My Lady, wait," panted the blonde. "I can't find the young Laird.
The boys say he left this marnin' with the scribe and Dana."

The bay half reared as his rider jerked the reins.  Her son was too
young, too important to the future of the clan.  Visions of
accidents, kidnapping by rival clans and a hundred other disasters
came rushing to mind.  "Are ye sure, gel?" she said softly. Her voice
was controlled but Isabel knew her lady was suddenly terrified of the
answer. Rhiannon's face was as white as an altar cloth.

Isabel dropped her eyes and nodded reluctantly.

"Search here anyway," came Jamie's calming voice. "Don't worry, my
lady.  We'll find them. Loose the hounds."

"Hi Thrompot. Hi Slicker.  Find.  Go git 'em," the boy encouraged.
The pack made a circle or two of the keep, then charged toward the
gatehouse and across the drawbridge. Their tails and ears were flying
as they scented their prey.  The iron horseshoes clattered on the
stone paving as the hunting party streamed after them, the pale and
frightened lady in the lead.

All thought of protecting the whore from her master's wrath was
forgotten. They had taken her son and both would pay with a beating.
And if Bruce were harmed in any way, she would hang them both.

The bailey echoed their passing and then fell quiet.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The old woman had silently waved them into her one-room hut. She
didn't seem surprised to see strangers standing at her door. When she
spied Lord Bruce hiding behind Mulder's back, she had bowed and
gestured for them to sit on the floor.

The cottage was dark, furnished with only a bed and a table with a
small bench for furniture.  The smoky peat fire in the fireplace gave
a little warmth, but no light.  A carcass of a dead rabbit was
hanging from the rafters, along with drying herbs and fruit.

There was no telling how old the woman was. Her hair was more gray
than red, and it hung dirty and limp around a face that wrinkled like
an old road map. The old woman brought Lord Bruce a mug of what
Scully guessed was ale and sat down on the bed, crossing her bony,
bare legs in front of her.

Mulder cleared his throat and finally broke the silence. "We're sorry
to interrupt your work, but Lord Bruce has told us that you know the
old religion, the old ways."

The old woman chuckled and gave Mulder an almost toothless smile. "Ye
thin' I'm one of the old ones, now?" She shook her head and laughed
harder. "There's none left, boy.  This land has turned its back on
the ancient ways and has na use for a hag like me."

Mulder shifted nervously on the floor as Scully sighed to herself.
She couldn't help feeling that they had walked away from the castle,
and taken the young lord of the clan McKinnon for nothing. Damn
Mulder and his stupid, impulsive plans.

But then the old woman calmed and looked very closely at both of them
with eyes filmy with cataracts.  "Me name is Nessa and yea, I am a
seer, what ye'll call a Druid. All my life, I ha' studied the ways of
stars and the world around me. And you are the two of the three who
are on an Echtra. I knew you would come to me for help."

"An Echtra?" Scully asked.

The woman turned to her and smiled. "An adventure, lass. An
accidental journey, taken by heroes, warriors, and sometimes the
foolish ones. 'Tis magic, in its purest form. Ye ended up here, and
now ye come to me, looking for a way back."

Bruce looked nervously up at Mulder. Scully could see her partner's
excitement, even though she felt this was a little too contrived.

"So you can help us get back?" Mulder was asking with a hint of hope
in his voice.

The old woman looked into her fire and was silent for a long
time. "It is good that there are three of you," she finally said in a
soft voice. "There is magic in a triad. Powerful threads. The three
warriors seeking a way home."

Mulder was nodding his head and she could feel the nervous energy
coming off him in waves. She bit back her retort at Nessa's words.
Three warriors my ass, she thought. Only Skinner gets to play the
warrior. Mulder has become the plaything for an oversexed medieval
woman and she'd been reduced to fucking her boss in the middle of a
lake.

Scully shifted on the floor at the thought. She was still sore. It
had been so long for her that she kept finding herself focusing on
the mild ache between her legs. Some perverse part of her needing a
constant reminder that it had been real, not another fantasy figment
of her overactive libido.

They had to get back home, back to D.C., back to their jobs, their so-
called normal life. She needed to be in a safe stable environment in
order to think logically about what they had done.  And, god knows
she had to try to sort out her feelings. Staying here meant constant
contact with Skinner. And how the hell is she going to keep her hands
off him tonight? She couldn't spend another night with the
housemaids, she was supposed to be his mistress.  But just the
thought of lying pressed against him on their blanket in the rushes,
was making her too warm.

She had to shake off the anxiety she was feeling. Mulder and Nessa
were in deep conversation about an upcoming holiday and how she could
use it to get them back.

"The festival of Samhain is two days hence," Nessa was saying. "Tis
the last harvest of the year. Mother Earth will bid a sad farewell to
the God. We know he will be reborn of the Goddess and the cycle will
continue in the spring. But now is th' time to reflect on our place
in nature, time to honor the Ancients who have gone on before us, the
time of seeing. Yer place is not among us. Setting ye on the path to
put ye in yer correct place of nature is therefore important."

"Can you do it Nessa?" Mulder finally asked.

The old woman looked at him intensely, then at her and finally down
at the young lord Bruce.

"Aye, that I can. My magic is strong. But it will have to be only the
three warriors. Young Lairds should ner be involved. His destiny is
different. Do you understand, boy?"

Both Mulder and the boy nodded. Scully could see the fear on the
young boy's face and watched as he moved closer to Mulder and took
his hand.

Nessa stood up and looked down at all of them. "Now, leave. I have
much to do.  Return with the other, two days hence." She turned back
to the fire, dismissing them.

Bruce was the first one to hear the hounds baying on their walk back.
He grabbed Mulder's hand and cried out. "Listen.  Mother has come
after us, Fox!"

Mulder looked at her and she could see a bizarre look of panic on her
partner's face. Was he that scared of Rhiannon? Of course, taking
Bruce from the castle wasn't a terribly smart thing to do, but Mulder
looked almost terrified.

"I'll tell my mother that we were walking and just got lost. We could
say that we were studying plants, and didn't know how far we had
walked."

Mulder crouched down beside the child. "No, Bruce.  I won't be
responsible for you having to lie to your mother."

Bruce gave Scully a pleading look and she shook her head at him. It
was Mulder's decision. She watched the boy looking at Mulder and then
to the horses racing after the hounds at a distance. The kid's back
seemed to straighten and he jerked his hand out of Mulder's grip.

After looking at Bruce as nothing more than a cute kid, she gained
instant respect for him with his next words. Giving both her and
Mulder a glare, the boy stretched up to his full four-foot height and
announced in a voice that sounded more adorable than imperious.  "I
am The McKinnon of the Clan McKinnon and you will do as I say.  My
choice, my lead. And that is my Final Word on it!"

Scully bit back a laugh. Good job kid, she thought. With a mother
like yours, you're going to need this boldness to be The McKinnon.

Mulder gave her an incredulous look, before nodding to the kid and
standing up.

The horses and dogs raced toward them in a billow of dust.

End of Chapter 7

A HIGHLAND TALE 8/?
BY LEELEE AND SEEKERONE
RATING: NC-17 at least.
CATEGORY: Sc/Sk, Mulder/O, and then who knows?
COMMENTS:  Thanks to Sylvie for superb meticulous beta.  This is a
better story because of you and any remaining errors are all ours.
SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully face the penalties for their little
excursion.
SPOILERS:  Don't think so.  Sort of our own little AU.
DISCLAIMERS:  Guess what?  Skinner, Mulder and Scully aren't ours.
(I know, I know, you're SHOCKED!) But most of the rest of the cast
are unique to us, thank you very kindly.
ARCHIVE: We'd love it.  As long as you take the whole thing and let
us know so we can come visit.
WARNING: While this chapter is more plot than smut, the whole series
is definitely NC-17+. Steamy sex, spanking, an orgy and so on.
FEEDBACK: Worshipped, adored, read and reread again and again.  Drop
us a note and let us know what you think:  clueseek@swbell.net
Viceyy@aol.com
And, until we get our long delayed web site up, if you'd like to have
new chapters sent right to you, send an e-mail to: slswa-
subscribe@yahoogroups.com and subscribe to our broadcast list.

Chapter 8

The lookout in the watchtower squinted when he saw the mounted party
off in the distance.  Donald shivered in the cold damp autumn wind as
he tried to protect his eyes with an upraised hand. It was his first
time to stand the watch alone.  A younger son, he had come to serve
at the Castle only last year, and Captain Jamie himself had assigned
him the day's watch.  He grinned at the memory of it so far.  Isabel
had brought him half a cold pheasant and a mug of ale for luncheon.
They had escaped the damp mist by snuggling behind the stone merlons,
where in wartime the archers stood. Donald sighed at the happy
memory.  They had made sweet love and laughed about all the little
things that lovers giggle over.  He paused to shake his head and
droplets of the damp drizzle flew in all directions.  It wasn't fair
that buxom little blonde was a poor relation with no dowry.  He
needed to marry well or he'd wind up a tenant crofter like his da'.

He abruptly jerked back to watchfulness.  Yes! There! At the tree
line. Horses and riders coming through the mist and drizzle. The clan
banner snapped in the breeze.  It was the Lady!  Donald alerted the
clan waiting restlessly below in the bailey. "They comin' and they're
na' ridin' hard.  Sum ar' even walking their horses. So, mayhap
they've found them," he hollered to the people below.

His happy bellow echoed off the old, gray stonewalls and startled
chickens scratching for worms around the wet flowers. One of flock
immediately flew through the open kitchen window with a loud squawk.
The cook considered that a good omen and so made it a part of the
evening meal.

There was a quick shout of relief from the waiting crowd, and several
of the maids laughed and hugged each other. They knew if Lady
Rhiannon's son was still missing, she wouldn't be taking it easy on
the horses.

A short figure in a brown monk's robe fell to his knees in the mud by
the well.  The wind ruffled the cuff of black hair around his tonsure
while a drop of cold rain slipped down his cowl. He began fingering
his small silver rosary, whispering a prayer of thanksgiving for the
safe deliverance of the heir. The blonde housemaid, Isabel, that was
her name the monk remembered, dutifully crossed herself. Then she
quickly ran to the kitchen for tankards of warm mulled wine for the
cold returning travelers.

The rest of the clan started clapping and shouting, but the cheers
came to an abrupt halt when the hunting party clattered into the
courtyard. The tension in the group was strong enough to blight any
celebration. The horses blew gray clouds and steam rising from their
warm bodies was clearly visible in the damp air.  Even the returning
hounds, muddy from their hunt, seemed subdued, and quietly headed for
their kennels.

The outlander girl was thrown over the freesword's saddle and splayed
across his thighs.  She wasn't tied, but when she tried to get down,
he swatted her bottom hard enough to make the water fly from her
dirty dress. She twisted up to glare at him.  She seemed to calling
him every obscenity in her repertoire - under her breath, of course.

The scribe was bound in chains and riding behind Jamie, his iron
collar clearly marking him for what he was. But the Captain's
broadsword was not in his heavy leather baldric. The thick black belt
hung diagonally across his chest like always, but the scabbard was
empty.

In fact, Jamie was sitting ramrod straight and stiff in the heavy
leather saddle, unlike the relaxed grace of someone who had ridden
horses all his life. The fair skin of his face was an angry red and
he chewed on his lower lip. Raindrops glistened on the heavy fur
cloak he wore.

The kitchen scullion, Meig, was the first to notice that the
Captain's sword was tied to their Lady's saddle. She always watched
Jamie, ever since the night he had taken her and the laundress to his
bed.  She grinned at the memory and felt herself grow warm and wet.
He pleasured them both till cock crow. But today, it looked like
trouble for the man.

She nudged Naoghas, the cook, and pointed silently to the misplaced
weapon.  Both of them caught a quick look at Rhiannon's face and
peeked back at Jamie.  A few worried glances were exchanged and
suddenly, everyone quickly found something to do. The adults
whispered as they walked away, shooing the children ahead of them. It
was clear that their Lady's anger was not just for the outlanders.

The big bay courser was only sweating slightly from the double burden
of his Lady and the heir.  From her rigid posture to her clenched
jaw, it was obvious that Lady Rhiannon was also in a rare taking. Her
dark hair had worked loose from her widow's cap and hung down her
back. Impatiently, she tossed a damp strand over her shoulder. Lord
Bruce, who was riding a pillion behind her, glared at her back, his
frown a mirror image of his mother's.

"Slide down, Bruce," she ordered.  "Fergus, help me," she commanded
as the old groom stepped forward to hold her courser's bridle.  He
nodded as he caught her around her waist and lifted her down.  Odd
doings.  Usually, it was Captain Jamie who helped her dismount.

The Lady paused to jerk at her long skirts that were tangled in the
newly fashionable sidesaddle. Then, with an extra hard pull, she
ripped the hem. When the dark green velvet tore, the Lady swore like
a harlot under her breath. "Stable the horses. They get extra grain
tonight.  Then, see that this tack is cleaned properly."

Fergus stopped rubbing his gnarled hand over the horse's warm velvet
nose and stared at her in disbelief. He had been caring for the
McKinnon horses since before Rhiannon was born. "Lack wit," he merely
grunted in response as he led the big horse away.

"And, then bring my whip and marking iron to the great hall." The
groom paused on his way to the stables, glancing back at her in
surprise. The big bay butted his shoulder, impatient for his stall
and the promised grain. The Lady was rarely known to use a whip on
her horses, much less on anyone else.

"Ye heard me," she snapped.  Fergus nodded obediently as he glanced
over the rest of the party with sympathy.  The young laird was fine
but looked as upset as his mother.  The runaway scribe and girl both
appeared exhausted, wet, dirty and maybe, a little scared.  Fergus
sighed.  If they had any sense, they'd be very scared, he thought,
shaking his head.

"Mother, I told you already. . ." Bruce began with an impatient stamp
of his foot.  The chill wind rumpled his kilt and goose bumps
appeared on his short legs.  Rain droplets dotted his long eyelashes.

"As this matter bears on the whole clan, I'll hear your tale in the
hall.  Bring the scribe, and Captain. Ye, too freesword," Rhiannon
ordered as she brushed the wet mud clinging to her gown.  "I would
hear each of you swear to the truth of your witness."

She noticed the scullion slipping away to the kitchen and frowned at
the muted cloak that vanished through the side doorway. Had Jamie let
his little amusements with the two sluts interfere with duties to the
garrison?  The thought of him in bed with the women aroused a white
hot fury in her she could barely contain.

Rhiannon glared at the Captain now, and her tones became even more
clipped,  "I would hear how two people could take the McKinnon out of
the castle and me own guards na' even notice it."  She turned and
stomped toward the main building, her boots clumping on the innocent
cobblestones.

Her attention was suddenly caught by the stranger in her
courtyard. "And who the devel ar' ye'?" she demanded of the young man
in the damp, brown robes standing wide-eyed by the well.

"I'm . . . Uh . .  I'm Father Hew," he stammered as he stared at the
tall woman in front of him. "I've . . .uh. . .come ta' take Father
Bryan's place. God rest his soul," he quickly crossed himself
piously.  "That is, if ye'll have me."

The Lady gave him a hard glare and he immediately dropped his eyes as
was befitting a priest.  It was unseemly for a man sworn to God to
look directly at a woman. "Ye write a fair hand?" she snapped,
stripping off her damp gloves.

"Aye, my Lady," he gulped nodding as he studied the wet cobblestones
at his feet.

"Then, come. Ye'll make a record o' this since me scribe will be
facing judgment." She paused for a moment, glancing over the party
following her.   Fox wouldn't meet her eyes either, but the
freesword's leman glared right back at her.  The girl had a smear of
mud on her damp, pale face that she ignored as she pushed her short,
red hair behind her ear.  The ragged wet dress the whore wore was
nearly in tatters and she shivered in the cold.  Rhiannon remembered
Skinner admitting that the girl only had one.  A small part of the
Lady's mind made note that no one in her household should be in such
need.  But she would deal with that later, after the truth was
settled, she decided.

"Rauf, take the gal to the dungeon.  She is the freesword's
responsibility. He shall plead her case and answer fer her
punishment. Come.  This shall be settled now."  With a silken rustle
of her wet fur overmantle, she led the group into the great hall.


Judgment in The Great Hall

Rhiannon settled in her heavy oak chair at the head table. She tried
to control her swirling emotions as she arranged her cloak for extra
warmth. She had always prided herself on being a fair and just
mistress of the castle and the clan. Facing unknown danger to her son
had overwhelmed her.  She was ready to explode. They all needed to
learn a lesson, including the young boy who was the most important
thing in her world.

Isabel brought her a tankard of hot mulled wine.  "Have Iorcall stir
up the fire and light the torches. And, the priest needs the clan
book.  Bring it from the chapel, along with quills and ink."

Isabel nodded and hurried away.  She wondered what she'd missed while
getting the wine for her Lady, but well a day, Donald would tell her.

The clan filtered in but stayed in the shadows.  The scribe, the
freesword, Jamie and Young Bruce stood rigidly in front of the
platform.  The blues and greens of their kilts were muted in the dim
light.

"Sit there, Father." Rhiannon commanded.  The priest obediently sat
on a small wooden bench at the end of the table, flexing his chapped
fingers in the cold room.  The blonde maid laid a heavy book on the
old tilted writing stand, placing two long quills beside it. Isabel
glanced around, looking for Donald among the soldiers standing in the
great hall.

"I will need more light, my daughter, it grows too dark to write."
The priest whispered to Isabel, not wishing to draw the Lady's
attention to him.  Wordlessly, the maid set out a small inkpot as he
opened the clan record book. She brought a rush light and placed it
on the heavy damask cloth covering the table. Births, weddings,
fines, tithes, purchases, judgments, punishments and deaths were all
entered, he noted, although the recent ones where in a poor hand.

"Lord Bruce, heir to the honor of the Clan McKinnon.  Stand forth and
be accounted," came the ringing tones of the Lady seated at the
center of the table.

He stepped forward and stood in front of her. His small body was
erect and proud. The heat of the fire was beginning to dry his damp
kilt, his mother noted with approval.  She fought against the
feelings she had whenever she saw any defiance in him. By our sweet
Lady, he was so like his father, she thought. With all the potential
to be just as arrogant, courageous, troublesome and resilient.

Not waiting for her permission to speak, he began to explain all that
had happened. She didn't believe his excuse about ordering Fox out
for a walk to study plants. But in watching him speak, she saw
quickly what he had planned. By speaking the lie out in the middle of
the hall, Bruce was daring her to call him on it. The boy was defying
her, knowing that she had two choices. Accept what he was saying or
call him a liar, shaming him in front of the people that he would one
day lead.

Rhiannon leaned her head against the back of her chair and closed her
eyes. She would not risk her son's immortal soul by asking him to
swear to the story.
The Lady fought against tears that threatened to fall. Bruce's act of
defiance and courage warmed her heart like nothing else ever had. He
would be the Laird of this clan and a good one too, if she was any
judge of it. He had inherited the spirit he needed from his father to
become The McKinnon. She rolled her shoulders, feeling as though a
great weight was lifted from her.

Of course, she WAS still his mother.

"Enough," she finally said. "You've stated your case, and I will
accept it as the truth." Bruce's face lit up in a childish smile of
delight and she fought the urge to pull him onto her lap.

"However," she stated in a firm voice, so he would understand she was
serious. "The Laird of the Clan must also take the consequences for
his people's actions and their failures.  You will hear my judgments
for the others here, and know that you also bear part of the
responsibility for their punishments.  I order you to go with our new
priest and spend the night in holy prayer. Pray for your father's
soul, and for God to give you the wisdom to be a fair and HONEST
leader of this clan."

Bruce looked upset. The miniature heir stubbed his toe against the
rushes and mumbled his agreement. She gestured to him to stand by the
priest at the end of the table.

"Sir Jamie, Captain of the Guard of the McKinnons, come forth and
answer for your failure," she cried out.  The hall suddenly became
still as everyone held their breath. Jamie pushed forward from where
he stood by the freesword.

"I stand here, my Lady," he said gravely, his whole body taut with
anger.

"You hold for my castle and the safety of the heir. Yet this morning,
he was allowed to leave this hall, escorted only by a slip of a girl
and an outlander. Is this true?" Rhiannon's temper was building
again, her clenched fist suddenly pounded on the table.

"Yes, my Lady," he admitted.

"Furthermore, your men did not know that he was gone until the alarm
was raised.  Is this also true?" she demanded.

Isabel gasped in sudden shock at the words, quickly slapping her hand
over her mouth, her eyes wide in disbelief. The realization of why no
alarm had been raised swept over her.  The lookout had not left his
post, but his mind had certainly not been on watching the coming and
goings of the clan folk.

Jamie dropped his eyes and nodded in assent.

"Whatever discipline you give the guards, the ultimate responsibility
is yours. You are my constable. And you failed to protect the heir,"
her voice was harsh as she reminded him of his sworn duties.  She
paused to sip from the tankard, and collect herself.  This must be a
fair judgment, Rhiannon, she told herself. No more, but no less.
Forget your anger.

"They were gone from Terce, until we found them at None. You shall
receive four stripes for every hour he was gone. The crime was
against my house and I will carry out the chastisement.  For keeping
discipline and order, the punishment shall be carried out in my
solar. Go, now and await me."  Rhiannon gestured to the whip lying on
the table.

Jamie glared at her a moment more, his green eyes catching the
firelight like the stained glass in the chapel. But then, as if
recognizing his failure and her right to the sentence, he picked up
the lash and walked to the wide stairway leading to the Lady's
chambers.

Rhiannon paused, gathering herself before she looked toward the end
of the table.  This was an important lesson for young Bruce as well.
There were always consequences for any action, and the ultimate
responsibility lay with those in charge.  The boy was pale and
chewing on his thumb.  Jamie was his friend and tutor in archery and
combat. His actions had resulted in his mentor getting a beating.

Skinner and the scribe had been whispering softly. No doubt something
about their strange world back in Dee of Cee.  Rhiannon overheard the
mercenary accuse the scribe of running off, again.  By Saint Thomas,
if he'd deserted the soldier before in time of need, it was a wonder
he was alive to tell it.

"Freesword," Rhiannon called out suddenly.  Instantly, the whispers
stopped as both men seemed to recall where they were.  Skinner
stepped forward and looked down at her.

"The leman is your responsibility, Outlander.  If, as my son says, he
and the scribe were studying plants, a kitchen wench still has no
business away from her work." Rhiannon watched the interplay between
the two men as the scribe stepped forward to speak and Skinner told
him to shut up. "I will not risk my men chasing after some fool girl
who's chosen to runaway in nigh on winter.  If she is tired of your
protection, she may petition me for relief."

Skinner growled deep in his throat, glared at Mulder once more, and
then faced Rhiannon again.  "Dana is mine.  And, if she was led
astray in this foolishness, I will punish her for it."

"Indeed you will, Freesword. You will go to the dungeon now and give
her the beating she deserves.  Since this is her first error while in
my castle, I will be merciful.  You will use only your hand," the
Lady ordered.

Fox began an immediate protest, but was silenced by a harsh voice
from the dim sidelines.  "Beggin' yur pardon, mi Lady," Angus stepped
forward into the torch light around the table. "He's sweet on the
little whore.  He'll na hit her'n hard enough to teach her th'
lesson."

Rhiannon stifled her dislike of the little soldier.

He was filthy dirty in mind and body, she noted as he blatantly
scratched at what she only hoped was a flea bite.  But he had raised
a formidable point, one that she couldn't ignore in front of the rest
of the clan.  "Then, Angus, you shall watch.  If the beating is not
strong enough, you may step in." Angus grinned and began to rub his
grimy hands as if anticipating revenge on the wench who had shamed
him earlier.

Both Skinner and Fox began to protest loudly, when the Lady raised
her hand for silence.  "In any case, this was her first offense.  No
blood shall be shed by either party.  Is that clear?"

Skinner reluctantly nodded and turned toward the guard house and the
dungeon stairs. Angus followed at a safe distance.  A part of
Rhiannon mentally shook herself.  The last judgment would be the
hardest.

"Stand forth, Scribe,"  Rhiannon's voice was frost.  As he moved into
the rush lights, she noticed that Fox was swallowing convulsively. He
stood in front of the table, the manacles around his wrists linked to
the iron collar at his neck.  The chains clinked loudly in the still
room as he shivered in the cold. She remembered again how he looked
in her bed.  How soft his lips felt against her breast. How he
whimpered when she rode him to his release.  Even now, he had the
ability to stir her blood.

"You were charged with my son's learning, and thus with his safety.
I dinna think I have to say again that this trust was no' kept. You
have disappointed me, Scribe.  You endangered and nearly lost a
precious child."  His hazel eyes grew large in the dim light.  Her
hard words seemed to have struck home with him.

"What did I tell ye the first night, yer punishment would be for
running away before your bond debt was paid?" she demanded.  She
suddenly rose to stand behind the table and stared intently at him.
Leaning over the damask covered board, she felt the fine cloth under
her hands.  Odd how delicate silk could feel rough at times.  The
only sound in the chamber was the scratch of the priest's quill as he
noted the transgressions in the clan's record book.

"You said," Fox whispered, looking down at the iron rod laying on the
cloth in front of him, and then gathered himself.  "You said you'd
whip my ass and put your brand on me." He stood straight, staring at
her, his own hazel eyes cavernous and pleading for sympathy.


The Lady said nothing, merely gestured toward the marking iron.  Fox
slowly picked it up.  "My solar. Now!" came the echoing order.

End of Chapter 8

A HIGHLAND TALE 9/?
BY LEELEE AND SEEKERONE
RATING: NC-40 at least, NC-17 is far too tame for what goes on here. 
CATEGORY: Sc/Sk, Mulder/O, and then who knows?
COMMENTS:  Thanks to Sylvie for superb meticulous beta.  She proofed it with 
only one or two 
hot flashes.
SUMMARY: Scully is punished for her part in their little excursion.
SPOILERS:  Don't think so.  Sort of our own little AU.
DISCLAIMERS:  Guess what?  They aren't ours.  I know, I know, you're SHOCKED!
ARCHIVE: We'd love it.  As long as you take the whole thing and let us know so 
we can come 
visit.
WARNING: Fair warning! The chapter is definitely NC-17+. Steamy sex, spanking, 
voyeurism and 
so on. 
FEEDBACK: Worshipped, adored, read and reread again and again.  Drop us a note 
and let us 
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And, until we get our long delayed web site up, if you'd like to have new 
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broadcast list.
 
Chapter 9
 
All Scully could hear from the bowels of Rhiannon's dungeon was the sound of 
water dripping 
down the moldy stone walls. The occasional, ominous, rustling noise coming from 
the damp rushes 
was making her nervous. She refused to speculate on the probable source of that 
noise. Whatever 
creature was making that horrendous sound, was hidden in the darkened, far side 
of the chamber.  
Dana moved closer to the light coming from the single torch the guard had left 
burning. The tarry 
twigs sputtered in the moist air and despite Scully's frequent exposure to all 
things creepy, she said 
a quick prayer that the torch would not go out.
 
Scully sat down on a small, three-legged stool, the only furniture in the 
dungeon, and focused on 
the torchlight. She could see chains hanging on the opposite wall and was glad 
that Rauf had not 
seen her as enough of a threat to feel the need to use them.

 
Rauf had, in fact, acted as though Rhiannon's instructions to leave her down 
here were ridiculous. It 
was clear that the Hunt Master saw Mulder as the one responsible.
 
On the ride back to the manor, Lord Bruce had repeatedly told his mother that he 
was the one who 
had insisted on the long walk looking for plants. Whether Rhiannon bought it, 
Scully did not know. 
But, considering the cold way she had ordered Mulder and Scully tied to the back 
of Jamie's horse, 
Scully doubted it. 
 
The silence on the ride back left Scully feeling anxious and tense. Not only was 
she nervous about 
what Rhiannon would do to them, but damn well nervous about what their boss 
would do to them. 
Skinner said not a word but, it was clear that he was beyond furious. Rhiannon 
wanted to get back 
before dark, and when she finally ordered that they be allowed to ride, Skinner 
had simply reached 
down and thrown her over his saddle. Riding face down across his hard thighs 
should have been 
embarrassing, but in fact she had ached all over and felt too nauseated from the 
constant movement 
to worry about it. He had even made it worse when they arrived in the courtyard. 
Her attempts to 
speak to him quietly had been answered with a mortifying slap on her butt. 
 
She tried to focus her worry on her partner, but her own situation seemed worse. 
She was stuck 
down in the gloomy dungeon, awaiting god knows what. Rhiannon had ordered her 
down here 
saying she was to await her punishment. Punishment? What would be suitable for 
an outlander who 
endangered the heir to the clan?
 
She kept remembering a medieval torture museum she had seen as a child. Chairs 
with nails and 
vises to crush thumbs. She tried to keep a level head. It had been her saving 
grace before, but her 
traitorous mind kept seeing visions of iron maidens and that didn't lessen her 
anxiety of what was to 
come.
 
Skinner would protect her. Like a mantra, she kept telling herself over and over 
that he would 
protect her. Even as angry as he was, he would never let her be seriously 
injured. The afternoon at 
the lake had been a lot more than just sex. She was sure of that. The passion he 
had shown was 
more than just a casual fuck. 
 
It was only in hindsight that she could see that he had been hiding his feelings 
for a long time. She 
recalled his tenderness when she was ill and his anger when she did anything 
dangerous. And then 
there were the times she would catch him staring at her in a very unboss-like 
fashion. All these 
things now came back to her. She knew, somehow she'd always known, that he would 
be there if 
she needed him.
 
Was making love with him really wrong, then? Dana leaned her head back against 
the damp, stone 
wall picturing him standing in front of her at the lake. Her eyes had feasted on 
his hard muscular 
body, wet and gleaming in the sunlight.  Powerful enough to take her breath 
away. He was her 
superior at work, but did any of that really matter? They were both so lonely. 
And, they both hid 
behind the scars of past relationships that had failed so miserably. Both 
so...desperately in need of 
tenderness. 
 
A clanging noise from above stopped her rumination. She stood up; her body 
tensed at what was 
going to come. Relief washed over her when she saw Skinner walking down the 
steps. It was going 
to be all right, she thought with a great sigh. He had intervened and she would 
be released. She 
fought the urge to run over to him just to feel his arms around her. Her 
feelings were so strong that 
she made the decision then and there that she would join him on his blanket that 
night. A smile 
curved her lips at the thought. To hell with the OPC, the FBI and pretending she 
hadn't been in love 
with her boss for a long, time, she thought with a grin. Walter Skinner, you are 
in for one hell of a 
night.
 
Scully's smile fell as the cell door squeaked open.  Skinner stepped close 
enough for his face to be 
seen clearly in the darkness. It was as hard and set as she'd ever seen it. 
Finally, he stood in front of 
her, just glaring until she felt all her romantic feelings fall away. Scully wet 
her lips, her mouth 
suddenly dry. She was so caught up in Skinner's anger that she jumped when she 
heard a gravelly 
voice behind him.
 
"Well, git on it, freesword.."  Angus was looking at her with such a gleam in 
his eye that it made 
her heart start beating so fast, she thought it would fly out of her chest. 
 
"What the hell?" she whispered.
 
"Angus is down here to make sure this gets done properly." Skinner announced. 
His face was 
turning three different shades of red and she was sure steam would come out of 
his ears. His hands 
clenched into fists and he looked angry enough to explode. 
 
"What gets done? Skinner, what the hell is going on?"
 
"You're to be beaten, Scully. Punishment for taking the young lord away from the 
castle. Lady 
Rhiannon is sure that you two were trying to find some druid woman and is 
incensed that you 
would put her son in danger to do it. I tried to dissuade her, but it did no 
good."
 
Scully felt dizzy at his words. Panic gripped her chest so tight she couldn't 
breathe. She couldn't 
drag her eyes away from Angus' filthy leer. Good God! Was he going to do it? 
She'd never let him 
touch her. The man had a really good reason to hurt her seriously. Was Rhiannon 
so cruel that she 
would leave her at this monster's fury? 
 
It would be all right, she chanted to herself. Calm down. Skinner was here and 
the two of them 
could handle the bastard. But how could they get out of the castle? What about 
Mulder? 
 
"Skinner.." She whispered and hoped he would understand.
 
He reached a hand out to touch her face and despite his angry expression, she 
felt such tenderness 
in his warm fingers.
 
"Rhiannon agreed that as your master, I would give the beating. But Angus 
objected that I would be 
too lenient. He's been sent to make sure I do it well. And if not, he has been 
ordered to finish the 
job."
 
She just stared at him in shock. He couldn't be serious! It would have to be a 
real beating with 
Angus watching. Her mind whirled trying to find a way out of it. They could kill 
Angus, but then 
what about Mulder? Skinner's fingers were holding her chin in a firm grip, 
forcing her to look at 
him. His expression was impossible to read. Did he want her to fight? Submit? 
What was she going 
to do?
 
He leaned in close and for one shocked moment she thought he was going to kiss 
her. His lips 
missed hers however and brushed her ear. "Just play along. I'll make it look 
worse that it really is."
 
She wanted to ask a hundred questions. The whole concept of her boss really 
hitting her was too 
bizarre. And, that bastard Angus casually leaned against the wall and sneered at 
her. She was left 
speechless, both with rage and fear.
 
Skinner threw a glance back at the man and pulled the stool around from behind 
her. She stood, 
deep in shock, and just watched him while he settled his large frame onto the 
small stool. She 
couldn't help resisting him as he pulled her over and pushed her facedown across 
his lap. Her hands 
landed on the filthy rush-covered floor, her legs splayed out behind her. His 
hand rested on her 
bottom and she could feel his warmth through her thin damp shift. 
 
"It'll be over quickly, Dana. Don't fight me. Just relax," came the very soft 
whisper. 
 
She bit back a hysterical laugh.
 
His hand kneaded her ass for a moment, and then his warmth was gone. The first 
blow wasn't 
painful enough to hurt. But the shock of it forced a cry from her lips. He gave 
her no time to 
recover. By the third blow, she winced and gasped. It hurt Damnit! He was 
supposed to make it 
seem worse than it was. When the fourth blow slapped against her heated ass, she 
cried out louder. 
Let Angus think she was in pain, that was what Skinner had meant. Put on a show.  
She began to 
act in earnest. Thrashing around and begging him to stop. She thought it was a 
good performance. 
Skinner's spanks had eased to the point where they felt like nothing more than a 
pounding massage. 
 
Unfortunately, Angus wasn't fooled.  "Bare her arse freesword.. Yer na' doing 
any damage that I 
kin see."
 
Skinner held her still. His hand was gently caressing her bottom. She didn't 
dare move. Oh, god he 
wouldn't, he couldn't . . .
 
She felt his hand inch under the material and stroke up her leg. Then he was 
pulling the shift up and 
over her bare ass. Her struggles became real when she realized she was now bare 
to both men's 
gazes.
 
Frantically, she reached back to pull the ragged garment down. She screamed as 
Skinner grabbed 
both her wrists in his hand and pinned them to the small of her back. 
 
The next slap stung and she fought harder. She felt her bare ass bouncing to 
each burning stroke. 
She cursed Skinner, Rhiannon, Mulder and the entire clan.  She struggled, 
twisting against him, and 
didn't care that Angus was laughing. Skinner's hand would land the blow, then 
linger on her heated 
flesh. His fingers stroking and trying to sooth before swatting her again. Her 
legs had spread 
despite her efforts to keep them tightly together. And, when she felt his 
fingers trail down her 
aching sex before the next slap, a long moan escaped in spite of her 
embarrassment. 
 
This was terrible. His gentle touches were followed by a stinging slap. His 
strokes over her sex 
soon began to burn as hot as her ass. His small finger slipped between her folds 
and brushed her 
hard clit. And then, she realized she was wet. Very wet. Embarrassingly so. He 
left her ass to land 
short slaps to the back of her thighs, and she almost sobbed at the new 
sensation. She could feel her 
juices trickling down and wetting his kilt. His thighs were so hard under her. 
She ground her sex 
into his muscles and nudged his huge erection with her hip. She wanted him to 
stop and take her. 
Fuck her hard and fast. Right here in this filthy cell.  Now, goddamnit.
 
Looking up at Skinner, she gasped. He was even more turned on than she was. His 
mouth was open 
and he was panting harshly. He stopped the slaps and drove two fingers into her 
sopping sex. His 
hips bucked up, grinding into her side. 
 
With a hoarse voice he addressed Angus. His eyes, however, never left hers. 
"Get Out! It's done. Leave!" 
 
Scully turned to Angus. He seemed reluctant to leave, but Skinner's next words 
sent him flying up 
the steps. "Go NOW or I'll rip your ugly head off your body!" She had never 
heard him so angry 
before. If she weren't pinned against him with his fingers deep inside her 
pussy, she would have 
run, too. 
 
Skinner yanked her up as soon as Angus was out of sight down the corridor. He 
had her straddling 
his thighs and shoved his tongue in her mouth before she could say anything. His 
cock felt huge 
and she instinctively rubbed her wetness over it, soaking his kilt. The 
sensations of the rough cloth 
rubbing her sex, irritating it, stimulating it, making her so damn hungry to 
have his cock inside her. 
One quick movement from him and he had jerked the kilt out of the way. His cock 
stood erect and 
swollen between his legs. She didn't stop to think, couldn't do anything more 
than raise up slightly 
and then sink down onto him. His cock pierced her, filling her to the core. They 
moaned into each 
other's mouths.
 
His hands lifted her hips and gripped her ass, guiding her to ride him. Her ass 
was sore - tender 
from the beating - but the feeling of that soreness mashing onto the course hair 
on his thighs 
spurred her on - faster and faster. The burning sensation was only bringing her 
closer to where she 
wanted to be - flying high - out of her mind with the passion he had started 
inside her. She rubbed 
her breasts against his chest and begged him for more. Harder. Fuck me harder. 
His hips bucked up 
off the stool and he pounded his cock into her. Dana felt herself exploding - 
crying out his name - 
hanging on for dear life while he plunged into her. Skinner held her tightly 
against him. He was 
buried deep inside her and when he came, he hollered out his own release - his 
hot come filling her.
 
They gasped and clung to one another. She tried to kiss him, but she barely had 
the energy to 
nuzzle his neck and to let out a soft groan.
 
She felt him try to move.  Suddenly, they were both falling. She landed heavily 
on Skinner's chest 
and he grunted at the unexpected impact. They sat up, both a little dazed from 
the fall, looked at 
each other and began laughing hysterically. The small stool lay smashed to 
splinters on the stone 
floor.
 
The End of Chapter 9

A HIGHLAND TALE 10/?

BY LEELEE AND SEEKERONE
RATING: Oh I'd say NC-40 should do it, NC-17 is just too mild
particularly for this chapter.
CATEGORY: Sc/Sk, Mulder/OF/OM
COMMENTS:  Thanks to Sylvie, not only for her superb beta, but her
suggestions for this chapter that got me off dead center.  This is a
better story because of you and any remaining errors are all ours.
REDEAMING SOCIAL VALUE (CAN BE SKIPPED BY THOSE NOT INTERESTED IN
ADDITIONAL EDUCATION. A few tidbits of extra knowledge: The "sgain
dubh," or black knife, is a small knife worn on the right leg, tucked
between the stocking and the leg. Originally the sgain dubh was
hidden somewhere on the highlander's body, later it became tradition
to wear it in the sock to show friendliness i.e. you are showing
others where your knife is, so are not hostile.
The average person in the medieval period had no concept of time as
we know it.  Many serfs didn't even know what year it was, much less
the hours of the day.  The time periods mentioned in this story were
taken from the monastic "offices" or services of the medieval
churches. Tierce was about 9:00 in the morning and None was about
3:00 in the afternoon.
Greaves were thick shin protectors, an integral part of a warrior's
armor. They could be made of leather or metal.
The baldric was a thick belt worn across the chest.  It helped to
hold and balance a soldier's heavy scabbard and sword in place at his
waist.  The broadsword could also be carried across the back like a
quiver of arrows.  Enough education, on to the smut.
SUMMARY: Mulder and Jamie are punished for their part in the escapade.
SPOILERS:  Don't think so.  Sort of our own little AU.
DISCLAIMERS:  You really think they're ours?  You're crazier than we
are!  The holy trinity of you-know-who belongs to CC and Company.
Except for the historical characters, everybody else came from our
overactive imaginations and libidos.
ARCHIVE: We'd love it.  As long as you take the whole thing and let
us know so we can come visit.
WARNING:  This is a very intense chapter with whipping, extra
helpings on smut and one or two really extreme acts.  Definite BDSM
elements.  You are warned! Note to younger members on the list.  This
is an NC-17 story.  If you are underage, please leave now.  You will
be carded.  I don't want to hear from you and I don't want to hear
from your momma.
FEEDBACK: Worshipped, adored, read and reread again and again.  Drop
us a note and let us know what you think:  clueseek@swbell.net
Viceyy@aol.com And, until we get our long delayed web site up, if
you'd like to have new chapters sent right to you, send an e-mail to:
slswa-subscribe@yahoogroups.com and subscribe to our broadcast list.


Chapter 10

THE GUARD ROOM

The soft, feminine voice echoed in the dark, empty, guard
room. "Donald?  Donald? Where ar' ye?" the plaintive call
repeated.  "Ah, merciful St. Peter help us, wha' ha' we done?"

RHIANNON'S SOLAR

The solar was dim and cool in the early evening, Rhiannon observed,
puzzled. Why the devil hadn't Isabel freshened the room, as was her
wont of the evening?  Where were the candles and torches?  Even Jamie
was a murky shadow standing by the fireplace. He looked big, like a
rocky crag, solid, safe, towering over the mortals around him. All
right Rhiannon, my girl, she thought.  Take charge, you stand for The
McKinnon.  Jamie was in the wrong.  He deserves what's coming to him
as much as Fox does.

"Jamie, stir up the fire and put more logs on. I would have light and
heat,"  she commanded and impatiently slapped her leather gloves
against her thigh. Her long, muddy skirts rustled among the rushes as
she moved into the room.  Where the devil was that fool gel anyway?
It was her responsibility to have the chamber ready for her Lady's
comfort in the evening.  Even the silver basin of water on her table
was cold.  The click of a chain from behind her quickly banished all
thoughts of her handmaiden's shortcomings.

"Fox, place the iron in the brazier, " she said, pointing to the
large bronze container sitting on a tripod. It had been a gift from
her late husband, and always stood beside the table. The heavy vessel
was used for extra light and warmth in the winter.  "Then, stand
before me, both of you," she ordered as she tossed her leather gloves
onto the table.

The fire in the hearth was catching and the large copper hood over
the fireplace was beginning to reflect heat back into the room.
Rhiannon ignored the two waiting men as she took a burning twig from
the fire and began to light the candles.  The room took on a warm
glow as the scent of beeswax mixed with the stronger smell of pine
logs burning.  She took the last bit of the twig and dropped it on
the oak chips and incense in the brazier and watched for a moment as
they sprang to life.  The flames lighted her dark hair as she gently
blew on the tinder.

She paused for another moment, looking down at the table, and smiled
to herself at the tools Fergus had selected. He was obviously
protecting his Lady from the consequences of her own temper. The whip
was one he used on the hounds.  Long and springy.  It would sting
like a switch, but wouldn't break the skin.

The branding iron Fox had brought up from the great hall would leave
a mark not much larger than her thumb. It was used to mark the
bindings on the leather books for her library. Fergus must have sent
a boy to the tanner to get it. It would take a while to heat, she
reflected, and there were other things to attend to first.

"Strip," she commanded coolly, staring at Jamie.

The man glared back at her for a moment, his green eyes glowing like
a cat.  He slowly nodded. "As my Lady commands," he purred
sarcastically.

Then, by St. Maronius, if he didn't begin slowly shedding his
clothes, like a pleasure boy she had once see at the English court.
His very attitude was defiant as the heavy wet kilt slid to the
floor. The sgain dubh that he always carried strapped to his leg
rattled as he tossed the leather sheath on the dark oak table. He
unbuckled the heavy leather baldric that crossed his chest and threw
it down with the empty scabbard gaping.

Jamie paused, looking at Rhiannon in a silent contest of wills, then
he grinned at her and moved back to the big table.  He sat down in
her large chair as if it were his.  He arrogantly pulled off his
thick leather greaves which protected his shins, while his green eyes
dueled with hers.  He untied his boots, grabbed the heel and tugged
them off. They landed in the rushes, a loud thudding sound echoing in
the silent chamber. He stood again, clad only in a fine linen shirt.
Rhiannon felt her mouth go dry even as she felt her body responding.
Finally, he stood, slowly unlaced his shirt at the neck and cuffs,
and pulled it leisurely over his head. Unnoticed, it joined the other
castoffs in a pile on the floor.

Calmly, as if he was accustomed to being naked in her solar, as if he
belonged here, he stood and strolled toward her. "Do you approve my
Lady?" he inquired.

Oh yes, she approved, Rhiannon thought as her heart pounded like a
highland war drum.  His shoulders were heavily muscled from a
lifetime spent in arms and in the saddle.  Dark hair occasionally
mixed with gray matted his chest. Slim waist and fine hips.  And, a
big thick manhood jutting out, as proud and haughty as its owner.

Rhiannon tossed her head.  Very well, Sir Captain.  Two can play at
your little nighttime swordfight, she thought, deciding to take up
his challenge. She crossed her arms in front of her chest to hide
their slight tremble and cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Very well. Now. Strip my Fox," she ordered, licking her dry lips.
The clinking of metal chains echoed in the quiet room, like a
training pass between two swordsmen. And out of the corner of her
eye. she could see her Fox jerk at her words.

Jamie stared at her for another moment, then strutted toward Fox.
There was no other word for it, Rhiannon thought, he strutted!  The
slim man tried to jerk back, but Jamie grabbed the manacles, dragging
him to the table.  Green eyes challenged hazel until Fox suddenly
yielded, staring down at heavy oak planks.  Jamie was not quite as
tall as the scribe, she noted as he unfastened the clasp on the sash.
More sodden clothing landed with a dull slumph in the rushes until
Fox stood trembling, clad only in his under shirt.

Jamie grinned slightly as he pulled his sgain dubh from the leather
sheath that lay on the table.  Rhiannon held her breath in the
stillness but Jamie was careful with her lover. The little knife,
sharp as any Damascus blade, made a ripping sound through the cloth
shirt as it parted across the scribe's shoulders.  A last flip of the
wrist and Mulder stood shivering and naked before her as well.

"Chain him to my bedpost, there," Rhiannon ordered, pointing to the
foot of her giant bed. "Then, stand beside him."  Turning, she
pretended to ignore the two men as she causally stirred the glowing
embers in the brazier, the scent of sandalwood heavy in the air.  The
Lady picked up the marking iron and contemplated the symbol before
plunging it back into the fire.  It would need to heat to white hot
to accomplish her goal, she decided. She paused for a moment,
pretending that the heat in her face came from the flames and not the
prospects before her. It was merely the flames that brought the flush
to her face she mentally argued.

When she turned to face them again, Fox's hands were stretched above
his head, the chain fastened around the top crosspiece to the
canopy.  She picked up the dog quirt and walked slowly across the
room. Jamie stood by Fox, as if daring her to conquer him too.

Rhiannon threaded the thin leather through her fingers for a
moment. "Your error allowed Fox to leave the castle with my son," she
said stonily. "You shall be punished first."  Jamie stared at her for
a moment, then turned his back and grasped the bedpost.

Now that both men were facing away from her, Rhiannon allowed herself
to relax a little.  By the Blessed Magdalene, this was a fine sight,
she thought as she studied the two naked masculine backs standing
side by side.  Jamie was more muscular with the occasional scar from
battle, with shoulders and arms that were used to swinging a
broadsword or controlling a warhorse.  His arse was hard and his legs
looked thick and solid standing against the bed. There was a hint of
his heavy balls hanging down between his legs and Rhiannon had to
hold back her hand from fondling them.  Na yet, my girl, she thought.

Fox, standing at the corner bedpost, was long and sleek, like her
wolfhounds, even down to the iron collar around his neck.  She paused
in her perusal to stroke the chilled flesh and firm butt.  She felt
the scribe shiver under her fingers as she traced a line from the
clef of his butt checks up his spine. She causally reached around his
slim hip to fondle him.  Smooth as velvet laid over steel she thought
as she stroked him. Ah yes, little Foxling, you like this.  You're
hard and leaking and tonight, I'll take my pleasure from you again
and again.

Rhiannon glanced over to discover Jamie avidly watching her caress
her lover.  Ahh. . .it's like that, is it, me fine one? She mused,
taking a deep steadying breath. She slowly brought her damp hand to
her mouth and licked Fox's juices from her finger.  Jamie's eyes
lowered to slits. His faced flushed and he clenched his jaw in
apparent anger. But he didn't move. His tense body straightened as he
gripped the bedpost firmly.

Rhiannon could see the challenge in the soldier's eyes. A challenge
she had every intention of meeting. She gave him a triumphant grin
and backed up a step or two.  His shoulders tensed in anticipation of
the first blow.  The Lady remembered her husband's sage
advice, "Surprise is as useful in the bed as in the battle."  So
instead of aiming at his shoulder, Rhiannon flicked the first stripe
across that very hard butt she was just lusting after. Jamie hissed
in response as the whip left a fiery weal across his ass.

"Ye're mine, Jamie boy. As sure as the Fox is," she whispered. The
strokes became random across his butt and thighs, some light as a
kiss, some that cracked a line of burning red. Rhiannon paused
occasionally, soothingly touching the lines that marred his perfect
flesh. The heat warmed the tips of her fingers.  Jamie didn't cry
out, but moaned and swore like the soldier he was, under his breath.

Now one last hard blow crossing diagonally across his flaming butt
and it was done! Rhiannon tucked the whip under her belt.  Twenty-
four stripes, four for every hour her son had gone missing. Her hands
itched to touch the man standing so solidly before her. Jamie stood
perfectly still while she caressed his hips and ran her hand up and
down his thighs. His skin was hot and moist with sweat even in the
cool room, the dampness gleaming in the candlelight.

Rhiannon touched him gently on the shoulder and pulled him toward
her. He came easily into her arms. His large body dwarfed hers, but
she knew that she was firmly in control. His salty, slightly male
scent was perfect, she thought as she held him. She stroked her hands
up and down his unmarked back, as he panted and gasped for air. She
felt his hard cock pressing into her dress and a shiver of desire
coursed through her body.

Soon, Jamie, soon she thought.

"You did well, Jamie," she murmured. "I'm pleased with ye."  He
pulled back slightly to stare down at her, his pupils dilated and
smoky with desire. His full lips opened to speak, but before he could
say anything, she placed a long finger over his lips.

"Mayhap, but I still have Fox to attend to," she admonished.
Jamie's expressive eyes narrowed at her comment, but Rhiannon turned
toward the waiting man.

The scribe's eyes were yellow green and huge in the candlelight.  He
twisted around to stare at Rhiannon and then at the man standing
beside her.  "I'm sorry, my Lady," he whispered.

"Likely ye are, but not as sorry as you're going to be," Rhiannon
promised, pushing him back against the bedpost. "You nearly lost an
innocent bairn with your folly." She moved back a few steps and
before either man was ready, let fly with the short whip.  Rhiannon
kept her focus across the scribe's firm butt as strip after strip
appeared. Unlike Jamie, Fox was a vocal creature, whimpering after
the second stroke and howling at each one thereafter.

Rhiannon decided to keep the whipping short.  Fox's real punishment
was heating in the brazier.  After ten strokes, she stopped and
tossed the whip against the heavy chest by the foot of the bed.  His
shoulders were shaking with barely suppressed sobs.  Rhiannon's brows
drew together. The whipping hurt, no doubt, but there was something
else going on with the man.

"Release him from the chains," she ordered Jamie, "and bring him to
the table."  Jamie stared as her a moment and then stretched up,
releasing cuffs and the chain from where it was fastened to the
canopy.  Fox slumped in his arms, still whimpering.

Rhiannon had already turned and walked toward the brazier, pausing to
throw a cushion from one of her chairs onto the table.  "Hold his
right arm down on that, she ordered, her back to them.  Standing in
front of the smoking brazier, she paused to collect herself.
Branding was a common enough punishment for criminals and runaway
serfs but one that was rarely used at Castle McKinnon.  And even
then, it was unheard of for a Lady to do it, unless she delighted in
that kind of cruelty. But you promised him this punishment and
consequence, me girl.  The little fire was hot and the iron glowed a
white orange. She gathered herself as she put on her leather gloves
again. The leather felt cool and protective against her hot skin.
Now, she thought, picking the rod up from the embers and walking back
to the table.

Fox was looking down, unable to look at her, trembling.  Rhiannon saw
him bite hard on his lip and a drop of blood appeared.  Jamie had
Fox's hand laid across the cushion, his large fingers wrapped around
the scribe's forearm. He glanced up at her, his feelings hidden in
deep green eyes.

"Fox," Rhiannon spoke softly.  The scribe didn't look up. "Fox, look
at me," she ordered.  Slowly his pale face looked up, wet lashes
framed wide, terrified hazel eyes.  "You can not run away from me,
Fox Mulder. I claim you as mine." So saying, she pressed the white-
hot iron to the back of his hand.  He screamed in response, trying to
jerk away from the pain, but Jamie held hard against his struggles.
Rhiannon removed the iron quickly and tossed it back in the brazier.
It was done. Jamie without even asking, plunged Fox's hand into the
icy cold water in the basin. Rhiannon nodded her approval to the man
as she stripped off her singed gloves.  The cold water would remove
the immediate pain and tomorrow she had a salve that she would apply
to prevent infection.

Without thinking about it any further, she unlaced her tight bodice
and slid it off her shoulders.  The belt and heavy wet skirt soon
joined the other clothes on the floor.  Her undershift was little
protection against the cold and her nipples peaked against the fine
linen.  Mimicking Jamie's earlier actions she sat down in the big oak
chair and pulled off her heavy riding boots. She looked up at the two
men with a grin. Green and hazel eyes stared at her.  Both men were
as still as a painting, Rhiannon thought, noting that Jamie kept
Fox's hand in the basin throughout. "Come" she ordered with a snap of
her fingers, giving the men a view of her charms as she strolled over
toward the big bed.

She had punished them for their indiscretions. Now would come their
rewards.

ELSEWHERE IN THE CASTLE

"Shh. . .me darling.  Twill be alright. I'll tell Captain Jamie I
fell asleep and that's how the outlanders slipped by me," Duncan
whispered into soft blond curls as he held the tearful girl close to
him.  "No one will know."

"Duncan, they'll turn ye out.  Ye kin na protect me like that.  T'was
my fault too." Isabel pleaded with him.  Besides, soon the bairn
would start to show.  She hadn't told him yet, hoping he would want
to marry of his own accord and now this.

THE SOLAR

Rhiannon sat on the edge of the great bed and leaned back onto her
elbows to look at the two men. Her shift was stretch taut across her
breasts and she opened her legs slightly. Both men stood before her
and she felt heat course through her body. Fox was shivering, his
head downcast and left hand clasped tightly around his right wrist.
He had lost part of his arousal, Rhiannon noticed, but that could
soon be remedied. Jamie stood slightly behind him, his hands resting
gently on the younger man's shoulders.  The sound of his harsh
breathing was loud in the quiet solar.  Very weel, Jamie, Rhiannon
decided, you can watch if you're that concerned about my scribe's
well being.

Rhiannon sat up and dragged her body against the younger man's as she
slowly stood in front of him. Her breasts tingled at the contact and
she felt his cock harden against her stomach. She gently cupped her
hand under Fox's chin and stared into wide, wet hazel eyes.  He was
still pale and trembled under her warm hand.

"It's over, Foxling.  You're claimed now," she promised as she
lowered her lips to his.  Her tongue gently lapped at his cut lip and
under the tender pressure, he opened his mouth.  She pulled him
toward her, sliding her hand around the back of his neck.  He tasted
of sweat and tears and just a hint of blood.  He whimpered, but
remained standing perfectly still, caught between her assault and
Jamie, still as a statue, behind him.

Rhiannon continue her leisurely exploration, licking his neck, and
allowing her finger to brush against his hard nipple. He tried to
twist away as she continued her slow exploration, but Jamie's
knuckle's turned white as his hands gripped Fox's shoulders, holding
him in place. She felt the moisture pooling between her legs at the
thought of Jamie watching her love Fox with her tongue. Rhiannon
flicked her tongue back and forward across the scribe's naval,
sliding off the bed and onto her knees in front of the two men. She
ignored the undershift which immediately bunched up around her waist,
exposing her soft curls to the avid looks of the two men.

"You please me, little one," she whispered to him, as Fox hesitantly
caressed her loose hair. "You please me, very much."

She gently reached down and grasped his cock, now rock hard again and
starting to leak.  She gently blew across the head and smiled as Fox
moaned in response. His cock was long and elegant like the rest of
him, she thought as she began slowly running her finger down the
sensitive underside, gathering the moisture on her finger tip.  He
jerked back and whimpered something that sounded like a plea.
Rhiannon smiled as she gently rubbed his heavy balls.  She's always
loved touching a man this way.  She rotated his ballocks in her
hands, enjoying the feel of them as they moved back and forth in
their velvet sack. Fox gasped again and thrust his hips forward, his
cock now leaking with arousal.

Rhiannon tucked her hair back behind her ear, and eagerly engulfed
him in her hot mouth.  This time she heard two groans as she slowly
worked up and down, sucking and nibbling.  She felt Fox's long
fingers tangle in her hair again.  She looked up at the two men,
Jamie still standing behind her lover, peering over his shoulder.
Both men watched her avidly, their eyes clouded with passion.
Rhiannon fought the urge to slip a finger down beneath her curls. She
wanted this to last.

Now we shall witness who wins this contest, me fine boy, Rhiannon
thought as she deliberately paused. She wanted both men to see her
with her mouth stretched wide around the scribe's pulsing cock.  Two
sets of huge staring eyes peered down at her. Then Fox groaned as she
shook her head slightly from side to side with an intense sucking
motion. With a quick move, she pushed her damp index finger into
tight arsehole.  Now with a little rub. Fox suddenly yelped and tried
to jerk away. Ah, there was spot. She felt his balls tighten up
against him and suddenly he was coming in hard spurts. She grabbed
around the back of his tender thighs and held him to her as she
swallowed his salty come.

She glanced up again, allowing the spent cock to slip from her
mouth.  Fox's head was thrown back in abandon on Jamie's shoulder,
and he was gasping for breath.  There was a fine sheen of sweat all
over him, and she felt his whole body tremble as she slowly rose to
her feet. She pulled him from Jamie with a firm hand around his neck,
words were loud enough for both men to hear. The Captain stared at
her with huge hungry eyes, his cock hard and pulsating, and his lungs
heaving, gasping and panting for breath.

"Taste yourself, my Fox," she murmured, leaning forward to kiss him,
her eyes focused on Jamie.  "Yer as fine as . . ." but the comparison
was never completed.

With a sudden thrust, Jamie pushed the scribe away, not even glancing
down as Fox slumped to his knees. The Scotsman looked deeply into
Rhiannon's eyes and she felt her body surge at the awareness of what
she had done. Jamie's cock was huge and erect, his hands clenching,
his face flushed. She almost laughed out loud. Driving her captain
over the edge had been so easy.

He grabbed Rhiannon by the shoulders, spinning her around and pushing
her face down on the bed. The linen undershift was torn away, even as
Jamie pushed her legs wide part. She arched her back and showed him
her swollen sex. He grabbed her by the hips and with one hard thrust,
buried himself completely inside her.

Rhiannon screamed out, the ache and pleasure of his stiff cock
filling her completely. Oh St. Mary Magdalene, he felt so good, so
hot, and so big stretching her pussy out.  Jamie was too aroused to
be gentle, pounding her hard as she tried to grasp onto the bed
covers. She was wet and slick from all the love play.  The sound of
his thighs and balls slapping her ass mingled with their moans and
cries.  She always knew he would be like this. An animal that she
could barely control. Someone to take her fierce passions and use
them to give her even greater pleasure. Someone like her late
husband. It was too much.  Rhiannon felt herself tighten on him hard
as her pleasure swept over her.

The tense friction only made Jamie reach down and pull her up from
the bed.  Now holding her tight against his chest, he rubbed her
nipples and roughly caressed her breasts. He thrust hard again and
reached down between her legs, stroking her woman's center. She felt
his teeth scraping down her neck. Nipping at her. Driving her mad.
Rhiannon arched back like a bow and screamed as she came again. Jamie
could hold back no longer and with one last hard plunge, he came deep
inside her.

They stood for a moment beside the bed, still joined, sweat and
juices trickling down their legs.  The only sound in the room was
their gasps and pants as each tried to recover.  Jamie gently bent
down and nipped again at Rhiannon's collarbone, leaving a small mark.
Then he suddenly withdrew from her with a wet sucking sound. A brief
caress down her back and then he was gone.

Rhiannon could only stare at the soldier as he purposefully walked
toward his scattered clothes.  "Jamie?"  Rhiannon called with a
slightly puzzled tone.  He ignored her as he quickly dressed.  He
strode to the heavy door and paused to look back at Rhiannon and at
Fox who had finally gotten to his knees beside the bed.  Emotion
flared in his green eyes and then he was gone.

Fox scrambled to his feet, eyes downcast, and started to gather his
clothes as well.  "I'm sorry  . . I'd  better. . ." he started
uncertainly, not looking at the Lady.  His lean nude figure was
beautiful in the soft candlelight.

"Fox Mulder!" she snapped in a tone that had been giving commands to
men for years.

He paused, uncertain, and stared back at her.  She stretched her hand
out to him.  "It's all right, Fox cub," she said gently. "Come back
to bed."

He waited a moment, but there was a hint of pleading in her eyes. He
swallowed hard and allowed his kilt to slip back to the floor.  She
grasped his hand and pulled him into a gentle embrace.

End of Chapter 10

A HIGHLAND TALE 11/?
BY LEELEE AND SEEKERONE
RATING: NC-17.  Although this chapter is not as smutty as some of
them.
CATEGORY: Sc/Sk, Mulder/O.F./0.M sort of.
COMMENTS:  Thanks to Sylvie for superb meticulous beta.
SUMMARY: The morning after a rather tempestuous night.
SPOILERS:  Don't think I saw any of this in the seventh season.
DISCLAIMERS:  Of course they're ours.  Don't we look like an aging
blonde surfer dude from California who makes millions on this?
ARCHIVE: We'd love it.  As long as you take the whole thing and let
us know so we can come visit.
WARNING: While this chapter is less intense than the rest of the
tale, the whole story is definitely NC-17.  So if you're offended by
graphic sex, whipping, chains, and a semi-orgy, just move along.
A word to the younger readers on the list, too.  This is an NC-17
story and you will be carded.  If you're underage, delete this right
now.  We don't want to hear from you and we don't want to hear from
your Momma.
FEEDBACK: Worshipped, adored, read and reread again and again.  Drop
us a note and let us know what you think:  clueseek@swbell.net
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CHAPTER 11

Walking slowly to the long trestle table, Dana carefully balanced the
heavy platters of roast pig. She felt as though she was strolling
through a wonderful post-fuck fog instead of smelly floor rushes. The
sting from the spanking Skinner had given her faded quickly. Ahh, but
the sweet throbbing between her legs would stay with her all day. She
placed the platters down for the hungry men, and easily evading their
groping hands, went back for more. Her body was going through the
motions, but her mind was happily replaying the night before.

After stumbling their way up from the dungeon, Skinner had laid their
sleeping blanket as far away from the others in the great hall as he
could. He had pulled her down beside him and covered their bodies
with his kilt. Holding her close, his large hands had been
everywhere - stroking her - touching her. His mouth followed his
hands, torturing her breasts with licks and kisses until she was
gasping with need. He silenced her with a passionate kiss and with
feather light strokes, his hands caressed her reddened ass.

He told he was sorry; he never wanted to hurt her. When she had
shushed him, he surprised her by turning her on her stomach and then
ducked under the covers to run his tongue over the slight welts on
her ass. He proceeded to show her how much he wanted her and how much
he needed her.  Scully shivered when she felt his warm tongue soothe
her sore bottom.  After that, dear lord, he turned her again,
wrapping her thighs around his head and fucked her with his tongue.
She had been forced to stick her fist in her mouth to keep from
screaming. When his tongue lapped over her clit, she couldn't stop
the shriek from erupting along with her orgasm. She didn't care if
the entire clan was sleeping nearby, she cried out his name and
exploded onto his face.

He was on top of her and buried deep inside her before she even came
back to earth. She tasted her salty-sweet juices on his tongue as he
thrust it into her mouth with as much strength as his cock was
thrusting into her sex. She would never have imagined that he could
still be so passionate. It seemed that their encounter in the dungeon
had only taken a slight edge off his frantic lust.

Be honest, girlfriend, she thought with a grin.  Walter S. Skinner
lasted longer than any other man she had ever been with. She had
shuddered and moaned when he lifted her legs over his shoulders. His
cock hit her so deep inside, she felt she would split in two, the
pleasure so sweet, she almost passed out. Her body burned with
desire, the feel of his body pressed into hers causing the most
delicious sensations and they seemed to be unending. His sweat made
his back slick under her fingers. Her nails had dug in frantically,
trying to hold on to him. She was sure they drew blood as she came
again and again. She felt his own sweet, sweet shudder as he spilled
deep inside her. The way he had groaned her name had sounded almost
like a prayer.

She must have passed out, because the next time she was aware of
anything he was lifting her ass to take her from behind. Her juices
from their earlier lovemaking ran down her thighs, easing his passage
deep inside her. The torches and the fire in the big hearth had
burned out, leaving the hall in darkness. She didn't need to see,
just feeling him gently driving into her was enough. His finger
stroking and pinching her nipples and his lips raining kisses onto
her back. Her body was hot liquid under him, moving for him, only for
him.

He whispered to her the entire time. The darkness and their position
must have eased his fear of telling her what was in his heart. "I've
wanted you for years, Dana Katherine Scully.. God, you're so tight. "

Afterward, he had held her so close she felt she was a part of his
body, a part of him. His heart beat strongly against her cheek, his
panting breath cooling her sweaty back. She pulled away from his
chest to slip down his body and bathe his softened cock with her
tongue, the sensitive head feeling like wet velvet in her mouth. The
taste of their sex on him was so erotic she had reached down to rub
herself. When he had hardened in her mouth, she had taken his large
cock as deep down her throat as possible, making him moan and thrash
about. His hands were rough when he pulled her up to straddle him.
She slowly rode his cock, her soft flesh matching her movements.
Exhausted, they reached the last orgasm of the night at the same
time. Her last memory was a gentle kiss in the dark and a hoarse
whisper about not ever letting her go.

The noises of the hall had awakened them at daybreak. Both were
silent, able to do nothing more than stare deeply into one another's
eyes. He gently tucked the short hair behind her ear. She brushed her
lips against his rough palm. The emotions she had seen on his face
that morning thrilled and terrified her at the same time.

She couldn't look at him when she walked over to the bench where he
was sitting, a heavy platter in her arms. She was afraid she might do
something stupid like lean over and give him the good morning kiss
she had been too shy to give him on awakening.

This was ridiculous, she thought. She was acting like a desperate
lovesick teenager. She had never been lovesick in her life. It's just
libido and hormones speaking, Dana, she decided. No one can have that
many orgasms in one night and not act stupid the next day.

Placing the heavy platter in front of Jamie, she spared a look at
him. She was prepared for one of his usual bigoted remarks about her
punishment and was  looking forward to it, in fact. Despite the fact
that he was a medieval sexist pig, she had grown to like the captain
of the guard. A crude remark from him might make her angry enough to
stop her hands from trembling.

However, Jamie never even looked down at his stale bread trencher,
much less the steaming roast. Instead, his gaze was fixed on Rhiannon
who was sitting at the high table with Mulder and her son. He
remained silent, his body fidgeting as if the oak bench was a hard
uncomfortable chair. He had dark circles under his eyes making Scully
think he hadn't slept. Scully almost laughed out loud when she
realized that the poor guy looked as obsessed and confused as she
felt.

She went back to the kitchen with pale, listless Isabel. Even the
little blonde was out of sorts this morning. She snapped at the
scullery maids and then burst into tears as she ran out of the
kitchen and up the stairs.

It was mindless work in the scullery, but Scully's head was swirling
with ideas. Even though it seemed ridiculous, they needed to get back
to Nessa's house tomorrow. They had to try her druid magic to get
home. Maybe an infatuated Jamie would be willing to help. Especially
if it meant getting Mulder away from the obvious object of his
affection.

It was late afternoon before she was able to get Mulder alone to
share her plan with him. He had been ordered to help clean the hall,
but in typical Mulder- fashion had found an interesting old tale of a
local lake monster to distract him from his assigned job. And young
Bruce was working quietly at one of the tables learning Greek with
the priest.

"Mulder," she whispered, standing beside him with a tankard of ale.
He jerked, looking up as if startled to see her, the old parchment
scroll rolled up under his fingers. "Focus, partner.  We've got to
get out of here and back to Nessa's."

He just stared at her blankly.

"Nessa, the Druid.  Remember? The FBI? Washington, D.C.?  The X-
files?" she continued, finally getting a grunt in response.

"We'll need help to get out of here this time.  They're bound to have
tightened up security," she plotted in a quiet undertone, keeping a
watchful eye on the priest and boy.  "Skinner and Jamie are
practicing in the tilt yard.  Let's get Jamie aside when they come in
for luncheon. So you think he'd risk it to get rid of us?"

Mulder seemed anxious and strangely torn about leaving. As Scully
continued to lay out her plans, he stared at the hangings on a far
stonewall and then down at his bandaged hand.

He finally nodded his head and muttered, "Jamie'd love to get me out
of the way." After another moment of silence, he said almost
sadly, "Yeah. You're right, Scully.  We have to get back.  I . . . We
don't belong here.  And the longer we stay, the greater risk that
we'll somehow change what was."  Then he walked off to complete his
duties.

Rhiannon's Solar

Walking into her solar, Rhiannon looked longingly at her bed. Perhaps
just a short nap, she thought, to recover from their late evening
frolics. Just enough to take the edge off her sleepiness. It would do
her well to rest for the night ahead.

She had gotten little rest with a repentant and finally, a playful
and seductive Fox in her bed last night. It had taken some coaxing,
but watching her with Jamie had brought out his competitive side.
Once Mulder finally joined her in bed, it was as though he wanted to
banish any memory of Jamie's lovemaking with sheer endurance, showing
her a possessive side of him, a jealous side of him. Near morning,
she was so exhausted from his constant lovemaking, she had been
forced to laughingly order him to desist, to sleep. She had curled up
in his arms, relishing the feel of his lean body holding hers. How
long had it been since she woke up in man's warm embrace? Even now,
she could feel his passionate lovemaking with every step she took.

The morning had been long and very busy. Bruce had seemed upset that
he was to work with the priest and not her scribe to learn his Latin.
But the last she had checked on her son, he was quietly working his
letters with Father Hew and seemed to be enjoying himself.

Fox, on the other hand, had been out of sorts all morning, throwing
sad-eyed puppy dog looks and grumbling under his breath.  Making him
responsible for freshening the great hall with her servants seemed to
be fitting punishment.

Not that she was still angry, exactly.  How could she be when the
young man had been so sweet the night before? She had every intention
of having him join her for another night in the great bed.

Rhiannon eased her fur overmantel off, letting it fall to the
counterpane. Exhausted, she slipped under the bed covers and released
the heavy side curtains on the canopy. It was warm in her solar.
Isabel had left the brazier lit and with the pale winter light coming
through the cracks in the shuttered windows, Rhiannon felt bathed in
shadows.

Yes, just a few moments of sleep would do the trick.

She felt herself drifting off, the sweet memories of the previous
night making her smile, her body relaxing as she snuggled into the
soft bed. She remembered Fox and Jamie standing nude by the fire,
their bodies glowing in flickering light. She recalled Jamie's weight
as he twisted over her, pounding hard against her sex. She had always
suspected that he would be a force to reckon with in bed. All that
controlled passion and emotion - all that strength. His willingness
to bend to her will - only when she demanded it of him.

Rhiannon's hands began to wander over her body at the memory. He was
such a man. So like her late beloved husband in so many ways. True,
she had Fox to entertain and amuse herself, but more and more her
thoughts were on Jamie and all he could be to her, to her son and to
the clan.

She knew he would never really be content to be her occasional
bedmate. The only question being could she...? Would she allow more?

Her hands stopped moving and she rolled over with a sigh. Why did the
woman always have to choose?  Many a clan chieftain had a wife AND a
leman. And the English King had a Queen who never warmed his bed and
quite a few royal heralds and pages who did.

Rhiannon grumbled to herself, knowing better. Eve's daughters were
condemned to follow a different path, as the blessed church taught.
And any woman foolish enough to challenge the holy writ, wound up
disgraced and often shut up in a nunnery for the rest of her life,
prayerfully repenting her sinful ways.  Now that she had made love to
Jamie, the choice and the answer was clear.  But a possible future
with Jamie frightened her and for Rhiannon, fear was never
acceptable.

A whimpering noise from a darkened corner of the room stopped her
pondering and made her look around. She groaned softly at the
intrusion as she pulled back the bed curtains. She really had too
much to consider for this.

"Who invades my solar without my let?" she called

It took a moment for the person to rise and come into the light near
the windows. Rhiannon relaxed when she saw that it was only Isabel.
But the woman looked like a penitent sinner. Her face was tear-
stained and pale. Rhiannon sat up quickly at the sight of her
kinswoman's apparent distress.

"Isabel! By the Blessed St. Mary, girl. What troubles ye?"

With a sob, Isabel threw herself onto the bed. She clutched her
Lady's feet and buried her head into the velvet covering, before
beginning to wail.
"Oh my Lady! I am ruined. I have shamed the clan and meself."

Through her tears, she told Rhiannon her sad tale. How she and the
wretched Donald had cavorted during his watch, allowing Mulder, the
whore and the young Laird to leave the castle unobserved. How he
feared he would be turned off for his mistake.  How he was even now
traveling back to the highlands after she told him of the babe. How
she would begin showing soon and the whole clan would know of her
disgrace.

Rhiannon lay back with a groan and stroked the poor girl's hair while
she wept. It was again a woman's lot to pay. A great laird could have
any number of baseborn merrybegots.  He could choose to acknowledge
his bastards or ignore them.  But a child ruined the innocent maid
unless she could find a man to stand with her at the church door and
say the holy vows.

It was not that she was terribly surprised. She had warned Isabel
that this might happen. Donald had family far away in the highlands.
A poor clan that would probably prefer a daughter-in-law with some
land or at least one with a dowry.

The girl's cries subsided to whimpers once again, and Rhiannon
whispered reassurances to her.

She felt a familiar anger grow at the sight of sweet, silly Isabel's
pain. Here she had been contemplating allowing Jamie into her life!
Fool woman! Here was proof of what she already knew. Men could never
be trusted. Isabel's only crime had been her loving and innocent
nature. Donald had used that against her and Rhiannon knew one thing
as well as she knew her own name.

Her kinswoman, like all women, needed protecting.

Damn Jamie, too. She'd warned him before about his soldiers bothering
the women of the clan. He would feel her wrath for this indiscretion.
After all, he knew Donald and had to have realized he would bolt when
faced with a bairn. He'd  have to find someone to honor Isabel.
Rhiannon wouldn't allow her or her child to suffer for this. She was
head of this clan and no female member of her family would be forced
to endure the shame and suffering of man's fickle ways.

Sitting up, she held Isabel's tragic face between her hands and
calmed her with these words. Isabel would not be cast out nor would
she have to hide in disgrace. The child she carried would be accepted
as a full member of this Clan McKinnon.

Isabel cried anew at hearing her Lady's generous words. Rhiannon
finally got up and brought her a damp rag for her face. The touch of
the cool wet cloth seemed calming to the hysterical chit. They were
sitting side by side discussing names for the child when Rhiannon
heard screams and yelling coming from the great hall below.

The Great Hall

The sight that met Rhiannon eyes, when she and Isabel ran down the
steps, was a mother's worst nightmare.  Father Hew was on his knees
over the crumpled body of her son. His lips moved in fervent prayers
for divine intervention as the beads on the rosary clicked.

The screams from the maids were echoed off the stone walls and made
Rhiannon's blood run ice cold. Rushing to her son, she could see only
slight movement. His face was blue and his eyes still open were
bulging from his face. She fell to the floor beside him, unaware of
Jamie's appearance from the tiltyard beside her, despite his bellow
of anguish. The remains of the trencher of food Bruce had been eating
were scattered around him.

All that Scully heard as she ran into the hall, was "Lord Bruce"
and "Fit." She pushed bodies out of her way to get to the child.
Without any conscious thought, she snatched the child away from
Rhiannon who was yelling in terror. Placing his unconscious body flat
on the floor, she opened his mouth and looked inside to see if she
could see if he was choking.

Seeing nothing and ignoring Rhiannon's cries to let go of the boy,
Scully tilted Bruce's chin and attempted to give him mouth to mouth.

The forced breath met resistance.

Out of the corner of her eye, Scully saw Skinner, who had just run
into the hall, restraining a struggling Jamie. She knew she only had
seconds to dislodge the obstruction before Jamie would pull her away.

She straddled the boy and placed her hands over his upper abdomen
thrusting upwards. It was by the third push that she heard a slight
popping noise come from the boy's throat. With Rhiannon screaming for
her to leave her child alone, Scully reached into the boy's mouth and
pulled out a large chunk of roast pork.

Bruce took a shuddering breath even before she was able to start
rescue breathing again. Almost immediately his unnatural blue color
began to fade.

The people of the Clan McKinnon gasped as one. Father Hew crossed
himself with awe and perhaps, a touch of fear in his eyes. "What ha'
you done?" he whispered.  "The boy was dying."

Long moments of silence followed as no one could answer his question.
The people stared in amazement that was tinged with apprehension at a
disheveled Scully. A few even surreptitiously made the sign against
the evil eye.

"He'll be alright," she tried to reassure his terrified
mother.  "He'd just swallowed something the wrong way. Let him rest a
little and catch his breath again."  It didn't seem to help as Scully
remembered that medieval human anatomy was almost nonexistent.

Rhiannon just pressed her face into her son's neck and wept harder
with every shuddering breath he took. Her own body shook so badly,
she doubted she could do more.

At the leman's words, Jamie gently lifted the boy from his weeping
mother and into his arms. Rhiannon had to cling to Fox in order to
make her way upstairs, closely following the man holding her son.

Jamie gently lay the boy on his bed. Then everyone knelt beside
Father Hew joining the young priest in his thankful prayers.  Scully
noted that he kept a watchful eye upon her as if to verify that she
could say the "Pater Noster" without flinching.

Shakily, Rhiannon sat on the bed beside her son, letting the tremors
run through her body. By the Holy Mother Mary, she had almost lost
him! Her only child! The heir to the clan. Even now he lay so still.
She watched every movement until his respirations slowed to a more
normal rate and the color returned to his cheeks. When he began to
cry from fear at what had happened, Rhiannon finally allowed her body
to relax. Her child, her son would live.

It was full dark when she left his side. Father Hew looked
permanently established at his side and Bruce, true to form, had
started to complain about her orders that he not be allowed out of
bed.

He would stay abed, she told him, until she was sure he was all
right. Even if it took a fortnight. She laughed when he rolled his
eyes at her, and demanded that his playmates come to visit. His usual
insubordination wouldn't rile her for a long, long time, Rhiannon
thought. Leaving Bruce in the priest's capable hands, she retired to
her chamber.

There was much to do.

Today had been the most terrifying of her life. She'd almost lost her
son. But she wouldn't let the fear she had felt get in the way of her
duty to the clan.  A sacred debt must be honored. Two wrongs needed
to be set right. And, as the head of the McKinnons until her
treasured child reached his majority, she would see them done.

She washed her face and fixed her disheveled hair. Standing in the
center of her solar, she stood tall and prepared to go to battle.

"Isabel," she said to the girl who watched anxiously at her door. "Go
downstairs and tell Jamie and the freesword Skinner they are to come
before me at once."

End of Chapter 11

Chapter 12
Skinner lay down on the pallet beside Scully and tried not to wake
her. After his unsettling interview with Rhiannon, he skipped the
evening meal and chose a long workout with his broadsword instead.
Now, the hour was late and the smoky fires had burned low, masking
the hall in near darkness. He could tell Dana was sleeping. Her
relaxed body lay inches from him. It radiated warmth and her gentle
breathing was soft and regular. The special female scent that was
Dana Scully clung to her ragged shift.

His hands itched to reach out and pull her closer. Not just for sex
though. For the first time in years, he had no desire to merely fuck
Dana Scully. He wanted.  He didn't know what he wanted. Making love
to Dana had been wonderful, powerful and so intoxicating that he
would never be the same, but how far should he take it? How far would
she allow him to take it?

They hadn't talked about this new physical part of their
relationship. In fact, he wasn't even sure they had a relationship.
Did she really lov -- care about him, Walter S. Skinner, surly aging
bureaucrat, scarred Vietnam veteran?

They needed to get back to their own place and time. Not just because
of the need to get on with their lives - not even because of the risk
of changing recorded history. Whatever it was between them, that is,
if there was anything between them, they both needed to figure it
out. He reached out and touched the sleep-warm skin of her cheek. If
he wanted to, he knew he could kiss her. It was a new and thrilling
sensation to realize that he could just reach out and kiss Dana
Scully, right here, right now. He ran his finger along her jaw line.
Her skin so soft, it felt like silk. He would kiss her and touch her
and make love to her and she would kiss and touch and make love to
him, too.

God almighty. They had to get the hell out of here.

It was too tempting. Here, he knew she would respond. She would give
him everything. The night before had proved it. That and the sultry
looks she had given him at breakfast.

Until he knew the truth, it could never work. Would she be so
responsive back in Washington, D.C. in 2001 A.D.? Would she be
willing to risk her career to be with him? Would she love him?

There was only one way to find out and Walter Skinner had to know.
Staying here would mean never really being sure if they really had
anything together. Not really knowing if it was time and circumstance
that gave them opportunity for physical intimacy. Being thrown
together in another time and place and... Walter sighed. He wanted
Dana and he needed answers. They had to get back to their own world.

In order to get back, they had to sneak out and go find that bizarre
witch Mulder discovered. There would be no better opportunity to slip
away than tomorrow during the celebrating. He would have to make her
go along with this crazy plan of Rhiannon's. Hopefully, Scully would
understand that they had to do what ever it took to get home.

His fingers stroked through her soft hair, brushing out a piece of
straw from the floor. Giving into temptation, he stretched an arm
over her and pulled her closer to his chest. Her body was supple and
warm against him. He nuzzled the back of her neck and felt his desire
for her grow. After years of wanting to touch her, it felt so good to
just hold her. His hand slipped down to cup her breast and she sighed
softly in her sleep. His body responded immediately. His fingers
searched out one nipple and circled it until he felt it harden and
she began to wake.

"Dana," he groaned into her neck.

"Dana?" a voice said above them.

Skinner jerked around to see the maid, Isabel, standing over the
pallet. She jumped back when she saw him glaring at her.

"I've been sent to fetch Dana, Freesword." Isabel said softly, her
voice quivering slightly. "Lady Rhiannon requires her services in the
solar."

Scully's crisp wide-awake voice startled him when she spoke. "Yes, of
course, Isabel. I'm coming."

Well, goddamnit. She hadn't been as deeply asleep as he thought. He
watched her rise and follow Isabel, his spirits sinking as he felt
her warmth slipping away. He wished he could follow to see her
reaction to the Lady's orders. What would she say? Would she object,
or just play along with Rhiannon's plan? He hated the fact that her
reaction was so important to him. It was all a pretense, anyway. It
shouldn't matter. So why was he dreading her response?

THE TILT YARD

Jamie knew that it wasn't very wise to be swinging his sword. Someone
could startle him in the darkness and in the mood he was in, he'd
slice the whoreson in half, without a second thought.

His 'Lady' had spoken, and on the morrow he would wed Isabel.

He hated to take the responsibility for another's bastard. He hated
the thought of not choosing his own mate. Waving his sword powerfully
over his head, he advanced on a tree and pictured it was really his
Lady standing there. The desire to cut her down was strong. Desire to
stop the damning words from coming out of her mouth. Words that would
unite him with someone he didn't love. Most of all, they were words
that safely cast him away from her.

And he was in no doubt that that was her intention. By marrying him
off to Isabel, he would be out of her reach. It showed him like
nothing else that she was a coward where her feelings were concerned.

He should hate her for that.

His rational side knew she was right. Isabel should be wed and soon.
The silly little fool was kin to them all and should be protected
from the scandal of bearing a bastard. It was not that he didn't feel
pity for Isabel's plight. He would even allow that he was partly to
blame for not censuring Donald. It was just that he felt this whole
stupid plan was less about Isabel and more about Rhiannon and her
feelings toward him. Last night in her solar was heavily on his mind.
Churning his gut and hardening his groin.  He wanted her so badly he
ached with it.

He turned back, taking another vicious swing at the straw dummy with
his broadsword and felt the satisfying crunch breaking twigs.  The
noise almost hid the sound of the footsteps behind him.  He spun
around, sword up and ready.

"Halt!  Who goes there?" he bellowed in the still night.

"Peace, Captain," came a man's voice from the shadows.  "We need to
talk."

A tall lean figure with a bandaged hand stepped out of the shadows by
the castle wall. By St. Ciaphus, it was that damn scribe! Dark
killing rage swept over Jamie as images of this outlander touching
his Lady rose in his mind. His hands on her breasts, his tongue
giving her pleasure, and her head thrown back as she screamed her
release. Without another word, Jamie charged him, sword raised for
the killing blow.

When Jamie was nearly on him, Fox moved quickly to the side, grabbing
his wrist and twisting it hard as he threw the larger man to the
ground.  The captain landed flat on his back and stared up in
disbelief.

"Would you like to try that again?" the scribe murmured. The solider
glared at him. "We still need to talk." he repeated as he cautiously
reached a hand down to pull Jamie to his feet.

Jamie shook himself and bent to retrieve his fallen sword.  "We ha'
nothing to talk about, outlander," he sneered as he thrust it back in
the scabbard.

"We do," Fox insisted.  "You want to get rid of me. And I . . .I
need . . want to go."

"Go?" Jamie echoed again, his hands on his hips as he stared at the
younger man.  What kind of fool was he?  The Lady favored him.  His
place was secure here.  Who would want to leave?  "Why?" he snapped.

"I . . we. . . Skinner, Dana and I. . . we don't belong here.  We
have to get back. . . to go home." The scribe responded as they
started walking.  "We can not stay any longer."

"And, why should I help you?" the Captain knew what the answer would
be, but he needed to hear it.  The only sound for a moment was the
crunch of their boots on the gravel path.

Fox stared ahead, not looking at the man by his side.  "Because
without me . . . Rhiannon feels something for you.  I'm . .  just a
pleasure boy. . . but you . . You're clan.  You belong here.  You
belong by her side.  Not me," he insisted as they approached the
barracks.

"Aye," Jamie snorted. "She feels sa much fer me, that she's marrying
me ta her maid."

"She's what?" Fox gaped at him, his eyes wide with shock.

"Isabel is with child by one o' my soldiers. My Lady sees it as a way
o' solvin' the problem."  The solider paused in the shadow of the
wall as a sudden thought occurred to him. Isabel needed a husband,
true.  But every fiber of his being knew that it would be a mistake
for him to marry her. A bitter mistake all three of them would come
to deeply regret.

"Ye want me help, Outlander?  All right, then.  I'll help ye.  Fer a
boon.  Tomorrow morning, ye'll stand in the chapel door with Isabel.
Then, I'll help all three of ye to run off."

"I can't marry the girl and then run off and leave her! What kind of
asshole do you think I am?" came the shocked response. Fox was
plainly horrified and Jamie's estimation of him rose another notch.

"The bairn she carries will have a name. She'll have the protection
o' the clan. In time, she kin wed again. Ye want me help to leave.
Weel, then. That's me price."  Jamie clenched his jaw, staring at the
outlander, then wheeled around and went inside.

Mulder stared at the Captain's muscular back as he stormed off,
slamming the door.  Marry Isabel?  He'd never thought about marrying
again. There were too many emotional scars from the first time.  And
then to run off and leave the poor girl and her baby?  Jesus. He
remembered how it felt when his father deserted them after Samantha
was taken. The lonely nights sitting by his bedroom window, hoping
that his Dad would come back home, just for a little while.  How
could he do the same thing to another innocent child?

But damn it, how could they stay? Fox bit his lower lip as he
pondered. Every minute they were here in medieval Scotland was a risk
to history as they knew it. They could literally change the course of
time. Staying could impact millions of lives. It's possible that it
already had. They had to leave.

And what about Rhiannon? Be honest you bastard, he told himself.
Mulder paused in his wanderings around the bailey to consider what
he'd been trying to avoid for days. He had grown to care deeply for
the Lady. Headstrong, impetuous, sensual, demanding Rhiannon who
dared to challenge society's view of who she was and what she could
do. The woman who deeply loved her son and her clan. The woman who
laughed as she chased squawking ducklings out of the great hall. The
woman who adored tying him down, fucking him and sucking his cock.
The woman who burned her mark on him and whipped his ass. He rubbed
absently at his bandaged hand again.

The pain of the brand brought back the brutal reality of his choice.
He knew that the clan would never follow him as Chief, which by
rights, Rhiannon's husband would be. He wasn't a medieval solider; he
was a 21st century FBI Agent. Mulder stared blankly at the moonlight
tilt yard again. The psychologist in him knew that Rhiannon cared for
Jamie more than she was willing to admit and Jamie felt the same way
about her. With him out of the way, there would be no impediments to
their relationship or eventual marriage.

It would work out best for everyone if he left. He'd dealt with
losing someone he had loved before. There would be some very lonely,
dark nights if he ever got back to his empty apartment. But he
couldn't stay here and ruin the life of this special Lady.

RHIANNON'S SOLAR.

Scully walked into the Lady's chamber silently. She half expected to
see Mulder there. Never having seen Rhiannon's quarters, she didn't
really know what to expect. A medieval version of a harem room
perhaps? With her partner tied nude to the bed? The woman had whipped
and branded the poor guy after all.

What she found was so different from her imaginings that she just
stood and stared. The room was clean and tidy. A very large and
comfortable bed at its center, covered with lovely embroidered
blankets. The walls were draped with tapestries showing scenes of
animals and the countryside. Thick rugs covered the floor and beeswax
candlelight cast the room in a warm glow.

If Scully were to stay here, this is exactly the type of room she
would like.

Rhiannon was sitting on the floor near the fireplace, bent over, and
softly crooning to something. Her hair was loose and hanging around
her shoulders. She was clad only in her undershift and Dana noticed
that she had a worried look on her face.

Scully cleared her throat and announced her presence. "You called for
me... umm . . . my Lady."

"Yes, Dana come here and see. It is clear to me now that you are a
gifted healer and Ione is in need of one."

Ione was a small white dog. Scully had seen her a few times in the
hall, heavily pregnant and waddling along behind her mistress. As
Scully stepped closer to Rhiannon, she could see the dog panting and
her small body shaking.

"Is this her first litter?" she asked and crouched down beside
Rhiannon. Any anxiety she harbored about meeting with Rhiannon fled
when she looked at Ione. Despite the fact that she had little
experience with veterinary medicine, Scully's heart went out to the
small dog's quiet suffering.

"Aye" Rhiannon replied in a soft voice. "She was a name day gift from
my husband before he died. I have tried to keep her isolated during
her heats up until now. A bitch will live longer I think if she is
not allowed to whelp." She looked over at Scully and her worry was
plain. "But Lord Bruce let her out during the last one and she was
caught by one of the huntsman's dogs."

"Was it a small one?" Scully asked.

"Aye. Well, smaller than the rest."

"Then, we shouldn't have any thing to worry about. We'll just let
nature take her course and keep her company." Scully could see
Rhiannon relax at her words and they both settled down on the floor
beside Ione.

For the longest time, they said not a word to one another. The small
dog moved into her mistress's lap and began to pant heavily. Scully
could see her contraction begin and with Rhiannon murmuring
comforting words to the dog in a singsong voice, Scully helped her
push out the first pup.

"It's a girl." Scully said and felt herself answering Rhiannon's
smile. She wiped the birth sack off the puppy with a rag and helped
the puppy latch on to one of Ione's teats. Both women watched quietly
while the small, wet puppy rooted around, lost the nipple and then
found it again. Ione licked at the tiny puppy fervently.

"I have never seen a bitch whelp before," Rhiannon said. "My huntsman
keeps the pack in the kennels."

"Neither have I." Scully responded in a chuckle.

"Poor little thing to be born a female." Rhiannon said and ran one
finger over the tiny puppy's back.

Scully looked at Rhiannon and saw that she was serious. "I suppose,
it is not lucky to be a woman in today's age." she answered
cautiously. "Although it has its benefits."

"Benefits!" Rhiannon scoffed. "What honors to be a woman?" Rhiannon
looked at her incredulously. "To have no say in your marriage?  To be
counted lucky if your husband doesn't beat you?  To starve in a bad
harvest while he goes off to raid with his clansmen? To hear the
priest always blame you for a man's sin?"

Scully thought, but could find no reply. In Rhiannon's world, a woman
was little better than chattel. No rights, no voice, no freedom.  She
married young, bore children and hoped that they would care for her
in her old age.  Rhiannon was a unique woman because she had some
control of her destiny and the courage to seize it.

Scully thought about her life back home. Unlike the women here, she
had choices. Her family hadn't been excited about her career in the
FBI, but they couldn't stop her. She could do anything, even join her
father's beloved Navy if she wanted. Be anything. She had the ability
to work, have a family, go where she wanted, and be with whomever she
wanted.

While Rhiannon resumed crooning to her dog, Scully thought about all
this. She was free. Free to be anything she wanted. Free to
be. . .with Skinner? Was that true? Could she ever reach out and just
accept the fact that they belonged together?

Rhiannon gasped as the dog began to push out a second pup and Scully
gave up thinking to help. A second life was born. Small and wet and
Scully concentrated on helping Ione clean it off. The sight of the
dog eating the afterbirth was unpleasant, but Scully knew that in a
time long before Purina dog chow, the protein would help her as well
as start her milk.

"You are proof of the bad luck of being born a woman, Dana." Rhiannon
finally said after they had calmed down.

Scully wanted to retort that it wasn't true, but knew that she could
never explain it to the woman. In Rhiannon's eyes, she was no better
than a servant. Just one more kept woman whose survival depended on
the favors of a warrior.
For some reason, the thought was depressing to Scully even though she
knew it wasn't true.

Of course, if they didn't get back, it would be true. Or would it?
Skinner seemed to care for her, to value her common sense.  It was
more than just their mutual pleasure in bed.  Maybe he even . . .

Rhiannon sighed and sat back to watch Ione nursing the two pups. She
looked over and searched Scully's face. "You saved my son's life
today, Dana. I may be only a woman, but I am also head of the Clan
McKinnon. And I say you need not be a mere leman any longer."

Scully just stared at the woman. What was all this about? She would
not reject anything right now, but she felt that this was much more
than some new clothes or perhaps a better place to sleep as a reward.

"Do ye love the freesword?" Rhiannon asked.

"I. . . don't know." Rhiannon's question took her by surprise. Her
feelings were. . well, she had no idea what they were. She cared
about him. Wanted him with a passion that scared her. And even though
her mind reeled from the thought, she was beginning to see that she
needed him as well. Not for protection or survival, she just needed
him, every minute of the day. And the thought terrified her.

Rhiannon reached down to stroke the small dog's back. She seemed very
deeply in thought about something. "Love and life can be very
fragile. There are no promises." She said softly.  "I have seen my
husband die and today, almost lost my son. It is enough to make me
want to run and hide from loving. To never risk the pain again."

"Yes." Scully replied. She understood. She did. She could love
Skinner and risk everything, or she could go on with her secure
sterile life. Alone, but safe from hurt. Was Rhiannon thinking the
same thing? And if so, about who? Jamie? Or Mulder?

She had to know Rhiannon's feelings on this. Somehow, it was suddenly
very important that she know this medieval woman's heart.  "So what
do you do then? Love the man or hide away?"

Rhiannon gave her a wry smile. "I suppose," she said, "you must
follow your heart. I've been in this place before. Loving someone so
much, I was in danger of losing meself."

Rhiannon reached down and pressed her cheek to Ione's small head for
a moment before continuing. "My late husband was a powerful man. He
indulged me though, and in that I was lucky. It is a rare thing to
have a husband who treats you well. But even then, men are never
constant. There were times when he would remind me of my place. Not
to be cruel, but to keep me grounded. In the bedchamber, I had
control. But once I stepped past the door, I was still just his wife
and with that, I had to abide by the laws of God and man. When I was
young, it was hard to not hate him a little for that. There were
times that I did. Age seemed to temper those feelings some what."

"So you accepted this role?" Scully asked. With Rhiannon, it just
wasn't clear. The woman was head of a clan and seemed to wield a
considerable amount of power. The vision of a submissive Rhiannon
just wouldn't gel in her mind.

"For the most part, aye, I did. He was, by law, my lord and master.
Eventually, I submitted to him the part of me that never wanted to be
ruled." Rhiannon said with a sigh. Her eyes had a faraway look in
them. Not sad. More resigned. But then a poignant smile crossed her
face and she added, "Although he did make it easy for me by allowing
my forceful side to come out in private."

Scully raised her eyebrows at that and looked Rhiannon in the eye.
The smiles they exchanged were full of easy conspiracy and
understanding. This woman branded her partner for Christ sake!
Forceful? Holy shit! Scully wanted to burst out laughing.

Ione nudged Scully's hand. She had begun to pant again. The brief
rest between pups was over. Both women where silent as they helped
the small dog deliver her third pup. Wiping the small male down,
Rhiannon placed him close to his mother and with her fingers,
encouraged the puppy to nurse. The puppy blindly reached out and
forcefully took the teat.

Scully and Rhiannon both chuckled at his eagerness.

They were silent as they watched the three pups nursing. After a
while, Scully felt compelled to ask. "Were you happy?"

Rhiannon looked into the fire and it was a long time before she
answered. "Despite it all, aye, that I was. He was a good man. Better
than most. Looking back, I can see that he brought me much joy."

Scully took a small bowl of water and placed it under Ione's muzzle
so she could tiredly lap up a few drops. She could see by the soft
look on Rhiannon's face that she was a million miles away. All her
thoughts centered on the man she had loved and lost. She knew she
should just be quiet and allow Rhiannon to relive her memories, but
she had to know something.

"Would you do it again? Remarry? Allow a man to rule your life?
Because of your. . er. . our laws, that is how it would be. He would
be your master."

Rhiannon looked at her sternly. "Dana, a man can rule over women
because of our laws. This is true, but a very clever woman can find
ways around this. The danger I am speaking about has nothing to do
with a man ruling your person. Girl, what's most frightening, what
you cringe away from, is a man ruling yer heart."

Ione began to pant again and Scully used that as an excuse to pull
her eyes away from Rhiannon's intense gaze. She stroked the small
dog's back and crooned to her as the fourth puppy was born. All the
while Rhiannon's words swirled around her brain. Would she allow it?
Would she ever feel safe enough, strong enough, to allow Skinner into
her heart?

Into her life was simple. Unlike Rhiannon, the laws of her time and
the way she was raised assured her a measure of control in that
aspect. She could also very easily allow him into her bed. One more
area where she felt safe to take or give control with no fear. But
her heart?

Scully noted a discharge from Ione that was different than the
afterbirth of the last puppies. This led her to feel that the fourth
pup was the last. Gently, she palpated the dog's abdomen, and feeling
nothing, told Rhiannon that the dog had birthed her litter.

Rhiannon took a small cloth and covered the tired bitch. She stroked
the dog's back as Ione nursed and cleaned off her newborns.

Standing up, Rhiannon helped Scully gather the soiled cloths and put
them in a basket for washing. Despite the fact that the older woman
stood there in her sleeping clothes, Scully could see that the
Rhiannon of a few moments before was gone. This Rhiannon looked at
her with the commanding eye of a woman fully in charge of her world.

"I thank you Dana, for your help. And now I must tell you what I have
decided. I have ordered the freesword to obey and you will as well."

Scully felt a strange feeling of dread wash over her. Dread and
excitement. Even before Rhiannon spoke, she knew in her heart what
she was going to say.

Holding herself imperiously at her full height, Rhiannon spoke.
"On the morrow, you and the freesword will stand in the chapel door.
You will say the vows and he will take you as his wife."

End of Chapter 12

A HIGHLAND TALE 13/?
BY LEELEE AND SEEKERONE
RATING: NC-17. Although this chapter is more angst and plot than 
smut, the whole series will steam up the monitor. You're warned! 
CATEGORY: Sc/Sk, Mulder/O.F. 
ARCHIVE:  Probably. Just ask.
COMMENTS:  We're on the home stretch here. As always most humble 
thanks to our superb beta, Sylvie, who was willing to work on this in 
the aftermath of New York and D.C. 
SUMMARY:  Scully gets her reward.
SPOILERS: Don't think I saw any of this in the seventh season, or 
even before that. 
DISCLAIMERS: You really think they're ours? 
FEEDBACK: Worshipped, adored, read and reread again and again. Drop 
us a note and let us know what you think: clueseek@swbell.net or 
Viceyy@aol.com  
And, until we get our long delayed web site up, if you'd like to have 
new chapters of whatever story we're working on sent directly to you, 
subscribe to our broadcast list -- The Southern Ladies Smut Writers 
Association. Just send an e-mail to: slswa-subscribe@yahoogroups.com  

Chapter 13

The Chapel
Kicking her long skirts out of the way, Rhiannon paced restlessly 
outside the tiny stone chapel. Her servants had freshened the small 
room and tied stalks of wheat around the pillars as a sign of luck 
and fertility. Through the open door, she could smell the scent of 
the beeswax candles burning on the altar. All around her, the clan 
stood waiting to witness the plighting. A sense of anticipation was 
heavy in the air. The people of the clan McKinnon were thrilled at 
the prospect of a wedding, and of course, the unexpected festivities 
afterward. 

Everything was in readiness, but for the absence of Isabel's 
groom. 'Where the devil is that man?' Rhiannon thought as she stormed 
back into the chapel to wait. The new priest, a timid little man, 
waited patiently at the altar. He met her eyes and smiled briefly. 
Rhiannon frowned at his temerity and he quickly turned away.	

The freesword Skinner was there, she noted, looking as stern and hard 
as any soldier, his soon-to-be wife beside him. Pausing in her 
pacing, Rhiannon smiled encouragingly at Dana. The morning sunlight 
sparkled on the gold thread in her heavy brocade dress. Rhiannon had 
given her these new garments, hastily altered, and insisted 
fastidiously that everyone bathe for the occasion. 

Even little Isabel looked lovely this morning, the blue velvet robes 
perfect for her blonde hair and pale skin. She was still in shock 
from Donald's desertion, but she would soon recover with the bairn on 
the way. The question was, where was her groom?

Rhiannon fingers drummed on her thigh. Damn Jamie for his insolence, 
she thought, as she glared around her. She had told him last night in 
her solar that marrying the maid was his responsibility. The tall 
captain had stared back at her in shock and disbelief. She had 
expected an argument, wanting him to challenge hre arbitrary 
decision. Instead, he had turned on his heel and stormed out of the 
chamber without a word or backward glance. Rhiannon had bitten her 
tongue to keep from calling him back. The marriage would be best for 
everyone, including Isabel, she argued to herself. She ignored the 
little voice in her heart that screamed this was a mistake, that she 
would deeply and bitterly regret her actions. 

Finally, there was a stir at the edge of the crowd and Rhiannon saw 
two tall men coming toward her. Jamie, she'd know his stride 
anywhere. Finally. She almost overlooked Fox, who was walking beside 
him. Both men were freshly bathed, shaved and dressed in kilts of the 
clan tartan. She heard several of the women sigh and giggle at the 
fine sight. Part of her wondered why the two rivals were together, 
but another part of her remembered that night in the solar. The lean 
hard male bodies in the flickering candlelight. The feel of a rough 
hand on her breast, pinching her nipple. The slap of balls against 
her pussy as he pounded into her. The hot spurt of come trickling 
down her legs. Stop it, you fool, she chided herself. You're marrying 
him off. Ye'll not lust after another woman's husband. She turned to 
face the priest, nodding curtly at him to begin.

Dana and the freesword stood to her left while Jamie and Isabel were 
on her right with Fox right behind them. What the devil was he doing 
up here, anyway? Rhiannon wondered.

Father Hew made the sign of the cross to bless the two couples and 
began the ceremony. "E Numinous Patios, Fillies and Spiritus 
Sanctus." Rhiannon bit back a groan at his atrocious Latin. Then Dana 
gave a small gasp and suddenly went still beside her. 

By the holy family, don't faint, now. You will be all right, girl. 
I'm just not so sure about me, she thought. 

Smiling at Dana in silent encouragement, Rhiannon gathered herself. 
No, this is what must be. There is no other choice. The Lady was just 
turning to look at the other couple, when a brawny arm suddenly 
slipped around her waist. 

Before she could say anything, a familiar, husky voice whispered in 
her ear. "Hush, now. Na word. Or I'll confess everything that 
happened in your solar two nights ago." 

Jamie!  She'd know his touch anywhere. His hand grabbed hers and held 
it tight, clamping it to her side. She could feel the bones ache from 
the pressure.

Blessed Magdalene, he wouldn't dare! Rhiannon raged internally as the 
priest droned on. But if he did . . . dear God, she'd be ruined. The 
clan would turn a blind eye to her activities as long as she was 
discrete. But if it became a public scandal, Robert the Bruce would 
pack her off to a convent to spend the rest of her days in prayer and 
repentance. 

The priest now turned to Isabel and the tall thin man standing beside 
her. 

FOX! She was marrying Fox. No! Rhiannon wanted to scream. HE'S MINE. 
She even took a step forward when Jamie abruptly jerked her back 
against his chest. 

Rhiannon gave a short, angry grunt and then stood still, staring. The 
priest continued saying the words binding her beautiful Fox to the 
silly little blonde. Even after the final blessing, she remained 
straight and stiff as the grooms carefully kissed their new brides. 
The shouts and cheers of the clan echoed off the tall granite walls. 

Jamie released her hand and gently turned her to face him. "I couldna 
let you ruin three lives," he murmured. His lips carefully brushed 
her forehead in a gentle kiss. Then he withdrew, bowed stiffly and 
walked toward the great hall. His back was straight and stiff, his 
hand resting on the dagger tucked in his belt. 

The happy cheering crowd surged around the newlyweds as everyone 
headed for the great feast. Rhiannon felt like a stone pillar with 
the sea breaking around it. What had she done?


The Great Hall  

It was nice not to have to serve the meal for a change. As one of the 
brides, Scully was sitting at Rhiannon's table with her 'groom' by 
her side. A traveling minstrel had been summoned and was entertaining 
the wedding guests. Loud laughter rang through the great hall at his 
antics, but Scully couldn't focus long enough to figure out the bawdy 
songs. 

She could feel Skinner sitting tall and straight beside her. With the 
exception of offering her more ale, he hadn't said a word to her. She 
watched the muscle jump in his clenched jaw out of the corner of her 
eye. He was as uncomfortable as she was. Or was he just playing the 
part of the respectable groom? She didn't know. If she could get up 
the nerve to actually look at the man, maybe she could figure it out.

The minstrel made a comment directed at her and everyone laughed. 
Scully ducked her head, trying to blush and appear demure. It was 
better than letting anyone see that she hadn't been paying attention. 
The platters of food kept coming, but all she could do was push the 
food around on her bread trencher. 

Her stomach was in knots.

It hadn't been that way when she was getting ready for the wedding. 
Skinner had said, "It's no big deal, Scully. Consider it an 
undercover assignment, just like that time you and Mulder were in 
picture perfect California. It's not like it's going to be legal." 

Taking his lead, she had maintained a casual attitude. It was, after 
all, a good way to distract Rhiannon and the rest of the clan. The 
drunken revelry would be the perfect opportunity to escape. So she 
had bathed and donned Rhiannon's heavy ivory gown with a smile on her 
face. 

She had gone to the small chapel door and calmly stood before the 
priest.

Took Skinner's large hand in her own and felt she could win an Oscar 
for her performance.

Only to totally panic at the words, "E Numinous Patios, Fillies and 
Spiritus Sanctus. . "  

No sooner had Father Hew said those words that the nagging knot in 
her stomach had formed and all she could think was...

"Oh SHIT."

No, it wouldn't be legally binding in our time, you big jerk, she 
thought. Then, there's this little problem I have with a Catholic 
upbringing. How am I going to deal with that? She had actually tried 
to tug away at that point. Skinner had looked down at her sternly and 
just gripped her hand tighter. She could almost read his thoughts 
telling her to 'just play along'.

Just play along?

It only took a few moments until she was his wife. Maybe they didn't 
have a wedding license, but they had kneeled before a priest and said 
the words. They were married in the eyes of God, and now what?

Why hadn't this occurred to her before? She could sit and analyze it 
if she had the nerve. At the moment though, she didn't. She feared 
that if she looked deep inside her psyche, she would discover that 
this was what she always wanted. That maybe the excitement of having 
her dilemma with Skinner worked out so perfectly, kept her from 
looking at it too closely. 

She just knew they had to get out of this place. Back to Nessa's and 
hopefully, home. Washington D.C. 2001.  Then she could see how things 
would go. Would Skinner accept it? Could she? 

Would Father McCue help her annul a marriage preformed by a priest 
who had been dead for what...a thousand years or so? 

Scully gave up the pretense of eating before she choked.  She rose 
with a murmured excuse to Skinner.  She desperately needed to get 
away from all the noise and smoke. Outside. Quiet. Fresh Air.  Peace.

She had just passed through the front door when Skinner caught up 
with her. Two drunken soldiers were leaning against the wall and 
loudly singing a ballad about a dark-haired woman who was waiting for 
her love. 

Scully was sure the woman would end up dying an old maid.

"Dana, wait." Skinner said and she turned and looked at his concerned 
face. Silently, he took her hand and pulled her away from the men and 
over to the stable area. The sun was starting to go down and the 
bailey was empty of people. He led her over to a large tree and 
turned to look down at her.

"What's wrong? Are you all right?" he asked.

She was about to answer that she was fine, but something in his face 
made her bite her tongue. They needed to deal with this one way or 
another. 

Rhiannon's words from the night before came back to her and swirled 
around her head. "The danger I am speaking about has nothing to do 
with a man ruling your person. No, what is the most frightening 
thing, what you cringe away from, is a man ruling yer heart." 

Taking a deep breath, she answered him. "Sir,. . I mean. . Walter, I 
know this was all just an act for you, but I'm having a hard time 
dealing with it."

Skinner took a step closer and ran his hand up her arm softly. "Why? 
Tell me Dana, I need to know."

"We stood before a Catholic priest!" she almost shouted.  Dana fought 
the urge to back away and continued in a quieter voice. "We stood 
before a priest, before God and made holy vows of marriage. I know 
this may sound old fashioned, but I was raised to respect that."

Skinner nodded slowly and she braced herself for what he would say to 
her declaration. 

She wasn't prepared for him to lean down and kissed her gently. It 
took her breath away. Straightening up, he looked over to the keep, 
the stables and then back at her. For the first time in all the years 
that she had known him, Walter Skinner looked unsure of himself. He 
started to say something and stopped. She waited. He started again 
but the words wouldn't come. Finally, he just pulled her into his 
arms and held her close. 

His body smelled clean and warm.

"Let's just try to get home, Dana." His breath ruffled her hair as he 
whispered in her ear. "Whatever you need from me, I'm willing to give 
it, but let's just get back first."

Scully felt his lips brush her ear and a shiver passed through her. 
He was right. They had to focus on one thing at a time. She shouldn't 
worry about what will happen. He was a good man and would help her 
with her moral crisis. She could trust him. Even if he didn't want a 
relationship, even if they could never work things out, she would 
give him the chance to see her heart.

Dana turned her head and met his lips with her own. Her kiss was deep 
and hot and he pulled her tightly against him. Their tongues touched 
and stroked intimately, tasting one another, owning one another. Not 
pulling apart until they were both desperate for air.

He stood back and looked at her, mumbled that they had to get back 
and wait for Mulder's cue to slip out. Tucking her hand in the crook 
of his arm, he led her back to the keep. 


Young Lord Bruce's Chamber 

Mulder had slipped away from the feasting when he saw Bruce being 
sent off to bed. Jamie had promised him to deal with Isabel. What he 
would tell the poor girl, Mulder had no idea. All that mattered was 
that he had Jamie's word that he would treat Isabel's child like his 
own. Despite Mulder's feelings for the overbearing man, he knew he 
could trust him on this. Jamie would make sure both the child and the 
mother were well cared for.

Right now though, Mulder wanted to see to another child's needs. A 
child, that if all went well, he would never see again. The sadness 
he felt was surprising. Amazing that after knowing these people so 
short a time, he had taken them into his heart so completely.

It just wasn't like him to feel closeness to people. With the 
exception of his partner and to some extent, his boss, Mulder kept 
everyone at a distance. 

There was just something about the McKinnon's that touched him deeply.

He sat on Bruce's bed while the child happily chatted on about the 
day. The juggling and troubadours had impressed him. Helping Bruce 
remove his boots, Mulder nodded his head silently and let the child 
rattle on. It wasn't until he was settled under the thick wool 
blanket that Mulder spoke.

"You've had a big day, haven't you?"

"Aye," Bruce responded and covered a huge yawn with one small hand.

"Father Hew seems to be nice." Mulder said absently and touched the 
boy's cheek.

Bruce thought this over a minute and answered. "He's na as much fun 
as taking my lessons with you."

Mulder laughed gently before saying, "Lord Bruce, I want you to do 
something for me." He looked intently at the boy, hoping he would 
understand. "I want you to study very hard and listen to your new 
teacher. Learn everything you can from him, and your mother, and 
Jamie." Bruce nodded, his whole manner sobering at Mulder's tone. 

"When you're the Bruce of the clan McKinnon, there will be times when 
you have to make hard decisions. To choose between what you want to 
do, and what's best for the clan. When that happens, and it will, 
remember what we've talked about  . . . and remember me." 

Bruce looked a bit confused at Mulder's words, but nodded solemnly. 
His soft child's eyelids drooped almost closed.  With a kiss brushed 
to the sleepy child's head, Mulder said goodnight and left the room 
and set out to find Jamie.

He found Rhiannon instead. She stood before her chamber doors and he 
could tell she had been waiting for him. They stood and stared at 
each other for the longest time, her in anger, him memorizing her 
face. He wanted to remember every part of her, every time they were 
together, so he could take them out and cherish them in his 
loneliness. Once again he was struck by the feeling that being with 
the clan McKinnon, he had somehow been changed.

Finally, Rhiannon spoke. "I could have you severely punished for 
this."

Mulder just gave her a soft, teasing smile. "Yes, but you won't."

Rhiannon sighed, she knew he was right. "Just tell me why, Fox? Why 
would you want to leave my bed?"

Mulder wanted to hold her so much he ached, but clenched his fists to 
his side instead. The bandages around his burned hand rubbed and 
stung.  He might never see her again and he wanted more than ever to 
leave her with something to hold onto. "Because, my Lady, I am not 
the one who belongs there." 

He watched the emotions clouding her face and knew he had said the 
right thing. Leaning in, he kissed her cheek softly and turned to 
walk away, leaving a subdued and thoughtful lady watching him go.
 
It was time to leave.

End of Chapter 13 
A HIGHLAND TALE 14/15
BY LEELEE AND SEEKERONE
RATING: NC-17. Although this chapter is about half angsty plot,
there's smut. And certainly, the whole series will steam up the
monitor. You're warned!
CATEGORY: Sc/Sk, Mulder/O.F.
ARCHIVE:  Probably. Just ask.
COMMENTS:  Leelee did a lot of the writing on this one. When the girl
is on role, the smut just flows like butter on hot biscuits. Hormones
forever!
Most humble thanks as always to the most superb beta ever to critique
coitus, the incomparable Sylvie.
The following information is added for its redeeming social and
historical value. The herbs and plants mentioned, like mistletoe,
mint, meadowsweet and vervain, were actually sacred to the Druids, as
were the oak and elm trees. Now back to the lust.
SUMMARY:  The Druids assemble and Rhiannon revisits the dungeon.
SPOILERS: Don't think I saw any of this in the seventh season, or
even before that.
DISCLAIMERS: Guess what. They don't truly belong to us. I know, I
know you're shocked.
FEEDBACK: Worshipped, adored, read and reread again and again. Drop
us a note and let us know what you think: clueseek@swbell.net or
Viceyy@aol.com
And, until we get our long delayed web site up, if you'd like to have
new chapters of whatever story we're working on sent directly to you,
subscribe to our broadcast list -- The Southern Ladies Smut Writers
Association. Just send an e-mail to: slswa-subscribe@yahoogroups.com


THE GREAT SOLAR
Something woke her. It wasn't the noise of her clan's drunken revelry
coming from the hall. Lady Rhiannon had slept through that many times
before. They would celebrate until dawn. Finally, they would go
crawling back to their cottages or pallets to sleep a few hours
before repenting their actions at an early mass.

No, it wasn't the noise of her people that had awakened her. Rather,
a sense of disquiet, an unease that had her getting out of bed and
walking on stocking feet to her open window. Ione paused in nursing
her pups to stare at her mistress in puzzlement.

Something had happened. Something was on the breeze that blew into
her chamber. It was a cold breeze, and she shivered, reaching for her
heavy fur overmantle and pulling it on. She dressed quickly and
briefly checked on her son before walking downstairs to investigate.
Something was wrong.

The clan members were singing a merry tune about a lonely widow and a
lusty soldier. Those not singing were tumbled across tables and
chairs with eyes glassy from the strong mead. A few forgot their
place and called out for her to join them, but she ignored them as
she silently slipped by. The minstrel was casting up his dinner in
the corner. Rhiannon wrinkled her nose at the stench of smoke, burned
meat, spilled ale and human excesses. This place would need
freshening again and soon.

Easing out the front door, she noted with satisfaction that her
guards seemed sober enough. Obviously, Jamie had taken care of that
at least. The men stood at attention when they saw who she was. But
there were nervous looks on their faces in the dim torch light
radiating from the hall.

"All is well then?" she asked of one guard.

He quickly nodded his shaggy head and answered, "Aye, my lady." But
the man's response was too quick, too suspicious.

Rhiannon drew herself up to her full height and stepped closer to the
man. She was tall for a woman and she stood straight, using her to
intimidate the soldier. She kept her tone steady and demanded, "And
where is your captain, then?"

The guards shuffled their feet and lowered their heads. Rhiannon felt
anger grip her. Th' bastard Jamie has done something. Something he
didn't want her to know about and these guards were fools to think
she couldn't find him out.

"Find your tongue man and answer me question." She growled in a
threatening voice.

The look of panic on the large guard's face was extremely satisfying.

The sound of horses' hooves on the draw bridge was all that saved the
man from his Lady's ire. Rhiannon looked up to see Jamie riding into
the courtyard trailing three more horses behind him.

She knew immediately who had ridden out on this night. So this was
what Jamie was about. She watched Jamie dismount and toss the reins
of the sweaty horses to one of the guards. His defiant stance as he
stood before her, told it all. He had helped them escape from her
castle. Taken them away from her justice. Taken Fox away from her,
forever. Thoughts of pursuing them didn't even enter Rhiannon's mind.

By the Virgin's Blood, Jamie would pay. It was his doing and he would
pay the price.

"Guards, take Jamie McKinnon to the dungeon!" She all but yelled. The
sound echoed off the granite walls.

The guards looked nervously at their captain, but they knew to whom
they owed allegiance. Taking their captain by the arm, they silently
walked him into the keep.

Rhiannon stood stock still with her fists clenched at her side.
Jamie's soft chuckle as he passed her made her want to shriek.

NESSA'S HUT

Nessa showed the three of them into her small cottage and ordered
them to take off their clothes. The old woman silently worked by her
fire mixing something in a wooden bowl while the three off them
looked nervously around and began to undress.

Scully, fighting down a sudden attack of shyness, positioned herself
in a dark corner and pulled off the beautiful dress Rhiannon had
given her. Too late, she realized that she should have given the
dress to Jamie to return to the Lady. Of course, she might yet have
the opportunity to return it, herself. All the doubt she felt about
them putting any faith in a ceremony like this kept rearing its ugly
head.

All her life had been devoted to science, to facts, the real and the
explainable. Yet, here she was, stripping in a self-proclaimed druid
priestess' cottage. Preparing herself for a ceremony that would take
her back to her own place and time in the world. It was almost too
much for her rational mind to wrap around.

She looked over at her partner. Now nude, he was squatting beside
Nessa while the old woman dipped an ancient finger into the bowl and
swirled patterns of a dark red substance on his chest. Of course,
this was Mulder's thing, not hers. He believed all this crap and she
didn't. Couldn't. But then her eyes traveled to where Skinner stood
across the cottage.

He seemed not to be embarrassed in the least to be standing there
gloriously naked. She felt herself flush to see him watching her
intently. His eyes traveling down the length of her body, making no
attempt to cover his arousal of seeing her. Scully was shocked to
feel her instant response to him. Even here in these bizarre
circumstances, she wanted him. She wanted him in her mouth, between
her legs, pounding her into the hard packed dirt floor.

It was her response to him that made her forget her past teachings of
the laws of nature and cast off any remaining rational thoughts. They
had to get back. She had to explore this connection that she now had
with her boss. After being with him, tasting him, loving him, she had
to have more. And, if that meant she needed to forsake everything she
believed before, then so be it.

She gave Skinner a warm smile and felt a delicious shiver pass
through her at his answering one. Holding her head high, she walked
over to Nessa and knelt down beside her partner. The pungent scent of
herbs and burnt sheep fat were heavy in the air.

"I'm ready for my close-up Mr. DeMille." Scully said and almost
laughed at Nessa's confusion. Mulder looked over at her and gave her
a huge playful grin.

This was going to work.


THE DUNGEON

Rhiannon had paced outside the door to the dungeon for about half an
hour, her soft leather slippers sliding on the wet stones.  Her
strong hands were clenched into fists. Occasionally clan members
would walk up to her and drunkenly offer her a pint. She waved them
all away impatiently. Her mind was in turmoil over the man she had
ordered chained below.

She knew she should wait until she'd calmed down to confront him. A
small voice kept telling her that if she saw him now she'd lose all
control. But, equally strong was the desire to . . . to what?
Confront him with his disloyalty? To see him in chains like Fox had
been?  To touch him again as he twisted under her lash?  To demand
that he submit to her now and in the future?  Dear sweet Mary, what
did he want from her?

She was The McKinnon, at least until Bruce grew of age. She was The
McKinnon and any man could be dangerous to her standing, if she let
him. This one certainly was. He could ruin everything for her. Make
her surrender. Make her obey him.

There was no man alive who would accept to her on her terms. Any
sense of sympathetic support that she had gotten from Jamie was gone
with those damn runaways. He'd lied to her. He'd betrayed her. He
would be just like all the rest if she let him into her heart. She
would send him far away from here. For all their sakes.

With legs that shook slightly, she descended into the dungeon to tell
him her decision.


THE GROVE



Nessa walked them into the woods. A large sprig of mistletoe was tied
to her dark elm staff. The cold night air forced them to cover their
breasts with their arms and move quickly. Scully could just make out
the drawings on Skinner's large back in front of her. Strange symbols
whose meanings she may never know. Her own breasts and torso were
covered with them too. She had stood silently while the old woman had
decorated her, feeling nothing as Mulder and Skinner had looked on in
wonder.

They came to a clearing in the woods. It looked familiar, but in the
darkness Scully couldn't tell if this was where she and Skinner had
awakened after leaving their own world. Certainly, her friend the red
squirrel was gone.

Firewood was piled high in an open circle and all around it were dark
figures robed in unrelenting black. Their faces were hidden in the
folds of their cloaks, but Scully didn't feel threatened by them.
They seemed to be waiting passively while Nessa lead them to the
inside of the circle.

Rocks and sticks in the shape of a triangle made a crude border
around a small fire already burning. Strange figures hung from the
trees. Sticks fashioned as human figures that blew softly in the
night air. There seemed to be a soft humming noise. It wasn't coming
from the people gathered in the clearing, but rather from the huge
oak trees themselves.

The fire blazed bright as sparks floated upward like fireflies. Nessa
came to Scully first and placed her at the top of the triangle with
muttered words that Scully could not understand.

Uttering the same arcane phrases, Nessa led Mulder to one of the
triangle points, then moved Skinner to the other. Without Nessa
saying anything, they grasped each others hands, Scully in the north
point of the triangle. It was if they suddenly understood what they
must do.

The old woman threw handfuls of mint, meadowsweet, vervain and other
things Scully couldn't identify into the fire. As the old witch
walked back to the circle, someone hurled a torch onto the dry
kindling. Now there was fire behind them and fire in front of them.
Scully took a deep breath and gripped the strong masculine hands
holding hers. This would work. It had to. The huge yellow moon hung
just over the edge of the trees bathing them all in a surreal light
as the humming grew louder.


THE DUNGEON

Rhiannon sent the guard away with a dismissive gesture. She walked
purposely over to where Jamie stood chained to the dungeon's wall,
his arms fastened above his head. His face was a mask of arrogant
boldness as he stared back at her.

Courage, girl, Rhiannon thought. Without pause, she tore into
him. "You have taken the freesword, Dana and Fox and aided their
escape! You have defied me!"

Jamie nodded his head solemnly, his gaze unwavering, the glint still
in his eyes as defiant as ever.

"Aye, my Lady. They ar' gone and will never come back."

"What hav' ye done?" Rhiannon tried to keep the panic out of her
voice. She would see him shamed, cowering before her. He would not
affect her. He would not. "Fox is now Isabel's husband. You have gone
against their holy vows and sent him away."

"Nay!" Jamie growled. "Their union was a farce of your making. Isabel
is safe from scorn. The babe will have a name. The maid will know no
disgrace, only pity to be abandoned. And knowing Isabel, she will
revel in it."

Rhiannon tossed her head briefly in agreement before clenching her
jaw tight again. No doubt the little blonde would do just, never
missing her sweet Fox.

"And, due not ever speak of holy vows to me, woman! Not when your
fear and pride stand in the way of what we both want!" Jamie's voice
rose until the last of his speech was a shout.

Rhiannon's hand flew without warning and she struck him across the
face. The crack of her open palm against his cheek echoed in the
silence. She stood with breasts heaving. How dare he speak to her in
this manner SHE was The McKinnon!

Her handprint was a red slash on his cheek, but still he glared at
her. The desire to punish him, to make him yield, to make him hers,
was so strong she grabbed his arm and roughly turned him to face the
wall. The chains holding him above clanged at the movement. By the
Magdalene, she'd make him pay.

Rage made her reach up and tear his shirt down the back. Rage at him
and at herself for her weakness in loving him. His kilt was yanked
until it fell to the floor in a dejected pile. She would beat him
until he had lost his pride. Until he had lost his power over her.

The implements hanging always on the wall for whippings looked
terrifying. Snatching a strong leather whip down, Rhiannon raised it
above her head and prepared to lash his back to ribbons.

"Why do you not fight me?" She shouted at him. The chains were old
and with Jamie's strength, he could easily break them.

Jamie stood stock-still and said not a word. His muscular body bare
and tense. Rhiannon used all her strength to whip the lash over his
back. Jamie didn't even flinch. The evil welt left by the whip
taunting her.

"Why do you submit to this? To ME?" She yelled as she raised the whip
again and cut it down in a fury. The sound of it hitting his flesh
made her want to scream.

She raised the whip a third time, but was stopped suddenly by Jamie's
soft words. "I submit, because you are not whipping me. Yer punishing
yourself."

Rhiannon could not move as the whip slipped out of her hand. Jamie's
words had stopped her heart. She grabbed her gut and fell to her
knees. The honesty of his words made her ill, forcing a low wounded
moan from her throat.

She heard the chains breaking, but could not raise her head to look
at him. She kept her eyes tightly closed as he touched her chin and
raised her face. She couldn't look at him. The accusation she knew
she would see would be the end of her. She gasped when she felt his
lips gently covering her own. Soft and sweet, they molded against
her. Drawing all of her out until her hands had raised, the whip
forgotten on the floor, and pulled him closer. A tender tongue licked
away the salty tears that slipped down her cheeks.

She kept her eyes closed as she felt him gently removing her clothes.
The cold air of the dungeon forcing her nipples to pebble painfully
hard until his warm hands cupped and held them. His mouth slowly
traveled the length of her neck and slower still, he took her nipple
in his mouth. His tongue warmed it. It was hot and it stirred a
longing in her that burned. The burning went straight down between
her legs.

He pressed her back onto their clothing. Silently kissing and
caressing every inch of her body, while she kept her eyes closed
tightly and moaned his name. A nudging between her legs had her
opening for him. She was dewy and swollen and so ready for him. She
rubbed the angry welts on his backside gently, while Jamie drove home
deep within her. His movements sparked fires that burned hotter and
hotter until she was arching her back and tightly clutching him to
her.

"Hold me tight, Rhiannon. Hold me tight, my beloved and I'll bring us
both there." He whispered into her hair. She wrapped her legs around
him and let him lead her to a place of fire and stars and passionate
chanting.


THE GROVE

The fire, so close all around their nude bodies, heated their flesh
quickly. Standing so near, it should have hurt. But Scully felt its
warmth, not as a painful burn. It was more like the sensual heat of a
lover. Hot and naked and pressed against her. Making her breasts
tingle and her sex wet. She looked at the two men and realized they
were feeling the same thing. Both Skinner's and Mulder's cocks were
erect and throbbing. She moaned to see them and clutched their sweaty
hands. She felt Mulder jump as her thumb brushed over the brand on
the back of his hand.

The others stood just outside the larger ring of fire with Nessa, now
hidden by a dark cloak. The humming from the trees was getting
louder. Washing over her like a silken wave. Coursing through her
body like electric fire.


THE DUNGEON

It was when Jamie's shudders over her body had ended, when he lay
still and gasping, still buried deep inside her that Rhiannon finally
opened her eyes and looked at him. The tenderness she saw in his face
terrified her.

"Why?" She asked in a voice that shook with her emotions.

"Because Rhiannon, I love you. And what's more, I understand you. The
old Laird, your husband, could na' see it, but I do. Your strength
should not be squashed under a man's thumb as most women are. You
must stand tall. All I'm asking for is the chance to prove that I
will stand beside you. Na' in front of you. I want nothing more in
life than to be with you. Your husband, your companion, your lover."

Rhiannon hated tears. Tears were weak and she had always fought
against them. But the tears coursing down her cheeks at Jamie's words
did not bother her in the least.

She cleared her throat and looked up into his dear face. "If you do
not behave, I will be forced to tie you down here again."

Jamie threw back his head and laughed long and loud. "My Lady, I will
accept your punishments gladly. Provided I am also allowed to drag
you down here on occasion."

It was Rhiannon turn to laugh and she continued to laugh as they got
up and dressed. Then taking him by the hand, she led him up out of
the dungeon, past the drunken revelers, up to her chamber and tucked
him firmly into her bed.


THE GROVE

Mulder's head was thrown back, a look of ecstasy on his face that
made her shiver. Skinner was looking at her with eyes so hungry she
felt her juices weeping down the inside of her legs.

Chanting from the others began. Softly at first, then growing louder
by the minute. She felt the chants touching her. Like a hundred hands
stroking her body. Building her excitement to a fever pitch. Mulder
and Skinner were moaning and she joined in. She saw a thread of
precome oozed from Skinner's erect cock. The power of all that was
happening formed a knot in her belly. Building and building to a
familiar crescendo. Wanting to explode. Fingers of desire that
stirred in a place that was so basic, so primal that she felt a
scream of release on her lips.

And then the world went black.
End of 14

A HIGHLAND TALE 15/15
BY LEELEE AND SEEKERONE
RATING: NC-17. This chapter is exceptionally smutty, and the whole
series will certainly steam up the monitor. You're warned!
CATEGORY: Sc/Sk, Mulder/O.F.
ARCHIVE:  Probably. Just ask.
COMMENTS:  Leelee is really responsible for most of this,
particularly the hot Skinner-Scully scene.  Her honey is still
smiling from the research necessary to assure authenticity.
Most humble thanks to Sylvie who has been a superlative beta for this
whole series.  It ain't easy critiquing coitus. You are the Greatest!
SUMMARY:  Back home again.
SPOILERS: Don't think I saw any of this in the seventh season, or
even before that.
DISCLAIMERS: Been there. Done that.  Don't even own the t-shirt.
FEEDBACK: Worshipped, adored, read and reread again and again. Drop
us a note and let us know what you think about this chapter, the way
we ended it or the whole series: clueseek@swbell.net or
Viceyy@aol.com
And, until we get our long delayed web site up, if you'd like to have
new chapters of whatever story we're working on sent directly to you,
subscribe to our broadcast list -- The Southern Ladies Smut Writers
Association. Just send an e-mail to: slswa-subscribe@yahoogroups.com

X-FILES BASEMENT OFFICE
HOOVER BUILDING
WASHINGTON, DC
Stacks of files, phone calls, e-mails and reports had been waiting
for them on their arrival back to work the next morning. It could
take weeks to sort it all out. But Special Agent Fox William Mulder
just sat, staring blankly at his slightly dusty computer screen.
While it was a relief to be back in their own place and time, wearing
clothes again, their return last night had been as bizarre as
everything else about this case.  The write up report on this
particular X-file needed a lot of thought, and Scully was preoccupied
with her personal concerns.

The three of them woke at midnight last night in the asphalt parking
lot adjacent to Dr. Feld's laboratory building. It was a joyous
moment, until they realized that they were completely nude,
surrounded by FBI agents and local PD with guns drawn. Skinner had
abruptly told Mulder to shut the hell up about everything and took
command of the operation in a borrowed overcoat. He'd loudly
announced that the three of them had been held prisoner in the
research facility. Mulder and Scully were given rescue blankets and
quickly escorted away to safety, while the swat team did the rest.

Feld and a few of his associates had been arrested, but not before
the equipment and all of the scientific data had been destroyed.
Interviewing him in custody that morning had provided no substantial
evidence to verify anything, Mulder noted. The good doctor rambled
incoherently about quantum physics, hyper-light enhancers, and time-
space continuums, to the point that he was now committed for
observation at a high security federal mental facility.

After reading Scully's comments on the medical report, Mulder doubted
if he would ever stand trial for the kidnapping of three federal
agents. Extensive exposure to the particle accelerator necessary for
time travel seemed to have destroyed the frontal lobes of his brain.
It was probably for the best, the federal agent decided as he deleted
the most revealing parts of his report. The last thing Krycek and his
cronies needed to access was a way to change history.

Scully went home early that afternoon, but Mulder hardly noticed.
He'd just grunted something when she told him she was leaving for the
day. His thoughts were on a tall woman he kissed last night, but who,
in reality, had died several hundred years ago.  He rubbed idly at
the brand burned on the back of his hand. The small R was still red
and blistered. What happened to Rhiannon and Jamie? he wondered
desperately. And young Lord Bruce?  Were they happy?  Did they have
good lives? Did they ever think of the strange scribe who spent a few
days with them before vanishing again? Remembering his medieval
history professor at Oxford bemoaning the lack of personal records
from that time period, he doubted that he'd ever find out.

The loud ring of his office phone brought him back to the here and
now. Mulder groaned aloud when he saw the caller ID. A. KERSH.
Sonofbitch. It was after 5:30.  Didn't the man have a life?  Mulder
debated letting it roll over to voice mail, but knew he was just
postponing the inevitable.

"Mulder," he finally answered. "Yes, sir. Uh. Well. No, sir. Um.
Okay. On my way."  Of course, he'd be happy to go over to the old
Senate Office Building and meet with some duly elected official who
had concerns regarding their handling of this case, he grumbled.
Just what he always wanted to do, he thought as he slammed the
basement office door shut.

--------

SCULLY'S APARTMENT
She could do this. She and Skinner were both adults and she could
handle what ever happens fine. Scully rearranged the throw pillows on
her couch for the tenth time in the past half-hour. Nervously, she
paced to the kitchen and back again. Everything was spotless. She had
put a pot of coffee on and dusted her living room until the surfaces
gleamed.

She was prepared.

The mirror in her hallway beckoned, but she resisted the temptation.
One look at her perfectly styled hair would send her running back to
the bathroom for her brush. No, she told herself, she could do this.

The night before had been a daze. Scully had huddled in a blanket
next to her partner while Skinner had taken charge of things. Even in
a long coat borrowed from an agent, he had looked strong, the picture
of FBI's finest in charge of a field operation. What he told the cops
and other FBI agents she didn't know. It must have been good.
The 'rescuers' had treated them gently, making no comments about
their naked state or the bizarre symbols painted on them. The agent
who had escorted her home had done nothing more than cast a few
curious looks her way.

What ever Nessa had used for paint took a very long, hot shower to
completely remove. Scully had rested her head against the shower door
and let the water pound her back until she almost fell asleep. The
feeling of having a clean body and clean teeth was something she
prayed she would never have to go without again. All thoughts of
Skinner and the predicament they were in were put on the back burner
as she finally stumbled to her bed.

This morning though, he was back. Back in her mind as purposely as he
strode down the halls of the Hoover building.

Her husband.

Or not.

It was still a gray area.

Mulder hadn't said a word. Not one comment or crack about her 'sort
of' wedded state. In fact, he had said very little of anything all
day. She had been his partner for too long not to see what he was
doing. Fox Mulder was in full self-pity mode. Staring at the walls,
great heaving sighs and eating enough sunflower seeds to leave a
mountain of shells on his desk blotter.

She knew she should talk to him. He obviously needed her attention,
but somehow she just couldn't. Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow
she would do `Mulder comfort.' Today she had too much on her mind. A
problem that loomed in her mind, large and bald and sexy.

Then the email had come. It was half past three when her computer
announced it. Her body and mind froze and she stared at the screen
for the longest time before opening it.

"We need to talk. I'll come by this evening if that is agreeable."

Curt, professional and in a brief moment of madness, she debated
whether she should start out her reply with 'My dearest hubby'.

Sanity won out and she worded her answer simply, "I'll expect you
around 7."

Now, here she waited, wiping sweaty palms down the sides of the blue
dress she had settled on. She looked up just as the clock struck
seven and groaned. Who was she kidding? She couldn't do this. She'd
offer him an easy out and go on with her life.


THE OLD SENATE OFFICE BUILDING

Mulder paused to collect himself outside Senate office 313.  Damn, it
was hard getting used to wearing wool pants after the clan kilts,
even if it was his favorite Armani.  Hopefully, he could blow off
this interview, go back to a certain empty apartment and get into
some comfortable sweats.  One last tug on his tie, and he opened the
outer office door.

"Special Agent Fox Mulder to see Senator . ." damn, what the hell was
the name Kersh had mumbled to him, he wondered as he presented his ID
badge to the  secretary.  The voluptuous blonde smiled approvingly at
him as she took a deep breath.  Her v-neck silk blouse gaped in all
the right places, showing just a hint of red lace bra. The Senator
had somewhat obvious tastes, Mulder thought with a grimace.

"Of course. Your office called and the Senator is waiting for you,"
she replied. "Could you follow me?"

They walked quickly down the carpeted hallway to the master office.
Mulder distractedly declined coffee, soft drinks, tea, water and the
blonde's cell phone number.  His thoughts were still on a beautiful
brunette and what they might have had together.

The blonde pouted slightly as she tapped on the door.  "Senator, the
FBI Agent is here."

Mulder nodded courteously as he walked in, closing the door behind
him. As he glanced over at the figure standing behind the desk, his
polite greeting stuck in his throat.  "Rhiannon?" he whispered.

The tall woman moved confidently toward him, holding out her
hand.  "Rhonda. Rhonda Masters.  I'm completing my late husband's
term."

Mulder continued to gape at her. For once in his life, he had nothing
to say.

"Have we met before, Agent Mulder?" she inquired in a sultry alto
voice.

"Uh. Well, sort of, Senator.  You remind me very much of someone
I . . uh . . met in Scotland." He stammered.

"Please, call me Rhonda. My family is originally from Scotland, you
know." she responded warmly still holding his hand. Mulder felt her
thumbnail lazily brush his palm.  "Perhaps after you brief me on this
case, we could have a drink. Maybe, a Scotch?" she grinned.

Mulder nodded blankly. Genetics was a funny thing.  There were subtle
differences, but the resemblance between the two women was
remarkable.  He watched as she sat down on the leather couch,
crossing her long legs.  She patted the seat next to her.

"My pleasure," he responded, remembering several very creative things
that he and Rhiannon had done on her leather chair. The way she
moaned when he sucked her nipples. The way he slid into her wet pussy
as she straddled his cock, riding him hard until they both came with
a scream.

He felt himself stiffen and shifted uncomfortably. The Senator
noticed and smirked at him. This just might be the most satisfying
briefing, or hopefully de-briefing he had in, say several hundred
years.


SCULLY'S APARTMENT.

The knock on her door made her jump.

Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't what she found when she
opened the door. She had pictured him coming to her straight from
work. Dark suit and starched white shirt, his familiar work related
scowl firmly in place. But Skinner stood at her door wearing a gray
pullover, jeans and sneakers. His hands were shoved into his pockets
and a soft smile on his face. Her stomach did a flip at the sight of
him.

He was really a sexy man. Too late, she realized that she hadn't
changed the sheets on her bed.

She showed him to the couch and then sat exactly one cushion's width
away from him. The second she saw him open his mouth to speak, she
charged in. "Look, um Walter, I'm glad you came over." Staring
straight ahead, she took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "I know
what I said about taking the vows before a priest, but now that we're
back, it seems silly for me to hold you to anything." She glanced
over at him quickly. His brow was furrowed and he was frowning. His
eyes pierced her. He was looking at her so intently that her next
words were stammered. "I am, of course, willing to explore what we
started back there."

Skinner's face softened and he leaned in slightly closer. She felt
her heart jump to her throat. Why was she so nervous? She already
knew every inch of this man. "So," he finally said after moments of
just looking at her, "Having our wedding night is not out of the
question?" She laughed nervously. He was kidding her, he had to be,
but his fingers slid across the couch cushion and were now tangled
with her own.

"Dana, I told you I was willing to give you whatever you needed."
Pulling her hand into his large, warm one, he brought it to his lips
and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. "Why don't we get to know each
other first? Find out what makes each other tick." His voice was soft
and husky, his breath warming her hand as he bent his head and
pressed a kiss to her damp palm. She felt the tip of his tongue flick
out to taste her skin and shivered at the electric thrill that
coursed through her.

"That's a good idea." Sighing, she watched his lips travel down to
her wrist, found her pulse and softly kissed it. "We could...Oh."
Skinner's tongue was laving the area, his breath warming the tender
skin of her inner arm. If the guy was trying to seduce her, he was
doing a good job of it. It flickered through her mind briefly to tell
him not to waste his time. She was already squirming in her seat.
Face facts Dana, you'd take this man any way you could get him.

Skinner's wandering mouth had reached the bend of her elbow. She
closed her eyes and wondered at it. Never had she realized this was
an erogenous zone. His other hand was stroking her knee. Working her
dress out of the way so he could get to her bare legs.

Scully shook her head to clear it. "What I meant was that we
could...could... shit." Walter looked up at her with a playful look
on his face. "Please don't tell me that's one of the things that make
you tick." Dana felt her face turning red. "No! I just forgot what I
was going to say."

Walter chuckled and pulled her closer. His hand had reached under her
skirt and found her soft thigh. He kissed her gently and continued to
nibble at her bottom lip between his words. "You were going to say,
yes Walter, that's a great idea. We get to know each other. Spend
lots of time together and try our hardest to work this out." He ended
his speech with a deep kiss that had her head spinning.

His mouth traveled down her neck. Nipping and kissing his way down.
She lay her head back on the couch and gave him all the access he
wanted.  "Mmm yes, get to know each other."

Skinner reached down and pulled off her sandals. His hands traveled
up her bare legs. "See I've already started." She could see the
laughter in his eyes while he spoke. "These are a bit smoother than I
remembered." She laughed and gently cuffed the side of his
head. "Well, Rhiannon didn't have a lady Remington I could borrow.
And speaking of razors," she said and stroked the side of his
face. "I much prefer the clean shaven look myself." Skinner laughed
while his hands reached under her dress and tugged on her
panties. "What, you didn't like my bald head, shaggy face look?" She
put her arms around his shoulders and pressed her cheek against
his. "No, this is MUCH better."

Walter had worked her damp panties down to her ankles and she lifted
her feet so he could slip them off. He rubbed the small bit of black
silk in his fingers, and watched her as he sniffed them.  She giggled
when he waggled his eyebrows. "Nice." he said with a leer.

"Black panties make you tick, Walter?"

"Most definitely. How many pairs do you have?"

She leaned in close and gave him a serious look. "Wanna try some on?"

Walter's reply was to grab her and yank her onto his lap. "Watch it!"
he said with a growl and began to tackle the buttons of her dress. He
opened her dress one button at a time, pressing kisses to each inch
of exposed skin. She felt a ridiculous pleasure when he exposed her
matching black silk bra and pressed his face against her with a groan.

Tomorrow, she would have to make an emergency run to Victoria's
Secret. This was her last coherent thought before Walter's mouth
closed over her silk clad nipple. The skirt of her dress had risen up
until she could feel her bare ass pressed to his jeans. Wanting to
remove his sweater, she reached down and tugged, only to have him
grab her hands and hold them still. "I want to feel you, Walter." She
gasped.

"Mmm wait," he said around her nipple. His hard cock was straining
against his jeans and she ground against him. Walter groaned and bit
down, forcing a moan from deep in her throat. She pressed herself
even harder onto him.

"Want you naked first, Dana." he murmured.

Far be it for her to stand in the way of what he wants. With a
playful smile, she stood quickly and slowly, very slowly, eased her
dress off. His mouth was open and his eyes showed his appreciation.
She reached behind her and unhooked her bra. She carefully watched
the expression on his face while she cupped her breasts and squeezed
them before letting the bra fall from her body. She could see the
sweat forming on his brow.

"I can hear you ticking, Walter." She laughed when he snapped his
mouth shut.

She climbed back onto his lap, placed a knee on either side of him
and attacked his mouth. His hands were touching every inch of her.
The feeling of being totally nude on top of him while he was
completely dressed was decadent, freeing. She could get used to this
she thought as his hands cupped her breasts and plucked at her
nipples. Giving him an informal lap dance to welcome him home from
work.

Finally, he let her pull his sweater up and off of him. She ran her
hands over the tight white tee shirt that molded itself to his
muscular chest before tugging it off. He was sucking on her earlobe
when he suddenly grabbed her by the bottom and stood up.

Clutching him, she gasped, "Walter, what..."

"It's our wedding night, Dana," he said as he maneuvered around the
coffee table and headed for the front door. "That means I have to
carry my bride over the threshold."

She started to laugh until he came close to the door. "You wouldn't
dare!" He wouldn't carry her nude into the hall. Jesus, they did have
a lot to learn about each other.

He stopped and smiled at her shocked face. "Bedroom, Dana, bedroom. I
don't know my way around here." She hugged him tight and laughed
while pointing out the way.

Walter laid her down on the edge of the bed with her legs hanging
over the side. She spread her legs wide. The buzzing that coursed
through her body was making her forget herself. If he wanted her, he
could have it all. Getting down on his knees in front of her, he
draped her legs over his shoulders and just before his mouth
descended, she heard him say, "This definitely makes me tick."

"Oh good." She moaned and felt his fingers slipping up her thighs and
opening her. His lips followed his hands. Pressing kisses to the
inside of her thighs. She hissed with pleasure when his mouth covered
her sex. His tongue slipping out to tease her. Walter hummed and ran
his tongue around her throbbing clit. She arched her back. Yes, this!
She loved this. She had missed this so much over the years of being
alone. He swirled his tongue around. Tasting every inch of her.
Ignoring her movements to force his mouth where she wanted it to go.
Teasing and thorough, he feasted on her while she thrashed around
above him. She felt one, large finger slip into her pussy and wailed
at the sensation. Lifting up onto an elbow, she watched him. His eyes
were closed as he went about his job of tormenting her. She could see
his hand glistening with her juices as his fingers plunged in and out
of her in a steady rhythm. His other hand had freed his huge cock
from the confines of his pants. The erotic sight of him stroking
himself enraptured her.

She wanted to feel that solid meat in her hand. Squeeze it, make it
throb for her. Walter flicked her clit with the tip of his tongue.
Attacking it when he felt her jump and cry out. She pulled his head
closer and watched him. Stroking, stroking, his cock seeming to grow
even bigger. She was so close. She could feel her juices pouring out.
Wetting his face. She grabbed his head and ground herself into his
face. Selfishly taking what he was so willingly giving.

She wished she had a mirror like Mulder did. Right over her bed so
she could see him fucking her with his tongue and fingers. She wanted
to watch him holding his cock. Waiting to stick it in her dripping
pussy. She spread her legs even farther apart and begged him. Sex had
always been silent for her before. Her embarrassment always held her
back. But Skinner was her husband. They may dance around the issue,
but in this place she felt completely his as much as he was hers. And
nothing she could do would embarrass them.

"Oh, oh God, Walter. Feels so good. Please fuck me with your fingers.
Do it hard. Gonna come for you.."

Skinner clutched his cock tightly at her words. Dana begging him to
fuck her was even higher on his list than black silk panties. Hearing
her lose control was the stuff his dreams were made of. He growled
and attacked her clit with the tip of his tongue, making her
yell. "Fuck Walter! So good. Don't stop. Pleasepleaseplease. More!"

He worked her harder knowing he had only moments until he shot his
load onto her pretty bedspread. He wanted to feel her come on his
face, then he wanted to bury himself so deep inside her, he would
come out her throat. His wife! Fuck! She was so fucking sexy. He
could feel her orgasm hitting her. He clutched his cock tightly to
prevent himself from exploding along with her. Her pussy clamped down
on his fingers while the spasms jerked through her body and she was
screaming his name.

He couldn't hold back any longer. It was now or never for him. She
was so lost that she didn't even seem to notice when he pulled his
dripping fingers from her. Roughly pushing down his jeans, he grabbed
her ankles and lifting them apart, pulled her apart. Spreading her,
opening her, his cock was red and throbbing, leaking precome and
aimed directly where they both wanted it to be. He couldn't stop his
guttural cry as he plunged deep inside  her. She was wet and hot and
he didn't want to hurt her, but it was so good. He ground himself in
deeply until his balls were pressed tight to her sweet ass.

"Fuck, Dana, you're so tight. Talk to me. Tell me you like it." he
ordered.

"Love this, Walter. Love the way you fuck me.....ohohGod!"

Skinner began to pound into her. His head was full of her words and
her breasts, bouncing each time his hips slammed into the back of her
thighs, mesmerized him. Looking down at where they were joined, he
felt his release starting. The burning started in the base of his
spine and he felt it building and building. "Look down." he ground
out. "Look down and see us, Dana."


Dana lifted her head. Her hair sticking to her sweaty
forehead. "Walter," she gasped, "don't ever stop." He could see the
ecstasy on her face. He would never stop. He'd love her always. She
arched her back and he could feel her exploding around him. The power
of her orgasm drew him in. He felt his release so powerfully that he
would swear to her later that he had almost blacked out.

Skinner's large body was draped over her. His weight so pleasant she
moaned with disappointment when he lifted himself and drew her up
onto the bed. They lay still and panting for the longest time. It
felt so right to lay and hold one another. She thought he had fallen
asleep and was just beginning to drift off when he spoke, his breath
tickling her hair.

"Dana, do you like to camp out?"

She had to think a minute. Sex. Walter. Camping? "Umm I guess so."
She thought for a moment and her head cleared enough to ask, "Camper
or tent?"

Walter snorted, "Only pussies use campers."

She laughed softly. "When?"

"Next weekend. We'll have to get you some gear."

She wrapped herself more firmly around him. Walter pulled the spread
up over them and snuggled into her. He sleepily pressed soft kisses
to the side of her face.

"So what about this weekend?" she asked quietly.

"Your choice, what ever you want to do. I'm game."

She was glad the dimness of the room hid her smile when she said
seriously. "They're having a medieval fair in Arlington.  Want to go?"
She bit back her laughter and waited patiently for a response.

"Only if they have a dungeon, baby." And they both laughed.

The End.
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