When Darkness Comes - (CLOSED for cgraven and Mari)

[DeliciousMaiden]

Please read along and enjoy this haunting tale.
Comments and feedback welcome, but via PMs please?
My thanks to Cg for sharing this with me.

OOC:

Francesca Morgan (Frankie)
Aged: 25
Long wavy dark auburn hair - hazel eyes
5 ft 6
36c-26-36
(Lithe, toned body.)

IC:

Francesca sat in shock staring at the man opposite.

”But … “

She stared at the papers in front of her.

”I had no idea … I mean … why would he leave his estate to me?”

The executor let his eyes sweep the length of Francesca Morgan’s lithe frame. She had worn a sober navy suit as a mark of respect to the deceased relation she claimed she had not known. Her auburn hair was pulled high and threaded into an intricate French plait. She crossed then re-crossed her legs drawing the path of his eyes up the smooth thighs and gaining a hint of what he fancied was a stocking top.

”Are you sure there is no other surviving relative with prior claim?”

His attention snapped back and he was at once patiently professional.

”Miss Morgan. The will and the terms are clear. Your Great Uncle made provision for the few more distant surviving relations, but he was adamant that the property should be your inheritance. There is no question of his decision being contested.”

Francesca nodded numbly shocked by the news that at the tender age of 25 the unexpected bequest of an ancient Scottish property now made her financially secure. True, many would find its setting less than ideal. She had never heard of the island in question, nor did the one photograph indicate that it was anywhere near “civilisation”, but to Frankie, the place would give her a perfect retreat and if the descriptions of the accommodation and facilities were to be believed, she would not be without room for houseguests if she should choose to extend invitations.

”Of course … although your Great Uncle requested that you view the property at least once, it is in no way a stipulation in the will.”

Her companion hastened to reassure her, reading her incredulity for disappointment.

”Should you wish to sell, we would be most willing to … “

Frankie interrupted him with firm politeness.

”I intend to go to Castle Uinessan and take up residence … at least initially before I finally decide what to do with the property.”

She saw the man’s shocked expression, quickly masked as he went once again went into professional mode and began to talk her through the legalities …

http://www.lhhscotland.com/images/props/185-sm01.jpg

 

[cgraven]

Angus Mac Neil

OOC: Angus Mac Neil a powerfully built man in his late forties, gingered haired with a wild highland beard and long flowing hair tied with a scarlet ribbon.

Angus’s Wedding Day

In the year of Our Lord 1732 the Scottish highlands are in turmoil, loyalties are tested put to unbearable strain as again the threat of war occupies the minds of all. A call has been received for the clans to gather runners, carrying burning crosses crisscross the highlands. Lairds and Chieftains are at odds, clans are split as to what is the best course of action. Yet we here at Uinessan have been spared much of this strife due to our isolation. Angus Mac Neil laird of this isle was to be married to Fiona Douglas, his brother Roderick to stand as his best man yet on this day which should be one of happiness and rejoicing for clan Mac Neil foul tracery has befallen our Isle.

I Donald Mac Neil, scribe to Angus Mac Neil, set down the events of Friday the 13th day of October In the year of Our Lord 1732 , so that the tracery and betrayal of this day will not be forgotten.

Angus Mac Neil, fair as the golden eagle that soars over this fair Isle, heart was filled with joy, for this day he would wed Fiona Douglas youngest daughter of James Douglas Chieftain of Clan Douglas. The marriage contract had been signed and witnessed and Angus wore his love for the fair maid on his sleeve. His brother Roderick was dark as the Raven and so was his mood this day, for he coveted his brother’s bride, and Fiona favored Roderick. So the plan was hatched Fiona begging Angus to take her to the tower so she could gaze upon the lands that they would tend and rule as one. In that lonely isolated tower the men of Clan Douglas feel upon my Laird and seized him with foul murder in their black hearts. As they where about to strike Roderick stayed their hand, Ordered Angus bound and gagged to be walled up in the uppermost tower room their to perish, alone betrayed by Fiona his love and his own brother.

I here their foot steps, they can ill afford the truth to be know, so my life will be forfeited to their lust and treachery as well. I write this testimony in the hope that a gracious god will some day shed light on the foul deeds of this day.

Donald Mac Neil hid his testimony in an ancient copy of the estates records in the hope that one day it would be found and justice done.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Francesca Morgan

Francesca was exhausted. The journey had been incredibly long. Even though she had stopped overnight in Oban, the island of Vatersay had proved to be much more remote than she had first thought. True she could have flown over days before when her possessions had made the same torturous journey overland and by ferry, but eager though she was to see her potential “home”, she wanted to arrive with her belongings in place and a warm fire burning in the hearth.

Finally the ferry journey had drawn to an end. Francesca had taken the opportunity to load her 4 wheel drive with provisions and had been greeted with great curiosity by the locals. To her surprise, she had been advised that it would be just as easy to arrange for groceries to be supplied from Barra as the small community in Vatersay was situated at the opposite side of the island from what they termed “Mac Neil Castle”.

Thanking them and ensuring that she had carefully picked her way across the narrow causeway and followed the directions given her by her solicitous legal advisor and taken the left fork at the crossroads at Cornaig Bay making her way on towards Uidh until she lost sight of any road save a track. The sight of the golden sands at Uidh had raised her spirits, but the increasing wildness of her surroundings made her increasingly uneasy. From the photograph she knew the castle-like stone building, was located between trees and yet she had not expected such dense vegetation before finally coming into the clearing.

http://www.lhhscotland.com/images/props/185-big.jpg

The building was indeed a castle in every sense of the word!
The exterior was impressive, the building sturdy and clearly a fortification dating back untold centuries. Overawed, Francesca had allowed herself to be greeted and brought to the comfort of a reassuringly small living room to be given an account of facilities, rooms, furnishings, accommodations and innumerable household details until her head span and she blinked helplessly at the men who sat opposite her.
From nowhere, a mug of tea had appeared along with a plate of sandwiches and cakes. To her relief, she had been informed that her solicitor had undertaken to employ a “local” woman from Barra as cook and housekeeper for the past two weeks ensuring that the place was aired and warm …

” … an’ she’d be willing to stay on for as long as you’ll be wanting Miss Morgan … “

One man added persuasively, whilst the other nodded encouragment. Neither made any attempt to hide the fact that in their opinion she was crazy to be considering staying in such a place alone for any length of time.

Francesca had merely smiled and turned her attention to the plans, made a brief tour during which she identified floors and doors and let her eyes wander sightlessly down numerous inventories of household possessions. What she rhad eally wanted to do was explore the rooms beyond, get a feel for the place, but she could not do that with others in the house. It was clear from an initial inspection, however that the house was not only fully furnished, but also well maintained. A state of affairs she had hardly dared hope for!

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

It was only when the old fashioned clock chimed midnight, that Francesca realised that she’d fallen asleep.
The fire in the hearth had all but died and the room had a distinct chill. Sitting up, still in a daze, she uncurled her feet and set them to the floor, more disorientated that filled with any real anxiety.
The great house was silent. The silence hung heavy.
Finally she admitted to herself that she was comforted by the fact that although her two "removal men" and housekeeper were long abed, she was relieved that - just for this night - there was some other human being under the same roof as her.

Slowly she stood and picked her way across the room, opening the heavy oaken door to allow the hallway light to pool into the room before switching off the side light.
She had many blessings to count.
The place was not a ruin. It was comfortable, could be kept warm and thankfully was fully equipped with electricity - and had its own generator in the cellars – that much she had remembered!

Weary, but contented, Francesca picked he way upstairs to the relatively small single room that she had temporarily selected for herself. She had already decided to put off the selection of her own bedroom until the place was free of people. Then she would truly explore and decide which room to take for herself and make it truly her own.

With a flick succession of lights, Francesca illuminated the room, then reduced the luminosity to a cosy glow of the bedside light as she pulled off her trousers and top and pulled on the nightshirt she had set out in readiness.
Without thinking further, she slid between the sheets, wincing at the initial coolness and burrowing down.

So exhausted was she that she fell asleep before her body fully heated warmed the interior of the bedding, though as her slumber deepened a tell-tale rosy glow painted her cheek as she sighed softly.

 

[cgraven]

Angus Mac Neil

The ropes cut into Angus’s wrists and ankles, the gage filled his mouth as he struggled against the men that had taken his freedom. Angus’s eyes where filled with anger, then disbelief as Fiona smiled at him then turned and embraced his brother Roderick. Her fair golden hair shown like the noon day sun, her skin so smooth and pale in marked contrast to Roderick’s dark features, then her lips claimed his in a most sensual kiss.

Slowly stone by stoned they watched as Angus Mac Neil was walled up in the small alcove in the tower. The last stone closing off the flickering light of the torch. The muted sounds of Fiona and Roderick wedding tortured Angus in his lonely prison, the betrayal of his love, of his brother filling him with an anger that transcended the grave. He felt a deep cold creeping into his bones his eyes where heavy, a great thirst gnawed at him but finally he slept, a deep unnatural sleep.

Angus Mac Neil woke with a start he looked down on a silent corps, his corps, and slowly down the long winding corridors of time he watched that frail body turn to dust. Unburied, unshriven his spirit was trapped in that small walled in prison and his anger grew to be a terrible thing, that demanded revenge. Beauty had betrayed him and beauty would pay for its foul deed.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Francesca Morgan

http://store1.yimg.com/I/spicylingeriestore_1809_7873302

At last! She was totally alone in her new home!

The men had left two days after she’d arrived and she had allowed herself to be persuaded to let Mrs Fraser stay on another week, during which the two women had formed a somewhat ambiguous “comradeship”. The arrangement could not be termed a friendship, for although Mrs Fraser had finally relented and agreed to call her young “employer” Francesca, she treated the newcomer either with inappropriate formality as the new “Lady” of the Castle or alternately as if she were a misguided daughter about to embark on some foolhardy adventure.

Whether she was being reckless or not, all she knew was that she felt at home here and that she was looking forward to the isolation as a means of getting herself together and hopefully overcoming the recent writer’s block she had been experiencing. After all, she admonished herself, if she could not gain inspiration from such a unqiue location, then she no longer deserved to be in print!

Fran chuckled to herself as she paced through the halls, enjoying the freedom to walk from room to room, dressed in just her underwear. Leaving the cosiness of her preferred refuge of the small living area, she went up the stairs and along to the West leading corridor of the house until she opened the door to her newly refurbished bedroom and stood gazing at her handiwork

http://www.lhhscotland.com/images/props/103-sm03.jpg

This room was airy, cosy and feminine. Decorated and set out completely to her tastes, Francesca was content to leave most of the rooms in “character”. After a week living in the place, Francesca had decided that keeping all of the rooms in the Castle open and maintained was an impossible task for one person, especially if she were to start writing again Ever practical and not a fan of extensive housework, Francesca had decided to consider carefully which rooms she wanted to use daily and which she wished to close for an extended period of time.

Drawing the floor plan from the drawers beside her bed, she took them to the window seat to study in the sun that poured through the glass, reviewing the decisions she had already made: Most of the bedrooms upstairs and the more formal reception rooms downstairs would remain unused. Downstairs she would use the small sitting room, the kitchen, naturally, the library whilst upstairs, the accommodation split into two “wings”, one Easterly, the other facing West.

Her own sizeable bedroom and the tower she chose as a natural choice for her “studio” were both on the Easterly side of the house. All the rooms within that wing enjoyed bright morning sun, but the tower, which had been renovated some time ago to open up the available space within, enjoyed the natural light that streamed from all directions through the windows of the curiously shaped walls. The play of light then became more subtle and subdued as the sun made its course through the sky. By late afternoon the room was bathed in a rosy hue filling it with a sense of warmth and calm.
A perfect place to think, relax and let her creativity flow, Francesca thought approvingly, knowing she had fallen in love with the curious room on sight.

True though that was, she could not help her eyes travelling speculatively to the outlines which depicted the rooms in the West wing.
This part of the house had retained much more of the heavy sombre character of the period during which the castle must have been built originally and whilst it was a totally impractical part of her new accommodation, Francesca found herself intrigued by the Westerly wing of her home.

Laying aside the plan, she pulled a light robe over her shoulders and made her way back to the staircase, continuing beyond it, towards the Easterly wing.
Moving swiftly, Francesca passed the rooms she had selected to act as “guest rooms” should anyone – invited or unexpected suddenly descend on her doorstep. She intended to keep these bedrooms fresh and aired, so that in the event of company, she would merely draw on the plentiful supply of bed linen in the Castle and be able to make a guestroom habitable in a matter of minutes.
But it wasn’t these rooms that drew her attention now.
It was the West Tower she had a sudden inclination to see without the intrusion of other people’s eyes and comments.

The soft padding of sandals on thick carpet soon changed as Francesca found herself climbing the steep stone steps that almost seemed cut into the structure of the building itself. Drawing her robe around her with a shiver, she pushed wide the solid wooden door and stepped into the dim room: a room that opened out into an almost circular space, just like its twin and yet it seemed so much more compact and heavy than the opposite tower.

Fran held her breath and gazed around.
It were as if the Castle were a building in two halves: one modernised, airy, habitable and the other … almost lost in time.

Unable to stand the strange feeling of claustrophobia that seemed to be taking over, Francesca crossed to the window and looked out of the thick heavy glass, onto the expanse of thick forest and moor land beyond. She perched on the ledge at the window slowly surveying the landscape before letting her eyes turn inwards once more to roam around the room.

The other tower reminded her of the “solars” mentionned in medieval literature. Images of ladies doing needlework and having genteel conversation seemed to fit that setting: A scene where everything was all very polite and controlled, a perfect setting for a romantic novel, though perhaps, she mused, almost too perfect.

But this setting…

Her eyes focused once more on the scene before her.
The thick stone wall was bare and unadorned, save for a few tapestries that were hung at intervals around the outer wall.
It made her think of prisons, torture, suffering …
Alarmed at the direction of her thoughts, Francesca took a deep steadying breath and yet instead of the action clearing her head, she found herself almost suffocated by the air that inflated her lungs.
Amazed to find that she felt dizzy, she stood and began to make her way rapidly towards the thick set doorway, deriding herself for such foolish behaviour and stumbling despite her determination NOT to pass out.

She almost made it.

Had she not gotten her feet caught up in the arras that hung covering almost the entire height of the wall, she might have gotten to the doorway and managed to regain her composure there.
But as it was, it was almost as if the ancient fabric reached out to wind itself around her ankles.
With a soft cry, Francesca fell, measuring her entire length across the solid cold floor.
Behind her the heavy hanging wrenched free of its ancient fixtures, the solid brass rod from which the tapestry was suspended coming to a resounding crash just inches from Francesca’s head.

As the silence echoed about her, Francesca squirmed and struggled free of the fabric which threatened to smother her if she did not rid herself from its weight.
Coughing as she caused dust to cloud around her, Francesca got shakily to her feet, staring open mouthed at the weighty object that could so easily have killed her had it fallen in another direction.

The damage to the room was not overmuch.

Fran noted that one bracket had come free and that the other was loose, but that was far too high for her to attempt to fix and besides, she had no intention of trying to make repairs on her own.
With effort she hauled the heavy drapery closer to the wall, drawing away rapidly when she felt more debris fall from the now damaged stone work and clearly heard several of the higher stones fall down inside opening up gaps in the stone work.
She stared in surprise following the line of the exterior wall.
It had to be an interior wall, made to reshape the room and take out the alcove.
It was strange, but she stemmed her curiosity for once.
She didn’t want to push her luck.
This would definitely be a job for a stonemason, or any craftsman she could get to make this area safe.

Turning Francesca moved through the doorway, closing it securely behind her and making her way carefully down the stairs.
A bath was in order. She was unharmed, but filthy.

Only submerged in a mass of fragrant bubbles did Francesca really understand just how close she had come to serious harm!

 

[cgraven]

Darkness, loneliness, the years drag by, generation by generation and Angus Mac Neil’s unburied, unshriven his spirit paced the small confines of its prison. The sounds of life would from time to time reach his lonely prison to break the solitude of his unending existence but even that tenuous connection with life faded until one day Angus felt the stirring of life again in the old castle, a life so young, so vibrant he could taste it.

Angus was seized with a desperate need to escape his lonely prison to once again walk among the living, and for the first time he was able to extend his presence beyond the tomb of his alcove. He could sense the tapestry, that vibrant young life so close yet so far, then a muffled cry, and it was unmistakenly female. A rending crash and light, blessed light, a cool breeze and he slowly moved beyond his prison. Angus just caught the retreating figure of rather calmly young Lass that had so unwittingly had freed him. Quickly he held his hand up to stay the maiden in her flight then froze the light of day seemed to pass through his hand as if it was not there, as if he where a shadow. Slowly the reality of his situation struck home, he was truly dead the Corps that had fallen in to dust was indeed his body. Yet the tower room was as he had remembered it, yet faded old, disused. Angus approached the door, his hand reached out towards its sturdy oaken planks then passed through them as if they where air.

Slowly he made his way down the dusty corridor, towards the east wind and her room, Fiona Douglas’s room. The sound of running water met his ears, a calmly maiden lay naked in a great tub and her beauty made him stop, hastate, then his hand reached out to touch her shoulder.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Francesca Morgan

http://www.lhhscotland.com/images/props/038-sm02.jpg

It was strange … bizarre even, how after what must be centuries, the tapestry had chosen just that minute to fall on top of her. But of course, she had gotten it caught somehow around her ankle, although she couldn’t work out how. She tried with effort to clear her mind of what might have been. If she had been seriously hurt or worse … how long would it have been until someone had found her?

An unnatural shiver ran down her body. She raised a hand and rubbed at her shoulder, in an effort to warm the soft skin that broke through the surface of the steaming water. With a soft sigh, she eased downwards until only her head, part of her neck and the occasional swell of breast broke the surface. Tipping her head back she sighed as her head filled with plans.

Much to her dismay, Francesca had discovered that although the line she had had installed to enable internet access, though temperamental, seemed to work most of the time, its installation seemed to have effected the landline somehow. The telephone company had told her it was a fault and insisted that they had not caused it by the work on the additional line! She had been happy enough to leave them to trace the fault, but she figured that in the present circumstances, she should chase up the situation immediately.
Thank goodness her mobile seemed to be able to receive a network!
She would contact them tomorrow and explain how urgent it was that she have a reliable connection with the next island and the mainland as soon as possible!

Finding that the water seemed to have chilled suddenly, Francesca hauled herself carefully out of the tub and reached for a warm fluffy towel and wrapped it loosely around her. She paused as she moved past the full length mirror, lowering the towel as she examined her upper torso until she was sure that she had not been marked when the tapestry had fallen from the wall on top of her. Turning with a soft sigh of relief, Francesca let the water run out of the bath, picked up a towel for her damp hair and padded barefoot towards her bedroom.

The welcoming sight lifted her spirits.
The fire was lit in the grate and a pot of tea was warming in readiness.
Standing to allow the heat dry her body, Francesca stood naked, save for the towel she now used to rub the moisture from her thick hair.
Finally satisfied with the state of her still damp tresses, Francesca moved towards the bed and picked up the cotton nightshirt, a floral garment with a scooped neckline, short sleeves and buttons that ran down the front until the material ran out at mid-thigh level and pulled it over her head.
Naked but for this garment, Francesca shook the towels out over a spare chair and took up the pot of tea.
Seating herself at a table a short distance away from the fire, she poured the hot beverage, smiling contentedly as she relaxed once more.

She loved this room now.
She had gotten rid of the old four poster, replaced the frame with the more modern “drape” which flowed from the wall to frame the width of the queen sized bed.
As the room was much bigger than a modern bedroom, Francesca had gathered a table and chairs, a sofa and matching armchair from the downstairs rooms. As a result, the room was almost a self contained suite, as one might fine in a hotel, but the effect of the combined fire and furnishings was altogether more homely.

Decadently Francesca nibbled at a shortbread finger and decanted another cup of tea.
Her first night completely alone.
True she had nearly killed herself … well not quite …
but apart from that … she was doing well ...
She chuckled and drained the cup.
She must keep a record, or decisions, renovations …
She would set herself up with her laptop in the “solar” tomorrow …
Perhaps if she kept a note of everyday things, then she might finally come up with an idea for a story ….

But for now ... she was suddenly too tired to write!
She took up the tea things, carrying them to the bathroom to rinse through and return to the tray, before returning to the bathroom once more to clean her teeth and brush her newly washed hair until it fell in a soft unmanageable mass about her shoulders.

Resigning herself to taming it tomorrow, Francesca returned to her room and slid beneath the covers with a weary sigh.
She fully intended to read. She read the opening paragraph of the book in her hand, a paragraph she herself had penned, but her eyes seemed to be drawn repeatedly towards the dance of the dying flames in the grate opposite.

Tomorrow … tomorrow … perhaps she would start to write again …

She thought dreamily as the book slid from her fingers and her head fell back against the pillows in heavy sleep.

 

[cgraven]

Angus Mac Neil

The warmth of her skin beneath his touch, shiver ran down her supple young body, the only acknowledgement of his presence. Angus watched the stunning young beauty in her bath, the way she eased downwards until only her head, part of her neck and the occasional swell of breast broke the surface. She was so full of life a life that he had been denied by just such a beauty. Angus was filled with a bitterness that twisted his soul, a dark desire to claim all that he had been denied. He was now only the Shadow of the man, lost in bitterness and regret, filled with a brooding vengeance.

Angus Mac Neil watched as the young beauty as she roes from the tub to stand their like Venus rising in all her naked glory, the shimmering of water that caressed her bare skin, as she reached for a warm fluffy towel and wrapped it loosely around her. She paused as she moved past the full length mirror, lowering the towel as she examined her upper torso, the swell of her firm proud young breasts, the flat plane of her abdomen, was enough to tempt any man to sin. Turning with a soft sigh she picked up a towel for her damp golden hair and padded barefoot towards Fiona bedroom. Slowly this brazen young Lass let the towel slip from her, to stand before the blazing hearth, naked as a jay bird drying her golden tresses. She was not the pale beauty of his faithless love Fiona, no quite the contrary, a tawny beauty whose skin had been caressed by the sun.

Angus had always been a man of action; a man that had went after and claimed what he desired and his desire now tuned to this young beauty. Yet he was also a man of patience a planer and a plotter. He watched as she moved towards the bed and picked up the cotton nightshirt, its scooped neckline that barely covered her breasts, short sleeves and buttons that ran down the front until the material ran out at mid-thigh, accentuated her figure rather than hid it from his gaze. He would have to know more about her to put in to action the plan of revenge hat was slowly taking shape in his mind, a plan to take back all that he had been denied by the betrayal of Fiona.

Over the next several days Angus Mac Neil studied the girls’ routine. She did not employ a staff, her name he learned was Francesca Morgan, and he would haunt her and claim her as his own. He did not like the way that she wore pants to cover her sculptured legs; in fact Angus cared little for the dress of this young beauty. So many things where starnge to Angus the passage of time had changed much, much he would have to learn about.

At first he would merely caress her cheek, a touch that could be the caress of a playful breeze. A button that would suddenly pop open on her blouse to reveled the subtitle curve of her breast.


Francesca

A she worte.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Francesca Morgan

http://www.lhhscotland.com/images/props/187-sm02.jpg

Francesca paced around the kitchen in irritation, holding back the urge to slam down the compact mobile that was still in her hand. That gesture she knew would be foolish as it was still the only form of spoken communication between her and the civilised world beyond. When the network chose to work of course!
She sighed heavily and dropped herself into the chair, crossing her denim clad legs and folding her arms on the table. Of course, she was annoyed at the time it was taking to find the fault and the apparent lack of urgency at her repeated requests, but she had to admit that perhaps that wasn’t quite the reason for her restless mood.

Drawing the laptop towards her, Francesca stroked the mouse pad and saw the screen jump into life. The screen saver dissolved instantly and the word document stared accusingly back at her: a pristine white page, headed by only the date. She had had the best intentions. She had made time to sit in the “solar”, to decide on her next project and yet all she had done was recline on the sofa, her head supported by numerous cushions and watch the clouds scoot by, as she filled her pad with doodles and her mind stayed a creative blank!

Too distracted to notice the touch that ran from shoulder to forearm, too preoccupied to feel the top two buttons of the sky blue blouse opening, Francesca raised her hands to pull the elastic clear of her hair and release the pony tail, running her fingers with brief impatience through her auburn locks assuming they would fall in some semblance of order.

Standing up abruptly, Francesca sighed and pulled the heavy oaken door open turning right to follow the darker narrow “corridor” until it opened out into the main hall that gave access to the rooms in the front of the building. Pausing, Francesca let her eyes roam around the light and airy space. Like so much of the building this too had been renovated. Whilst the original wooden features remained, the heavy sombre character had been somewhat lost. She sighed audibly, unable to picture just how things might have been, her imagination hampered by the contemporary comfort that surrounded her. Francesca’s eyes moved slowly over the walls. Portraits, tapestries, armour, weapons … surely these kinds of things must have adorned what was originally merely stonework and yet now …

Her thoughts turned once more to the abandoned tower room. The stark walls and ancient hangings suggested an austerity, an isolation that even the unused chambers of the West Wing did not convey. It were as if the house were split into eras, stories …
Her mind whirred, an idea just beginning to take shape in her brain …
Distractedly, Francesca continued down the hall, disjointed ideas vying for precedence: a fortification, a violent beginning … a time of regional prosperity and peace … then to modern day …

Francesca halted and took a step back. Her eyes were drawn to the mirror, a heavy ancient type of glass held in place by a solid wooden frame. She could not guess at its age, though it seemed to have been secured to the very stonework itself. Her eyes met with her own reflection noting in passing that her hair had somehow come to be smoothed in a shiny curtain about her shoulders. Yet it was beyond the reflection of herself that her eyes focused; rather she concentrated on the mirrored image of the room beyond.

For a moment, she had thought to have seen the room, as a darkened reflection and now as she stared, it was as if a shadow moved just beyond her line of sight, even as a chill seemed to run down her spine and make her tremble visibly. She pressed her eyes shut, feeling inexplicably dizzy, a strange suffocating sensation filling her as she reached out and touched the cool wooden frame before her.

” … I’m going crazy … “

The sound of her own voice, calmed her giving her courage to blink her eyes open, meeting the paled reflection of her own face, the mouth curving into a self derisory smile as she saw that the illusion of darkness had vanished into the brilliance of modern hall beyond.

”I must be sickening for something … “


She told herself as she realised that it was the second time that week that she had had that strange sensation of dizziness and shortness of breath. Moving automatically to the nearest room, Francesca entered the small sitting room and sat gratefully down on the sofa. Picking up the remote to the hi-fi, Francesca set the CD finding the quiet notes from the Overture of Don Giovanni most soothing. Easing back in the sofa, she kicked off her trainers and tucked her socked feet beneath her.

A love story … too sentimental … battles and feuds … too blood thirsty …

Her mind ran over writing possibilities.

Annoyed by the anguished soprano of the opening Act, she pressed the buttons, turning the volume up and forwarding to the well known seduction scene “..la che darem la mano … “
She gave up all pretence of “working” as she began to sing the Italian words quietly under her breath as and allowed herself to get lost in the story.

 

[cgraven]

Angus Mac Neil

Angus Mac Neil two and a half centuries of imprisonment had brought many changes to the castle he had called home. In fact his lonely west tower was the only part of the castle that felt like home to him. Angus felt rather disconcerted at first, he would stand in the hallway, the bright morning sun streaming through the widows and he cast no shadow. Even more disconcerting was when the young beauty, Francesca walked right through where he stood, her only reaction a involuntary shudder as if she had been caught in a draft, yet the effect on Angus was quite different. He could feel the warmth of her life, the supple texture of her flesh, and it was a bitter reminder of all that had been taken from him by such a fair beauty so long ago.

He watched her half hearted efforts to write, he began to toy with her, test the limits of his control over the physical world. Angus found that it was no problem to lose a button or two on the young beauty’s blouse when her mind was preoccupied. He studied the device that she wrote with and with some practice he found he could control it with a bit of concentration. Angus Mac Neil soon found that none of the inventions that Francesca had brought with her would function unless he willed it. It was almost as if the castle had become a living entity that responded to his will. One afternoon Angus followed the ravishing young beauty as she aimlessly strolled the corridors of the castle she stopped and gazed into a mirror that over looked the great hall. Angus sensed something in the young woman and he let his mind recall what the hall had looked like when he was Laird here and slowly the mirror showed the girl the hall as it was then and just a glimpse of Angus himself, and she fled, fled back to the comfort of things that where familiar to her.

In the comfort of her sitting room Francesca commanded the music to play from the small box she controlled with a hand held device. Angus recognized the music as that of the Italian school; it was sensual, seductive in its very nature, and the young beauty seemed to respond to it slowly sinker deeper and deeper under its spell. Angus willed the music to work its seductive magic on the young beauty to bind her deep with in its spell. Then in a bold move he slowly began to unbutton the girl’s blouse, his mind concentrated on the button at the waist of her breeches, and it came loose. Ghostly fingers slowly peeled back her blouse till her firm young breasts, lay exposed to his gaze her nipples taunt, cover only by the flimsy material of her undergarment. The alluring young beauty lay reclined on her sofa, mesmerized by the trance of the music. Angus slowly worked down her breeches then cast them aside. The apex of her feminine charm was covered by a scandalous skimpy, scrap of silken material. He gazed down on her nearly naked form, and he could feel his passions building deep with in him. His fingers caressed the young beauty’s nipples, rolling them under his unseen fingers. He watched well satisfied as her body responded to his touch. Francesca stirred and Angus faded into the shadows cast by the late afternoon sun, only the fading memory of his caress lingered.

Angus wondered the corridors of the castle that night a plan slowly forming in his mind. He found himself staring down at the sleeping young girl, her clothes for the coming morning neatly laid out. Angus scoffed at the breeches she seemed to favor, he removed them and replaced them with a skirt.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Francesca Morgan

http://www.lhhscotland.com/images/props/017-sm01.jpg


Francesca’s eyes fluttered shut as she sank into the welcoming comfort of the sofa. She felt warm, tranquil as the notes of the music and the caress of the Italian filled her head. She sighed as she listened to the words weaving a spell around the ambitious mind of Zerlina. She paid no heed to the buttons being slowly released until her blouse lay open to the navel, the remaining fabric tucked into the snug waistband of her jeans.

She had heard this song hundreds of times. It was a favourite of hers: The Don’s promise of marriage, the bait through which he would try to lure the young girl to his home and deflower the young girl.
Somehow though, the music took on a mesmerising quality; the words fading to a haze, the melody filling her head in a way that was made her senses sensitive to every touch.

Touch?

Even as the question filled her mind, it was dismissed, focusing rather on the tumult of sensation than trying to make determine the origin of the intimate stimulus.

Francesca’s breasts seemed sensitised, yet she was unaware of their exposure.
Even though she lifted her hips to allow the jeans to be peeled free of her curvaceous body, Jane was oblivious to the fact that Angus’ ghostly hands had stripped her and laid her warm supple body open to his touch and gaze.

On and on the music played.
Fingers stroked Francesca’s body, easing her swelling breasts free of the skimpy bra.
Skilfully Angus enjoyed her helpless body.
Nipples trapped between exploiting fingers, toying, playing …
Freed from all inhibition, Francesca revelled in the heat filling her body.
Her back arched as she gasped and gave a low moan of need.

It was as if the exclamation broke the enchantment that had held her in its thrall.
Blinking, Francesca struggled to open her eyes.
The surroundings were … familiar … checking the clock she saw that about half an hour must have passed and yet … she felt as if she had been deeply asleep … dreaming perhaps?
Struggling into an upright position, she looked down in consternation. Her blouse was gaping open, her breasts swollen and diamond tipped as if they had been pulled free of the lace bra and the most amazing thing, her jeans were cast aside on the floor, leaving her laid out in her panties that were unnaturally damp.

Hastily Francesca adjusted her bra and buttoned up her blouse.
The CD was still playing in the background, reaching its crescendo, the denouement of the lecherous Don. It seemed she had “awoken” just at the place where Don Giovanni’s attempted rape of Zerlina is cut short. Still confused she pulled on her jeans and stood buckling them at the waist.
Had the music made her so horny that she had …?
She blushed hotly.
Surely not!
After all she wasn’t a woman who regularly … especially with her romantic track record.

Purposefully, Francesca strode from the room and made her way back down the hall to the kitchen. Time to prepare a meal.
Distraction would stop her foolish musings!


That night, Francesca mind was filled with that music.
In her dreams she was Zerlina. She flirted, she allowed the Don to woo her, she toyed with her other lovers and left them dangling until finally …
In her version, Francesca dreamt not of a party, but of a deserted room, a series of rooms …
He followed her … getting ever closer … as she began to panic … to run … through the hall she ran … up the stairs… along the corridor … until in the tower he caught up with her … threw her on the bed there … and …


Francesca woke up with a start.
A similar confusion filled her mind.
Her nightmare, for that it was had left her frightened, disorientated.
She refused to acknowledge the arousal that still had not left her body.
She jumped out of bed, almost defiantly and went through to the bathroom where she washed, scrubbing her body hard, as if to scour away all sensation and pulled on a lace bra and panties.
So distracted was she that she did not even notice that she reached for the floral skirt and button through top.
Picking up a pretty crocheted cardigan to ensure she was warm enough, she left the bedroom to make her way down to the kitchen for breakfast and make plans for the day ...

 

[cgraven]

Angus found that he could also visit Francesca’s dreams, and he found that in that dream world he was solid; he could touch the young beauty. In her dreams she was flirted, she allowed the Don, Angus to woo her, In her version, Francesca dreamt not of a party, but of a deserted room, a series of rooms …and Angus followed her … getting ever closer … as she began to panic … to run … through the hall she ran … up the stairs… along the corridor … until in the tower he caught up with her, it was his tower , the West tower and there … ……he threw her on the bed … and …… Angus let the dream fade and again slipped into the shadows Francesca’s room as the morning sun filled the room.


Angus loved the sway of the young beauty’s skirt the way it caressed her legs, hugged her firm derrière, the simple blouse that accentuated her breasts. He scowled as Francesca slipped on the crocheted cardigan. As she sate taking her breakfast he willed the heat to come on, soon the room was stifling, a whispered suggestion on a morning breeze.

“To hot for a cardigan”

The heat continued to build, an another whispering breeze.

“Your alone why suffer a skirt?”

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Francesca Morgan

True it was warm for September. That wasn’t unusual in itself, yet the kitchen was usually cool, unless the stove was lit, or the range was being used and yet it seemed so … stuffy … humid in there somehow, Francesca thought as she bit into her toast and sipped at a mug of coffee. Shrugging off her cardigan, Francesca flicked through her diary, a diary that held notes of what her activities, activities that were less and less evident that week. She had little to show for the time she had spent in her own home: no renovations, no writing, no real decisions and no result on her problematic phone.

Restlessly Francesca crossed … then uncrossed her legs. She rose to carry the crumb-strewn plate to the sink and washed it up before turning to glance pensively back at the table. Her hands moved to the waistband of the skirt. Sliding inside and easing the fabric away from her heated body before stopping short.
What was she doing?
She looked down catching herself bemused by her actions.
She was curiously uncomfortable in the flowing skirt.
It made no sense to ease it free if she were to retain the blouse that seemed to cling to her heated body.
Taking up the mug and throwing the remaining drink down the sink before rinsing it and placing it on the draining board, Francesca made her way out into the hall, up the stairs and along the corridor to her bedroom. It did not take her long to discard the outfit onto a chair and slip out of her underwear, choosing instead to pull on a cami and panties set, that was skimpier than any lounging outfit or short-suit and yet seemed the only thing that would make her feel cool. Satisfied, she left her bedroom and turned towards the tower room. The morning sun was pouring in and yet the temperature of the room was much more comfortable. Sinking back onto the plump cushions of the sofa, Francesca pulled her legs to stretch out languorously and reached to take up a pad and pencil.

”What to write …?”

She willed her mind to work, but began to doodle as it remained blank …

 

[cgraven]

Francesca Morgan the new lady of the manor, Angus mused to himself as he watched how this young modern beauty seemed to respond to his subtle whispered suggestions. She removed the offending cardigan Angus Mac Neil smiled a ghostly smile the simple blouse now clung to the young woman’s body like a second skin, and he was quite pleased with the effect. That ghostly smile broadened as her delicate fingers moved to the waistband of the skirt, sliding inside and easing the fabric away from her heated body suddenly the alluring young beauty stopped a bemused express shadowed her face, as if she where deep in thought.

A frown creased his face as Francesca tidied up from her breakfast and padded softly to her bed chamber. She rummaged through her dresser draws, searching for something. It did not take her long to find what she was searching for, then to quickly discard the outfit she was wearing and slipping into what she had chosen instead. Francesca stretched her finely toned athletic body as she pull on the cami and panties set. Angus smiled as he followed the sensual sway of the young Beauty’s hips as she turned towards the tower room.

The morning sun was pouring in and yet the temperature of the room was much more comfortable. Sinking back onto the plump cushions of the sofa, Francesca pulled her legs to stretch out languorously and reached to take up a pad and pencil. Idly she doodled on the pad.

”What to write …what to write …?”

As Francesca’s mind flirted from one idea to the next dismissing each in turn her young mind and imagination lay bare unguarded and Angus once again slipped into her thoughts.

The Castle stood like a ghostly ship floating on the moors, a strange ere presence that seemed out of place and time. The young maiden driven there by the sudden storm that stuck the moors sheltered in its deserted hall. A flash of lightening, a booming clap of thunder and her bodice was ripped asunder, Ghostly presence stripped the young maiden bare, the lightening bathed her naked form in its unnatural light……

Even as Angus whispered his tale to Francesca he ripped open her cami, bearing her firm upturned breasts. The tip of his tongue seductively circled her areola, then drew her taunt puckered nipple into his mouth. Angus sensually slid his hand down the delicious curve of the mesmerized young woman’s torso, across the flat plane of her abdomen, his fingers curled into the silken scrape of cloth that covered her sweet young sex. And in one swift moment he ripped them away.

…….. It was then that the specter came to claim the hapless maiden. Her nubile young body floating in his ghostly embrace. His lips trailing kisses down across her naked body till it nipped at the soft flesh of the maiden’s inner thigh, its tongue…”

Angus’s kisses trailed down across Francesca’s belly to her inner thigh, his tongue boldly ran the length of her sweet nectar bathed labia. To dart within their moist folds to devilishly toy with her throbbing clit.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Francesca Morgan

The pen wrote its own story.
Francesca’s hand recorded the whole story and yet, she lived it.
It became her reality as Angus captured her mind, even as his ghostly presence captured her body.

The storm … she had always hated them.
As she ran into the merciful shelter of the dark hall, her clothes clung to her heavy with rain. She cried out at the unseen assault, barely registering the strange clothes she wore before the bodice was rent from her form.
No longer was she aware of where she was.
Her senses were filled by the sensation of the mouth attacking first one then the second breast, the tongue flicking teasingly until the nipple reacted despite her fear only to be sucked greedily, her flesh devoured by her attacker.
Helpless, Francesca whimpered as a hand slid downwards, marking her skin with a trembling trail of response.
All she wore now were her silken panties.
Somehow she was laid out on … a bed …?
Even as her mind raced to make sense of this, her attacker ripped the fine fabric from her trembling form making her squeal, a sound of fright and arousal.

”Ohh… God …. “

Her plea was a moan though her mind fought the acknowledgement that she was finding this rough assault … stimulating …

”Noo… “

Her protest became more convincing as her body froze at the sudden sight of her assailant as he pinned her beneath him.
Stilled by shock, Francesca’s eyes widened in terror as she took in the massive man with wild red hair, dressed in what she supposed was traditional highland garb.
He was terrifying in proportions and his eyes were chillingly determined.

Francesca felt his hands roaming over her body …. Her breasts mauled … pinched … trails drawn in patterns across her quivering abdomen … the friction of his wild beard stimulating the skin as his mouth followed the path of his hands … he seemed to be all around her … as helpless as if she were bound she could not escape his touch …

How he managed to find his way between her thighs, Francesca could not tell.
Her head was spinning … her body rosily sensitised … breasts rising and falling topped with dusky pink nipples that still ached from and for attention.

Did she spread her legs, or did he pull them apart?
Fingers … tongue … teasing… stroking …
She gasped … arching …
They were inside her … turning and pushing … deeper … deeper …
Her hips lifted … her body strained …


The angry Laird … raping the intruder … punishing her for entering without permission … exactly payment for use of his property …

The storyline came unbidden to her mind.
Yes … to start with a rape … brutal … demanding …
That would make a change from the sickly romantic novels that were in abundance at present.

And then that tenuous grasp on reality dissolved and she was faced with the angry, wild Scotsman who had possession of her body.

God!
How had he unleashed a dark desire in her to be punished for some intrusion she sensed, but did not even understand?
But that was what her body craved.
Brutal … demanding ….
The realisation shocked her, but could not be denied.

 

[cgraven]

”Ohh… God …. “

Francesca’s plea was a soft guttural moan though her mind fought against it her supple young body acknowledged that she was finding this rough assault … stimulating …

”Noo… “

Her eyes widened in terror, Angus could see his reflection in those clear cool eyes, form massive, the wild red hair and bread. Francesca’s breath coming in ragged gasps, her breasts rising and falling, topped with dusky pink nipples that still ached from and for attention. She spread her legs, she gasped … arching … and then that tenuous grasp on reality dissolved and she was faced with the angry, wild Scotsman no longer a pale unseen shadow, but a creature of substance … brutal … demanding ….. bent on rape……to take by force what was owed him.

Angus bond her wrist with the tattered remains of her clothing, spread Francesca’s lily white thighs and claimed her. The coarse wool of his kilt chafed her silken inner thighs, His manhood plunged deep within her, his heavily laden balls slapped against her ravaged puffy labia. Her Ghostly Lover was not satisfied till he wrung a shattering orgasm from her supple young body. As her nubile form bucked and withered in ecstasy Angus filled her with the lust of his centuries of imprisonment, then slowly faded away leaving Francesca to wonder if it had been reality or fantasy.

A silken scrape of cloth hung from her wrist.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Francesca Morgan

Francesca moved experimentally and moaned.
Her body felt bruised … battered almost ..
Her eyes fluttered open to be met by the rosy hue of the late afternoon sun.
She turned her head looking round and began to sit up tentatively.
It was then that she realised that she was naked.

With a cry of distress she sat upright in one swift movement her eyes darting around the room as if looking for an intruder.
Had it been a dream … a nightmare … so vivid that …
But no .. she WAS naked … the shreds of her underwear lay strewn about her.
Moving her feet up towards her Fran hugged her now cool body noting in horror the unmistakeable sensation between her legs.
The inside of her thighs was sore as if subjected to some form of … friction … and as she sat up, she felt the tell take signs of having been penetrated.

”Noooo… “

The soft denial did nothing to soothe her nerves.
She ran a hand through her hair starting as she saw the torn remnant of her lingerie and paused in an effort to remember.
He had tied her, pulled her legs apart and raped her.
She shuddered.
But … who… and how …?
It had seemed so real … was real … felt real … felt …
She flushed deeply.
She had been frightened and yet … his brutal treatment had somehow … aroused her ….
But that was because it wasn’t real, she told herself.
No one could find pleasure in such an aggressive assault.

She swung her legs over the side of the sofa and picked up the pad.
It was blank.
Surely she had written something?
She had thought…
Whatever was happening, she didn’t like it.
Something was very wrong.
She grabbed for the mobile and punched in the local number.
Mrs Fraser. She would come over at short notice.
Fran could not risk being along here anymore. Not now.

”Dammit…”

Again and again she tried, but there was no dial tone … no response … even though a network was showing clearly.

” … email …”

Determinedly she pulled open her laptop and logged in.
The screen loaded and yet when she came to click on dial up, she could not get a connection.

”Fuck!”

Her expletives grew stronger as panic rose.
Again and again she tried, but had to admit defeat.
Systematically Francesca closed down all the files, clicking on the crosses.
Over and over, she clicked on one file, and yet when she went to log out it seemed to spring up again.
Irritated, Francesca moved her mouse and clicked on it.
Her eyes widened as she began to read.

It was THE story … HER nightmare.
The pursuit, the assault … the rape …
The start as she thought she remembered writing it … the rest ….

”Nooooooooo..!”

She slammed the laptop shut without saving or closing anything further down.
She all but ran from the room heading towards the bathroom.
She felt sick. Her body shook.
She sat on the side of the bath and took steadying breaths.
She didn’t understand any of this.

As if by reflex, she put in the plug and began to run a hot bath, eager to scrub herself clean and soothe the aching soreness that remained in her body.

”It just … can’t be true … “

She told herself for the umpteenth time as she sunk into the tub. Realising that the material was still tied about her wrist, she untied it with shaky fingers and dropped it on the floor nearby.

”Who are you …. “

She questioned in a soft whisper.

” Or rather … who were you … ?”

She corrected herself as she addressed the emptiness of the room.

 

[cgraven]

Angus Mac Neil was the rightful Laird and the castle that once was his home knew it in every stone of its being and was his to command.

No matter what Francesca tried none of her modern marvels of communication seemed to work, not her mobile, not her internet access nothing, the proud young beauty was trapped in a world devoid of communications, less the laird willed it.

”Noooo……Dammit…… … email ……Fuck!”
With each thwarted attempt, Angus could feel the fear rising in the young beauty then her eyes widened in true fear. It was THE story … HER nightmare, The pursuit, Her assault … The rape …

”Nooooooooo..!”

The agonizing cry echoed through the old castle as she ran for the solace of her bathroom clouds of steam rose from the hot bath.


”Who are you …. “

She questioned in a soft whisper.

” Or rather … who were you … ?”

Only silence answered the young woman’s cry at first.

“Your laird and Master Francesca.”

The whispered reply was so soft so subtitle it could have been nothing more then a breeze yet some how it lift an unsettling presence. Angus retired to his tower to let the young beauty ponder all that had happened or that she thought had happened, and while Angus stayed to his tower for now, the castle watched.

The drapes took delight in caressing Francesca’s supple body as she passed. Each morning the firry beauty would find a skirt, and blouse laid out for her. At times Angus let the young beauty glimpse him out of the corner of her eye, a blurry reflection in a mirror as she passed, at other times. His presence always there but not. Slowly the incidents of that day faded becoming more unreal to her, and then the castle seemed to steer Francesca towards the Library, as if the answer to her questions some how laid there.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Francesca Morgan

“Your laird and Master Francesca.”

The words were felt as much as heard.
They seemed to pulsate through the very walls of the castle and filled Francesca with a perverse combination of fear and … anticipation.
Even as her mind, her common sense rebelled against the words and a meaning she could barely grasp, her heart raced fleeing a knowledge that crossed time and reason, an awareness, a need that she suppressed, refusing to acknowledge her response to the phantasmal assault that she had been forced to submit to.

Slowly the faint marks on her skin faded to a mere smudge as did the memory of that strange afternoon. It was easier to convince herself it had never happened. Indeed, she allowed herself to be persuaded that it was the isolation that was playing tricks on her mind. Her body seemed to have been awoken … strangely stimulated by the most unlikely occurrences. Drapes, furnishings, even the skirts and blouses she found she began to favour seemed to arouse her merely by their passing touch. Even the bedding itself seemed to knot itself curiously about her as she woke suddenly from dreams which immediately fled her consciousness, leaving her breathless and dazed as she unravelled the sheets which seemed to coil around her thighs like vines seeking to trap her.

So strange was it that Francesca could not bring herself to relate such a ... sordid ... tale to Mrs Morgan and tempted though she was to confide in the benevolent lady, she was ashamed of the way these erotic thoughts were in the forefront of her mind more and more often. And so Francesca kept silent and hoped that her fancies would pass.

All was well … all seemed settled until the day Francesca sat working in the tower room and the email came through, an email marked with an URGENT icon.
Worriedly, she clicked to open the missive and stared in disbelief at the words as they danced before her eyes.

Francesca!

At last! THIS is what we’ve been waiting for!
So glad to know you’re writing – finally – and what a steamy first chapter!
Your other stuff is good, but this … opens up a whole new readership.
I take it all back! Seems that castle is inspiring you after all!
To think I said you’d fester away and stagnate up there.

Can’t wait to read the next instalment.
Great idea historical and the erotic.
(I think it’s a bit too hot for the romance market to handle don’t you?)

Anyway … go and WRITE!
Be in touch soon!
Gabby x

Gabrielle? Her agent?
But how …. ?

Francesca scrolled down to see that the reply had been sent in response to an email she had apparently sent … an email sending the story … the account of her nightmare …
Clicking on the document, Fran’s eyes scanned, flushing as she recognised the account and realising that Gabrielle too had read this, had read about the laird’s attack …

”Good God… “

She didn’t remember writing that … she KNEW she hadn’t ..

I am your laird and Master!

The words jumped out at her almost making her reel back in shock.
The Laird. She could see him so clearly still; see him in her mind’s eye.
Hell … she could feel him even; feel how thick he felt as his cock pushed roughly inside her … how he had …

Abruptly she stood up, trying to ignore the fact she was shaking.
Without thought, she turned and began to walk briskly down the corridor, down the stairway and on towards the library. She was almost moving at a run when she finally opened the heavy panelled door and went inside.

Logical explanation. There had to be. She would try to find information about this house, it’s history, it’s past owners.
Perhaps it was an echo from the pass. Not exactly a logical explanation, but preferable to the growing suspicion that this … spirit was actually pursuing her … seeking to ….

She shut her mind and began to take out books laying them on the desk and beginning to read.
Facts … details …
She must surround herself with that first … and deal with the inexplicable later …

 

[cgraven]

Angus Mac Neil kept to his lonely tower letting the castle tempt caress and seduce the young beauty. He could taste her after that afternoon where he had taken by force what was owed him. The sweet intoxicating fragrance of this young Lass, the soft sensual feel of her warm living flesh, her youth all this Mac Neil was savor again, but for now he let it fade from Francesca’s troubled mind.

Francesca Morgan resisted the urge to go to the library, pushed the whole incident from her mind so Angus Mac Neil took matters again into his own hands, He smiled as the young beauty read the e-mail from her agent Gabrielle.

But how …. ?

The words formed on her soft full ripe lips, more a whispered question as she read the lewd account of her rape, set out in all its vivid details.

”Good God… “

Her soft voice filled with dread, with horror and tended with something else,….. arousal,…….then fear. That fear consumed the young beauty as she ran from the words that stared back at her from her laptop, in head long flight Francesca Morgan ran till at last she burst in to the library of the castle. She tore at the stacks of books searching, searching for an answer, something, any thing that would explain what was happening to her. Yet in all those dusty tomes there was no records to hint at a cause for her unsettling dreams. As the day wore on all possibilities had been exhausted, then the corner of a long forgotten history, on the upper most shelf caught her eye. As she opened it leafing through the long forgotten book an entry caught Francesca Morgan’s eye.


I Donald Mac Neil, scribe to Angus Mac Neil, set down the events of Friday the 13th day of October In the year of Our Lord 1732 , so that the tracery and betrayal of this day will not be forgotten.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Francesca Morgan

Fear it was that drove Francesca to tear through the books with a desperation that verged on manic.
Again and again she scanned the pages looking for any clue, any familiar echo, some link, some familiar fact that would make sense of the nightmare she seemed to be trapped in.
On and on, until the pile of discarded books rose in an untidy pile about her feet and still she found no answers.
Almost sobbing with exhaustion she put her head in her hands and took steadying breaths.
There was nothing to find. That was why there was nothing there.
She was crazy. It was the solitude, her own loneliness …
Excuse after excuse entered her mind trying to find a reasonable explanation.
Anything.
Her mind would accept anything but the truth.

It was almost against her will that her eye was drawn to that high shelf.
As if … sensing … this tome was somehow … different … Francesca stood precariously on the heavily wooden chair and reached down the dusty volume.
Casting an impatient arm across the desk, she lay the book upon it and drew closer all attention as she began to leaf slowly through.

And then … there it was …


I Donald Mac Neil, scribe to Angus Mac Neil, set down the events of Friday the 13th day of October In the year of Our Lord 1732 , so that the tracery and betrayal of this day will not be forgotten.

In the year of Our Lord 1732 the Scottish highlands are in turmoil, loyalties are tested put to unbearable strain as again the threat of war occupies the minds of all. A call has been received for the clans to gather runners, carrying burning crosses crisscross the highlands. Lairds and Chieftains are at odds, clans are split as to what is the best course of action. Yet we here at Uinessan have been spared much of this strife due to our isolation. Angus Mac Neil laird of this isle was to be married to Fiona Douglas, his brother Roderick to stand as his best man yet on this day which should be one of happiness and rejoicing for clan Mac Neil foul tracery has befallen our Isle.

She read on …

Angus Mac Neil, fair as the golden eagle that soars over this fair Isle, heart was filled with joy, for this day he would wed Fiona Douglas youngest daughter of James Douglas Chieftain of Clan Douglas. The marriage contract had been signed and witnessed and Angus wore his love for the fair maid on his sleeve. His brother Roderick was dark as the Raven and so was his mood this day, for he coveted his brother’s bride, and Fiona favored Roderick. So the plan was hatched Fiona begging Angus to take her to the tower so she could gaze upon the lands that they would tend and rule as one. In that lonely isolated tower the men of Clan Douglas feel upon my Laird and seized him with foul murder in their black hearts. As they where about to strike Roderick stayed their hand, Ordered Angus bound and gagged to be walled up in the uppermost tower room their to perish, alone betrayed by Fiona his love and his own brother.

I here their foot steps, they can ill afford the truth to be know, so my life will be forfeited to their lust and treachery as well. I write this testimony in the hope that a gracious god will some day shed light on the foul deeds of this day.

The tower!!

Francesca gasped.

The wall … the partition.

”Noooooooooooo … “

The cry actually filled the room, her mind shying away from the truth she felt deep down in her being.
Laird and Master he had called himself.
Angus MacNeil had been betrayed and murdered. In the tower.
The tower she had surely disturbed.
The bricks finally falling free after so many years. The body secreted behind.
1732! Soooo long ago.
It was over with … done … it could have no repercussions to the present …
That would not make sense … it … could not be …
And yet those words danced before her eyes again and again.

the tracery and betrayal of this day will not be forgotten.

Pale and frightened, Francesca looked fearfully around the room, half expecting to see the angry Laird in the shadows that suddenly seemed to have crept into the room after a long day searching for an explanation she did not want to accept.

 

[cgraven]

Francesca’s fear was palatable, every stone in the castle could taste that fear, every fiber of wood could taste it, and Angus Mac Neil could taste that delicious fear. His restless spirit could almost feel sorry for the young beauty for he had know fear in that lonely tower room, but it was frail beauty that had betrayed him and he would have his revenge on it.

The long shadows of the dying day had crept into the library, they slowly advanced on Francesca, almost as if they where a living thing. The stunning young beauty trapped in a corner of the library, walled in behind the countless tomes she had been searching threw. The dark shadows seemed to creep towards her forming long slender tendrils of shadow and light fingers of an unseen entity that caressed her sculptured legs, their touch sensual against her silken skin. The air stirred, yet there was no wind, it kissed her feverous skin, or was it her unseen lover’s kiss? Time and space lost all meaning as if time was folding in on itself, the present becoming the past, the past the present, those shadowy fingers began to taken on a physical substance. Slowly the specter that embraced Francesca was no longer a shadowy form but solid, a hand cupped her breast through the thin material of her blouse, the other traced sensual patterns on the soft silken flesh of her thigh.

“Francesca Morgan I am Laird and Master and you will submit to my will Lass!”

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Francesca Morgan

Francesca’s eyes strained as she stared into the shadows seeking the sight of the very thing she dreaded. The atmosphere was heavy, the room seemed … chilled. Slowly Francesca took a backward step, stepping behind the piles of discarded books, and then another using the desk to protect her from the shadows as they seemed to advance on her. It was crazy, illogical, but the expectation that something … no someone would jump out at her made her shrink back until she was all but pressed in the corner her eyes darting around the now sombre room.

She barely noticed the first subtle stroking of her legs.
She was aware of the draft kissing her heated skin, searched for its source, but found none.
So preoccupied was she in anticipating the apparition’s approach that she only slowly became aware of the strong fingers circling her thigh and the possessive hand capturing her breast.
A soft gasp of fright escaped her as she realised that the Larid had once more succeeded in capturing her and though she tried tried to ease free of his grip, his hard eyes mocked her as he effortlessly held her secure.
Indeed even if she had managed to pull free, the barriers she had sought to take refuge behind, the books, the desk, the chair, now served to further imprison Francesca as she let her body go limp accepting that it was inexorably pinned against his.

“Francesca Morgan I am Laird and Master and you will submit to my will Lass!”

Her eyes widened as she heard her name on his lips.
He knew who she was. It was indeed she he was pursuing.
Mutely Fran shook her head, denial and refusal in the same gesture.
This was no phantom, no storybook ghost. Neither was this a figment of an overactive imagination or the manifestation of some dream or story.
As the heat of his massive body seeped into her, she was all too aware that he was very real and very determined.
Panic filled her once more and although it seemed futile she struggled once more in an attempt to get free.

”Please … stop … “

The firm pressure on her breast seemed to intensify as the lazy patterns he traced on her inner thigh seemed to move higher.
Memories of his previous assault came back to her serving only to send a shameful flush of heat through her body.
Again she stilled, her breathing ragged as her chest rose and fell.
Timidly she raised her eyes to his, facing the man who filled her with such terror.

”Why are you doing this? I – I’m not Fiona … it wasn’t my fault … “

Her eyes locked with his as she tried desperately to convince him that she did not belong to him and did not deserve to be caught up in his thirst for revenge.

 

[cgraven]

The more the trapped beauty struggled in Angus’s grip, the more real he became to the frightened little dove.

”Please … stop … “

The firm pressure intensify as the laird possessively cupped her breast, the lazy patterns he traced on her inner thigh became more sensual as they moved higher his fingers grazing the young beauty’s warm moist pussy. A shameful flush of heat coursed through her body. Francesca’s supple young body, her eyes wide with fear, and something else, a certain something that verged sexual arousal. The frightened young woman again stilled her ragged breathing, Fran’s chest rose and fell; his fingers toyed with her pert nipple rolling the taunt bud between his fingers. Timidly she raised her eyes to his, facing the man who filled her with such terror.

”Why are you doing this? I – I’m not Fiona … it wasn’t my fault … “

Her eyes locked with his as she tried desperately pleading with the Master of the castle, vainly tiring to convince him that she did not belong to him and did not deserve to be caught up in his thirst for revenge.

Angus’s lips brushed Fran’s with a gentile kiss, yet demanding, it lingered as he claimed the sweet succulent warmth of her mouth, his tongue tempting the frightened beauty’s to dance with his, his fingers intimately caressed her labia, through the gossamer silken panties, seducing her with the gentlest of touches

“Francesca beauty was the betrayer…………….”

His lips sensually brushed hers as he spoke, no longer phantom shadows, but all to real.

“….and beauty must pay.”

Suddenly his hands left the young woman’s supple body, her blouse violent ripped open and his mouth bathed her scantly clad breasts with hot passionate kisses.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Francesca Morgan

His eyes held hers, held her immobile as he lowered his mouth to hers.
She felt the light brush of his lips, then again with more insistence.
He swallowed her very breath, his tongue insinuating around her own and coaxing a response, her tongue sampled him with tentative, shy, subtle flicks whist he boldly sampled her sweetness.

Her body jolted as his touch grew in intimacy. The scant fabric offered no barrier to his questing fingers, the gentle stroking coaxed a betraying heat from her centre, his skill at playing her body adding to Francesca’s confusion and consternation.

“Francesca beauty was the betrayer…………….”

His words were a mere breath as he kissed her.
The accusation velvet soft as he continued.

“….and beauty must pay.”

Francesca screamed as he tore her blouse open.
She shrank back instinctively but had no opportunity to cover herself before he attacked her.
Gone were the gentle caresses of lips, instead, his mouth moved hungrily feasting on the exposed flesh, sucking, biting his hands all over her body as she struggled fighting wildly, panicked protests falling on deaf ears as she demanded, pleaded for release.

When finally he stepped away, Fran’s legs folded beneath her.
With a soft whimper she sank to the floor, where she knelt, hugging her trembling body, hair wild and eyes wide and tearful. Her blouse was in shreds around her, her bra rent and tattered, her alabaster skin marked with smudges of discoloration.
She took a shuddering breath, a vain attempt to calm herself and pressed her eyes shut willing him away, willing him to leave her once more.
Her head spun yet she tried to will herself to consciousness, fearing what she would awaken to if she indeed allowed herself to swoon.