Damaris, Angel of Joy
Call to Arms
Damaris was a woman of many secrets.
Some she shared and others she kept to herself.
One of her secrets she shared with only one: her husband Phillip.
Phillip was a Ranger in the King's Army. He was well respected among the nobles and the common folk alike in the land of Summerland. When he had chosen Damaris for his wife, she was accepted with wide arms despite the fact that she was not of those lands.
Where his wife was from, Phillip was not certain. And although Damaris had a hidden past, he was more than willing to curb his curiosity, for she and he were a match like none he could ever imagine. If she had her secrets, Phillip was willing to leave them in the past so long as he could have Damaris in his present and future.
They lived in a cottage on the outskirts of Summercastle. It was a cozy little cabin with a chimney for to chilly winter nights. It was quiet and isolated and few people lived near by.
That served their needs quite well since their secret passion was tickling.
One would never suspect from the reserved and respected couple that they savored wild uncontrollable laughter while at the mercy of their lover or that they cherished the furtive jab to the ribcage when the other was unsuspecting or the lightning quick tickle while deeply immersed in passionate lovemaking.
They shared the duties of tickler and they were equally split for both enjoyed giving and receiving the pleasure of tickling.
On one wall of their cottage was a collection of feathers displayed neatly and ordered meticulously. There were feathers both large and small of all the feathered creatures that inhabited Summerland and many that Phillip had traded for with merchants from far off lands. They had exotic peacock feathers and pink flamingo feathers from far off Southlands. There were large Roc feathers from the Northlands and coarse grey feathers that one merchant swore were from a Harpy.
There was one feather that Damaris had added to the collection and she would not reveal its origin. It was a simple long white feather. It was snow white in color and it was a favorite of Damaris. Phillip would swear there was something magical or mystical about the feather for it tickled more than any other feather upon his skin.
Not even under the torturous persuasion of that white feather would she reveal its origin. That was fine by Phillip though. There could be no respite to the torture if she were not willing to reveal that secret.
It was a cold night in late spring when the two lovers had decided to spend the evening engaging in their favorite pass time.
That night Phillip had chosen to be on the receiving end.
For five years they had shared their passions and through the years they had become proficient at tying knots better than the finest sailor of Sealand. Phillip's hard muscled body was tied to the four posts of their bed.
This was a warrior who had bested bears with his bare hands and fought entire Wyldeland war parties on his own only to come out victorious.
Here he was at the mercy of a fair woman half his weight.
Damaris let him simmer with anticipation. She knew how to make him suffer.
“Come now, love,” he said curtly. “You can get started already. No sense stretching out the inevitable.”
“It makes all the sense in the world,” she said twirling the white feather in her hand. “I'm thinking of the hundred different ways I could get you to beg me for mercy and the thousand different ways that make you tremble as you contemplate them.”
She took a scarf from her night stand and approached seductively.
“To gag or to blindfold, my love?” Damaris asked playfully as she climbed on the bed and drew her body up his. Her long red locks teased his powerful torso and he grunted and twisted in his restraints.
“The blindfold,” he said immediately.
Her sea blue eyes looked into his dark black eyes and she smiled.
“You answer too soon and you pick the opposite of what you prefer,” she said. “I know you all too well. The blindfold it will be. I will not be robbed of your laughter tonight.”
The blindfold was on and Phillip felt his body twitch in anticipation.
Damaris might tickle him head to toe in a mad frenzy or a slow erotic tease. She might concentrate on a ticklish spot alone and then add another when least expected. She was a temptress and a sweet sadist wrapped into one.
She touched his breast with her white feather and traced it every so faintly down to his belly. It was sheer agony for Phillip as he struggled against the sensation that bordered ever so tentatively on the edge of ticklishness but not yet so to offer release. He could resist. For a time.
He felt her red ticklish locks tease his thighs and felt her straddle him lightly.
Then she just lingered there quietly waiting for his guard to go down. And down it must go, sooner or later, and when it did, he felt her body shift dexterously and she drew first blood. Quickly, efficiently and erotically.
Her feet slid up his body and her toes dug themselves into his vulnerable underarms.
He screamed as he was taken totally by surprise. He laughed hard and helplessly and wondered at the irony of his circumstance. Those ticklish feet were only mere inches from his hands and yet they could tickle him savagely without leaving him any means to retaliate.
When he thought he could no longer laugh any harder, Damaris drew her sharp fingernails along the inside of his thighs and sent all his senses up a notch. His laughter was louder yet and now his sweet begging joined the protests.
“I love to hear you beg,” Damaris teased. “The big Ranger begging the little girl for mercy. If only the King's Army could see their hero now!”
“Stop Damaris! It's too much,” he shouted while laughing near hysteria. “Anything! Anything you want, but please let me breathe!”
The tickling stopped abruptly and Phillip breathed desperately gasping for air.
Damaris was silent for a time and then he felt her move softly once again.
The next moment the white feather which he loved and dreaded so much, attacked his privates with surgical precision. Phillip was long already aroused but this was beyond torture. She could not contain her merriment and she giggled as she aroused him to a violent, laughing and aroused mass.
“We can stop,” Damaris said suggestively as she shifted her weight once again and straddled his hips once again.
“Don't, Damaris,” Phillip pleaded knowing her aim. “I should have my turn first.”
“May I perhaps change your mind?” Damaris asked as she raked his ribcage with her nails.
“NO!” he exclaimed before dissolving once again in a boyish fit of laughter.
“No?” she asked tauntingly. “Are you sure?”
“Okay, okay, okay!” he shouted.
Damaris did not hesitate and she deftly slipped over his manhood. Phillip gasped. She was not especially cruel this time and she no longer teased him. But she continued to tickle him as she rode him until he climaxed. Between laughter and groans of passion they continued until finally Phillip found both relief and release.
Damaris removed the blindfold and rested her head on her husband's sweat drenched chest that rose and fell in an almost hypnotic rhythm. She listened to his rapidly beating heart and she was content.
When she fell asleep she could not say but when she awoke it was to the soft laughter of Phillip.
But no longer was it the wild boyish laughter. It was his own controlled and metered self satisfied laughter.
The tables had been turned. Now she was below and he was in control.
“How did you do this?” Damaris asked amazed at how he had managed to escape and tie her up.
“I escaped from Sealander pirates,” he boasted. “I can escape from a few knots if I put my mind to it.”
“And how could you without waking me?” she asked.
“You sleep deep and snore blissfully,” he said grinning. “And remember that I pinched purses before I was a Ranger,” he confessed. “But enough of me.”
He looked at her curiously before continuing.
“Who are you, Damaris?” he asked like he had never asked before.
“I don't know what you mean,” she said fidgeting and testing her bondage.
“I mean where are you from? Who are you?” he asked.
“It never mattered before,” she said uneasily. “Why do you ask now?”
Phillip shrugged. “I just want you to have an option for me to stop when I totally ravage your ticklish body. Feel free to share your tale if it gets too intense.”
He blindfolded her with the same sash.
Phillip was not as patient as Damaris and he was always too drawn to her ticklish body to hold back for long.
Damaris licked her lips in anticipation.
He took her left foot in his hands and it was as if it was held with a vice.
“These feet have wronged me,” he said. “I think the punishment should fit the crime. His fingers dug into her sole. There was no prelude, no teasing. Just hard and straight up tickling. Her feet were her most ticklish spot and he knew she could not resist for a moment before simply falling into a musical chorus of laughter.
That was the sound that made the world move. He had had many ticklish lovers over his life. He'd tickled the most ticklish women in all of Summerland. But no laughter came close to that of Damaris. In his head he imagined that this was the way Heaven must certainly be.
Damaris had perfect feet. The toes were well rounded and her arches where beautifully curved. Each part he touched was deathly ticklish but to different degrees. To the uninitiated it might seem that Damaris was simply insanely ticklish on her feet.
Phillip knew better. There were layers upon layers of complexity even upon the narrow surface of his wife's small foot. A change of pressure here, a little more focused there and he could get dramatically different reactions.
He would stick to simple today though and he dug his fingers in between her toes making Damaris buck violently.
“Who are you, Damaris?” Phillip asked playfully.
“I won't say,” she said stubbornly as she laughed in bursts that Phillip found amusing.
Phillip's long arms reached across the base of the bed and he had both feet in his hands. She could move them freely within the restraints, but it did not diminish the ticking sensation and it seemed only to add to Phillip's amusement.
“A hint?” Phillip prompted as he raised the intensity by concentrating again with one foot and stimulating specific points on her sole he knew were vulnerable. So well he knew her feet and her body, he knew he could draw a perfect map of every ticklish nuance.
“I will not say,” Damaris said playfully resisting.
Phillip took again her foot in his strong heavy hand and he held it still. Damaris twitched as she anticipated what was to happen. Phillip shrugged. He was not the temptress Damaris was, but he would make up for it with intense effort.
He drew his mouth close and relished her luscious toes. They wiggled nervously knowing that any moment that they would be assaulted.
Phillip did not disappoint. He opened his mouth and filled it with her toes. He might have had the sweet nectar of the gods on his lips.
Damaris gasped and screeched in tight laughter. Phillip knew how much this excited her.
He began to nibble all the while holding her thrashing leg still. Were it not for his tight grip she surely would have kicked his teeth out, so violent and sensual were her reactions.
He bit and nibbled like an artist deliberately picking every single spot he attacked and leaving nothing to chance. He rubbed his beard stubble over her soles and smiled as she melted away into more laughter and delight. Her foot was small and he finally clamped it between his teeth and he let his tongue run up and down the length of her sole.
This proved to be too much for Damaris. She screamed and she climaxed to the tickling in a way only her Phillip could do to her.
She looked at his devious face as she smiled back at her from her feet. She smiled back and laughed briefly as he drew a quick finger from heel to toe.
“Who are you, Damaris?” he asked again softly.
“I'm your wife, your friend, your lover,” Damaris said before pausing. “And your Angel.”
“Quite right. I think you've earned that respite after all,” he said pleased at the answer.
Little did he realize how very true that answer was.
* * * * *
The knock came at the door shortly before dawn. It was loud and urgent and pleading.
“Up and at them, Phillip,” Garvis shouted. “The Wylders need to be taught to respect the border and the King wants us to lead the scouts.”
Garvis was an old campaigner and an advisor to the King. He was as a father to Phillip who had been an orphan. Garvis had taken him under his wing and trained him in the ways of a woodsman and warrior.
Phillip rose form bed in a flash and was at the door. Damaris was slower to rise and drew her cloak around her shoulders as the chill air entered the cabin.
“Suit up, son,” Garvis said. “We'll need to be at the vanguard of the King's Army by dawn if we mean to get there before the fun is over.”
“What's happened?” Damaris asked.
“Wylder raiders have looted several small villages on the border,” Garvis explained. “Same as every few years. Someone's gotta chase them back over the border into those Wyldelands.”
“Nothing big, I imagine,” Phillip as reassuringly as he changed into his combat garb. “Maybe a week of scouting and a couple decisive battles. They always back down when they realize that they have met their better.”
Phillip gathered his sword and his bow and his other gear and marched towards the door.
“A minute alone, father?” Phillip asked.
“Certainly,” Garvis said smiling to Damaris and turning away towards his horse.
“I'll be back before you miss me,” Phillip said kissing her on the lips.
Damaris felt uneasy. It was not the first time he had ridden out into battle, but this time she felt something was distinctly different. It was as if the very air carried the stench of something that was not well.
“You'll remember who I am, will you?” Damaris asked. She was not sure why she had said those words but they seemed to bear an ill omen.
“Of course,” he said smiling sadly. He could see she was emotional but she shed no tears like the other wives of men like Phillip who rode out to battle. He wished sometimes she would release her emotions and weep, but he respected her strength.
He did not realize that is was not that Damaris did not grieve enough to weep, but rather that she was incapable of weeping for sorrow.
As it was, she had wished dearly she could see him off with a tear.
It would not be however.
* * * * *
The week went by slowly and Damaris felt more and more apprehensive.
Something had gone wrong.
It was not until the wounded and routed forces of Summerland returned, that her fears were confirmed.
Citizens of Summerland watched with horror as burnt and gashed soldiers of the King's Army returned. With them they dragged the dead on their shields. They bore faces scarred with horror and fear. Shock and dismay spread among the people.
Damaris could smell the stench on the soldiers. The same stench she should have noticed when Phillip rode out to meet the Wyldelanders. It was the faint but tell tale scent of brimstone.
She did not see Phillip among the soldiers, but she did recognize many to be among the scouts Phillip served with. She saw Garvis near the rear wounded with a terrible slash across his forehead. The old man's face was older and ashen and it became more white yet as his weary eyes fell upon her.
“Garvis!” Damaris shouted as she drew near. “Where is Phillip?”
He shook his head. “You must be strong,” he said. “Phillip killed many and stayed behind to hold the enemy back. He died so many might have the opportunity to escape.”
“Did you see him die, Garvis?” Damaris asked coolly. “Did you see them kill Phillip?”
“No,” he replied wearily, “but who could survive such an onslaught?”
“If Phillip killed off any of their numbers, it's likely the Darque will want him alive for some other fate. It is not often their number are killed by mortals,” Damaris said collecting her thoughts.
Garvis's eyes went wide. “Who told you it was the Darque who ambushed us? We are sworn to secrecy! There must be no panic until the reinforcements from the Northland come to support Summerland.”
“Their foul reek is on you,” she replied coldly.
“And it is but a taste, my friend. This is only the beginning.”
* * * * *
Damaris returned to the cabin.
She did not panic. She knew that there were high probabilities a great warrior like Phillip would be spared to the corrupted by the Darque. Her time was short, but there was time.
She needed to go north to the Briar Forest. There she would find her metal.
She packed some supplies and as she crossed the cabin, she saw her feather collection on the wall. The Darque would burn every last building to the ground. She quickly gathered the treasured feathers and wrapped them in a warm scarf. Better to scatter them in the forest than have them burned by the Darque.
She took a short dagger and tucked it in her boot. It was a toothpick compared to her metal but it would have to do. She took her pack over her shoulder and headed to the door when the shadows of several large men approached the door.
It was Garvis and several Elite Royal Guardsmen.
“Hold right there, child,” he said hailing her.
“Get out of my way, Garvis,” Damaris said her cold blue eyes narrowing in on him.
“Are you a Wytch?” he asked as the Guardsmen watched her with fear. “How can you know those things? How can you know of the Darque? Are you one of them?”
“Of course not,” she replied. “I'm the wife of your son. You've known me for over five years.”
“But nothing more,” Garvis said. “You are a child of secrets and mystery and what can come of secrets other than evil?”
“Love, Garvis,” Damaris whispered. “Listen to me,” she said as she drew closer so only he could hear.
The Royal Guardsmen lowered their weapons and prepared to step forward but Garvis held them back.
“Let her speak,” Garvis commanded.
“I will tell you a secret,” Damaris said. “I know many. I know one only you know and from it I guarantee you there can come no evil.”
“Speak then and pray you convince me,” Garvis said.
“You found Phillip abandoned in the forest, left for the wolves when he was but a babe,” Damaris said.
“That is known by every man, woman and child in the Kingdom,” Garvis scoffed.
Damaris ignored him.
“It was a day much like this,” she said as if recalling a memory. “Misty and cool. The sun was timid and the air smelled of a coming storm. You did not hear the Phillip's cry as you always affirm when you tell the story. It was something else that drew you to him.”
Damaris hummed a sweet sad ballad between her lips.
Garvis's eyes went wide with recognition. “You are a Wytch!”
Damaris shook her head.
“I've been with Phillip from the moment he was born,” Damaris said. “I was sworn to protect him and when my time was up I vowed to continue to protect him despite the wrath of my peers and my masters. If you love him like the father you have always been to him, you will let me pass.”
Her voice was cool with confidence and she did not tremor at the weapons pointed in her direction.
“Go then,” Garvis said after some thought. “Take my horse. She's fresh and surefooted and she'll take you where you need to go.”
Damaris took the horse by the reins and mounted her. She said some soft words to the mare and the horse became calm.
“Farewell, Garvis.” Damaris said. “You have your duty so I will not suggest you abandon Summerland. Hold Summercastle. You won't be able to save any of the villages. Have the people take refuge in the castle. Otherwise many innocents will die.”
“Who are you?” Garvis asked.
Damaris smiled sadly and rode away leaving the men in silence.
“She's bewitched you, sir,” one of the Guardsman said interrupting the silence.
Garvis cuffed the Guardsman on the ear and pushed him out of his way as he marched towards Summercastle on foot.
“She could mount the mare, you fool,” Garvis said irritatedly. “No Wytch can do that. The animals can detect their evil.”
The Guardsmen did not mount and followed their leader on foot.
“Whatever she is, whoever she is, she is not a Wytch,” Garvis said.
The silent question on everyone's lips remained.
If she was not a Wytch, then who was she?
To be continued....
Next: The Briar and the Wytch
Call to Arms
Damaris was a woman of many secrets.
Some she shared and others she kept to herself.
One of her secrets she shared with only one: her husband Phillip.
Phillip was a Ranger in the King's Army. He was well respected among the nobles and the common folk alike in the land of Summerland. When he had chosen Damaris for his wife, she was accepted with wide arms despite the fact that she was not of those lands.
Where his wife was from, Phillip was not certain. And although Damaris had a hidden past, he was more than willing to curb his curiosity, for she and he were a match like none he could ever imagine. If she had her secrets, Phillip was willing to leave them in the past so long as he could have Damaris in his present and future.
They lived in a cottage on the outskirts of Summercastle. It was a cozy little cabin with a chimney for to chilly winter nights. It was quiet and isolated and few people lived near by.
That served their needs quite well since their secret passion was tickling.
One would never suspect from the reserved and respected couple that they savored wild uncontrollable laughter while at the mercy of their lover or that they cherished the furtive jab to the ribcage when the other was unsuspecting or the lightning quick tickle while deeply immersed in passionate lovemaking.
They shared the duties of tickler and they were equally split for both enjoyed giving and receiving the pleasure of tickling.
On one wall of their cottage was a collection of feathers displayed neatly and ordered meticulously. There were feathers both large and small of all the feathered creatures that inhabited Summerland and many that Phillip had traded for with merchants from far off lands. They had exotic peacock feathers and pink flamingo feathers from far off Southlands. There were large Roc feathers from the Northlands and coarse grey feathers that one merchant swore were from a Harpy.
There was one feather that Damaris had added to the collection and she would not reveal its origin. It was a simple long white feather. It was snow white in color and it was a favorite of Damaris. Phillip would swear there was something magical or mystical about the feather for it tickled more than any other feather upon his skin.
Not even under the torturous persuasion of that white feather would she reveal its origin. That was fine by Phillip though. There could be no respite to the torture if she were not willing to reveal that secret.
It was a cold night in late spring when the two lovers had decided to spend the evening engaging in their favorite pass time.
That night Phillip had chosen to be on the receiving end.
For five years they had shared their passions and through the years they had become proficient at tying knots better than the finest sailor of Sealand. Phillip's hard muscled body was tied to the four posts of their bed.
This was a warrior who had bested bears with his bare hands and fought entire Wyldeland war parties on his own only to come out victorious.
Here he was at the mercy of a fair woman half his weight.
Damaris let him simmer with anticipation. She knew how to make him suffer.
“Come now, love,” he said curtly. “You can get started already. No sense stretching out the inevitable.”
“It makes all the sense in the world,” she said twirling the white feather in her hand. “I'm thinking of the hundred different ways I could get you to beg me for mercy and the thousand different ways that make you tremble as you contemplate them.”
She took a scarf from her night stand and approached seductively.
“To gag or to blindfold, my love?” Damaris asked playfully as she climbed on the bed and drew her body up his. Her long red locks teased his powerful torso and he grunted and twisted in his restraints.
“The blindfold,” he said immediately.
Her sea blue eyes looked into his dark black eyes and she smiled.
“You answer too soon and you pick the opposite of what you prefer,” she said. “I know you all too well. The blindfold it will be. I will not be robbed of your laughter tonight.”
The blindfold was on and Phillip felt his body twitch in anticipation.
Damaris might tickle him head to toe in a mad frenzy or a slow erotic tease. She might concentrate on a ticklish spot alone and then add another when least expected. She was a temptress and a sweet sadist wrapped into one.
She touched his breast with her white feather and traced it every so faintly down to his belly. It was sheer agony for Phillip as he struggled against the sensation that bordered ever so tentatively on the edge of ticklishness but not yet so to offer release. He could resist. For a time.
He felt her red ticklish locks tease his thighs and felt her straddle him lightly.
Then she just lingered there quietly waiting for his guard to go down. And down it must go, sooner or later, and when it did, he felt her body shift dexterously and she drew first blood. Quickly, efficiently and erotically.
Her feet slid up his body and her toes dug themselves into his vulnerable underarms.
He screamed as he was taken totally by surprise. He laughed hard and helplessly and wondered at the irony of his circumstance. Those ticklish feet were only mere inches from his hands and yet they could tickle him savagely without leaving him any means to retaliate.
When he thought he could no longer laugh any harder, Damaris drew her sharp fingernails along the inside of his thighs and sent all his senses up a notch. His laughter was louder yet and now his sweet begging joined the protests.
“I love to hear you beg,” Damaris teased. “The big Ranger begging the little girl for mercy. If only the King's Army could see their hero now!”
“Stop Damaris! It's too much,” he shouted while laughing near hysteria. “Anything! Anything you want, but please let me breathe!”
The tickling stopped abruptly and Phillip breathed desperately gasping for air.
Damaris was silent for a time and then he felt her move softly once again.
The next moment the white feather which he loved and dreaded so much, attacked his privates with surgical precision. Phillip was long already aroused but this was beyond torture. She could not contain her merriment and she giggled as she aroused him to a violent, laughing and aroused mass.
“We can stop,” Damaris said suggestively as she shifted her weight once again and straddled his hips once again.
“Don't, Damaris,” Phillip pleaded knowing her aim. “I should have my turn first.”
“May I perhaps change your mind?” Damaris asked as she raked his ribcage with her nails.
“NO!” he exclaimed before dissolving once again in a boyish fit of laughter.
“No?” she asked tauntingly. “Are you sure?”
“Okay, okay, okay!” he shouted.
Damaris did not hesitate and she deftly slipped over his manhood. Phillip gasped. She was not especially cruel this time and she no longer teased him. But she continued to tickle him as she rode him until he climaxed. Between laughter and groans of passion they continued until finally Phillip found both relief and release.
Damaris removed the blindfold and rested her head on her husband's sweat drenched chest that rose and fell in an almost hypnotic rhythm. She listened to his rapidly beating heart and she was content.
When she fell asleep she could not say but when she awoke it was to the soft laughter of Phillip.
But no longer was it the wild boyish laughter. It was his own controlled and metered self satisfied laughter.
The tables had been turned. Now she was below and he was in control.
“How did you do this?” Damaris asked amazed at how he had managed to escape and tie her up.
“I escaped from Sealander pirates,” he boasted. “I can escape from a few knots if I put my mind to it.”
“And how could you without waking me?” she asked.
“You sleep deep and snore blissfully,” he said grinning. “And remember that I pinched purses before I was a Ranger,” he confessed. “But enough of me.”
He looked at her curiously before continuing.
“Who are you, Damaris?” he asked like he had never asked before.
“I don't know what you mean,” she said fidgeting and testing her bondage.
“I mean where are you from? Who are you?” he asked.
“It never mattered before,” she said uneasily. “Why do you ask now?”
Phillip shrugged. “I just want you to have an option for me to stop when I totally ravage your ticklish body. Feel free to share your tale if it gets too intense.”
He blindfolded her with the same sash.
Phillip was not as patient as Damaris and he was always too drawn to her ticklish body to hold back for long.
Damaris licked her lips in anticipation.
He took her left foot in his hands and it was as if it was held with a vice.
“These feet have wronged me,” he said. “I think the punishment should fit the crime. His fingers dug into her sole. There was no prelude, no teasing. Just hard and straight up tickling. Her feet were her most ticklish spot and he knew she could not resist for a moment before simply falling into a musical chorus of laughter.
That was the sound that made the world move. He had had many ticklish lovers over his life. He'd tickled the most ticklish women in all of Summerland. But no laughter came close to that of Damaris. In his head he imagined that this was the way Heaven must certainly be.
Damaris had perfect feet. The toes were well rounded and her arches where beautifully curved. Each part he touched was deathly ticklish but to different degrees. To the uninitiated it might seem that Damaris was simply insanely ticklish on her feet.
Phillip knew better. There were layers upon layers of complexity even upon the narrow surface of his wife's small foot. A change of pressure here, a little more focused there and he could get dramatically different reactions.
He would stick to simple today though and he dug his fingers in between her toes making Damaris buck violently.
“Who are you, Damaris?” Phillip asked playfully.
“I won't say,” she said stubbornly as she laughed in bursts that Phillip found amusing.
Phillip's long arms reached across the base of the bed and he had both feet in his hands. She could move them freely within the restraints, but it did not diminish the ticking sensation and it seemed only to add to Phillip's amusement.
“A hint?” Phillip prompted as he raised the intensity by concentrating again with one foot and stimulating specific points on her sole he knew were vulnerable. So well he knew her feet and her body, he knew he could draw a perfect map of every ticklish nuance.
“I will not say,” Damaris said playfully resisting.
Phillip took again her foot in his strong heavy hand and he held it still. Damaris twitched as she anticipated what was to happen. Phillip shrugged. He was not the temptress Damaris was, but he would make up for it with intense effort.
He drew his mouth close and relished her luscious toes. They wiggled nervously knowing that any moment that they would be assaulted.
Phillip did not disappoint. He opened his mouth and filled it with her toes. He might have had the sweet nectar of the gods on his lips.
Damaris gasped and screeched in tight laughter. Phillip knew how much this excited her.
He began to nibble all the while holding her thrashing leg still. Were it not for his tight grip she surely would have kicked his teeth out, so violent and sensual were her reactions.
He bit and nibbled like an artist deliberately picking every single spot he attacked and leaving nothing to chance. He rubbed his beard stubble over her soles and smiled as she melted away into more laughter and delight. Her foot was small and he finally clamped it between his teeth and he let his tongue run up and down the length of her sole.
This proved to be too much for Damaris. She screamed and she climaxed to the tickling in a way only her Phillip could do to her.
She looked at his devious face as she smiled back at her from her feet. She smiled back and laughed briefly as he drew a quick finger from heel to toe.
“Who are you, Damaris?” he asked again softly.
“I'm your wife, your friend, your lover,” Damaris said before pausing. “And your Angel.”
“Quite right. I think you've earned that respite after all,” he said pleased at the answer.
Little did he realize how very true that answer was.
* * * * *
The knock came at the door shortly before dawn. It was loud and urgent and pleading.
“Up and at them, Phillip,” Garvis shouted. “The Wylders need to be taught to respect the border and the King wants us to lead the scouts.”
Garvis was an old campaigner and an advisor to the King. He was as a father to Phillip who had been an orphan. Garvis had taken him under his wing and trained him in the ways of a woodsman and warrior.
Phillip rose form bed in a flash and was at the door. Damaris was slower to rise and drew her cloak around her shoulders as the chill air entered the cabin.
“Suit up, son,” Garvis said. “We'll need to be at the vanguard of the King's Army by dawn if we mean to get there before the fun is over.”
“What's happened?” Damaris asked.
“Wylder raiders have looted several small villages on the border,” Garvis explained. “Same as every few years. Someone's gotta chase them back over the border into those Wyldelands.”
“Nothing big, I imagine,” Phillip as reassuringly as he changed into his combat garb. “Maybe a week of scouting and a couple decisive battles. They always back down when they realize that they have met their better.”
Phillip gathered his sword and his bow and his other gear and marched towards the door.
“A minute alone, father?” Phillip asked.
“Certainly,” Garvis said smiling to Damaris and turning away towards his horse.
“I'll be back before you miss me,” Phillip said kissing her on the lips.
Damaris felt uneasy. It was not the first time he had ridden out into battle, but this time she felt something was distinctly different. It was as if the very air carried the stench of something that was not well.
“You'll remember who I am, will you?” Damaris asked. She was not sure why she had said those words but they seemed to bear an ill omen.
“Of course,” he said smiling sadly. He could see she was emotional but she shed no tears like the other wives of men like Phillip who rode out to battle. He wished sometimes she would release her emotions and weep, but he respected her strength.
He did not realize that is was not that Damaris did not grieve enough to weep, but rather that she was incapable of weeping for sorrow.
As it was, she had wished dearly she could see him off with a tear.
It would not be however.
* * * * *
The week went by slowly and Damaris felt more and more apprehensive.
Something had gone wrong.
It was not until the wounded and routed forces of Summerland returned, that her fears were confirmed.
Citizens of Summerland watched with horror as burnt and gashed soldiers of the King's Army returned. With them they dragged the dead on their shields. They bore faces scarred with horror and fear. Shock and dismay spread among the people.
Damaris could smell the stench on the soldiers. The same stench she should have noticed when Phillip rode out to meet the Wyldelanders. It was the faint but tell tale scent of brimstone.
She did not see Phillip among the soldiers, but she did recognize many to be among the scouts Phillip served with. She saw Garvis near the rear wounded with a terrible slash across his forehead. The old man's face was older and ashen and it became more white yet as his weary eyes fell upon her.
“Garvis!” Damaris shouted as she drew near. “Where is Phillip?”
He shook his head. “You must be strong,” he said. “Phillip killed many and stayed behind to hold the enemy back. He died so many might have the opportunity to escape.”
“Did you see him die, Garvis?” Damaris asked coolly. “Did you see them kill Phillip?”
“No,” he replied wearily, “but who could survive such an onslaught?”
“If Phillip killed off any of their numbers, it's likely the Darque will want him alive for some other fate. It is not often their number are killed by mortals,” Damaris said collecting her thoughts.
Garvis's eyes went wide. “Who told you it was the Darque who ambushed us? We are sworn to secrecy! There must be no panic until the reinforcements from the Northland come to support Summerland.”
“Their foul reek is on you,” she replied coldly.
“And it is but a taste, my friend. This is only the beginning.”
* * * * *
Damaris returned to the cabin.
She did not panic. She knew that there were high probabilities a great warrior like Phillip would be spared to the corrupted by the Darque. Her time was short, but there was time.
She needed to go north to the Briar Forest. There she would find her metal.
She packed some supplies and as she crossed the cabin, she saw her feather collection on the wall. The Darque would burn every last building to the ground. She quickly gathered the treasured feathers and wrapped them in a warm scarf. Better to scatter them in the forest than have them burned by the Darque.
She took a short dagger and tucked it in her boot. It was a toothpick compared to her metal but it would have to do. She took her pack over her shoulder and headed to the door when the shadows of several large men approached the door.
It was Garvis and several Elite Royal Guardsmen.
“Hold right there, child,” he said hailing her.
“Get out of my way, Garvis,” Damaris said her cold blue eyes narrowing in on him.
“Are you a Wytch?” he asked as the Guardsmen watched her with fear. “How can you know those things? How can you know of the Darque? Are you one of them?”
“Of course not,” she replied. “I'm the wife of your son. You've known me for over five years.”
“But nothing more,” Garvis said. “You are a child of secrets and mystery and what can come of secrets other than evil?”
“Love, Garvis,” Damaris whispered. “Listen to me,” she said as she drew closer so only he could hear.
The Royal Guardsmen lowered their weapons and prepared to step forward but Garvis held them back.
“Let her speak,” Garvis commanded.
“I will tell you a secret,” Damaris said. “I know many. I know one only you know and from it I guarantee you there can come no evil.”
“Speak then and pray you convince me,” Garvis said.
“You found Phillip abandoned in the forest, left for the wolves when he was but a babe,” Damaris said.
“That is known by every man, woman and child in the Kingdom,” Garvis scoffed.
Damaris ignored him.
“It was a day much like this,” she said as if recalling a memory. “Misty and cool. The sun was timid and the air smelled of a coming storm. You did not hear the Phillip's cry as you always affirm when you tell the story. It was something else that drew you to him.”
Damaris hummed a sweet sad ballad between her lips.
Garvis's eyes went wide with recognition. “You are a Wytch!”
Damaris shook her head.
“I've been with Phillip from the moment he was born,” Damaris said. “I was sworn to protect him and when my time was up I vowed to continue to protect him despite the wrath of my peers and my masters. If you love him like the father you have always been to him, you will let me pass.”
Her voice was cool with confidence and she did not tremor at the weapons pointed in her direction.
“Go then,” Garvis said after some thought. “Take my horse. She's fresh and surefooted and she'll take you where you need to go.”
Damaris took the horse by the reins and mounted her. She said some soft words to the mare and the horse became calm.
“Farewell, Garvis.” Damaris said. “You have your duty so I will not suggest you abandon Summerland. Hold Summercastle. You won't be able to save any of the villages. Have the people take refuge in the castle. Otherwise many innocents will die.”
“Who are you?” Garvis asked.
Damaris smiled sadly and rode away leaving the men in silence.
“She's bewitched you, sir,” one of the Guardsman said interrupting the silence.
Garvis cuffed the Guardsman on the ear and pushed him out of his way as he marched towards Summercastle on foot.
“She could mount the mare, you fool,” Garvis said irritatedly. “No Wytch can do that. The animals can detect their evil.”
The Guardsmen did not mount and followed their leader on foot.
“Whatever she is, whoever she is, she is not a Wytch,” Garvis said.
The silent question on everyone's lips remained.
If she was not a Wytch, then who was she?
To be continued....
Next: The Briar and the Wytch
