The Footsteps of a Stranger
The following is a work of fiction, copyright Radical Gopher. It may not be duplicated in part or in whole without the express consent of the author. This story contains adult themes and situations and should not be read by anyone under the age of 18.
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THE FOOTSTEPS OF A STRANGER
The village was not much to look at, as villages go, but it had its purpose. It was a market place for local farmers, a way station for weary travelers, a port for bargemen traveling up and down the river and a congregation for the small group of monks who lived in their abbey just up the hill. Its residents had named it Norhaven; and though the name was not particularly illustrious or original, it did fit as comfortably as a woolen mitten on a winter's day.
Markle, the blacksmith's son was the first to see the stranger as he tiredly ambled up the road. His tunic and trousers were a soft, butternut brown. He wore a dark green hooded cloak and dark green leggings that ran from just below his knees to his ankles. All of it was threadbare and mud-splattered.
His feet, if you wanted to call them that, were long and thickly padded. Didigrade legs and four toes, each showing the tip of a razor-sharp claw, marked the traveler as an anthrop. His black and white fur was uncurried and covered with road dust. The hood did little to hide the feline shaped head that peeked out from beneath it. The figure, who might have stood perhaps a little over five feet in height, was bent over slightly by a sizable hunch that the cloak concealed He walked with the aid of a thick, oaken staff that was at least as long as he was tall.
The young boy watched as the grimalkin trudged slowly by the stables and made his way to the nearby inn. Others who saw him stopped in the street to talk about it. Anthrops, as a general rule, were not highly regarded within human communities. The dozen or so that lived in and around the village worked as either servants or heavy laborers. Markle turned back to his work, wondering what brought the traveler to their village.
The door to the inn open slowly, tripping a small silver bell mounted above it. Celia, the innkeeper came smiling into the front room. "Good day to you sir! Welcome to our..." The greeting died in her throat as she looked on her rag tag guest.
The grimalkin reached up and pulled back his hood, then nodded a silent greeting to the innkeeper. Without a word he wiped his foot-pads on the entrance mat, trudged into the common room and found himself a seat in an out of the way booth near the hearth. He hung his mud-splattered cloak on a nearby hook then removed his backpack and placed it on the wooden bench. He leaned his staff against the inside wall of the booth and took a seat.
The innkeeper bustled over to him. She furrowed her nose slightly. The grimalkin smelled as if he hadn't bathed in several days and was wearing every scent, from dust to manure, that you could pick up traveling the road. His fur was shabby with age and he had more than a few gray patches throughout. "Here now... what's a scruffy, old sod like you expect to get in a respectable place like this? You don't look like you've got two coppers to rub together."
Without a word, the feline pulled a small silver piece from his tunic. He broke it in half and set it in front of the innkeeper. Her attitude changed completely.
"Yes sir! I understands now... You'll be wanting a meal, a bath and a room for the night. Just you relax and let me handle everything." She scooped up the coin then scurried away, disappearing into the kitchen. The feline looked around. It was still early, so the room was empty save for him. He leaned back, relaxing slightly.
"Sophie!" called the innkeeper. "Sophie girl... dry your hands and put a clean apron on, we've got a customer."
The small, gray-furred mouse looked up from the washtub, then wiped her hands on a dishtowel and climbed down off the step stool she had been using. Gathering up a clean apron, a tray that was slightly too big for her and a tankard of dark-brown ale she made her way into the common room and over to the stranger's table. She carefully set the tankard in front of the larger grimalkin then softly padded back into the kitchen where she ladled up a medium sized bowl of chicken stew. This she took into the common room along with a small loaf of bread and a thin wedge of cheese.
Grabbing a broom, the girl began sweeping around the room in preparation for the regular evening rush that would inevitably arrive. She periodically glanced over toward the guest to see if he needed anything, but he simply sat quietly eating his meal and glancing over a scroll he had taken out of his backpack. From time to time he did glance at the mouse. She stood perhaps four and a half feet tall with thick, raven-black hair that glinted in the light. She was quite young, and lacked the careworn look of her mistress. Her clothes consisted of a white, long-sleeved blouse, overlaid with a dark green kirtle that matched her ankle length skirt. It highlighted, rather than hid her modest curves. She wore no ornamentation other than a green ribbon around her throat and her feet were bare.
Looking up from her work, Sophie saw the innkeeper gesturing from the kitchen. The mouse put down the broom and trotted over to her.
"I have to go over to the Killen's farm and make arrangements for our deliveries next week. I want you to hold down things here this evening. Make sure our guest is taken care of and the food is kept hot for anyone we have for supper. I should be back before mid-night."
"Be anyone else coming in this evening?" asked Sophie.
"Maybell should be here to help you before the supper rush," the landlady said, "but even if she's not, I know you can handle everything... You've done it before."
"What about Master Bromfield? Be he working the stable tonight; in case I need any help."
"I doubt it," the innkeeper said. "He's drunken himself into a stupor again, so don't count on anything from him. I sometimes wonder why I keep him on. I swear I do." With that, the woman threw her cloak about her shoulders, picked up a small basket and strolled out the door.
Sophie sighed to herself and brushed back a lock of her long, ebon head-fur. She knew well that her mistress only visited the Killen farm when she wanted to spend the evening with Young Tom, the farmer's field hand. It wasn't that the mouse begrudged the innkeeper time spent with the handsome human, but she always disliked being left alone to tend things. Maybell, her mistress's cousin, couldn't be counted on for any help, even if she did decide to show up in time for the supper rush, and with Master Bromfield sleeping away his latest binge Sophie would have to take care of things herself.
Finishing with the common room, Sophie quickly darted into the kitchen and washed the last few dishes, drying them and setting them out in preparation for other guests. When everything was ready the mouse padded over to the stranger once more.
"Be there anything more I can bring ye?"
The grimalkin looked tiredly down on the mouse and shook his head. "The meal was quite satisfactory," he replied. "For now, I think I'd like to retire to my room."
"Would ye like me ta draw thee a bath, sir?"
The small bell above the door rang and the two furs looked up to see four or five humans enter.
"Later," he replied. "I can wait until you're other customers are taken care of."
Sophie smiled in thanks, gesturing for the stranger to follow her. As she passed the counter she plucked a large key from its peg and headed up the stairs, announcing to the new guests that she'd be right back. The stranger followed, tiredly carrying his pack over one shoulder. When they arrived at the room she unlocked the door and stepped inside. The mouse went over to the hearth and opened a small flue vent in the floor. Heat from the kitchen hearth began spreading into the chilly room. She went back over to the door and handed the key to her guest.
"If ye'd like, lay your clothes on the rack just outside your door and I'll see they be cleaned and mended for ye by morning."
"Thank you," the grimalkin replied as he entered the room. The door closed firmly behind him and Sophie quickly padded down the stairs once more.
The evening passed rapidly. Business was good thanks to the unexpected arrival of a small trade caravan that had camped at the edge of the village. While the traders preferred sleeping close to their wagons and goods, they were not miserly enough to pass up a hot meal and a tankard of ale. Much to the mouse's surprise Maybell actually did show up and worked for nearly two hours before finding herself an excuse to leave.
By about mid-evening all the guests had left save three of the caravan's guards. Though competent enough swordsmen to find employment, they left a lot to be desired as far as normal courtesies were concerned. Throughout the evening they had poked, prodded and teased the young mouse, but she tolerated it, if nothing else because she did not want to create a scene in front of the other customers. Sophie had just served them one last round of drinks, and then announced politely that the inn would be closing soon.
"Here now, missy... wot makes ya think we're ready ta leave yet?" muttered a tall, dark haired fellow with a neatly trimmed goatee. "The night's still young and the keg's only half tapped."
"Nevertheless," Sophie admonished him respectfully, giving him a tired smile, "we has ta close for the night. If ye wish to stay, we has rooms upstairs. The blankets be warm and the bedcovers clean,"
"How much?" asked a young mustached man with blond hair.
"Three coppers each for your own separate rooms, or if ye gentlemen prefer we has a single room wit three beds for only four coppers."
"Does the beds come wit their own bed warmers?" chuckled a heavyset brown haired guardsman."
"For a half copper each, I could make up the hearth and prepare a warming pan for each of ye. It don't take but a tenth of a candle, just enough time for ye ta finish thy drinks..."
The brown haired man shook his head. "Nah, missy... Ya doesn't get my meaning at all," he replied with a slight, drunken slur. "I weren't asking about a warming pan. I was thinking more along the lines of something soft and frilly."
Sophie began to feel decidedly nervous, but she kept the smile on her face in an effort to disarm the men. Sober or not, this was a situation she needed Master Bromfield to handle.
"It be cold upstairs," she said, searching for a quick exit line. "Why don't ye let me get a fire going in the hearth?" She picked up her tray and turned, intending to head for the kitchen when the blonde man reached out and painfully snagged her tail. Sophie let out a surprised squeak as he pulled on it, throwing her off balance. She landed on the floor, dropping the empty tray with a loud clatter.
Standing the guardsman tugged a few times on her tail, causing her rear to rise and fall as she tried to get back to her feet. Scrambling up, she whirled on the human and struck him hard across the face with her open hand. The blow stung and he immediately released her tail.
Sophie took a step back, preparing to run, but found her way blocked by the tall, dark-haired guard. Before she could react he punched her hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her and dropping her to her knees.
"It's bad enough when a servant don't know her proper place, but when she's a throp, something needs ta be done ta teach her." He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to her feet. The blonde haired man laughed, grabbing Sophie's arms and twisting them behind her back
"You meaning ta take the little mousie for a ride, Evan?"
He laughed. "I just might, if she's soft enough in the right places."
As Sophie gasped for air the tall man began slowly untying her blouse, pushing it aside to reveal her small, but firm breasts. "That's lovely now... She's got a real nice shape underneath all this frill." He slipped his hand under the blouse and ran them across her chest. "Nice set of nipples too," he said twisting them slightly. Sophie gasped, desperate to scream or cry out for help. Evan however was too fast for her. He took the cord that had held her blouse closed and wrapped it tightly around her muzzle, effectively silencing any screams. It was obviously not the first time he had forced himself on an anthrop-girl.
The brown haired man smiled evilly. "It's not like a throp should be wearing clothes in the first place. It ain't natural, like putting boots on a mule." He pulled the white blouse completely off her shoulders and undid her kirtle, stripping her down to the waist. The blonde haired guard used her blouse to bind her arms firmly behind her.
Sophie struggled weakly against the three men even as they threw her face down across one of the larger tables, once more knocking the air out of her. One of them grabbed her skirt and pulled it up for all to see. "Will ya look at this? She ain't wearing no wrappings."
Evan laughed. "Course not! Throps don't believe in 'em. They got all that fur ta keeps their private parts warm come winter. Besides, the skirt would hide what she don't want shown."
"Not from us," chuckled the brown haired man. He reached a hand up her skirt, brushing his fingers against her nether lips. Sophie squirmed in protest, kicking weakly against her attackers. "She's soft," he commented, "but dry. I think she ain't never had a male before... man or throp. She don't seem ta know how it's done."
"Well, I guess we gotta show her," replied Evan as he rolled back Sophie's dress and started to unbuckle his breeches.
Dizzy and disoriented from the rough treatment, the mouse barely hung on to consciousness. She felt herself being pulled to the edge of the table where her feet just scarcely could touch the floor. Then she felt one of the guards push her legs apart while another held her against the tabletop, crushing her down with his own weight, his hands firmly gripping her bound wrists. Silent tears came to her eyes. She couldn't even take a breath deep enough to cry. Sophie felt the tall man, Evan, brush his shaft against her opening and laugh. A pair of thumbs pushed her lips apart and the tip of his cock nestled against her passage. The mouse gritted her teeth preparing for the brutal thrust that must surely follow. It never did.
There was the sudden, heavy crack of a wooden staff being thumped menacingly against the floor. Dazed, Sophie turned her head but could see nothing from her vantage point. The three humans could though. Facing them was a dust covered, shaggy grimalkin of indeterminate age. He was stripped to the waist, as if awoken from a sound sleep. Old, yet piercing green eyes moved across the scene from left to right, and then focused on the tall, black haired man.
"Let her go!" he hissed in a thick, foreign accent His voice was calm, but powerful and so full of confidence that the three men hesitated, uncertain of what they were facing.
"Leave it be, old cat," the blonde man warned. "This ain't your business."
"The lass owes me a drawn bath and some mending on my cloak. You hurt her, like you're looking to do, and I'll get neither, which would displease me greatly."
Without a word the brown-haired guardsman drew his sword and slowly advanced on the grimalkin. "Me friend said this ain't your dealing. Go back upstairs before ye regret it." He took a threatening step toward the feline. There was a sudden blur of motion. The grimalkin's staff spun outward, cracking sharply against the guard's knuckles then catching his sword along its flat side. The weapon pin wheeled across the room, imbedding itself point first in the wall.
With a yell of rage the human charged forward, pulling a knife from his belt. Again the staff spun. In three lightning blows it caught the blond haired man in the gut, the throat and across the back of the neck. He collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. The knife clattered uselessly across the floor.
Backing away from the mouse the black haired guard quickly pulled up his pants while his companion drew his sword and moved between him and the grimalkin. He quickly followed suit.
"We can end this now without anyone getting seriously hurt. All you have to do is leave and take your friend with you," the cat warned.
"Small chance of that," replied the man with brown hair. "You just did our mate wrong, and that demands an accounting." The two guards separated, trying to each approach from a different angle. The grimalkin quickly took three steps back, negating their effort by standing directly between two supports for the ceiling. Evan struck first, discovering rather quickly that the walking staff had a greater reach than his sword. Once more there was a blur of movement as the cat quickly parried several blows from the human before a spin and a twist brought it up solidly between his legs. The human doubled over just as the brown haired guard attacked.
A flurry of wooden cracks and metallic clangs reverberated off the walls of the inn. This third guard was by far better than the first two and he managed to force the grimalkin to take a step back and repost before he too felt the staff make contact with his gut, driving the wind from his body. The staff thudded solidly against the back of his neck, dropping him to the floor.
The cat looked up to see the black haired guard, still slightly doubled over, drawing a flintlock pistol from a holster on his belt.
"Don't!"
The human ignored him, sweeping the weapon forward and cocking the lever. The anthrop advanced two steps, gripping the top of his staff and twisting it. There was a silver-blue flash of metal. Evan looked down in shock, watching as his hand, with the pistol still gripped in it, bounced several times against the wooden floor. Thick spurts of blood began painting the room and he screamed in both rage and horror. The crack of the staff against the side of his head quickly silenced him.
The grimalkin straightened, slowly exhaling as he wiped his sword against the back of the first human's shirt, then resheathed it within the hollow staff. Reaching down, he tore a strip of cloth from one of the humans' clothes and wrapped it tightly around Evan's wrist, tightening it until the flow of blood was reduced to a trickle. He then picked up a dropped sword and jammed it blade first into the hearth's fire.
He went over to Sophie and gently unbound the mouse, setting her down in a chair. Pulling the sword from the fire, he held the heated blade against the stump of the human's arm and cauterized the wound. He wrapped the stump, then one by one dragged the three men out into the street and left them there, along with all their clothes and possessions save for three purses and the flintlock pistol.
Locking the door, the grimalkin turned to find a half-dressed Sophie on her hands and knees trying to wipe up the blood before it stained the floor. Drops of moisture fell freely from her eyes as she muttered and cursed softly to herself. The wander went over to her and gently pulled the mouse to her feet. She looked up at him then collapsed against his chest, clinging to him and sobbing uncontrollably, letting out all her fear and shame in a torrent of tears.
The cat guided her over to a bench, then sat with her curled up against him and gently rocked her back and forth. Her blouse was still wide open and he could feel her breasts as they pressed hard against him, quivering slightly with each wracking sob. She held herself there for a quarter candle's length before recovering enough to climb off his lap. Her ears blushed crimson as she pulled her blouse closed and smiled. She leaned over and kissed him thankfully on the cheek, then padded off to get his bath ready. As she turned, he deftly slipped the three small purses into her skirt pocket without her noticing.
Smiling wistfully, the old grimalkin stood and slowly climbed the stairs up to his room. Reaching the top step, he found his left arm had begun to ache sharply. This was accompanied by a tightness that seemed to wrap itself around his chest, squeezing inward, making it hard to breathe. He managed to take about five more steps before collapsing at the door to his room.
Images swam in and out of his mind. He felt himself floating, detached and no longer a part of this world. He remembered the face of a plump, gentle human who spent several long minutes examining him. He disappeared, then reappeared several times, sometimes looking quite severe, others either concerned or relieved. Several different faces followed; predominate among them, Sophie, who he remembered cradling his head and quietly spoon-feeding him more than once
His sharpest memory though was waking to find himself propped up in an over-large tub, soaking in the heat of the warm bath waters. Sophie was with him, stripped naked so she could sit in the water along side him and tenderly scrub his fur clean. He quietly admired her simple, understated beauty, her small, perky breasts and her eyes, which seemed to draw him inward. They were gray, like the rest of her fur but full of life and energy, which she seemed, to pass on to him with but a casual glance.
Days passed before he finally came fully to himself. When he opened his eyes he saw the mouse girl sitting on a stool beside him, humming softly as she worked to mend his clothes. "Good morning," he whispered. His throat was dry and his voice crackled with age. The strength that had once been there was faded, not only from his voice, but his whole body as well.
"Good morning," she replied with a smile. "How is my knight in shining armor doing this fine day?"
He chuckled weakly. "You shouldn't tease an old cat like that. Too much praise isn't good for the ego. It makes one's head swell to an unmanageable size."
"Well, what else would I call you? Unless, of course you wanted me to use your real name... Sir Allynwick."
He stared silently at her for several moments. "You know?"
"I guessed. You may be two hundred leagues from your homeland, but the stories of your courage and deeds travel on the winds; much faster than the Wandering Knight of Duran could ever travel on foot."
"You haven't told anyone, have you?" he asked, a note of deep concern in his voice/
She shook her head. "Who would I tell that would believe me. I'm just a anthrop peasant girl after all."
"A very well-read one, I'd say from the quality of your words. What happened to all of your be's ye's and thee's?"
She giggled in amusement. "It seems, Sir Knight, you've uncovered my own secret."
"Oh... are you a lost princess or duchess of some repute?"
"Nothing so regal," Sophie smiled. "I'm just a peasant girl with an education."
"Why hide it?" Allynwick asked.
"It's a hard enough life around here being a female and a 'throp' without adding the stigma of words and letters to it."
"I wonder how you could have attached such a stigma to yourself," he chuckled weakly. "The only place I can think of where words and letters are respected around here is the abbey. If I were to guess, I'd say you were raised by the monks."
"True enough." She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "The abbot is my father, though he'll never admit it publicly. My mother was a scullery mouse working in the kitchen. They fell in love, but had to keep the affair secret."
"Naturally," Allynwick responded. "When the heart rules the mind it cares little for propriety or convention. I hope that despite the clandestine nature of their tryst, he treated her well."
"Well enough," Sophie said. "Unfortunately she died bringing me into the world so he 'adopted' me as a ward of the abbey. There are two or three others like me there, but I was the only one who learned to read and write. I would have been very happy living my life as a sister of the order were anthrops not forbidden to join."
"So you reached your majority and were turned out to work here," the grimalkin finished, his voice sad. "There is yet so much injustice in the world..."
"It's not such a bad life," Sophie replied, smiling. "The work here isn't too hard. I get to meet people from far away lands and listen to their stories. Besides, my father still allows me to borrow books from the abbey from time to time; and even if he won't, or can't acknowledge me, I think deep down he's proud of me"
"I would certainly hope so," the grimalkin responded tiredly. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Several days passed before Allynwick again woke up enough to carry on a conversation. Once more, Sophie was by his side.
"I'm... I'm not keeping you from your duties... am I?" he asked. His voice sounded a bit stronger, but he still felt very tired.
"No," the mouse replied reassuringly. "The three men you defeated had about twenty-five silver pieces between them. That's more than enough to keep you here and pay for someone to do my chores while I help you convalesce."
"Twenty-five? But I gave that money to you. After what they tried to do, you deserved some recompense"
"Well," Sophie countered, "if it's my silver, then I should be allowed to spend it as I choose."
Allynwick sighed. "If you insist... I'm much too tired to argue over trivialities." He smiled. "My dear, you are quite unique; an aristocratic peasant with a heart of gold. Ah, if I were only a few years younger."
Over the course of the several weeks Sophie and Allynwick talked about many things. Philosophy, art, books, stories and songs all became grist for the mill. Sometimes they focused on his life and adventures, and sometimes on her dreams and aspirations. She learned the stories were true, that the Wandering Knight's journey had begun with unrequited love and had continued out of a sense of selfless duty to those in need of a champion. His willingness to stand up for what was right and just and not the law of the land had caused him to be banished from a dozen or more courts and his estates seized and restored numerous times, depending on the current political climate.
In exchange he learned that her dream was to establish a library school where anyone with the desire could come to learn and think, regardless of their social status. She had even talked about introducing a marvelous new invention she'd heard about; something called a printing press on which hundreds, even thousands of books could be printed and distributed throughout the land. The knight chuckled at this. He knew of the device and that practically every court in the land had banned its ownership and use.
"You tread on dangerous ground with such dreams," the knight gently admonished her. "Too many believe that knowledge and power must remain in the hands of those who rule. Printing books for commoners then teaching them to read is a radical notion at best." He looked Sophie in the eyes and smiled. "I like it."
"You...you do? You don't think it's too wild?" the mouse replied, suddenly happy to find a sympathetic ear.
"Oh, it's not without its problems, mind you. The principle one being that printing presses have been banned in every kingdom west of the Pearl Empire. Still, it's the kind of dream that can change the world."
Sophie blushed. The only one she'd ever shared that particular dream with was her father. Naturally, his response had been properly aligned with church dogma and she was stiffly warned about playing with the devil's toys. Allynwick however was genuinely enthusiastic.
"How exactly could someone make such a dream come true?" she asked.
The old cat shrugged. "I really don't know, at least not off-hand. But I do know that anything is possible with a carefully thought out plan."
Sophie chuckled, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Forgive me, sir knight, but that does sound rather funny, coming from someone famous for charging into the thick of battle without care or concern for his own safety."
"It does at that," Allynwick replied. "Truth be told, appearance belies reality. I may seemed to have charged in, but before that I had trained myself physically, mentally and spiritually for almost any circumstance I might be called on to answer. I even thought ahead on an infinite number of situations and planned out dozens of different responses. So, when things happened, I simply applied the appropriate response and kept flexible, adjusting for terrain, weather and other elements as needed. It made me supremely confident... and that beautiful lady is my secret. If you can be more confident than your opponent, you cannot lose."
"So all I really do need is a plan,"
"Indeed," the knight responded. "But remember this... never write it down. Work it all out in your head. Accommodate every detail and commit it to memory, but speak not of your goals and write nothing down."
"Why?"
"Well," Allynwick whispered, "when one is planning treason, even for a good cause, it's best not to give your enemies anything they can use against you." The cat grimaced.
"Are you alright?" Sophie asked, suddenly frightened.
He nodded. "Just a minor pain," he replied then smiled weakly. "It's passing already."
The mouse was not easily swayed by his assertions and had the innkeeper send Maybell up to the abbey. She was back within twenty minutes, accompanied by the Abbot and the monk who served as their apothecary. Sophie was hustled out of the room. She sat outside for over a half candle's length before the younger monk came out. Closing the door behind him he looked at the young girl and sadly shook his head. "He's alive, but I can't promise anything more than that."
Time slowly passed before the Abbot opened the door and stepped out, firmly closing it behind him. He looked over at his illegitimate daughter and motioned for her to follow him. He led her into an unoccupied room and closed the door. "I'm afraid your friend is getting worse. He hasn't been able to gain back much of his former strength, and these smaller attacks are merely draining him of what little health he has left. You must prepare yourself for the inevitable."
"How long does he have?" Sophie asked.
"A fortnight, perhaps a little longer. He is remarkably strong-willed, but not much more than that, certainly."
"Is he in pain?"
The abbot shook his head. "Not much. Brother Carlyle has prepared several draughts you can administer when he has further attacks, but other than that, there is nothing we can do except pray." He looked solemnly at the mouse. The expression on her face was anything but stoic. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. "How much do you care for him?"
Sophie looked down for a moment or two trying to overcome the emotional turmoil she felt. At the moment she wanted to cry. How did she feel? It hadn't really occurred to her to consider what her relationship was with Allynwick. There was, of course gratitude for what he had done, admiration for who he was and sympathy for his present condition; but there was something else, something she couldn't quite define. He had become a friend and confidant... someone she could trust without doubt or question. She had never known a closer friendship in her life before now.
The shock she had felt at hearing the abbot's prognosis now resolved itself into a hollow ache and a coldness in the pit of her stomach. Two weeks, just two short weeks and she would never again be able to laugh with the old grimalkin. The unfairness of the world slammed down on her. The mouse slowly sank to her knees, covered her face with her hands and began weeping softly.
"I thought as much," the abbot whispered to no one in particular. He bent down and tenderly lifted Sophie into his arms. Sitting in a nearby chair, he held his daughter on his lap and gently chanted to her. Despite the secrecy of their relationship, the human did feel some concern for the girl he now tried to comfort.
Sophie cried for some time, laying her head against her father's chest. The muffled beating of his heart and his soothing chants eventually calmed her. She looked up at him and sniffled. "I... I told him our secret," she confessed softly.
"I know," the abbot replied. "He told me; and he told me who he is. I don't fear his knowing. He is an honorable soul and a gallant knight, despite the prejudices of this world." He took a handkerchief from his sleeve and dabbed away Sophie's tears. "I took his confession, then we talked for some time. He's asleep now. I want you to do the same so when he wakes up you'll be rested. When you next see him, try to look your best. He has something he wants to discuss with you." The mouse nodded, then padded off to her room. Emotionally exhausted, she quickly fell asleep.
She slept until well into the morning, then she rose, bathed and put on her cleanest, least patched dark blue skirt, white blouse and black lace bodice. Sophie wound her long, ebon hair into a tight braid, which she draped fetchingly over her shoulder and decorated with ribbons. She had just finished when Maybell knocked on the door to tell her Allynwick was awake and asking for her.
The mouse climbed the stairs, suddenly anxious about seeing the grimalkin. She knocked on the door, then timidly entered. He was sitting up in his bed. When he saw her he smiled broadly, sending a curious thrill through Sophie's heart.
"Good morning," the knight said. "Sleep well?"
"Yes, but shouldn't I be asking you that?"
"I did, thanks to Brother Carlyle. In fact I would have to say I slept like a baby." He looked up and down at Sophie. "I'd swear, you look positively radiant dressed like that, especially the ribbons in your hair."
"Father suggested it. He said you wanted to talk about something important."
Allynwick chuckled. "Straight to the point. Well, under the circumstances that is perhaps the best course to follow. Time is a rather precious commodity." He patted the bed, shifting aside slightly so Sophie could sit next to him. She smoothed her skirt and sat down while the knight took a sip of water to moisten his suddenly dry throat.
"First, I want you to know this is something I've been thinking of for quite a while, long before my travels brought me to Norhaven. As you know, I have no family. No brothers or sisters, no wife or children to carry on my name or care for my lands. When I die, my estate will revert to the crown. That means that everyone living on my lands is at risk of being evicted. The stewards maintaining the estate will likely lose their positions. They have been loyal and hard working, and the last thing I want to happen is for them to suffer."
He paused trying to gather his thoughts. He knew what he wanted to say, but was finding it hard to get his heart and mind working together. Sophie simply sat patiently watching him. He cleared his throat and continued.
"I don't know what brought me to your village at this time in my life. Perhaps I was searching for something... for someone without truly knowing who or what. I do know that, despite my infirmity, I have felt more at peace, more honestly welcomed and befriended after I arrived than at any other time in my life." He paused and looked deeply into the mouse's eyes. "You, Sophie, are the reason for this. You've cared for me and watched over me with no expectation other than the desire to help someone. You are young, beautiful, intelligent and unselfish. You are a rare gem of a girl, anthrop or human. You have dreams; beautiful dreams that you shared with me; dreams that need nurturing. I would like to help."
"How?" Sophie asked, both thrilled and frightened by what she thought might come next. Allynwick reached over and took both her hands in his, cupping them together, one below, one above."
"I would like... like to..." he paused, dug deeply within himself and found the words. "Would you become my wife, Sophie?"
The mouse began trembling slightly. She couldn't help it or stop it. It was as if a thousand needles of ice were pricking at her insides. "I... I don't...don't know what... what to say... to feel. I want to scream," she whispered. "I want to shriek out my fright... and my joy, but I don't know which is which." Tears came to her eyes. "Why? Why would you want me? I'm just a lowly peasant girl, the illegitimate daughter of a monk and a scullery maid... a servant at an inn. I have no breeding, no manners or education other than what I cobbled together myself. I cook and sweep and sew. I wait tables and serve drinks. How could I ever be a lady? How could I ever measure up to being the wife of a noble?"
"You don't need to. You never have to prove yourself, to me or anyone else. You are nobler of spirit than a hundred other ladies I've met in the courts of a dozen lands. You are worthy because I feel within my own heart that you are." He reached up and brushed away a tear with his thumb. "You are the one I've searched for all my life."
Gently he pulled her over to him. Weak as he was, it would have been easy for Sophie to resist, but she didn't, leaning instead into his upturned lips. They kissed, and the world faded around them. Time ceased to have any meaning, and when they at last pulled apart, each was absolutely certain this was the right thing to do. Sophie accepted.
They talked for half a candle's length, well into the afternoon, discussing all that was necessary to the joining of their lives as one. The fact that they each knew their time together was finite gave them courage to discuss things that lovers often take months, if not years, to discover about each other. Maybell was sent once more up to the abbey to fetch the abbot.
Ceremonies were arranged and with the help of the abbey's head scribner all the necessary documents, licenses, wills and testimonials were prepared. The knight wanted to make absolutely certain that no one could question the authenticity of their marriage or of Sophie's right to the title of Lady Allynwick along with all property rights as his wife and heir.
Two things worried Sophie through all of this. First was the question of the grimalkin's health. To be legal, they had to consummate their union. The mouse did not want their wedding night to be his undoing.
Second was the issue of children. She knew that as with all anthrops, any children she had would be of her species, regardless of who's seed she took within herself. Such was the strange nature of their race. That was why she was born a mouse, even though her father was human. No one knew why things worked this way, the just did. Were Allynwick a mouse and she a grimalkin, their children would all be cats. Her husband needed heirs if his name was to carry on, and she was determined to provide them.
With this in mind she paid a quick visit to Brother Carlyle. After explaining her concerns he provided her with a pair of draughts. The first would help Allynwick through the act of consummation without causing him any serious harm, save perhaps for a tiredness that might last a day or two. The second was a powder, which he instructed her to mix with water and drink on the night before the wedding.
The ceremony itself was a little unusual. Witnesses included Markle, the blacksmith's son, the innkeeper, Maybell, Brother Carlyle and two other monks, Brothers Vincent and Josephus. The abbot himself presided over the abbreviated ritual. He had a hard time not chuckling over the fact the bride and groom were both sitting up, fully dressed, in a bed that had been moved to the center of the room and was decorated with flowers and streamers. This was necessary because Brother Carlyle had refused Allynwick permission to stand on his own feet during the marriage vows. Despite this oddity, all could easily sense the deep love shared by the couple.
When the vows were completed there was a brief celebration with cake and blackberry wine and then the abbot gently, but firmly ushered everyone from the room. Alone, the couple looked at each other, then began giggling and laughing at the silliness of their unusual wedding.
The laughter slowly faded after several minutes and Sophie found herself looking deeply into Allynwick's eyes. They kissed, holding themselves together as their tongues gently brushed against each other. The roughness of his tongue tickled the inside of her mouth ever so lightly, sending a small thrill up along the roof of her mouth and across her pallet. They separated. Sophie tenderly reached up and undid the binding on his doublet. She pulled it open and let her fingers twine around his chest fur, kissing her way down his front.
The grimalkin took hold of her braid, unbinding it and using the claws on his hands to gently comb out her hair, massaging and kneading her head and neck. Continuing down, he slowly unlaced the back of her dress, deftly opening hooks and unbinding the laces that held it together. Reaching beneath it, he gently scratched at a spot between her shoulder blades that made her sigh heavily. Allynwick grasped the two edges of the dress so as she sat up the dress peeled away from her like a snake shedding its skin. She sat before him, her small breasts exposed and her nipples pink and erect. Sliding forward, he dipped his head and began gently suckling first on one, then the other.
Sophie gasped, shivering in pleasure. She could feel a heat slowly rising from her loins and spreading to every part of her body. She was several weeks passed her cycle but she could still feel the same, soft pins and needles flush she did during the full moon. She wiggled out of her dress, letting it slide to the floor.
The grimalkin's hands moved downward, tracing multiple paths through her fur until they began to lightly knead and squeeze on her rear. Sophie moaned, shuddering yet again as his hands brushed back and forth against the base of her tail. She slid her hands down either side of the grimalkin, brushing aside fur as she reached his trousers. These she slowly worked open, pushing them past his hips to expose his sheath. Even as he suckled her tits, she delicately began rolling and brushing his sack between her fingers.
It only took a little encouragement before his rod slid out into view. Sophie disengages his mouth from her breasts and slid down, taking his manhood into her mouth. She slowly sucked on it, rolling her tongue around it until it was fully extended and pulsing. When Allynwick made a move to roll on top of her, she gently, but firmly held him down against the bed then rose up on her knees,
Positioning herself above his shaft, she nestled the lips of her pussy against him. She could feel the moist heat as it rose from her mound. She took a small breath and slowly pushed down. The sensation of being filled was incredible and her whole body tremored in anticipation. The grimalkin hissed in pleasure as he felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into his love's tunnel. When she had about a third of him within her she felt resistance. She rose up again, took a deep breath and plunged down hard onto him. Sensing the moment, Allynwick unexpectedly reached up and, as she impaled herself, tweaked both he nipples hard. The sudden distraction caused her to gasp and in that instant she took him fully into herself. The pain she had anticipated was almost completely forgotten.
She paused and looked down on the cat in surprise. He grinned up at her. "Just because I am a noble knight does not mean I don't have some experience in the ways of love," he whispered gently. Pulling her down to him, he kissed her gently on the mouth. Again, their tongues danced together as she rested atop him and he within her.
After several minutes she began slowly grinding herself against him. What little pain there was quickly faded as it was overwhelmed by the pleasure of pressing against her love. Again he reached down and massaged her rear, stroking his fingers up and down the base of her tail. It flicked involuntarily and she began moaning through the kisses, taking ragged breaths as the tension built within her. She began bucking against him, her body spasming as she was wracked by her first orgasm. She clenched and shuddered uncontrollably, moaning and huffing as wave upon wave of tortuous delight washed across her.
As the orgasm faded she found herself locked tightly against the grimalkin, her hands curled into fists clutching at his chest fur. He was still deep within her and hard, so she began bouncing against him, clenching and massaging his cock with her vaginal muscles. After several minutes she could feel him draw in a sudden breath. His eyes rolled up and his body tremored. She felt his hot seed as it was released into her, filling her and splashing up into her womb. Sophie fell against him and they cuddled together as they drifted off to sleep. They both smiled. After a lifetime, they each knew what it was to be whole.
* * * *
Sir Allynwick's heart gave out a little more than three weeks after his marriage to Sophie. During that time, they were able to make love twice more before the act itself became too debilitating for the grimalkin. Through his last days of life, he was happier and more fulfilled than he could ever remember. Every night, he and Sophie would share the same bed; and even though they would not make love, they would always wake each morning holding each other close. They crammed a lifetime's worth of bliss into those short weeks. When the knight finally passed away, it was quietly, in the middle of the night with his love in his arms. Sophie did not mourn. She did not feel sadness at his passing or a sense of loss. He was and would forever with her.
When a caravan passed through the village two weeks later the mouse was ready. She had packed her few worldly possessions, purchased a gypsy cart with the considerable wealth the knight had been secretly carrying on him, collected her papers and was off to take her rightful place as the Lady Allynwick. She traveled in company with Brother Josephus and Markle, the blacksmith's son. Each had decided to travel to the capital, one to consult with the Cardinal on expanding their abbey; the other to establish his own livery.
Sophie had already said her good-byes to the abbot in secret. She hugged both the innkeeper and Maybell goodbye and then climbed up onto the driver's seat of the cart. Beside her rested a long, oaken staff. In her belly she carried the first stirring of life, a new generation of Allynwicks to carry on the family's noble name; and stored beneath the cart was a winepress. Sophie had told everyone she intended to turn the knight's estates into the finest vineyards in the lands. What she didn't mention was the ease with which one could convert a winepress for other purposes. After all, when you intended to change the world, it was best to keep such secrets locked in your heart, alongside the memories of those who gave you strength.
THE END