Day 13 – The Colour of Spiced Wine
(Medieval AU M/M)
"I must say you have terrific aim."
Mary spun around in her saddle to glare at him unsure whether he was jesting or paying her a compliment. "I rarely miss my mark."
The air hung in clouds of white as it escaped their wind slapped faces. The angle of the thin sun cresting the mountains showed late afternoon, meaning the hunting party had long been out since just after dawn. Slow jolting hooves hit cobble stones as they made their way into the court yard, aching muscles and weary heads longing for warmth and comfort.
Mary slid easily from her saddle quite before she had reigned in her mount, leaving Matthew's hand outstretched and empty as the bulk of the party made to follow her into the castle. His eyes were drawn upward to the four rounded towers, gleaming white in the low sunlight and pointing to heaven, wondering what the walls held within.
The gathering in the main hall huddled around the fires talking animatedly about who killed what and how many. Platters of food were brought, along with beverages and Matthew suddenly noticed how parched the day had left him.
His gait belied how eagerly he wanted to cross the space and join Lady Mary's side, but he found her circled by a handful of men, suitors and envious married men, all vying for her attention. She felt his gaze, and her body acted of its own accord to lock eyes through all the chaos and noise and mayhem around them. The space between them hushed and time slowed to exaggerate how their bodies conversed with only each other.
A cup was thrust into Matthew's hand and the spell was broken as Lord Grantham slapped him on the back full of the day's praise for the hunt. He looked into the mug expecting ale, and yet it was rich and dark and warm. He pulled a mouthful from the tankard and relished the sweet spiciness.
"I'm quite proud that you landed the largest stag Matthew. Such a feat I must say. The game keeper is at him as we speak and the antlers will be ready for you to take on your leave. You mustn't rush off now though, as heir I would very much like you to stick around after all the other guests have left. Stay awhile. You must get to know what one day you will inherit and how you may manage it!"
He acquiesced with a bow, murmuring how he would bid it please Lord Grantham. Robert was having no formalities with names and insisted on his being called by his first as he strode over to some other fellow Lords in the hall.
So it was with a back to the room as he warmed his hands to the flickering fire that he was prodded with an elbow that almost sent him reeling. "You need more spiced wine. It will dull the monotone of all these ghastly Lords and Barons and give you a decidedly different perspective on how to impart your wisdom to my father."
"It seems your father may be taking me into his fold after all. He has invited me to stay on at Downton after the hunting has concluded."
"Dear Matthew, we all have taken you into our fold. Or is it you feel neglected and I therefore need to show you?" She cocked her head to the side and her shoulders rocked to and fro.
"Don't play with me Mary. May I remind you of all the things that you have deemed appropriate to convey to me since I have arrived?"
"What have I always told you never pay attention to the things I say?" She paused for effect and sipped the warm wine. "Now drink up milord for you will need some courage for the night ahead."
He had never thought that he had lacked courage but he was intrigued as to what she had implied and unconsciously did as she bid. His clear translucent eyes captured her shade of dark, and he asked the question within them. The firelight flickered gold and he was reminded that her eyes held more wealth than any conceivable jewel.
"We will have feasting," she continued, "and there will be courtship through dancing, and we will celebrate the skill of the kill," her hand rested on the upper part of his arm drawing his attention away from what she alluded to.
"And my courage is needed before then end of the night?"
"More likely, before the break of dawn!" The way that it was whispered hinted at how auspicious it may become.
"Well then, I may need a better tour of the castle before we change for feasting, so that I don't get lost. Will you provide that for me?"
"Such good luck Matthew, but I am indeed already late for my bath, and cold water just would not do. But…" her body leant into his as she wiggled her fingers towards the flames, "I do hear that the tower with the deep red furnishings, are the most inviting in all of Downton!"
A chuckle escaped his lips as he watched her turn, the smoldering look over her shoulder deepened with a quiet challenge.
"Keep in mind darling Matthew, every man who has tried to breach my stronghold has died in the attempt. Consider it a forewarning."
And Mary in her sweeping burgundy woolen dress floated up the stairs towards her rooms, high in a tower, as hungry eyes followed her ascent.
Day 14 – Sprigs of Peppermint
(Medieval M/M, this continues from Day 13, read it first for context)
The room from his tower on the east wing looked out over the mountains thick with forest. There were swathes of bright colour dotted within the deep greens of the estate. The sun had cast peachy fuzz throughout, delighting shepherds and game keepers to expect a clear and gallant day next.
Matthew leaned forward through his window to gain a better perspective of the setting sun, eager to catch it one last time before it hid beyond their realm. The stone was aged, and weathered, corners smoothed with time and the elements. His hand sought the cracks as his body hung over the edge, and the flickering of movement arrested his attention from his peripheral vision. It was not the pennant flags high on the roof, or the occasional guard on duty, it was lush and heavy and soft and waved in beckoning. Her words rung clear,
"I do hear that the tower with the deep red furnishings, are the most inviting…"
Like a red cape to the bull. Matthew thought. Yes, I may be hot blooded and eager to stick my horns into that red velvet, but I will not be the one sacrificed tonight!
His nimble feet and strong fingers quickly aided his traverse of the wall and parapet that lay like a bridge between the two towers. Years in the art of escaping looming walls to the openness of woods and waters had served him well in confidence of such a feat.
Voices wafted from the window with red velvet curtains, women chatting in the process of some domestic action. He slowed his movements as he softly landed on her balcony, hidden by the wafting material, keen to keep out of sight. The noise of water splashing whipped his head around and his hand reached for the drapes.
"Thank you Anna, the water is divine. I think this will ease my aching limbs and cleanse my mind."
"Will I wash your hair Milady?"
"Yes. Please Anna. Tonight may well be very special!" she sighed as she continued, "I'm afraid I will need to be on my best behaviour tonight though, or papa will be so overwhelmed with excitement that he will crow from the rooftops and make a plaudit announcement at dinner."
"We need extra towels, Milady. I'll be back in a minute." Anna made for the door and hurriedly skipped down the stairs.
The scented bath was working magic as Mary rested her head back and closed her eyes. Her body sunk deep under the water covering her head, wetting her hair and washing away the days ride. The water milky with soap suds and sprigs of peppermint floating on the surface created the effect of a mermaid in a pond. A water nymph clad only in long lush hair, the curvature of her breasts breaking the surface of the water.
She started as fingers lifted her wet hair into a ball and started rubbing the cake of green minty soap over the strands. The routine act the same, and yet somehow different.
"Oh Anna, you were quick, I didn't hear you come back in."
The hands deftly and gently massaged her hair, rubbing the slipperiness through the length of her locks and came back up to caress her scalp. Mary purred in satisfaction, the drug of the bath, the heat and how relaxed she felt at this moment emanated from her very being. A smile played at the corners of her mouth. Her mind wondered to what lay ahead this evening and how she may hopefully get what she wanted.
Matthew Crawley. The heir. My Champion. My lover.
The broad finger pads pulled the length of her tresses tenderly, eradicating any knots. Fingers dragged nails from the front of her forehead back to her neck eliciting a gasp of pleasure and a shiver down her spine at the tortuous feeling. Slowly the long length of her hair was placed over her shoulder, covering her breasts, and she sunk back under the water to rinse.
As Mary stood and turned in the bath the door opened as Anna, a pile of towels in hand, stopped to look at her dripping mistress.
"Oh Anna, a towel quickly, the air is cold."
"But Milady, your hair?"
"You have worked wonders. You must not show my sisters that new trick; I will never have you to my own again. And they will want you to wash their hair every day!"
"But, Milady….. I have only just got back?"
The look of disbelief on Mary's face as she swept the towel around her closer and rushed towards the balcony, conveyed little to that of her beating heart. It was empty, as expected and the night had enveloped the castle with secrecy. Maybe the plans to her challenge had already been laid.
….
"You are a very accomplished dancer Matthew."
"Why thank you Lady Mary. I have always been very light on my feet!"
"And quiet. You were able to get very close to the stag today at the hunt."
"Well, I love the challenge of getting in close proximity before I go in for the kill." He chuckled then, unable to hide the double meaning.
The music strummed from the band of players in the corner. Many were too full from feasting, or too drunk to entertain themselves with actual dancing, except a few.
Matthew and Mary raised palms to touch and twirl again around each other. Their eyes were locked, like much of the night, oblivious to those around them, as they spun and wove so close and yet for them, at this point not close enough. This was more than two dancers in the hall. This was two pasts colliding in this present, which will furthermore be entwined in the future.
"And do you ever miss, after coming so close?"
"Never. But there has been occasion where I have paused, and realized that it may be better to take what I want at a later date."
Her breath hitched in her chest, as his words made her heart skip a beat. She was close enough to see he had shaved the shadow of his beard that was there earlier, and his hair seemed softer, calling her fingers to pull through it.
She quickly changed tact, needing a distraction from the thoughts that made her cheeks flush. "And as papa pointed out tonight so elucidatory, will you be a creature of duty to Downton as his heir?"
"I think that your question needs to be dissected to be truthfully answered." One of his hands rested on her lower back as the other entwined with hers closer to his shoulder, the music soft and the candlelight winked on the edges of the room.
"Will I be dutiful as a son should, I hope so. Will I be dutiful in providing my own line of sons, I have faith. Will I be dutiful to what my heart sings, I am sure? Will I be a dutiful and faithful husband; of this I have no doubt. Will I dutifully ask my lover to be my wife...?" His sentence broken by a flurry of movement in timing with the music.
"Yes…." She was breathless in urging him to answer, wanting to hear his confession.
He pulled her closer, as they danced, wanting his body to tell her, the smile on his lips. "First, Mary, I need to find a lover."
Her eyes closed at his declaration, and her body responded with fire. The heat coursing through their points of contact. Promising the desire was real and within this clasped space.
His nose nestle above her ear, deep in her hair, his cheek caressing hers. The smell of peppermint fresh like open fields, herbaceous like the woods, and pure like the banks of glacier melt.
His resolve slipped as she filled his senses. "Oh God Mary, you are a bewitching woman! I want to unbraid your hair and see it cascade around your face."
The smallest movement back allowed her to look into his eyes, retorting with the sudden reminder and calling him out. "I would have thought Matthew Crawley that you already had!" Indignation may have coated her reply; she however wanted to see how he would squirm his way out of this one.
"I was in fact quite distracted by your breasts!" Two could play this game.
A surprised exclamation escaped as she pulled away and thrust her arms at him, vaguely causing him to step back. She strode to the dining tables, close to her family, briefly glancing over her shoulder with golden light in her eyes. She caught his playful smile, and it tugged at her heart.
They both knew that this night, he would again dance across the parapet to find the room with the billowing red velvet drapes. And she would make sure there were sprigs of peppermint in between her sheets.
Day 15 – Fires Burned on this Twelfth Night
(Medieval M/M – follows from Day 12 &13, read first for context)
Firelight touched her skin, burning golden as the flames licked in the fireplace. The gigantic logs alight, as tendrils danced roaring up the chimney, sparks like desire wafting in the plume. It warmed the room and made the stone radiate, adding the only source of light to illuminate her bedroom.
Matthew's fingers traced lines on her back as he read her code, a constellation of freckles.
"Milord," Mary contentedly whispered, her voice thick with sated desire. "You study me with such scrutiny, like one of papa's maps."
"I find what lies before me far more interesting than anything that Cousin Robert throws at me." He paused as his fingers dragged with direction down her back. "And to be fair, I must say that I am finding myself more comfortable knowing my way around this map." His hand hovered in the cleft at the base of her spine as he thought of all the ways that they had been discovering each other.
The dark cloud of her hair shifted and her face peaked from underneath. "Maybe I shall call you Pirate Crawley; you certainly have discovered and pillaged my treasure!" The arch of her brow was suggestive and alluring both. The tickles of laughter played at the deep recesses of her being. "Or will you become the morally astute young knight that I had presumed you were all along."
"I thought, Lady Mary that you were one that rebelled against that which you were bid?"
"Ay, but I am afraid that you may bare the wroth of my father, as much as I, if I am demanded to explain one of the consequences of our behaviour!" They chuckled at the image of Robert learning of their dalliance in that untoward fashion.
"Very well Milady, I had expected to do this, months ago, but while we are here…" Matthew made to get up, his naked torso gleamed in the firelight, muscles rippling as the gift to Mary of his prize deer skin slipped lower…Mary rolled over grabbing his arms to pull him down next to her.
"No wait Matthew!" Fingers wrapped around the back of his neck as she brought her mouth teasingly close. "This night before and after this singular moment is sacred. I will however prefer not to repeat an image to my parents of your proposal with how godly divine and unclothed we were at the time. I swear to you on this twelfth night, by the branding of fire on our yule log that next year we will sit together in front this fireplace as man and wife."
Dark eyes searched for shades of light, her hands cupped his face and fingered his hair. Her expression was raw with the naked look of love she bared. He read her, his proud and reserved Mary lay vulnerably before him, his passionate and beautiful lover trusted him enough to let him singularly, witness her pure self.
He groaned as he succumbed to her spell "Oh Mary….!"
They came together rapidly; lips crashing to melt in heat, desire raced over mountains, dipped in valleys, glided over ridges and discovered new and unfamiliar places. They both became the adventurer, the conqueror and the reigning deity.
When the deepest of night eased toward the dawn, he whispered his intent and that he would talk to her father that same day. Her sleepy lids watched as he untangled limbs to make for the fireplace. Before stoking it back to life, he pulled a half burnt log from it, the size of his forearm and placed it on the side of the grate.
And so began the cycle of their future, like traditions thousands of year's old, as pagan druids started the solstice fire on the shortest night of the year with the yule log from the previous year. Keeping the fires alight for twelve nights until the magi came baring gifts.
Day 16 – The Sharing of Gingerbread Day
(Modern Au)
"Mary, you find the biscuit cutters and I will pull out the flour and butter." Anna stared at the noise that came from the pantry which sounded like a car wreckers.
"Thank god, I found them!" Mary emerged brandishing said gingerbread men cutters. They looked a little worse for wear, and yet that was the attraction as one leg was skinnier, a head slightly crooked and a hand indented to look like it was giving a thumbs' up. Anna's brow furrowed as she took stock.
"That hand is Will's doing, he claimed it looked super cool!"
"Don't let Cora see that, she would be horrified at the maiming of her special American cutters!"
Mary contorted at the suggestion as she moved around the kitchen assorting the rest of the ingredients and plugging in the bench top mixer. "It wouldn't surprise me if she praised Will for his individuality and let it pass." The cutters had been especially flown over from a famous American East Coast cookie company, and presented as a gift to Mary and Matthew the year that the twins, Tilda and Will had their first Christmas. Tradition now dictated that copious amount of gingerbread were made (and feeding seven plus Anna's three children did indeed mean copious!) and given as Christmas offerings to each child's teacher the last day of school before Christmas Holidays.
Mary had enticed Anna to join in the frenzy of baking when their eldest children had reached school age. Wine and loud music soon became the norm as Isobel often took the younger children out to play, leaving the biscuit queens to rule the kitchen. This year meant the younger of Mary and Matthew's twins, Viola and Vincent were the last to graduate to gingerbread school status.
"So how many batches are there this year, Mary, I seem to have lost count?"
"Ten kids, twelve batches, but I have bought enough for fifteen just in case we burn any of them!" Butter was piled high to prove the point.
"Good god, this will be a full day affair. I might boil the kettle first so we can start with engines roaring!" Anna's eyes scanned the bench aware how precisely they would have to work as a team to ensure smooth running. Years of practice meant they were a well oiled machine.
"I'll put the ovens on; this might be the one time in the year that I am grateful we put in two ovens when we renovated!"
…..
The door opened unexpectedly, distracting the women from the sticky and buttery shapes in front of them.
"Is that biscuits I smell…..?" Matthew walked into the kitchen, head bent over his iPhone, and stopped abruptly as his eyes lifted to the chaotic scene in the kitchen. Mary brushed a stray hair off her forehead smudging even more flour into her hairline. The piping bag of icing delicately perched in her other, icing escaping in a thin stream. Anna seemed not to notice the buttery dough in a streak down her cheek and both had aprons covered in a light dusting of flour. In fact the room may have been hazy with the hint of flour in the air.
He lifted his phone and quickly snapped a shot of the domesticated women, laughing as he scrolled down and clicked.
"Matthew Crawley! If you post that on twitter, you will be sleeping in the guest bedroom for the next week!" Her lifted brow showed him how serious she was.
He answered laughing walking to the bench, "My beautiful darling flour covered wife. I would never do such a thing!" Her snort belied the belief she had in him. "I just thought that John should witness such a spectacle….." Matthew had to quickly duck as Anna's oven mitt sailed through the air in the direction of his head. He continued as he straightened up, "I thought I would come home for lunch and work on one of my case reports here, but I seem to have forgotten it was Gingerbread Day. So how about I make some sandwiches for us and then help you out….somehow?" He looked at their production line and tried to figure what he may be good at.
….
Mary noticed when Matthew came back to the kitchen that he had changed from his tailored suit into a polo shirt and jeans, his bare feet poking from underneath, warmed by the heated floor. She dragged her eyes away, shaking her head at how easily she became distracted when her husband was in the room. He tied a stripy apron on, chef style, and opened the fridge to start their sandwiches.
He placed the sandwich and a steaming cup of tea next to each lady knowing full well that they would not stop to sit at the dining table. He glanced beyond all the bowls of icing and cooling racks to see where they were at. Mary bent over a wreath of overlapping gingerbread men, their holding hands gluing them together. She worked quickly over the men, icing painted on to create detail in various shades of festive colours bringing them to life and establishing personality.
"These are amazing Mary, they are literary works of art. I don't know how the teachers are going to want to eat them…..maybe I shall have to try….." Mary's reflexes were fine-tuned after dealing with seven pairs of hands for years trying to sneak things from the bench top. She swatted it lovingly away, just as she reached to give him a sugary kiss in thanks.
"I seem to have become slightly overenthusiastic in the decorating department, let's just put it down to years of practice! I am afraid Christof may be a little disappointed though; I can't say I can pull off Hobbits very well! What do you think?"
She pointed her elbow in the direction of one circle of 'hobbits' and saw him blink in disbelief. "I thought so," sighing in resignation of a job thwarted.
"Matthew, roll your sleeves up man, and come and put this cutter to good use!" The barked order from Anna got him finally moving.
…..
The three worked companionly in silence, as music aided in their endeavor. Abba, Pink Floyd, David Bowie, Joni Mitchell and Matthew's favourite the Rolling Stones pulsed through the surround sound as they opened a bottle of wine, each at their assigned task.
"How many have we done?" Mary stretched her back lifting the large glass of wine to her lips. Anna hummed to the tune as she counted and stuck up eight fingers. They all sighed then knowing that they were not quite there, and took a couple of sips to fuel the last part of the marathon. Her hips wiggled of their own accord, lost in translation to the ancient beat of music. Matthew smiled as he noticed the typical style of wiggle that embodied his Mary of young, the one that he fell so hard for.
….
The chaotic thundering of an invading clan of Crawley's and Bates' interrupted the peaceful harmony of the kitchen.
"I've got it." Matthew made for the door just as he watched Anna and Mary look at the other realizing what the time must be.
His body barricaded the opening door, as a seething mass of bodies fell through noses ribbing the fragrant air.
"Stop at once! You hoard of scoundrels!" It was not only his presence but also his appearance that halted the children. Squeals of delight and hugs abounded with hands flapping toward the tray of gingerbread men on the tray he held.
John stood behind them all, rumbling with laughter, an apology of sorts on his face. He regularly picked them all up from school, but rarely had they been this unruly.
"Nice skirt papa!" Will stood just inside the door eyeing his father with scorn.
"Thanks my son, one day you may wear the skirt in this family." His hand flourished stylishly down his leg, "This may be all yours."
"I think Darling" Mary piped up from the other side of the room, "that you are right. It is I that wear the pants in this family!" There was laughter all round as she continued, "And you will find that it is Tilda who inherits it!"
"I am the oldest papa." The roll of her eyes reminded Matthew exactly of her mother and he tweaked her nose with affection.
"This I have known since the day you were born and which means you have great responsibility…..looking after your siblings and Batesy's mob." The tray of biscuits was thrust into her hand to ensure that everyone was delegated their fair share.
"Papa, can we help?" Viola and Vince clung to his legs; their blonde heads looked eagerly up at him.
"Sure, why don't you come and do the dishes?"
Anna laughed as the young twins scampered out the room as fast as lightening after the older children and the promise of a biscuit.
….
After an emergency makeshift dinner of pasta to feed the masses, calmness descended over the gathering. Tilda tied ribbon through the wreaths, John helped Will wrap them carefully in cellophane, under the scrutiny of Anna, whilst Christof and Mammie cut sticky tape for them. Jonathon sat on the floor with Viola and Vince pushing the flat-pack cardboard baker's trays ready for the final carrying to school. It was Matthew elbow deep in suds as he passed clean dishes to Alexi, Freddie and Izzy that completed the cozy domesticated scene. Anna refilled their glasses as she sat at the breakfast counter kicking off her shoes. The look of happiness as Mary passed Matthew his glass, grabbed and arrested their hearts. As life was one moment a whirlwind, another could be contented as this.
Matthew toasted the air towards his beautiful wife, the woman who had brought their seven precious children into the world, and showed them every day how to be loving and loyal and honest. And who each year showed her children that it was not what you had, or how much you spent on gifts or the wealth the family had. But the energy you put into things to share with people. It was the act of giving and the thought and loving that went into it that counted.
Yes, he thought to himself as he worshiped his wife, she was more than I could have possibly imagined she would be, even with icing through her hair and spicy crumbs coating her skin.