Lia & Blade's Wedding

[MackenzieGael]

Glancing down, Mac eyed the whalebone stays with a look of pure hatred and appreciation. On a normal day she hated them, and if worn preferred to leave them loose and comfortable so that she could move around, function and breathe. On a not normal day, such as this evening, she still hated them, but appreciated and admired the functionality and waistline that it provided, not to mention the curve of breasts thrust skyward for the world to see. With a grimace she eyed the beautiful dress spread across her bed and began to tug on the laces, releasing her breath and yanking with all her strength.

"Would be much easier, Mac, if'n ye had a maid ta help," she thought frustratingly, "as a baroness yer entitled ta one..." but she hated the idea of having someone wait on her. It was customary here in England but was not how she had been reared. Finally with the strings tied as tightly as she could maneuver she stopped for a deep breath. Appearance was not something she normally put much thought into, nor were the choosing of dresses, trews or anything else for her attire; instead clothes was an obstacle to disguise nakedness and this they accomplished without much cogitation. For Lia's wedding, however, she felt the urge to dress up and put more thought into her appearance. Grave, she knew, had a surprise for her and the desire to appear at least presentable before his peers had been planted when she saw his excitedment over the event. She didn't want to disappoint him, nor have him be ashamed of her presence.

Mac picked up the delicate silk hose and slid them up her legs under the chemise before standing and turning to begin dressing herself in the lengths of blue silk that awaited on the bed. It was a gorgeous dress. One that she'd picked up in Shrewsbury at the end of her travels and had yet to wear. The outer parts of the dress were a deep blue, like the dark of clouds full of rain, sitting comfortably on her shoulders. The neckline dipped into a rounded curve and the dress gathered just below her breasts to flow to the floor in a wash of color. The outer layers of the skirt split to show a lighter blue underneath and all along the hems and gathered points was a stretch of delicate lace sewn into the pattern of leaves and vines. She had fallen in love with the garmet immediately and was pleasantly surprised at it's exact fit. "I wonder what Grave will think?" Her mind flew instantly to him as she ran a hand down her side, smoothing the fabric. Would he like it? Did he like blue? She glanced down at the marvelous result of cleavage the stays and dress together created. Aye, he'd like the dress.

Glancing outside at the sun creeping across the sky she moved quicker now; running fingers through her long curly hair, Mac pulled the front parts back with a comb, letting it all cascade down her back. When would Grave be here? Soon she thought but wasn't sure as the only answer procured from him was that he'd pick her up.

[SirJulienDelval]

The coach was a magnificent beast. Taller than a man and built from only the finest ash wood it had large, sturdy, iron banded wheels. Two fine stocky shire stallions, steam boiling from their flexing nostrils, pulled the great weight with consumate ease; their muscles were sharply defined beneath coats shiny with the lustre of fine life. The entire vehicle spoke of privledge and class, well maintained luxury. One could almost smell the leather of the interior seats as it jolted past. Assorted residents of Beeston stepped out of the way to allow it unrestricted, if not unheeded, passage. Many eyes turned to follow it as it clattered slowly through the cobbled streets. Voices muttered that there was something familiar about the vehicle but none could place its significance. Where they thought they should see the device of a local lord or lady upon the door a shield hung, the symbol upon it a lady dressed all in black. Her style and the cut of her dress were immodest, hair tumbling over one shapely shoulder and a look of daring challenge upon her face. In her hands she held the moon and she was backed by the stars. The artist had caught the scene in delicate brush strokes so defty that it almost appeared about to leap from the shield itself. Many of the local men indeed wished that it would.

The driver was resplendent in a tunic and doublet of the finest crimson, his coat braids gold, with a cap pulled down low above his broad but trustworth face. In truth the clothes appeared a little small for him like someone who has borrowed a fine uniform from another man. He sported a broad and gleaming smile and laying at his side across the leather of the seat was a huge two handed sword, a brutal and honest weapon with nary a mark upon its blade. Also next to him, his hand upon its collar, lay a large Irish wolfhound. It had big soft eyes and a happy, dazed look upon its features. The man was idly petting this monster of a dog as though it were the smallest hamster. If he did appear a little incongruous then it would take a brave man to ask questions of him.

As the coach pulled to a halt outside the inn the side door swung open. Out stepped Icey Grave, Priest Of Midnight. His tunic was cut from the finest black cloth, silver braids and trim shining in the afternoon light. On the sleeve was deftly sewn a patch bearing the device of a Wolf's head. His breeches were likewise black, tight around his swelling thighs, tucked into boots polished so fiercely that they would reflect as would a mirror. Under his arm was tucked a battered old book that had been reinforced with metal; he carried this burden easily as though he did not notice its presence. Belted at his side was a simple hand-and-a-half sword, the pommel brushed steel tightly bound in leather. There was a space for a jewel but the spot was empty. He had forgone the codpiece that he knew some would be wearing. He found the artificial items to be unnecessary and indeed a sign of unnecessary vanity.

As for the man himself, Grave had dyed his hair black with henna; it was tied back with a leather thong and left his face and ears clear. The pattens of scars across his cheeks and chin were visible as a tracery of fine white lines. His pale blue eyes stood out in out a face tanned from months spent wandering the wilderness. His features were not regal nor haughty but rather kindly if on occasion cold. His lips were soft and moist and the line of his jaw held the strength of a good honest man rather than the muscled arrogance of a lord. His nose, never broken, was a sharply defiant line.

He stepped lightly to the cold ground and strode to the door of Mac's house. Adjusting his jacket with it's accursed collar one last time he raised his gloved fist and pounded upon the door loudly. Despite himself he was nervous. For the path of their relationship had not run smooth and they were still gathering trust for one another. This would be their first big date, with others around, and Grave knew he would be proud of her. As he waited he wondered idly what she would be wearing. She was more of a practical lass, given to breeches and tunics than dresses. Yet she still managed to pull off a vibrant female sexuality that was far more attractive than soft doxies in dresses.

[MackenzieGael]

Startled, Mac jumped at the loud beat upon the door that echoed through the bakery and boomed up the small flight of stairs to her makeshift room. Her hand fluttered instantly to her chest as she tried to control her breathing; a task that provided much harder than normal due to her attire. "I surely hope I have nay need to run this evening." Mac muttered, thinking briefly on the colorful medley of people who would be attending the wedding. Surely there would be someone from every walk of life in attendance and the possibilities of interesting conversations at the reception promised to be entertaining. "I will not get into mischief, I will not engage myself in any confrontational debate, and I most assuredly will not get drunk." A bright impish grin pulled her face upward as Mac moved down the length of stairs and to the front door. She'd behaved very well at the last wedding, which had been Cecily's to Bloodstone, and had only had... three glasses of whiskey... or was it five? Och! She'd lost count and who was really worried!

Drawing open the door, she immediately took in Grave's face and then allowed her eyes to sweep down his body. The spark of flame within her gut sprung to life and Mac quickly wondered if that longing and desire would ever dissipate. Och I hope it never does! "Ye look wonderful Grave. Like the prince of the ball." His new suit fit perfectly and the long tight lines of his legs made her hands twitch to touch him. Instead she found his hand with her own and pulled him into the bakery, leaning forward to plant a moist kiss against his cheek, she pulled almost immediately away, for fear that lingering would prevent them from ever leaving the bakery. "Giv' me just one moment and I'll be ready, eh?" She retreated into a small closet against the back of the room and drew from the top shelf a wooden box. Within glittered the soft shimmer of jewelry, a silver pendent twisted into the curves and coils of a celtic knot, which she hung around her neck, and a small three inch dagger, simple in design and encased in a leather holster with long straps. Mac glanced over her shoulder to gauge her privacy and not seeing Grave assumed he could not see her either. She lifted one booted foot to prop on the bottom shelf and slid her hands down the length of leg. The skirt easily rose to mid thigh where she pressed the dagger to her skin and securely tied it in place. Never leave the house without a weapon, she heard the words that both Da and Grandda had drilled into her head at an early age. It could possibly mean life or death.

[SirJulienDelval]

Grave waited patiently. He held his hands clasped behind his back, the book held securely now in his palms. The feel of Mac's kiss still burned on his cheek, raising a vulpine hunger. Never one to stand still he wandered the room with his eyes flickering about. "Once a royal guard, always a royal guard." The voice said in his head. He agreed with it and allowed himself a little chuckle.

Turning slowly to survey the room he noticed that he could see through the door into the small room at the back of the bakery. His eyebrow shot upwards as he watched Mac with her leg cocked up, skirt around her thighs. His face changed, his lips pulling back over his teeth, his canines purely visible. The Frenchman felt hungry and laid his hand absent mindedly on a loaf, tearing off a piece and popping it into his mouth. He chewed slowly and rested against the counter as he watched her move. He had always enjoyed the sight of a well turned calf in delicate silk. As he ran his eyes along her legs he idly speculated. It was a beautiful early spring day outside and the sun slanted through the windows at the front of the room, highlighting motes of flour dust in the air. The whole scene had to it an almost unreal quality and he knew he would remember this until the last of his days. He could smell upon the air the long past flames of Beltane fires and felt them pulse within his very blood. Resting his hand upon the hilt of his sword he idly toyed with it, running his palm over the smooth cold hardness. He eased the blade from its scabbard an inch and then slammed it back in again. The blade moved smoothly in its well oiled scabbard. When he realised what she was doing his grin widened further. She was obviously a very practical woman. Tilting his head he enjoyed one last view of the back of her thigh before she turned.

"Are you ready now, Carissima?" He asked as she emerged from the room. Grave was not one to become ashamed at his actions, so he merely folded his arms and gave her an appraising look up and down, from dark red curls over the Scottish highlands to her pointy boots. He had always enjoyed the view of the hills in their summer velvet green. He wondered if she would know he had seen her, or whether she would doubt it. He took her hand and bent over it, pressing his lips to the back of it strongly. "You look incredibly beautiful today. I must admit that I had never expected to see you in such a dress. I don't think I will forget it." He meant this honestly. Then he spoke lower. "We should probably move along. Otherwise I'm afraid we will not leave at all. Shall we?"

Leading her outside by the hand he presented the carriage. The driver stood by the door, holding it open. Grave could not help but notice the look on the big man's face when he saw Mac. He stifled a chuckle. His driver was not well known for being able to hold back on his emotions, simple as they were within that muscular body. Grave was just thankful that one of those strong hands hand not ripped off the door in sudden change of attention. Clasping one of Mac's hands in his own slightly perspiring palm he escourted her gently to the door. In the Lady's Name, corsets could not be easy to walk in.

[MackenzieGael]

Mac pulled on the leather strings to ensure that the holster was tightly in place and would not slip during the night, then glanced quickly up at the sword and other assortment of throwing daggers arranged on the shelf and wall. If only it were suitable for a lady to carry a sword to a wedding, perhaps then she would feel more comfortable about the entire affair. There would be, she knew, several people... many people in attendance whom would not think twice before running her through with a blade or stringing her from the rafters, and the idea of walking into the middle of them left her very apprehensive. Grave would protect her, she told herself, but even that reassurance she had a tiny spark of doubt, for the very people he would be protecting her from were his own. It's a wedding! for Jah's sake, surely everyone would be civil.

A loud clanging noise made her jerk upright, dropping the length of skirt as her head twisted to see behind her. Blood immediately rushed to her face in embarrassment. Had he seen her? It wasn't as though the length of her thigh was something he'd never seen before, his eyes had fallen on many women's bared thighs, but the knowledge of the blade strapped to her leg she preferred to keep secret. What would he say if he knew how apprehensive and anxious she was in regards to this event?

"Are you ready now, Carissima? You look incredibly beautiful today. I must admit that I had never expected to see you in such a dress. I don't think I will forget it." His words drifted over her like a warm caress and Mac felt a blush deepen the color in her cheeks. Aye he'd seen her, she could tell by the insatiable look in his eyes, as though he would rather stay there hidden away in her bakery. That idea was sounding more and more tempting as the seconds ticked . She placed her hand in his and pushed forward with a smile. She could do this. Bravery was ingrained in her very being even if at the moment she didn't feel it "Thank you. I... I'm glad ye like the dress. Tis a lovely thing I picked up along my travels. Aye, if'n we dinna get gone now we'll ne'er make it."

She followed him outside, cautiously pulling the door shut behind her and stepping over the threshold. The dress was long and the last thing she cared to do was trip over it and fall flat upon the dirt, but as she turned from the door a surprised gasp escaped her parted lips. A coach! She blinked, then glanced quickly at Grave. A coach! Where had he procured a coach?! She quickly scanned the make and colors of the majestic beast, her mind trying to place where she'd seen it before, and chuckled gleefully when the realization finally hit her. Despite the beautiful new emblem emblazoned upon the side this was the very coach Cecily had used for so many months. And he had... She glanced at him again, he eyes dancing with the mischief she knew he had already been up to. "Grave, ye are quite..." she smiled so bright it made her cheeks hurt, "dashing and terribly naughty."

[SirJulienDelval]

The grin that painted his features was purely evil. "Moi? Who would have presumed such a thing?" Leaping easily up into the darkened interior of the vehicle he proffered his hand. The scent of well oiled wood and leather assaulted his nose and he smiled. Such luxury was not something he often had cause to enjoy but today he would have a wonderful time. With a beautiful lady for company and a rather long carriage ride ahead Grave could think of several methods of passing the time away. The carriage had especially heavy drapes at the windows and so they could be assurred of privacy. "Will you join me, my dear?" He asked, flashing a warm smile. Why did he feel like the big bad wolf inviting Alice into Gramma's house? Something told him that Mac had teeth of her own. It would be fun finding out.

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