"Good morning, Sir," she curtseyed, drying her hair, as she stepped from the bathing room. "And how will our day be today?"
So polite and courteous, he thought to himself, even though her basket of love is not for plundering yet . Even if the sun passes on into the shadows, it would still shine in her presence, he considered. Yes, he would dream again with her of a time when the waves lapped the shore and mingle its watery scents, with her herbal fragrance .
"How pretty she is,"he would murmur as if to himself over the babbling waters. He could watch her for hours, thinking how she made him try to kiss her, watching her puckering those full soft lips, so sweet that they made him tremble with passion. She always backed away from him coyly thinking of her quivering and trembling lips touching his gently, He would warm the depths of her apparent aloofness soon enough, and not allow her to retreat for ever, twittering in protest under a canopy of bird song.
"A haiku for your thoughts, Milord," she smiled
" Barbecued salmon, assembled to plague her, without the right sauce,"he laughed
"Make sure they come with hickory flavoured sauce," she insisted.
"Always a one for sauce, Milady," he stood arms akimbo as she laughed with him. "Or a hickory switch for your pert behind?"
"I think not."she said, slipping away from him and back to the present day.
"Slippery maidens require cunning stratagems," she teased, "especially when they have just got out of the bath for that matter."
He reached out to touch her arm and found it it still soapy.....very slippery, like her thoughts, distracted by the mediocrities of life.
"I should apologize for my lack of preparation for your arrival, MiLord."
"Should you not be on your knees when you apologize to your master, wench?"
"I don't think so."
"I understand -but it was worth a try," he smiled and it was her turn to laugh. She turned and he sidled up to her from behind, placing a hand on her bare shoulder, whispering gently and teasingly, almost questioningly in her ear: "Milady?"
'Yes, MiLord?'
''I just want you to be sure of me.'"
She smiled liking the picture she perceived from this - a very romantic affirmation of his support of her. She knew that he would not drag her along, but would be there to stand by her and have his hand there for her to hold when she needed it. He reached for her hand with a gloved palm, taking it in his, then hesitated, feeling the exquisite softness, as if seeking permission.
"You don't need my permission, MiLord," she broke into his thoughts. She recalled the sweet music this errant minstrel had played for her over the time that she had known him, since she had first found him, languishing in the rain swept fields. She sat down, wriggling teasingly into her seat, letting the towels slip from her shoulder to almost reveal the aureole of her breast.
He loved her sudden changes of mood, never sure of how she would respond to his gestures, an incipient giggle on her lips, a raucous laugh like a fish wife or the demure sway of a larch tree in a breeze, tall and sinuous stretching up to the skies.
He knelt, at her side, tilting his head up slightly and letting her rub her hand across the top of his head teasingly, yet affectionately. He looked down into her towelled lap, wanting for a moment to gemmy into the safe of her inner sanctum, but she saw the change in his train of thought instinctively. She shook her head slowly and gathered the towels around her.
"I'm not sure I want you to go there?"
"Not to your jewelled cathedral of roseate adoration?"
"Paws off my puss, MiLord," she laughed. She didn't need his worship of her cathedral.
All she wanted were lilac vines and a cabin by the banks of a calm river in times past. Yes, there had been a jetty for her to sit down on and muse. There she could dip her toes in the cool water, waiting patiently to wet both the little fishes and Milord's carnal appetites for her exquisite digits.
She wanted all of them to fish like disquieted anglers, salmon leaping to grapple with his tethered verses and furtively barbed double meanings. He might try to prepare her favourite delicacies on that perfect day, lining the jetty with a thousand containers - all shapes and sizes - the detritus of modern society, unable to see that the simple things in life would satisfy her.
Disappointed by the distant look in her face, he cursed his apparent inability to meet her needs - a gap that left a grey blank in his mind. He bent to dry her feet and gazing down at him for a moment, she saw him in a different light. It was as if a hunched troll was rubbing his webbed hands together in gleeful approbation at her wrinkly extremities, causing her to shiver in her seat.
She watched his face as it raised to meet her eyes and saw the stunned look on his face as he saw the ripple of disgust crossing her features. How could she reveal the secret of her loathsome musings to her lord? What semblance of apologia can she offer up to calm his trembling carapace?
He rested with her watching the salmon now turning rhythmically over hot coals, like his own hands warm on her calves. She moistened instinctively, knowing now that he wanted to satisfy her in every way, but realizing that he would not plunder his way to her treasures yet. The salmon would no longer leap in cool waters, but he would bathe in the liquid delights that she had to offer him in time.
One day he might want to branch out into new tastes and flavours , but for now, he was content to bask in a happy sun caressed by a gentle breeze. When the moment came that was right for both of them, he might at last unpack her forbidden basket of love.
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