The Catcherson Gallery was full to capacity. A small din could be heard in every inch of the room, caterers clacking at waiters, trays being filled and emptied, heels snapping against the ground, new dress shoes squeaking in arrival. Marie Catcherson was far from excited. The buzz was infectious but with negative effects. What was all the fuss about, she wondered. She sat in the corner, drinking a Shirley Temple and watching the crowd in disgusted awe.
She had nothing against the people but it was their need to be there that night and inspect all the pieces in the show till 1am that made her a bit surly. She hated the large crowds, the faces that blurred, and all the names that suffocated her thinking. Letting out a frustrated sigh, Marie tucked a strand of mahogany hair behind her ear. She felt tested every time she had to nod her head or sit through a story on stocks, bonds, property and wealth. She hated it all mainly because the awe was about her.
Her mother, Teressa Catcherson, had discovered her mixed medium pieces, stashed away in the back of the closet and squeaked with delight. The Catchersons had been known to have amazing taste in art and could help any struggling artist shoot to the top but their creativity never dripped onto a canvas. Teressa had begged Marie for almost a year to let there be a showing. She wanted to show the world how fabulous her family truly was. Marie had no interest in being exploited for the sake of the family name. In the end, it was her brothers who convinced her to cave and allow the pieces to be removed from their hiding spot and put out for the entire world to see, well maybe just all of Newbuston, Maryland.
Marie would have preferred her family to gush over her interest in the violin and her sweet and soft singing voice made perfect for jigs, shanties and love songs. It had been three years since her last performance and she ached for the low seductive hum of the strings meeting with the bow. She even missed the feeling of rosin. She still murmured the words of the songs, letting the wind carry them away. She used to fantasize that a dashing stranger would hear her song and find her, woo her and take her away. But Catchersons weren't dreamers, or so she was told. "Catchersons are powerful entities made to be the foundation," Her mother explained when she was forced to give up her love of music and song for the art world. But Marie's love of art did not stem from recognition, profit or the gift of aid. Her love burned deep like a bitter grudge. It ate away at her sensibilities as it wailed against her better judgment. She finally let it out, taking her frustration and loneliness out on the canvas.
The first painting had been an accident. She had set the art down to dry and thanks to her poor placement, it had fallen over, mixing with material used for scrapbooking and collages. The result had been a horrible mess but Marie discovered she could effectively express her confusion and feelings of loss with unconventional methods. She had over thirty finished pieces by the time Teressa had discovered them.
Marie swirled her watered drink and fished out a cherry. She glared on, feeling the warmth of the vent blast. Setting her drink down, she made her way to the terrace, locking the balcony door behind her. The din of the showing melted away with the mix of the city just twenty miles north of the gallery. She closed her eyes as a breeze pulled at the silk gown she wore. Marie had always had an affinity for medieval styles and wore her favorite dress, which had been bought online at a store that fashioned Renaissance garb. The undershift was thin light blue cotton, barely visible beneath a dark green and grey dress with simple stitching, understated bell sleeves and an empire waist. She hummed softly with the wind and prayed for an escape of some sort.
There was a knock at the balcony door and after briefly acknowledging her uncle's motions to come back inside, Marie sighed and turned back to the landscape. She began to hum again but a sound stopped her. It rumbled low like horse hooves and quick like a swarm of bees. She looked around instinctively waving off imaginary bugs. She knew the nearest horse ranch was over fifty miles away but the sound grew, as if there was a hunting party but it was too late for such, the sun had gone down hours ago and the slow chill of the evening was setting in on her shoulders. But then there was warmth on her face, like the sun had noticed the chill and decided to rise again. She was afraid to look as the heat spread and then light followed. The night disappeared and the setting changed. Rolling hills of grey and tan wheat with bright purple and blue flowers sparkled before her.
Marie blinked her eyes as she saw the horses bounding towards her. They snorted and dipped their heads down as if to charge. She backed away, turning to unlock the balcony door but all she saw was more grass, trees and another herd of charging horses. Atop these horses were riders, dressed in brilliant colors of gold, silver, black and orange. Shielding her eyes from the high set sun, she saw that the group of horses she saw before were also holding riders. Before she could think, both groups were upon her, staring down with covered faces, the horses sniffing and blowing hot air out of their nostrils. "We don't see many around these parts in such a fashion, little one," said a man dismounting from his horse. Marie's voice was lost and her vision blurred and titled. The world went black but she remembered the thud as her body slumped to the hard ground.
She awoke, her arms tied to the reins of a horse, trailing behind the group. Looking around the scenery had changed. No longer open space and the cheery sun, they were deep in the woods, strange animals sounds but no life outside of the horses and their riders. Looking into the sky, Marie could tell that it was still daylight. She couldn't remember how she had gotten to the forest and feared she had been kidnapped. "Am I to become a slave," she thought aloud. She had heard about young girls being taken and sold. She had to escape. Looking around, she was at the end of the group. She slumped back down and worked on her restraints. With her hands free she slowly slid off the horse. Backing off the trail, Marie felt the ground crumble and she fell off a hill beside a rapid river. The shouting started and Marie began to race through the forest blindly, using the footsteps behind her as motivation and the river as a guide. She was glad that she hadn't listen to her mother and opted for sneakers beneath the regal gown.
She had barely run a mile when she was tackled from the side. The two bodies rolled into the water. The river did quick work and pulled the two bodies away from either side of the shore. The dress tangled at her legs but the adrenaline forced her on. "Grab on to me," the man screamed. Marie did as he said and soon they were back on the river's edge. She coughed and sputtered but she was alive.
"You need to follow me."
"Are you nuts? So you and your band of thieves can sell me off at the first chance."
"We saved you, who knows how long you were wondering the valley."
"About 5 minutes if I'm not mistaken."
Marie began climbing back up the hill but the long loose skirt was caught. Yanking only rewarded her with the sharp ripping sound. "Great, I'm stuck in the woods with the Dark Knight and now my dress is ruined," she ranted looking at the hole before attempting to make it up the muddy hillside again. It was difficult against the soft soil but she eventually made it up only to see the man who had tackled her leaning against a tree looking amused. "How did you? You know what, nevermind," she exclaimed stomping up the trial.
"Miss, the Varden is the opposite way. If you have any wit you will follow me," said the man. Marie turned back to spit out a sharp phrase but came face to face with the man. His eyes were piercing gray and cold. Staring into them sent a shiver up her spine. His black hair looked greasy and matted. "I am Murtagh, at your service." He bowed lowly, revealing a sword at his back.
"Marie, and what service would that be?" she asked, looking around the woods for another escape.
"I mean you no harm, Lady Marie. We found you and then you collapsed. The Varden is full of healers and we feared that you had been poisoned," Murtagh said cupping the defiant chin in his hand. There was a rumble beneath Marie's flesh, it was electric and if felt good. She tried to hold on to her anger.
"So why was I tied to a horse like a slave?"
"You would have fallen off if we didn't," he said with a chuckle. Marie considered the truth of the situation, chewing on her lower lip.
"Fine, you weren't trying to kidnap me but you didn't have to tackle me."
"Yes I did, you would have kept running, though I will never understand how in such an outfit."
The mention of the dress reminded Marie that her dress had a hole in it. She lifted the skirt and looked at it, clicking her teeth in annoyance. "It can be mended." Murtagh kneeled down and inspected the tear but Marie had already started ripping the lower part of the skirt off. She spiked the remaining fabric, revealing creamy tan legs, knees and a few inches of thigh. Murtagh stood quickly, bumping heads with Marie, sending her to the ground. She let out a few choice words before scrambling to her feet.
Marie opened her mouth to make a joke but it was cut off by a bruising kiss. It took her a moment to realize that she was reacting to the kiss and returning it. She couldn't stop herself no matter how much her mind screamed at her to. The warmth that swirled in her belly silenced the protests and urged her right leg to wrap around his waist. She moaned as she felt the leather covered bulge press into her inner thigh. Murtagh's right hand tangled itself in Marie's hair while the other gently held her leg in place. A small breeze brought her back to reality and she pushed away from Murtagh.
"I apologize, Lady Marie. It was wrong to assault you in such a way," he said dropping his hands to his side. Marie felt dizzy as she smoothed out what was left of her dress. She had never felt that kind of heat for a stranger in her twenty-two years of life.
"I'm not a common whore, you can't just maul anyone you damn please just because you have an itch to scratch," Marie rambled, pacing in front of the tree she had just been pinned to. Murtagh nodded and bowed his head. Reason told her to escape, reason begged her to find out where she was but the strangest part was that reason urged her to let the passion take over. It took only seconds before Marie's legs and arms were wrapped around Murtagh and she was plunging her tongue into his mouth.
He smelled of grass and horses and tasted of fruit. She heard him moan as one hand slipped between her legs and slowly stroked her there. She never wore underwear so there was little to stand between her and the virile man in front of her. Marie bucked lightly and felt hot and suffocated. She squirmed in her clothes and pressed her center against his palm. She murmured his name and felt her middle sing when she heard him grunt her name.
Sliding her hand down, she found a way in and gripped his member. It wasn't extraordinarily large but thick and smooth and she knew he could satisfy her. It was Murtagh's turn to buck against Marie. She smiled against his lips and removed her hand. "I want you inside me now." Marie heard herself mutter the words and blushed.
"I don't want you to think I am unworthy of being called a man. I will serve you as husband and father to our children."
"Children? I'm only 22, I don't know anything about being a mother."
"Are you barren?"
"This fantasy is too much like reality," she said untangling herself from Murtagh. He looked so deliciously disheveled, she ached deep inside. Marie heard herself whimper and Murtagh looked up, his eyes flashing with a heat that boiled her blood.
"Is this a dream, my sweet Lady Marie?" He walked forward, reaching out and brushing his hand against her cheek. "If it is, then please let me sleep for eternity. Life cannot compare to the beauty and wonder of you, Marie."
Marie felt herself melt into him when he purred out her name. She couldn't stop herself from kissing him but then the air chilled. Shivering, she clung to Murtagh, finding his warmth intoxicating. "Will you stay with me?" Marie whispered into his neck.
"I will follow you as long as you say you are mine." He said with a chuckle.
Marie snuggled into him again but the sinking feeling that the dream was ending was confirmed by the sound of champagne glasses clinking, and the shrill laughter of Teressa Catcherson. "No!" Marie screamed wrapping her arms around Murtagh, but the room went dark and she collapsed. She could hear Murtagh's voice as she fought the sleep.
The sun peeked through the Venetian blinds of Marie's bedroom in the Catcherson house. Marie rolled over, clinging to the oversized pillow as the dream shifted and disappeared. "Murtagh," she whispered into the bed cover. The room was bright and painted in pale blues and greens. Her ruined dressed hung from the open wardrobe, stained with mud and ripped just above the knee. "A dream," Marie said with a pout as she crawled out of the bed. A hot bath was all she needed, Marie thought, turning on the faucet.
As she eased into the water, she thought of Murtagh. She could still taste him, the smell of him surrounding her. She wished that the dream had been real. As the water chilled, the warmth in her middle stayed. And her thoughts sharpened. How did her dress get ruined if it was a dream? Leaping out of the tub, Marie grabbed a towel as she raced back into the bedroom. Her dress stood there, ripped and soiled and proof that something had happened.
Grabbing the dress she held it to nose and she could hear Murtagh's voice again. "I will follow you as long as you say you are mine."
"I'm yours, Murtagh," Marie whispered into the fabric. She felt the tears come and couldn't figure out why. How could she want someone so badly and she'd only known him for a short while.
"Marie…" the voice was barely a whisper but it covered her in a safe feeling. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to hold on to the voice. "Marie, come back to me." The tears spilled fast and the sobs shook her. What was happening to her? "Marie," the whisper was so close. She opened her eyes and saw nothing.
"It's my mind playing tricks on me," she said wiping the tears away. She stood and re-hung the dress. Turning around she noticed muddy foot prints appearing but no sign of someone making them. Following the footsteps, she found herself back in the bathroom, standing face to back with Murtagh. She could see his sword and bow. "Murtagh," she whispered, reaching out to touch his shoulder. He turned and everything faded away. He was hurt, blood caked his face and she could see his lip was split and still bleeding. "Oh my," Marie said rushing to his side, urging him to sit down.
"Am I dying? Are you my sweet angel, to take me on?" His murmurs made her cry and she yanked the first aid kit out of her closet and began accessing the problems.
"Nobody's dying, Murtagh. Just be still for me, ok?" Marie pulled off his leather armor and the shirt underneath it. There was a small gash at his side and lots of bruising around the ribs. "What happened," She asked when the wounds were clean.
"I couldn't tell them where you were," Murtagh said as Marie started wiping the dried blood from his face.
"Me?"
"Word of your arrival sparked the interest of the king. He thought you to be a lost princess by the description he was given."
"I'm hardly a princess, I hate the spotlight."
"Spotlight?"
"Being the center of attention. Having all eyes on me."
"Then you will hate me, for you are all I see. I followed your voice and then there was a darkness and when I saw light again, I was here, with you and nothing else mattered."
Marie's heart beat faster with every word. Who was this man? How could he devote so much energy, thought and hope to her. She couldn't understand it but those eyes, like crystals, piercing and kind would kill any chance of her fighting against the feelings stirring. "Your injuries don't look so bad but I'm would feel more comfortable if you took a bath instead of a shower." Marie spent the next 15 minutes cleaning up the mess and wiping the mud off her tile while the tub filled. She helped him into the tub and smiled when his head lolled back and those eyes fluttered closed in contentment.
It was only when she left the bathroom that she realized that she was still wrapped in a towel. Grabbing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, she crept out of her room and down the hall to where her brother Andrew's old room. The room had been converted into Marie's studio. There were a few boxes of clothes that he had left when he moved to New York and she grabbed what she hoped would fit and raced back.
Murtagh was still sitting in the tub, as if he was sleeping. She chuckled and grabbed the bar of soap that she had set out for him. Using a washcloth she gently scrubbed his shoulders and chest, tracing his fingers over the scars. She washed his arms next and then put down the bar and cloth. "Oh, don't stop." His voice pulled her back and she turned to see a sleepy smile on his face, bright eyes gleaming. "It's been so long since I've been bathed and your hands are like heaven much like the rest of you." Marie smiled at this and motioned for him to sit up.
"Oh my god!" His back was a mural of pain and violence. Scars, thick and deep, ran across the pale skin and she ached to cry.
"Please don't be frighten, my lady. They do not bother me so much anymore and I believe your touch could chase the demons away forever." Murtagh reached out and placed his hand on hers.
Marie nodded and cleaned his back, massaging his neck and shoulders. When she was done, she handed him a towel and placed the clothes on the toilet. She turned and quickly exited the bathroom before she fainted from pure awe. But Murtagh called her in shortly after; confused with the clothes he was given.
Her mouth went dry as she saw him in all his glory, the towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist, his lean form begging for touch. "Well first are the boxers or you can free ball it if you want. Then there are the jeans, similar to your pants but just a different fabric. The shirt goes on with the Pac-Man logo in front. Pac-Man is the yellow ball with a face, here. I don't know what size shoe you where but we can find that out in my studio, all of Andrew's old shoes are still there and he always took care of his shoes, even the ones he doesn't wear anymore." Marie knew she was rambling but she need to keep her mind off the fact that she didn't want Murtagh in any clothes. She wanted him to stay naked and want her the way he had in the forest.
"Is Andrew your betrothed? Is that why you were in the forest, to escape him," Murtagh asked, pulling on the jeans. Marie tried to ignore the fact that he opted for no boxers.
"Andrew is my brother. I have no betrothed. I don't even have prospects for prospects." Marie laughed bitterly. Murtagh tilted his head to the side trying to achieve eye contact but Marie refused to fall victim to her passion again.
Author's note: I was listening to Dido's "Here with me" when I wrote this next part.
"Then you are not promised." She heard the hope in his words, or was it just her mind. She didn't know. Everything was confusing. Murtagh couldn't exist, but he seemed to and so did the feelings banging against her insides, trying to break out. Marie was snapped out of her thoughts by a hand moving the slowly drying hair away from her neck. She stiffened and tried not to pull away. She was so close to breaking that even the softest of touches would end it all. As if he read her mind, Murtagh murmured "I do not wish to force you, my sweet Marie but I ache. You have invested yourself in my heart and I need to touch you, to know that you are real. I must know this or all is lost."
Marie felt herself nod and her eyes rolled back into her head as he inhaled her scent, his nose brushing softly against her shoulders and neck. His hands ran down her arms and then wrapped around her waist. "You must be real. I will accept nothing else." Marie's voice was husky with desire and she kicked herself for breaking.
Murtagh turned her around and leaned in and kissed her. Marie felt her legs buckle but she was already being lifted, placed on the counter. Her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms pulled the shirt off. His skin was smooth but the hard taut muscles beneath pressed against her inspection. As if following her lead, Murtagh pulled off her shirt and smiled while his voice rolled over Marie like a sun kissed afternoon. "I will not lie and say that I have never seen a woman, but I cannot say that any could compare to you. If you are not an angel then you must be a dream. Nothing this wonderful can be real."
Marie smiled and left the words in the back of her throat. There was no use for them now. It wasn't long before they had discarded the clothing that had just been placed on. Murtagh carried her into the bedroom and laid her on the bed. He kissed his way down her body, murmuring praises as he went. Marie's head was filled with pride and confidence and she felt her heated skin and wondered if the feeling would stay once Murtagh disappeared again.
But the bitter-sweet thoughts flew from her mind as Murtagh's tongue stroked her center. He licked and moaned as he pushed Marie higher into oblivion. The sensations singed Marie's senses and when he stopped she pouted. He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment and when he returned he was proudly presenting his hard on. Marie leapt from the bed and wrapped herself around him. They kissed and then she felt herself stretch when Murtagh slid himself in. She couldn't hide the pleasure of it and moaned loudly. With every thrust, Marie heard her name fall out of his mouth, surrounded by expressions of adoration.
Murtagh moved to the bed and flipped her over; it was both their undoing. The came together, hard and wild, bucking in a battle to see who could ride it out. Collapsing on the bed, they cuddled, the cool sheets shoved off the bed. "I think heaven has some heavy competition," Murtagh said with a low chuckle.