Post by seraphim on Jul 20, 2008 8:55:17 GMT -6
Carrick had given Seraphim some time to cool down, but he had kept vigilant, not wanting anyone to disturb the smithy now that it was recaptured. The castle still needed to be taken, so there were risks, and so he kept watch over her. This evening he came in quietly, nodding his head under the smithy door placing a hand to his lips when Murphy looked up. He didn't want to startle her, but he would. He was without fey makeup now , though, and had a grin on his face as he stepped in. "Ye dog always givin' me away." He'd thought to perhaps step up behind her and embrace her, but wouldn't want to earn himself a clunk on the head with whatever metal object she might be working on, and so he at last found it best to speak and announce his arrival.
Phim ould of jumped out of her skin if he had come up behind her. She was behind a thin curtain, changing. When he had spoke, her arms were above her head, just her shadowed outline was scene through the veil. A little squeak as she heard the voice, though she would of screamed if it wasn't him. Murphy would of let her know otherwise. Turning somewhat towards him as she pulled the chemise over her head, "And thank the heavens he does." Was her soft, smooth reply.
"Aye. I know better than to sneak up on ye." Carrick dragged in a small assortment of his own weapons, a few of which needed repair. He had a small but deep cut on his face and a little blood on his shirt, but was otherwise unscathed...thanks, apparently, to his blades, which were dented and damaged. "There were a lot of Anglishmen to hunt out there. Caught one sneakin' round the back before Murphy even got to him." He grinned a little bit, hoping she wasn't still angry with him, but since she was changing,he did his best not to look in her direction. He had a small package, folded in parchment with him as well.
"Outside here?" Frowning a moment before she'd pull on something to make her more decent, being quick about it, she'd come around the veil with her hair uncovered, wild and haphazard about her slender form. She was tying to lace up the overdress of black homespun. "Is he still out there?" Her voice was barely a whisper with that question, though she hadn't looked up at him yet, cheeks pink for beind caught changing.
"Yes, around the back, but I took care of him. He's gone, there is no need to worry." Seeing peripherally that she'd come round the curtain, he placed the weapons down and the package atop it as well. "Let me help you," he offered, seeing she had trouble with the tie. Carrick's own clothing had been roughened up a bit from combat, and he tried clearing the
CarrickOfUlster [12:35 A.M.]: tired look from his face, but he was exhausted and hungry. "I would prefer to stay here tonight if it is well with you; I can sleep outside if you like." Carrick was comfortable in the barracks with the men, but they were all carrousing victoriously and he would rather spend time with his woman and dog.
Her gaze lifted as he neared to help her, her arms lifting her arms over her head ashe ent to her side laces. That ever changing gaze would caress his face, frowning at the cut. She'd lower an arm as she would gently touch the skin around it. "Stay with me, I have a little food.." A little because she had not stopped to eat, much less sleep since she started working there. Although, it didn't seem to bother her much. She just swayed a little on the spot, but settled with the one arm above her head as he tied her laces.
He diligently focused to tie the laces. "I no doubt you are working as hard as I am. I have worried for you. You would be right to be still angry with me." He was gentle with the laces, and did not tie them too tightly. He winced slightly when she touched his face, near the cut--he had asked for the right thing, because he was, by the look of him, in need of rest and care. "I think you need some sleep also." Murphy looked content at having the both of them there, and Carrick grinned down at the dog, mindful of his hands as they were close to her form, though for a moment he thought he'd have to steady her.
Her arms would fall to her sides when he was finished, her wide mouth in the usual frown she wore as of late. Not looking to his pile of weapons, she'd take his hand and lead him back behind he veil where she had set up her very small area without work or weapons. There was a stool and a pallet. She was very spartan, but it was not like she had a chance to settle. Most of her things were sill with Fafnir. "Sit, I'll fetch some food." With that, she would turn and go looking for her clean water bucket.
Carrick observed the area. He sighed, wishing they could settle down, but there were more battles to be fought. She deserved better than this from him--at least her own cottage until they were properly settled and she would be free to stay in the castle at will. Exhausted, Carrick did not protest. When a woman was talking about food, a man listened to her orders--that was lesson Carrick learned about women long ago. And so he sat, and so Murphy did as well. "Lookin' after me damn sister is the worst part. She doesn't know I'm followin' her, but she's got a belly with babe now an' doesn't hesitate to get into trouble regardless. An' that phantom fellow is still on the loose..." it felt good to talk about what was on his mind. He pet Murphy, who licked his hand.
Blinking a bit as she finally found the pale and was pleased with herself that she had filled it before going to change. Near it was a wrapped bit of food, she had of course fed the dog before thinking of feeding herself. Listening to Carrick was welcome distraction from the odd nagging feeling she had. She'd carefully carry the full pale to him with the food, holding out the meager meal of bread and cheese. Setting the pale by him as well as she'd smile a bit as the dog licked his master.
"Thank you." He took the food eagerly, and broke the bread and cheese in half, handing it to her without even asking if she'd eaten. Though his eyes were tired, there was love in his gaze as he looked at her and began to eat the food, taking his hand from the dog. "I want ye to rest tomorrow. It's Sunday an' everyone's suppose to rest. All the holy folk'll be in church an' they'll never notice the difference." He was posted on watch tomorrow, which was another reason for his lack of carrousing. When he was nearly done eating, he placed one of his hands on hers.
Phim would sink to the palette befor ehim, kneeling as she pushed the food into his hand as he touched her hand. She had a little smile playing on the corners of her lips, making that stoic face look softer. She'd tilt her head a bit, tossing that waist tickling mane behind her some as she looked at him a moment. Soon she was reaching for a bit of her palette, the pillow had stuffed in it her hair scarves. The yards of fabirc falling out, she'd start tugging a bit of a more worn looking white one, tearing the end of it while she waited for him to eat more.
Smiling skeptically, Carrick quickly consumed the rest of the food. "We can break fast at the Golden Harp on the morrow, and leave Murphy to guard the smithy," he suggested. She was good to him, and deserved to be well taken care of. Carrick finished the food and wiped his hands of crumbs, which Murphy then sought out on the ground. Standing, the Irishman took one of his swords from the pile, and put a dagger between his teeth while he surveyed the sword. Satisfied enough, he took the dagger from his teeth and walked toward the sleeping place, placing the sword next to where he would rest, and the dagger beneath the makeshift pillow. He then sat on the edge of the pallet and unlaced his boots.
Crawling towards him witth the spare fabric, she'd give an uncommon giggle, shaking her head a bit as she'd smile at him a bit larger. The prowling slink of her form was just as slow and languid as her walk, as if she had years to reach him. Once she did, she'd strech to dip the white in the water and leaned back towards him as she'd touch his boot unlacing hand. Uncommon, again, was the soft murmur of babble from her lips, "Still, warrior, I will care for that.." It was nearly an order as she'd reach up to very gently dab at his facial wound. She'd take care of his boots in a moment.
It was now Carrick's turn to be without words. He felt that he could not ask for more in one he loved, and a woman that was also a caring friend. He stopped and held still for her, a curious look in his eye as he did. He trusted her, without question. His eyes were not watching her hand, they were watching her eyes.
Dark eyes were on him, carefully cleaning his face and wound, her head canting a bit as she still had that soft smile on her pink lips. Her free hand was lifted, gently holding the otherside of his face. She was glad he had gotten rid of the man outside, she enjoyed at how quiet it was for the moment.
Murphy sat up and licked at Seraphim's arm. Carrick grinned and pressed a hand to his bearded chin in thought. "Aren't ye the jealous one?" he asked. "I think ye spoil him." He turned his face as she willed; it felt good to be taken care of after battle.
A little laugh slipped her, shoulders shaking a moment with the mirth as she took her gaze from the master to the dog. She'd set the fabric off to the side as she let go of Carrick to muss Murphy's ears before she'd turn, slowly on her knees still and set to Carrick's boots. Crawling the short ways, she'd then let nimble fingers tug the laces before she'd tug the boots, inky tresses falling over her shoulders in a rush as she bent forward, her back to him. "Spoil? Murphy is a prince amoung hounds, it is his right.."
shameoflife [1:18 A.M.]:
"Aye, he's a good dog." Carrick's eyes watched the woman's movements as she removed his boots. A hand went out to stay her, but he halted. He wanted to follow that stream of hair, the way it flowed down her back and highlighted her form. And so the warrior sat there and watched, captivated. "The war is almost won. Ye'll be among the first to pick a room of yer own in the castle."
"Mm.." Once the boots were shook out, not over the pallet, she'd turn back to him and look him over, seeing where to go to next. "I am fine here, I do not want..to be a bother or ..what have you.."
Carrick placed a hand very gently on her arm and led her back to the pallet. She deserved rest at least as much as he did, and it was his turn to take care of her. He held up the blankets for her to slip in. "Ye will not be a bother. I only want the best fer ye." Murphy tried sliding under the covers first, but the Irishman directed the hound. "On the other side of her, ye fool," he commanded, to which Murphy responded by going to the opposite end of the pallet.
Seraphim would smirk at the dog as she'd keep her hand within his as she pulled him into the pallet with the dog, taking the far edge of the makeshift pillow. All of that hair was fanned around her, her head tilting to watch him.
Less gracefully, the warrior climbed into bed as well. He left his arm nearest to her outstretched so that she could rest her head on his chest if she chose, offering a warning glare to Murphy to stay where he was. Despite his manly wishes, Carrick simply placed his hand around her arm, massaging it lightly, before he leaned over to kiss her on the forehead: a silent pledge to do better for her.
Clockwork, he'd lay out for her and she'd slowly curl into him, letting that long firm meld against his with a soft sigh against his ear as she pressed a little kiss to it before tucking her chin down so she could rest her head against his shoulder, eyes shutting. An arm curled over his chest as one of her legs around one of his, he'd have a hard time sneaking out with her attached to him. The dog snuggled tight against her back before Carrick's gaze made the dog move back. After all, Murphy was her usual bed compainion as of late.
Carrick's strong arm moved from her arm to her back, rubbing it reassuringly, promising to be there for her without saying a thing. The warrior let out a pondering sigh as he held her close, and would wait for sleep to take her first--he was ever vigilant. He made no move towards her though she snuggled up with him, for the two were not yet wed and any further movement might encourage him to make them good as such, at least in Celtic fashion, and so he remained on his back, focusing on the duties of the coming day.
"Carrick..stop licking my foot.." This was muttered softly as Murphy was going to try his damnest to get into his rightful place, which was nuzzled up with his Mistress, but to no avail, she'd push away at the dog's licking, shifting and curling herself further around Carrick in the process.
"Ye jealous animal," Carrick loudly whispered at the dog. He noted, of course, Seraphim's closeness, but still he remained where he was. "Ye sleep well, Seraphim, a stor. An' ye..." he spoke to Murphy, "I hope ye've nightmares of gettin' eatin' ye fool." That said, Carrick closed his eyes. If Seraphim had wants other than his comfort and body warmth, he would not acquiesce tonight.
Phim was shaking with a fit of silent giggles from Carrick and Murphy, turning her head and a kiss was placed on his shoulder before she nuzzle her cheek against it again. Smiling in the dark to herself, she'd absently stroke his side with her hand that was thrown across his chest.
Having difficulty with restraint, Carrick gently clasped her hand with his other hand and stayed it. "We should sleep." His voice was gentle, but stern.
Her body shook again as she pressed her
face againt his shoulder tighter, her words muffled against him, "I am sleeping." But she shook a bit more, a little of that mirth slipping out past her lips.
"Ye must sleep for true." Carrick became stiff in several senses of the word, shifting about to become a bit more comfortable. He was becoming frustrated with her, in more than one way, and was hoping to avoid a mistake like he'd made before. He didn't want any questions or talk of anything. "Come on, it's time fer sleep, a stor."
"I am sleeping..blessed dreams, I am with you, I must be sleeping. Walking sleep, working sleep, a man looks at me and does not see something horrid." She shook a little with another giddy moment. Those slender arms, though strong, gave him a soft squeeze as she pressed lips against his neck a moment before trying, really trying, to stop laughing.
"It is ye that are the dream, a stor, not ye that are in one." He smiled content to her as he leaned over a bit, his lips meeting hers briefly. It took all his will to pull away, so that that could get proper sleep. How soon would this war be over...so that she could be his proper wife?
Her lips curled against his as she returned the peck and then sighed again, she felt so very heavy with exhaustion, but so very light with him. Once more, heavy, as Murphy laid across their legs. "I love you, Carrick, sleep now.."
"Graim tu, a stor," he replied to her lazily and in Irish, but truthfully, from the heart. He did in fact love her, very much. Concentrating with all his will, he did, in fact, sleep.
Phim ould of jumped out of her skin if he had come up behind her. She was behind a thin curtain, changing. When he had spoke, her arms were above her head, just her shadowed outline was scene through the veil. A little squeak as she heard the voice, though she would of screamed if it wasn't him. Murphy would of let her know otherwise. Turning somewhat towards him as she pulled the chemise over her head, "And thank the heavens he does." Was her soft, smooth reply.
"Aye. I know better than to sneak up on ye." Carrick dragged in a small assortment of his own weapons, a few of which needed repair. He had a small but deep cut on his face and a little blood on his shirt, but was otherwise unscathed...thanks, apparently, to his blades, which were dented and damaged. "There were a lot of Anglishmen to hunt out there. Caught one sneakin' round the back before Murphy even got to him." He grinned a little bit, hoping she wasn't still angry with him, but since she was changing,he did his best not to look in her direction. He had a small package, folded in parchment with him as well.
"Outside here?" Frowning a moment before she'd pull on something to make her more decent, being quick about it, she'd come around the veil with her hair uncovered, wild and haphazard about her slender form. She was tying to lace up the overdress of black homespun. "Is he still out there?" Her voice was barely a whisper with that question, though she hadn't looked up at him yet, cheeks pink for beind caught changing.
"Yes, around the back, but I took care of him. He's gone, there is no need to worry." Seeing peripherally that she'd come round the curtain, he placed the weapons down and the package atop it as well. "Let me help you," he offered, seeing she had trouble with the tie. Carrick's own clothing had been roughened up a bit from combat, and he tried clearing the
CarrickOfUlster [12:35 A.M.]: tired look from his face, but he was exhausted and hungry. "I would prefer to stay here tonight if it is well with you; I can sleep outside if you like." Carrick was comfortable in the barracks with the men, but they were all carrousing victoriously and he would rather spend time with his woman and dog.
Her gaze lifted as he neared to help her, her arms lifting her arms over her head ashe ent to her side laces. That ever changing gaze would caress his face, frowning at the cut. She'd lower an arm as she would gently touch the skin around it. "Stay with me, I have a little food.." A little because she had not stopped to eat, much less sleep since she started working there. Although, it didn't seem to bother her much. She just swayed a little on the spot, but settled with the one arm above her head as he tied her laces.
He diligently focused to tie the laces. "I no doubt you are working as hard as I am. I have worried for you. You would be right to be still angry with me." He was gentle with the laces, and did not tie them too tightly. He winced slightly when she touched his face, near the cut--he had asked for the right thing, because he was, by the look of him, in need of rest and care. "I think you need some sleep also." Murphy looked content at having the both of them there, and Carrick grinned down at the dog, mindful of his hands as they were close to her form, though for a moment he thought he'd have to steady her.
Her arms would fall to her sides when he was finished, her wide mouth in the usual frown she wore as of late. Not looking to his pile of weapons, she'd take his hand and lead him back behind he veil where she had set up her very small area without work or weapons. There was a stool and a pallet. She was very spartan, but it was not like she had a chance to settle. Most of her things were sill with Fafnir. "Sit, I'll fetch some food." With that, she would turn and go looking for her clean water bucket.
Carrick observed the area. He sighed, wishing they could settle down, but there were more battles to be fought. She deserved better than this from him--at least her own cottage until they were properly settled and she would be free to stay in the castle at will. Exhausted, Carrick did not protest. When a woman was talking about food, a man listened to her orders--that was lesson Carrick learned about women long ago. And so he sat, and so Murphy did as well. "Lookin' after me damn sister is the worst part. She doesn't know I'm followin' her, but she's got a belly with babe now an' doesn't hesitate to get into trouble regardless. An' that phantom fellow is still on the loose..." it felt good to talk about what was on his mind. He pet Murphy, who licked his hand.
Blinking a bit as she finally found the pale and was pleased with herself that she had filled it before going to change. Near it was a wrapped bit of food, she had of course fed the dog before thinking of feeding herself. Listening to Carrick was welcome distraction from the odd nagging feeling she had. She'd carefully carry the full pale to him with the food, holding out the meager meal of bread and cheese. Setting the pale by him as well as she'd smile a bit as the dog licked his master.
"Thank you." He took the food eagerly, and broke the bread and cheese in half, handing it to her without even asking if she'd eaten. Though his eyes were tired, there was love in his gaze as he looked at her and began to eat the food, taking his hand from the dog. "I want ye to rest tomorrow. It's Sunday an' everyone's suppose to rest. All the holy folk'll be in church an' they'll never notice the difference." He was posted on watch tomorrow, which was another reason for his lack of carrousing. When he was nearly done eating, he placed one of his hands on hers.
Phim would sink to the palette befor ehim, kneeling as she pushed the food into his hand as he touched her hand. She had a little smile playing on the corners of her lips, making that stoic face look softer. She'd tilt her head a bit, tossing that waist tickling mane behind her some as she looked at him a moment. Soon she was reaching for a bit of her palette, the pillow had stuffed in it her hair scarves. The yards of fabirc falling out, she'd start tugging a bit of a more worn looking white one, tearing the end of it while she waited for him to eat more.
Smiling skeptically, Carrick quickly consumed the rest of the food. "We can break fast at the Golden Harp on the morrow, and leave Murphy to guard the smithy," he suggested. She was good to him, and deserved to be well taken care of. Carrick finished the food and wiped his hands of crumbs, which Murphy then sought out on the ground. Standing, the Irishman took one of his swords from the pile, and put a dagger between his teeth while he surveyed the sword. Satisfied enough, he took the dagger from his teeth and walked toward the sleeping place, placing the sword next to where he would rest, and the dagger beneath the makeshift pillow. He then sat on the edge of the pallet and unlaced his boots.
Crawling towards him witth the spare fabric, she'd give an uncommon giggle, shaking her head a bit as she'd smile at him a bit larger. The prowling slink of her form was just as slow and languid as her walk, as if she had years to reach him. Once she did, she'd strech to dip the white in the water and leaned back towards him as she'd touch his boot unlacing hand. Uncommon, again, was the soft murmur of babble from her lips, "Still, warrior, I will care for that.." It was nearly an order as she'd reach up to very gently dab at his facial wound. She'd take care of his boots in a moment.
It was now Carrick's turn to be without words. He felt that he could not ask for more in one he loved, and a woman that was also a caring friend. He stopped and held still for her, a curious look in his eye as he did. He trusted her, without question. His eyes were not watching her hand, they were watching her eyes.
Dark eyes were on him, carefully cleaning his face and wound, her head canting a bit as she still had that soft smile on her pink lips. Her free hand was lifted, gently holding the otherside of his face. She was glad he had gotten rid of the man outside, she enjoyed at how quiet it was for the moment.
Murphy sat up and licked at Seraphim's arm. Carrick grinned and pressed a hand to his bearded chin in thought. "Aren't ye the jealous one?" he asked. "I think ye spoil him." He turned his face as she willed; it felt good to be taken care of after battle.
A little laugh slipped her, shoulders shaking a moment with the mirth as she took her gaze from the master to the dog. She'd set the fabric off to the side as she let go of Carrick to muss Murphy's ears before she'd turn, slowly on her knees still and set to Carrick's boots. Crawling the short ways, she'd then let nimble fingers tug the laces before she'd tug the boots, inky tresses falling over her shoulders in a rush as she bent forward, her back to him. "Spoil? Murphy is a prince amoung hounds, it is his right.."
shameoflife [1:18 A.M.]:
"Aye, he's a good dog." Carrick's eyes watched the woman's movements as she removed his boots. A hand went out to stay her, but he halted. He wanted to follow that stream of hair, the way it flowed down her back and highlighted her form. And so the warrior sat there and watched, captivated. "The war is almost won. Ye'll be among the first to pick a room of yer own in the castle."
"Mm.." Once the boots were shook out, not over the pallet, she'd turn back to him and look him over, seeing where to go to next. "I am fine here, I do not want..to be a bother or ..what have you.."
Carrick placed a hand very gently on her arm and led her back to the pallet. She deserved rest at least as much as he did, and it was his turn to take care of her. He held up the blankets for her to slip in. "Ye will not be a bother. I only want the best fer ye." Murphy tried sliding under the covers first, but the Irishman directed the hound. "On the other side of her, ye fool," he commanded, to which Murphy responded by going to the opposite end of the pallet.
Seraphim would smirk at the dog as she'd keep her hand within his as she pulled him into the pallet with the dog, taking the far edge of the makeshift pillow. All of that hair was fanned around her, her head tilting to watch him.
Less gracefully, the warrior climbed into bed as well. He left his arm nearest to her outstretched so that she could rest her head on his chest if she chose, offering a warning glare to Murphy to stay where he was. Despite his manly wishes, Carrick simply placed his hand around her arm, massaging it lightly, before he leaned over to kiss her on the forehead: a silent pledge to do better for her.
Clockwork, he'd lay out for her and she'd slowly curl into him, letting that long firm meld against his with a soft sigh against his ear as she pressed a little kiss to it before tucking her chin down so she could rest her head against his shoulder, eyes shutting. An arm curled over his chest as one of her legs around one of his, he'd have a hard time sneaking out with her attached to him. The dog snuggled tight against her back before Carrick's gaze made the dog move back. After all, Murphy was her usual bed compainion as of late.
Carrick's strong arm moved from her arm to her back, rubbing it reassuringly, promising to be there for her without saying a thing. The warrior let out a pondering sigh as he held her close, and would wait for sleep to take her first--he was ever vigilant. He made no move towards her though she snuggled up with him, for the two were not yet wed and any further movement might encourage him to make them good as such, at least in Celtic fashion, and so he remained on his back, focusing on the duties of the coming day.
"Carrick..stop licking my foot.." This was muttered softly as Murphy was going to try his damnest to get into his rightful place, which was nuzzled up with his Mistress, but to no avail, she'd push away at the dog's licking, shifting and curling herself further around Carrick in the process.
"Ye jealous animal," Carrick loudly whispered at the dog. He noted, of course, Seraphim's closeness, but still he remained where he was. "Ye sleep well, Seraphim, a stor. An' ye..." he spoke to Murphy, "I hope ye've nightmares of gettin' eatin' ye fool." That said, Carrick closed his eyes. If Seraphim had wants other than his comfort and body warmth, he would not acquiesce tonight.
Phim was shaking with a fit of silent giggles from Carrick and Murphy, turning her head and a kiss was placed on his shoulder before she nuzzle her cheek against it again. Smiling in the dark to herself, she'd absently stroke his side with her hand that was thrown across his chest.
Having difficulty with restraint, Carrick gently clasped her hand with his other hand and stayed it. "We should sleep." His voice was gentle, but stern.
Her body shook again as she pressed her
face againt his shoulder tighter, her words muffled against him, "I am sleeping." But she shook a bit more, a little of that mirth slipping out past her lips.
"Ye must sleep for true." Carrick became stiff in several senses of the word, shifting about to become a bit more comfortable. He was becoming frustrated with her, in more than one way, and was hoping to avoid a mistake like he'd made before. He didn't want any questions or talk of anything. "Come on, it's time fer sleep, a stor."
"I am sleeping..blessed dreams, I am with you, I must be sleeping. Walking sleep, working sleep, a man looks at me and does not see something horrid." She shook a little with another giddy moment. Those slender arms, though strong, gave him a soft squeeze as she pressed lips against his neck a moment before trying, really trying, to stop laughing.
"It is ye that are the dream, a stor, not ye that are in one." He smiled content to her as he leaned over a bit, his lips meeting hers briefly. It took all his will to pull away, so that that could get proper sleep. How soon would this war be over...so that she could be his proper wife?
Her lips curled against his as she returned the peck and then sighed again, she felt so very heavy with exhaustion, but so very light with him. Once more, heavy, as Murphy laid across their legs. "I love you, Carrick, sleep now.."
"Graim tu, a stor," he replied to her lazily and in Irish, but truthfully, from the heart. He did in fact love her, very much. Concentrating with all his will, he did, in fact, sleep.