The Road To Rivendell

Posted: July 2003
Title: The Road To Rivendell
Author: Jackie S
Type: FCHet
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Boromir / OFC
Beta: Sleeping Faith.
Summary: An out of season snow storm forces Boromir from the road and into Rowena's arms.

---

He found the boy huddled next to a rock, his arms clutched tightly around the wide girth of a still unshorn sheep. The unexpected snowfall had obviously caught him unawares, coming as it did in the last weeks of spring and the lad had sought shelter as he could. Boromir dismounted from his horse and walked over to the pitiful apparition. He had little hope that the youngster still lived, but a strange solidarity with the barefooted lad, had left him unable to continue onwards.

Boromir removed the gauntlet from one hand and reached out to touch the cold face. To his surprise, the head moved and he found himself staring into eyes as blue as cornflowers and mischievous as a parrot. They swung past him and opened widely in delight, "Is that your horse?"

"Yes," Boromir replied gently. "Would you like to ride him?"

The boy nodded, obviously overwhelmed by the offer. He slowly released his grasp on the sheep and stood up. The animal, finding itself freed from its unwilling captivity, used the opportunity to escape downhill. Boromir turned back to the boy and noticed that he was swaying on his feet. Carefully he leaned forward and picked him up, swinging him up into his arms and onto the back of his horse in one fluid movement that let him feel the stiffness of his limbs. Swiftly he placed one foot into the stirrup and pulled himself up behind the lad before the latter lost his balance.

"Which way is home?" he asked the boy, shaking him gently when he failed to answer.

"That way!" The boy replied, waving his arm in the same downhill direction that the sheep had taken moments earlier. Hoping that one of the two had a good sense of direction; Boromir urged his horse to follow the hidden path. His mount snorted his disagreement at the request but obeyed his master nonetheless.

"What is your name lad?" Boromir asked a few moments later, not necessarily curious as to the answer but knowing the importance of keeping the boy from falling into a sleep that would end in death. He pulled the fragile body closer as he spoke, wondering if the lad had reached a full ten summers.

"Arutha, My Lord," came the sleepy reply.

"That is a noble name."

"My mother worked at the castle before she married Da," The boy replied and Boromir wondered which castle that would be and if there was a chance that he could reach it before the daylight failed completely.

The horse stumbled on the uneven ground and the erratic movement caused Arutha's head to lurch forward. Boromir steadied the horse with a reassuring voice and cursed the elements. The erratic climatic conditions stank of magic, how else could you explain a snowstorm of this extremity so late in the season? He wondered if it were Elven magic because surely the boundaries to the legendary kingdom of Imladris must be near. And if they were and if it were truly Elven magic – to what purpose?

The lad slipped dangerously to one side and Boromir rearranged him again, letting one hand slip around his waist to hold him still. "And is this your first time on a horse Arutha?"

"Oh, no!" came the surprising answer. "We used to have a horse, but we had to sell it last year for food to see us through the winter."

Boromir wondered at the boy's accent. This was no uneducated shepherd, as he had first believed. Despite the ragged clothing and lack of shoes, both the name and the measured tones bespoke a higher station.

"What is your father's name lad?" he asked, his heart rising at the thought of a night in a comfortable bed rather than a roll on the ground.

"My father's name was William," Arutha supplied, obviously happy to talk about his life. "And he used to be a soldier before the Duke gave him our farm. Are you a soldier too?"

Boromir smiled at the boy's enthusiasm, he could well remember the times when he was young and all he had wanted in life was to be a soldier in his father's army. "Well then, young man, we had better get you back to your father, I'm sure that he is very worried about you."

"Father died four years ago," Arutha said, somewhat subdued this time. "There's just mother and me now."

Boromir nodded in the darkness, glad that the boy did not expect to hear any sort of platitude. Now it was obvious to him why the horse had had to be sold. Out here in the foothills, life was rugged and hard even at the best of times, but without a man to plant and harvest the crops, the pickings would be poor at the best. He leaned forward in the saddle and peered through the gloom. Was he imagining it, or was there a light ahead? He exercised a slight pressure on the horse's flanks and steered the horse towards where he believed the light to have been. A few minutes later, the path flattened out and he caught a glimpse of the beacon again.

Then the clang of his horse's hooves changed as he rode onto the packed earth of a country road. Praying that he was heading into the right direction, he broke into a brisk canter, almost sighing in relief when he rounded a bend in the road and the small homestead appeared before him. The door swung open even before the horse had halted and a worried figure appeared, a lantern held high in her hand to assess the newly arrived. She stopped for a moment at the sight of a stranger astride a horse, but regained her composure quickly, leaping forward as she spied the small bundle leaning back against Boromir's chest.

"Arutha! Arutha!" She called, pulling at the legs of her son. At his failure to respond to her greeting, she glanced up at Boromir, her maternal concern outweighing her fear of the unfamiliar gentleman. "My Lord, how does he fare?"

"By the Valar," Boromir replied, taking one leg from the stirrup. "I cannot say, he has not spoken for the last five minutes, but if you would allow me to dismount, I can carry him inside."

"Of course My Lord," the woman replied, moving away from the horse but keeping her eyes upon the supine figure of her son as Boromir got off the beast and carried the small boy towards the house.

The woman hurried in front of him before he reached the door, again holding the lantern up high so that he would not trip in the unfamiliar surroundings. The house was similar to others of its ilk, the door lead into a vestibule, from which all other rooms opened. He followed the slight figure of the women into the main room, which served both as living room and kitchen, and no doubt was also where the maid would sleep. But no other person appeared and Boromir remembered the words of the little boy. It would seem he had meant it literally, when he had said there was only his mother and he. He placed the motionless body on the cot in the corner and began to remove his gauntlet in order to check the boy's pulse. The woman was quicker however; crying out with relief as she found the tentative sign of life. With shaking hands she began to untie the lacings of the boy's shirt, removing the wet garments, one after the other.

Only when she had buried the boy in warm blankets, did she seem to recall Boromir's presence. He was aware of that moment because she lifted a hand to push back a non-existent strand of hair in that age-old habit of women that calls attention to the length of the neck and the velvet like texture of the skin there. Then she stood and nervously straightened her clothes, pulling his eyes downward to the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips. It were as though she had been transformed from a mother to a woman and the feminineness of her filled the room like a perfume. It reminded him that it was months since he had lain with a woman, and he felt the tug of his loins urging him to take a step forward and pull her into his arms. And his mind told him that this was not a wench to be treated thus.

"My Lord," she said in her cultured voice that so belied the homespun wool of her dress and the simplicity of her surroundings. "I am in your debt. For had you not found him, he would have died this night. How may I repay you?"

Boromir smiled at her reassuringly, hoping to dispel the fear evident in her down swept eyes. "In lodgings for the night for myself and my horse."

Her head snapped upwards and an expression of guilt covered her face. "Oh, your horse, I forgot about it. I will take care of it right away."

He caught her arm as she took a step in the direction of the door. "Is there no-one else to attend to the horse?"

She shook her head. "No, My Lord, but I know my way around the beasts."

He silenced her with a nod of his head. "That may well be, but it is not seemly for a lady to go out in such a night. If you tell me where to go, I will take care of my steed."

She began to protest again, but he brushed away her protests with a movement of his chin. "It is as I wish,My Goodwoman."

The woman responded to the commanding tone in his voice, suppressing her protests and nodding instead.

Boromir found the stables without great difficulty. The building, like the house he had been in, was well built and snug, but showed recent signs of neglect. Three cows were tethered at one end while empty spaces told him that there had once been more. At the other end, he found a horse box, freshly strewn with sweet smelling hay. He took the saddle and bridle from his horse, rubbing him down well before filling the manger with hay and a handful of oats. While his hands were busy with the familiar tasks, his mind settled on the woman in the house. She had obviously been a beauty and even now she remained a remarkably attractive woman despite the lines left on her hands and face from manual work and worry. He wondered at the mystery she presented and realised that he was not even aware of her name.

He rectified the situation upon his return as she removed his snow-encrusted cloak with an elegance that would put most of the ladies of Gondor to shame. "My name?" she responded in surprise as though it were of no importance. "If My Lord wishes, my name is Rowena."

She moved towards the fire and placed his cloak upon the drying rack, refusing to accept his assistance in raising and lowering the contraption from its place above the fire. Boromir felt something inside him stir at her proud display of independence. "My name is Boromir," he said softly."

"Whence do you come, My Lord?" she asked, stepping to the fire to stir a large pot.

"From Gondor."

"Boromir of Gondor, " she repeated, raising her eyes in an attempt to freshen her memory. I have heard of you, My Lord. My humble home is doubly blessed." His look of surprise did not escape her and he enjoyed the slight smile which touched her well-formed lips for a second. "I did not always live in the back of beyond and the deeds of Denethor's eldest son have been heard even in this corner of Middle Earth."

She took a ladle and carefully served a portion of thick soup, vegetable he assumed from the tantalising smell, into a wooden bowl. "The boy mentioned that you had worked at the Earl's castle. Would that be Earl Liam of Jyranee?"

Her hand stopped in the middle of a motion, as though she had to gather a few lost thoughts before she could resume the chores of daily life. She glanced to the boy sleeping peacefully in the corner of the room, with an affection that struck a chord of envy deep within the watching man. "My son is not yet aware of the nature of my former position at Jyranee."

She placed another ladle full of soup into the bowl before approaching Boromir with her offering. She placed it on the table in front of him, apologizing for the plainness of the fare. Boromir waved her apologies aside, reaching for the spoon and wolfing half the bowl down before he spoke again. "Were you perchance the cook?"

The blood suffused her features again and she bent her head in an attempt to hide her condition from him. "No My Lord, although it was part of my duties to oversee the kitchen."

He nodded, staring at the long slim fingers as they twisted together the cloth of her apron He had heard of Liam's mistress, the woman who had acted as his lady for five long years before his legally wedded spouse had grown to adulthood. It had caused quite a scandal at the time and had provided fuel for his daydreams. He carefully emptied the bowl and asked for another. She was relieved to turn her back on him he noted, watching her well formed rear as she bent over the pot. And he felt himself stir. The road had been long and without the comfort of a woman's body.

"You were Liam's mistress," he stated, keeping his voice low.

Rowena turned to him, pulling herself straight and holding her head with a natural grace. "Yes," she confirmed, "I was Liam's mistress and I am not ashamed of that. We hurt no-one and when it was over, it was over."

Boromir indicated a chair with one hand. "Would you like to tell me about it?"

She returned to the table, with bread and soup. "There is not a lot to tell."

He could almost touch her reluctance, but curiosity drove him on. "But I wish to hear it."

Instead of replying, her eyes darted in the direction of her son, whose sleeping form they could vaguely see in the corner. He touched her lightly on the arm and she jumped as though she had been burnt, covering the place with one hand as she did. Boromir could have kicked himself for his bad manners, it was unseemly to touch another's person without invitation – unless of course that other were of little honour.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "It was not my intention to offend you. Please milady, would you do me the honour of sitting with me."

"This title is not my due," she said proudly. "It was only lent to me for a time, for appearance's sake."

"I apologize goodwoman," he said, giving her the title of a married woman of free birth.

She nodded slowly and sat down on the chair he had indicated earlier, moving it slightly so that she was out of his reach. "My father was a well-situated trader in the city and I was raised in a gentle manner, learning to read, write and a little arithmetic as well as needlework and running a household. As I was an only child, and not unattractive, my father intended to marry me off well, if possible into the nobility."

Boromir nodded his understanding as he reached for the small loaf of bread, broke off a piece and dipped it into the soup. It was not an unusual ambition for a rich businessman to raise his family into nobility by buying an impoverished but noble son-in-law.

"Unfortunately my father had a bad series of misfortune which left him penniless and broken. He sent me to His Grace the Earl with a petition, which turned out to be a suicide note and a request to care for me. I never saw my father again, but His Grace was kind and took me in."

"As his lover."

Boromir's face reflected interest rather than condemnation so Rowena continued her story. "Not at first. I ran his household for him and made myself useful in any way I could. The love came later."

Her choice of words caused him to raise his eyebrow. "You loved him?"

She nodded, staring him straight in the eye as she said so. "He was beautiful, brave, and kind – what was there not to love?"

"And so you became lovers."

"And so we became lovers," she confirmed, her eyes glazing over as she recalled happy memories. "For five years, we lived together like husband and wife."

"But he did not marry you."

"How could he when he was already wed?"

"And did that not disturb you?"

She dropped her eyes and he knew that despite her words, she had suffered from the stigmata attached to her position. "She was nought but a child. Should he have remained celibate all of those years?"

Boromir sighed. He understood the frustration of a man who had been affianced when his bride was still in the cradle, and married when she barely reached his waist. He found the custom disturbing and was glad that his father had not seen fit to marry him for some imaginary political advantage. Oh yes, staring at the creamy skin of this woman, he could understand Liam's weakness, although he could not approve of it. There were wenches for a man's lust, but to take your gentle- born ward into your bed – that was asking for trouble.

"And when his wife arrived, he simply sent you away."

Rowena shook her head. "When I heard that Meria was on the way, I told Liam that it was over."

"Why did you do that?"

Instead of replying, Rowena nodded in the direction of the cot. "I was with child and although I may have survived the ignomity of my own situation, I did not want Arutha to suffer for it. So I asked Liam to settle the agreed dowry and to find me a husband."

"And this he did? He sent away his own son?"

Rowena stood up abruptly and stepped away, ignoring the fact that he had not given her permission to withdraw. She vanished into the pantry and returned a few minutes later with a round of cheese and a pitcher of wine. Indicating that he should cut the cheese, she busied herself with filling their goblets.

Boromir cut the cheese and then stopped.

"The cheese is no longer good," he said, picking up his spoon again.

"If it pleases My Lord," she smiled encouragingly, "the cheese is supposed to look like this. Please do not judge it by its appearance."

"Will you not sit with me again?" he asked, noticing her hovering.

"If you will try the cheese, I will sit with you again."

Boromir wondered at her audacity to bargain with him in such a manner. Gone was the shy farmer's wife and in her place was the lady of the manor. Letting a smile play upon his lips, he pulled the platter towards him and used his dagger to cut a piece from the block. He turned the cheese from side to side, wondering at the strange lines and the odd aroma it emanated. If he were at home, he would believe someone were trying to poison him, but this product had obviously been made for household consumption. He looked up to see Rowena watching him with anticipation in her eyes.

"Will you not sit goodwoman," he asked, reminding her of their agreement.

Not taking her eyes off him, she pulled out the chair in front of her, and sat down. She nodded encouragingly and he placed the piece of cheese into his mouth. The taste hit him seconds later and he let the intensity overwhelm him before biting into the morsel to test the texture. He had never tasted anything like it.

"What is it called?" he asked, his hand already reaching out for another piece.

"Blue vein cheese," she responded and for the first time since he had arrived, he saw her drop her guard, permitting the pride and joy in her accomplishment to shine from her eyes.

"If you sold this, you could make a fortune," he stated, filling his mouth with a larger piece than the first.

"That was our intention before William died. Since then it has been impossible for me to leave the valley." She stopped and the shuttered and hunted look returned.

"Tell me!" he encouraged her.

She shook her head. "It is not for the likes of me to speak ill of His Grace's designated sheriff." And in truth, how could she accuse the man of any crime when failure to believe in coincidence and a deeply rooted suspicion were all the evidence she had. Even now, observing this lord's frown, she wished she could retract her hastily spoken words. "It is nothing Milord, the sheriff has been very kind; he has even given generously of his money to tide me over after each of the unfortunate accidents that followed William's death."

"And now you are in his debt." The voice was low and she could hear the understanding in his voice; he knew that she believed the sheriff to be responsible for the series of ill fate that had followed her over the last five years.

She nodded, feeling the lump rise again in her throat as all the fears she held for her future rushed to overwhelm her. If she did not find the money before midsummer then she would be forced to marry the sheriff, toad that he was, or hand over the farm in payment of the debt incurred – again to the sheriff. Angus Hood knew what he was about, milking his position as the Earl's designated officer in this area, to his gain. And at the moment, he wanted two things: her and the farm. But not necessarily in that order. She squeezed her eyes shut at the thought of his hands upon her, not quite managing to subdue a shiver. She opened her eyes to find Boromir staring at her.

"Have you not tried to contact Liam?"

"No one will carry a message for me Milord." Who indeed would do anything for her, when it was widely known that the sheriff wished her to have no contact with the outside world. Even the stream of people, previously so keen to buy her teas and remedies, had subsided to a mere trickle. No-one wanted to buy her goods and she was lucky if anyone sold her anything these days. She hadn't even been able to find a labourer or maid this past year.

"And if you went yourself?"

"I am no longer welcome in the city Milord. Let us say that Liam and I did not depart on the best of terms and his wife would not exactly open the doors of the castle for me."

He noticed the tears glistening in the corner of her eyes and thought to sooth the painful memories from her mind. "It is hard for a man to lose his son, especially his first son. It would not matter whether that child were illegitimate or not." Truly he had to wonder at Liam for allowing this firstborn to live in such a place. Illegitimate or not, until a second child was born, Arutha was his father's heir.

Rowena rested her forehead against her hand, forcing Boromir to lean forward if he wished to hear her whispered words. And he did so desire. "Liam does not know that he has a son."

Boromir expelled an oath and drove his dagger into the wooden platter. "How can you dare to rob a man of his son? That is a sin beyond forgiveness. The two of you were living together, no-one would have questioned the paternity."

Rowena's hand had slipped from her forehead to rest below her chin; her face was white with fear and consternation. She had not expected this lord to explode in such a manner, to feel for another so intensely. "I believe it for the best Milord. Liam would have insisted that Arutha grow up in the castle. I wanted to spare him the disgrace of his birth and the frustration when another was born to take his place. I wanted to spare Liam the possibility of dispute amongst his sons. I wanted to save Meria from the humiliation of seeing Liam's unfaithfulness paraded before her eyes every day. And I wanted to be a mother to my son."

Boromir felt the rage slowly dispel within him at the quietly spoken words. It had not been an easy decision for her to make.

"We had a good life here. William was a kind and generous man and an excellent father to Arutha. He never treated him as anything but his own son, neither in thought nor in action. He loved him and he loved me."

"And did you love him?"

Again, he observed that movement with the chin, proud and independent. "I loved the way he took care of us."

So, she had not loved him, Boromir thought, and that made him sad; sad for her and sad for her late husband. What must it be like to live next to someone for so many years, knowing that her love belonged to someone else? His hand curled around the column of the goblet and he took a deep draught of the wine. It was not of the quality he preferred, but it was acceptable. A moan in the corner of the room caused the woman beside him to rear up and flee in the direction of her son. He watched her as she bent over the lad and measured his temperature with her hand, then, obviously finding no cause for alarm, allowed her hand to caress the plains of his face. How great must her fear have been when the boy had not come home today. She had traded all of life's comfort to be able to raise her son away from the intrigues of court life. What would she do if she lost him too?

"He will be fine, boys at that age are amazingly resilient."

She continued to stand and stare down at the once more peaceful figure. "He will be nine this summer. How much longer will I have him? How long will the sheriff suffer him in his household? It does not matter what happens to me, but I am afraid for him."

Feeling the tenderness in Rowena's gaze, Boromir felt himself moved to speak. "I will speak to Liam on his behalf." Silently Boromir cursed himself for taking on another's problems. Was it not enough that his city faced total destruction at the hands of the enemy? And if Gondor fell, what hope would there be for the fate of this one woman and her child? But that was the way he was, he could not pass by any injustice without wanting to right it.

She turned and faced him, the tears on her cheeks glittering in the light of the candles. "I thank you Milord," she whispered. He raised his goblet to her in a silent recognition of her thanks and drank it empty before turning to fill it once more.

He failed to hear her approach again, starting as he heard her voice close to his elbow. "Would My Lord care for a bath?"

"It is not necessary," he replied quickly. But even as he said it, the thoughts of a warm bath began to seduce him. He had been on the road for many weeks and his last bath had been in the cold waters of a river, hurried and uncomfortable for fear of being disturbed by outlaws or worse. He rolled one shoulder and then the other, imagining how the heat would smooth the bunched and tortured muscles.

Rowena sensed his indecision and pushed home her advantage. "It would be no additional work My Lord. I had already prepared the bath for Arutha. Although it would help, if you could carry in the hot water."

His upbringing made it difficult to refuse a request from a lady. And although Rowena disputed this title, her voice and bearing confirmed it; and his body carried out the command without thinking. Just as she had known that he would.

He carried the buckets of hot water into her bedroom and emptied them, one after the other, into the large wooden bath he found there. Again and again he made the short journey guided by the light of a dozen candles, until the water reached halfway up the sides. When he would have gone again, she stopped him by taking the buckets from his hands and placing them on the floor. Then she indicated a seat to the left and bade him sit in it so that she might remove his boots.

Over the years, Boromir had visited many castles and had had his bath attended by many ladies. It was considered impolite to leave one's guest at the mercy of a servant, and as a matter of course, the lady of the place attended all guests of a higher status. There was of course nothing to it and usually her husband would remain as well and even if he did not, there was no question of anything untoward happening. But with Rowena, it was different, she had no husband to defend her, neither in person nor in spirit and the longer he spent in her company, the more fascinated he became.

Rowena noted his reluctance and misinterpreted it. "I am not unused to attending the baths of gentlemen. Please permit me to do this small thing for you"

Boromir shrugged and sat down on the seat, letting her remove his boots, watching as she placed them tidily to the side of the chair. He stood to permit her to unlatch and remove his leather jerkin and the intricately brocaded doublet beneath it. She took a moment to study the skilled embroidery upon it with obvious pleasure, giving him a chance to study the profile of her face. Whether it was the beneficial lighting or his own needs, he was finding her more and more desirable with each passing moment.

Rowena carefully folded the scarlet doublet and placed it on the chest. It was not often that she was able to see a garment of this quality and her hands skimmed over the cloth with appreciation. She turned back to the waiting man and set to work on his travelling mail, her fingers instinctively searching for and finding the hidden joins. When she had accomplished the task, she slipped it from his body, balking at the weight in her arms for the few seconds before he removed it from her. Watching him in his breeches and undershirt brought back memories of another, likewise broad in shoulder and thin at the hip, strong in muscle but gentle in passion. Deep within herself she felt a stirring that she had almost forgotten, a stirring that caused her fingers to linger as she took off his linen shirt and admired the fine expanse of his chest, her eyes skimming across numerous scars that told of battles won and battles lost. She reached out to unlace his breeches, but his hands stayed hers, murmuring that he could finish himself as he turned away.

Flinching slightly at the unintentional slight, Rowena moved away and busied herself with selecting fine perfumes and oils from amongst her assortment. She replaced the simple rough weave cloth that she had readied for her son's bath with one made of the finest linen. It was not nearly as fine as the one used in Boromir's shirt, but it was the finest she possessed.

Her actions served to still her thoughts and lead them away from the paths of lust, upon which they sought to tread. Was it wrong for her to think thus? Was it wrong for her to feel desire for a man of such beauty and breeding? It was not as though she had made vows to keep herself pure. All she had to look forward to was nights of endless submission and fear in the arms of that ugly toad of a sheriff. Would it be so bad if, just once, she sought her own pleasure?

Boromir gasped at the heat of the water. He had entered the water too quickly and now it burned against his skin like fire. Fire from within and from without. He clenched his muscles together and then released them in an attempt to relax, an action which was only partially successful.

"My Lord is far too tense," he heard a voice say behind him, and felt her hands upon his shoulders, lubricated with a sweetly smelling oil. He bit on his lip to stop a moan escaping, thanking the gods for the shadows that hid his erection from her view. Her hands were strong and experienced, seeking the knots within his muscles and smoothing them away, until despite his predicament, he felt himself relax. When she had finished with his shoulders, her hands slipped forward to his chest with what felt like a fleeting caress.

"Would My Lord like me to wash his hair?"
Oh yes, his lordship would like her very much for her to wash his hair and every other part of his body and preferably then permit his lordship to return the favour. Not willing to trust his voice, Boromir nodded his assent, leaning his head backwards as she reached for a large jug to rinse his hair. He felt her fingers on the sensitive skin of his scalp, the pressure firm but the touch once again circumspect. Had he imagined the caress earlier? Had she really crossed the barrier? He could feel the blood coursing through his member and he closed his eyes in an attempt to block out the lurid images upon which his mind was focussing. He moaned and her fingers immediately stopped their delving.

"Have I hurt you My Lord?" she asked, her breath a little rushed.

"No! I am fine," he answered a little more gruffly than he had intended. She continued her ministrations, but her touch was gentler now, as though she were indeed afraid that she had hurt him. As she rinsed the lather from his hair, his thoughts turned to Liam and he wondered what sort of a fool the man must be to let a woman like this out of his embrace.

Rowena reached for the smaller length of linen and began to rub Boromir's hair dry. Iluvater forbid, but in her thoughts she was already thinking of him as Boromir and the feel of his skin aroused her no end, tightening the buds of her breasts and her quim. She wondered what he would do if she were to lean forward and kiss the hollow below his jaw; probably jump out of the bath and reprimand her for her unduly conduct. And the thought of him throwing her across his lap and smacking her bottom soundly caused her juices to run even faster and her hands to pause. In order to cover her lapse, she pulled the cloth away from his hair and ran her fingers through his hair in order to set them back into some sort of order.

"Would My Lord require me to finish washing him?"

It was not an unusual request. Some of Liam's visitors had preferred Rowena to wash them completely while others had wished the privacy of cleansing their own bodies. But Boromir seemed to find offence at the request; his refusal a brusque snap, leaving Rowena uncertain and wondering how she had offended him. Assuaging herself that perhaps customs were different in Gondor, Rowena placed the bottle of oil on the side of the bath and turned away before he could see her tears.

Boromir knew that he had offended her; he could see it in the stiffness of her back, but he would rather that she be upset than understand the true nature of his interest in her. He did not want her to give herself to him because she felt it was her duty; or out of a false sense of gratitude.

He took the bottle of bath oil and spilled a portion into his hand, appreciating not for the first time, the fine odour it released. He quickly soaped and rinsed his body, feeling the dust of the long road fall from his body and mind as he did so. He let his mind return to Gondor, to his father and brother and he recalled the argument they had had on that last morning. It sobered him and he felt his body respond accordingly.

Therefore, it was without shame and with his body under control that he stepped out of the bath and into the linen, held proffered in Rowena's hands.

Rowena felt her cheeks warm and her heart beat faster at the sight of Boromir exiting the bath. He was, even for a nobleman, quite simply perfect; his body well proportioned, his muscles well defined. Thus she was disappointed that her ministrations had not had even the slightest effect on him. Obviously she was not his type, or too old. It was even said that some men preferred other men to women and perhaps he was also such a one. Keeping her disappointment to herself, Rowena began to rub the back of the beautiful specimen in front of her, not satisfied until it glowed red in the candlelight.

She began to walk around to dry his chest, but slipped in a puddle of water and lost her balance. Instinctively her hands shot out and sought the most solid thing they could find: Boromir. At the same time as his arms caught her and stopped her from falling, she clutched at his waist, cursing at her clumsiness, shocked at her impropriety. She waited for him to push her away, but he did nothing of the sort; instead he pulled her back up to her feet and she found herself staring into the hypnotic depth of his eyes.

"Now would be a good time for you to tell me to stop," he said, holding her a few centimetres from his body.

Rowena felt her breath stop in her chest and she made a conscious effort to breath out. "But you haven't even begun My Lord," she returned.

"I do not wish to exploit my position at your expense," he replied although his eyes were focused on the bodice of her dress.

"I wish you would," she replied softly, moistening her lower lip in anticipation and trying to bridge the gap between their bodies. "I have nought to look forward to but this evening."

He laughed and she knew that she had persuaded him when he permitted her body to slide closer to his own, to discover the press of his erection against her stomach. She rubbed her hips against him and gasped when she felt his hands suddenly clasp her buttocks and pull her even closer.

"Call me Boromir," she heard him mutter before he covered her lips with his own. They were surprisingly soft for a man of his stature, and satisfactorily adept; adept enough to pull a groan from her throat when he began a foray into her mouth. She moved even closer to him, the friction induced between the pressure of his chest and the rough weave of her dress causing a splendid frisson to course down her spine. She reached upwards and weaved her fingers through the damp tendrils of his hair, encouraging him to increase the pressure. His hands slid upward along the length of her spine and began the assault on the bindings of her dress, then slipped away again to skim along the side of her breasts before fingering the line of her bodice, trying to figure out the quickest way into her body.

"His lordship is in too much of a hurry," she said pulling away from his lips as she did so.

Boromir groaned, "I am sorry Rowena, it has been too long."

She smiled back at him. "I know a remedy." Then before he could guess what she had in mind, and before he could raise any objections, she dropped to her knees and took him in her mouth.

It wasn't the solution he had been expecting, but when he felt her cool lips around his throbbing member, he did not bother to vocalise his protests. He could have spoken any words and she wouldn't have listened because his penis was speaking a language of its own, giving her the go-ahead. His fingers clenched around the edge of the bathtub and he closed his eyes, feeling the light fluttering of her tongue on his sensitive skin, the intimate exploration of every line and crevice. Vaguely he became aware of her hand upon his testicles, her touch light and teasing. Boromir sighed and risked reaching forward with one hand to seek the pins in her hair. As he removed the second one, and released the heavy plait from her head, she changed the pressure suddenly and he came before he could even think of holding back, pumping his seed into her mouth.

Rowena emptied the contents of her mouth into the small piece of cloth with which she had dried Boromir's hair, and then looked up at him smiling.

"The problem is solved, My Lord."

"Boromir, my name is Boromir," he replied, gathering her plait in his hand and winding it around his hand, like a fisher reeling in a prize fish.

"My Lord Boromir," she repeated obediently.

He kissed her gently upon the lips. "Just Boromir," he whispered.

"My Lord Just Boromir," she laughed, and he felt a familiar pull in his loins at the sound.

He smiled down at her. "Turn around."

Rowena did as he bid and felt his fingers at her waist, untying the apron she had bound there earlier. Then his hands were on the laces of her leather bodice, pulling them apart until he could remove the garment over her head. He slipped his hands under the waist of her blouse, his hands seeking and finding her breasts with the assuredness of a connoisseur. Rowena gasped as the fingers of one hand captured a nipple, while the other hand cupped a breast. She sagged back against him, her bottom grinding against him as her hands reaching up to unbutton the top of her blouse.

"My lady Rowena burns," he said huskily, rubbing the rough edge of his beard along the sensitive line of her neck. "I know a remedy."

She felt the muscles of her womb clench in expectation at his words, so tightly that she failed to notice his hands upon her blouse until the cloth caught at her chin. A twist of her head and it was gone and her breasts were exposed to the cool evening air. Rowena turned and looked into the eyes of the man in front of her, raised her hand and touched his chest, letting the tips furrow through the short hairs that adorned it. "Show me," she whispered.

In reply, he pulled her forward until their hips touched and she became aware of a new stirring in his groin. Rowena reached behind to undo the fastening at the top of her skirt, but his hands were there before her and his fingers made short work of the task. The garment dropped to the ground and Boromir took a moment to gaze upon her naked body. "Come to bed Rowena," he said after a moment of appraisal. "Come to bed and I will stop the burning."

Boromir took her by the hand and led her to the bed in the corner - her matrimonial bed. It seemed disloyal to make love to another here, in this sacred place but she discarded the emotion quickly. It was an old bed, others had made love here before her and others would make love here long after her memory was forgotten. In this night, this would be an altar to their needs and their desires; their refuge from reality.

He indicated that she should sit and he did the same, noting her sudden insecurity. He smiled reassuringly and finished unbraiding her hair; letting the heavy mass cover her shoulders like the finest of honey mead. Then he leaned forward and kissed her again, pushing her back against the mattress and plunging his tongue into her mouth, eager to fully explore this newly discovered land. And this time he took the time to enjoy his exploration, knowing that there was no risk that he would lose control too soon. Such a clever mouth, more luscious and more talented than the best of Gondorian courtesans.

He lowered his mouth to her breast, rejoicing in the softness and fullness of them. These were the breasts of a mother and he was willing to suckle like a babe in arms, his other hand gliding over her stomach and beyond, seeking the secret and hidden depths of her. She sighed and opened her legs with a wantonness that left him speechless. Which was a good thing considering where his mouth was at the moment. As his hand slid along the delta between her legs, he raised his head and smiled at her, aroused by the way that she stared back at him, her eyes and lips encouraging him to continue his ministrations. He chuckled and bent his head again, drawing the erect nipple back into his mouth with a pressure that raised her body from the bed, and drew her hands to his head like a magnet; but she did not push him away. He had guessed correctly, this was a woman who knew what she liked.

He watched her sink back against the mattress as he pressed his hand against her quim, finding her wet and waiting. He raised his hand, letting one finger travel along her labia until he found the hard nub of her clitoris. She whimpered as he grazed the sensitive mound, her hips moving knowingly in an attempt to increase the pressure. He felt her hands in his hair again and she began to caress his scalp. He caught her hands in his, ignoring her sweet protests of frustration, and stretched them high over her head until they contacted with the sheet, causing her breasts to rise and arch forward.

"Do not move," he said, with a voice laced with command. "Do not touch me unless I tell you to."

For a moment, watching her eyes widen, he wondered if he had over spun the bow, but then she nodded her agreement and he knew that Liam had played such games with her before.

"Do not speak unless I tell you to. Do not make any noise at all"

Again that knowing smile, again the instantaneous understanding. Satisfied that she would obey him, he returned to his unfinished occupation, his finger once again finding her clitoris and beginning a slow and gentle rhythm. Backwards and forwards, he travelled, again and again, not increasing the pressure, offering her a slow spiral of sensation, that increased her lust but offered her no chance of relief. And all the time he watched her, saw her fighting against her natural instinct to thrust her hips forward and fling her arms around him; saw a pearl of blood well up on her lip as she struggled to release no sound. He continued his slow assault, his palm and other fingers becoming increasingly wet as her juices flowed. Finally he saw the look he had been waiting for – a pleading, an acknowledgement that she had reached the limits of her endurance.

Smiling once again, he slid down towards her inner sanctum, savouring the erotic scent that swelled there. Dipping first one thumb and then the other into her warm lubrication, he spread the lips of her labia until her clitoris was laid bare like a volcano raging out of the sea. And forsooth, soon it would spew fourth fire – of that Boromir was sure. He lowered his mouth but stopped as he heard her whimper and the sound was curtailed instantly. Chuckling to himself, he dropped his head once more and ran the tip of his tongue over her sex. Through his lower arms, he felt the muscles of her thighs tighten but he continued to minister her bud with his mouth, increasing the pressure but not the pace. He let two fingers of one hand slip into her vagina at the same time as he sucked her clitoris into his mouth. Despite herself, she gasped and sat up, causing him to stop once more.

"Forgive me My Lord," she said before returning to the original position. Then he heard her moan as she realised that she had disobeyed his command. And it did not sound like a whimper of fear – more like one of lust.

He let her wait for a moment, before he trailed his fingers back down the length of her body and slipped them inside once more. She caught her breath but he let it pass without comment as he probed for the sensitive mound of nerves in her vagina. He knew that he had found it when he saw her eyelids flutter involuntarily and suddenly he wanted to hear her.

"Tell me what you are feeling Rowena. I want to hear you."

"My Lord?" she asked uncertainly.

"You heard me Rowena, I give you permission to speak," he repeated, stroking the point repeatedly while the thumb of his right hand returned to her engorged clit.

"I can feel you My Lord," she began licking her lips nervously. "I can feel your fingers touching me inside and it is … arousing but it is your thumb that drives me beyond the limits of control." Here she stopped talking in order to whimper and Boromir knew that she was getting close. "I am both hot and cold at once and I feel your ministrations with every nerve of my body. My nipples are hard as though you were touching them too. And at this moment I hate you for taunting me so long and love you for bringing me so much pleasure. I am aflame My Lord Boromir and I would have you douse me."

Boromir felt himself harden even further at her words and he increased speed and pressure on her nub. It was a bare minute later that he felt her internal muscles tighten around his fingers, her whimpering increasing in pitch until it resembled the cry of a cat He waited until her spasms stopped, then pulled his fingers from her, leaning forward to bed his head down upon the soft cushion of her belly.

"May I move, My Lord?" she asked and Boromir realised that she was still bound by his earlier instructions.

"You may move Rowena," he said softly.

Rowena reached down and caressed Boromir's head. She would never have guessed his prowess in the bed, had heard no rumour of it in the years she had spent at Liam's court. She wondered how he had managed to keep this secret and then shuddered at the possibilities. It had been years before Liam had trusted his secret pleasures to her and months before she had conceded to his wishes. And she had been surprised when she had found pleasure in his fantasies. But somehow, she felt that this man, this lord over men, was willing to go even further than Liam had ever gone and that excited her. And the pressure of his penis, once more hard and willing, against the side of her leg was enough evidence that he too was ready to proceed.
His tongue streaked out and licked her stomach before his teeth bit into the soft mound of flesh.

"You disobeyed me," he said, his hand reaching upwards to circle one trembling breast.

"Yes," she agreed, her voice curious but not alarmed. "Will you punish me?"

He lifted his head from her stomach and sat up, his legs slipping over the side of the bed. The look that he gave her hardened Rowena's nipples again while his hands reached out, and grasping her hips, pulled her up onto his lap. She shivered as she felt his erection brush against her skin. With one hand he lifted her head upwards and kissed her on the lips, sucking in her injured lower lip.

"It seems to me that you have already punished yourself." He said a moment later and she would have replied but he surprised her by flipping her over so that her bottom was now facing upwards, and before she could struggle or protest his hand came down and met her flesh with a stinging slap.

Taken off guard, Rowena shrieked and tried to pull away, but he continued to hold her tightly. "Oh no, my lady. I do not allow insubordination."

Rowena began to kick with her feet. "My Lord Boromir, I do not want to play such games with you."

His only reply was to run his fingers between her legs and reassure himself of the juice collecting there. After a few minutes of kicking and struggling, Rowena stopped, realising that her actions were having no effect upon her predicament. It seemed that she would have to place herself in Boromir's hands – quite literally.

When she was quiet, his hand came down twice in quick succession, and although it hurt, she forced herself to remain quiet. "It is over, Rowena. Consider yourself punished."

Finding her bottom released, Rowena touched her the heated skin there in an absent minded way as she wiggled off Boromir's lap. She sat up and smiled at Boromir.

"My Lord has a heavy hand."

He grinned back at her. "Should I have been more gentle?"

"No," she replied, returning the grin with aplomb..

"That's what I thought," he said, lying down on the bed beside her. "Come and ride me Rowena, I have ridden enough these last ten days."

Rowena felt her eyes drawn to Boromir's groin, his penis engorged and pressing against the flat expanse of his belly. She reached out a hand to touch him gently. "But my bottom hurts," she protested.

"That was the intention," he replied, his voice adopting impatience as hers had adopted protest a moment earlier. "Now mount me before I get angry again."

Rowena smiled again and lent over to kiss his lips while she raised her right leg and seated herself astride his stomach.

"My lady, you are too high," Boromir said taking her hips in his hands and pushing her southwards until she felt her quim assail his member. She let herself rub up and down his hard flesh for a time before she took his proud staff in both hands and placed him at the entrance to her vagina. He gasped as she teased him, letting him slip the tip in for a second then letting him fall out again.

"You are a wicked witch," he gasped.

"So I am told," Rowena replied, sliding herself down the length of his shaft until she could feel his pubic hairs tickling against her heated bottom. She ran her fingers over breasts and tweaked her nipples until they stood firm and hard, then let them ripple down the length of her body to settle upon the tops of her thighs. And there she let them rest.

"Ride me Rowena. Do not just sit there."

"I was but admiring the view, My Lord," she replied, squeezing her knees against his side to provide herself with some leverage and then began to move her hips in a circular eight. She could tell that he was fighting against the urge to roll her over and thrust into her by the way his fingers began to dig into her hips.

"Move faster Rowena," he commanded.

"It is not good to ride a stallion fast without warming him up," Rowena replied, stopping as she spoke to squeeze her muscles around him.

"Your horse is already warmed up, my lady."

Rowena pressed her knees back into his side and began to simulate a trotting pace, rising herself up to the tip of his penis and then slapping herself down again, concentrating to keep her back straight all the while.

Then she stopped.

Boromir opened his eyes in disbelief. "Why do you stop my lady?" he groaned.

Rowena cocked her head to one side. "My bottom hurts," she responded.

Boromir moved his hands forward until they reached the cheeks of her bottom. "If you don't start cantering soon, then more will begin to hurt than your bottom!"

Rowena pouted at Boromir and flung her hair over her shoulder so that her breasts were covered, but she followed his request, adopting a rolling motion that moved her hips forward and backwards in a steady tact until she felt that he was close to exploding. Then she walked her hands along his chest and down to the mattress until her breasts were directly above him, thus resituating part of her weight forward and allowing him to move his hips freely. He raised his head and took one pert nipple into his mouth, sucking hard at the same time as his hands gripped painfully on the hot flesh of her bottom and he began to thrust his hips upward.

His thrusts were hard, and Rowena needed a few repetitions before she could match his pace, overcome by sensation as she was. This was the way that she liked it – hard and dominant and this was a man who knew how to rub her in exactly the right way.

He came seconds before she did; she could see it in his eyes, in the way that his pupils contracted for a split second, in the way that his face metamorphosed into a grimace before softening again. As she came she let herself slip downward, crushing her breasts against his chest and snuggling into the cove of his neck. She breathed in his scent as she waited for his heart to stop beating, rejoicing in the feel of his hand on her back.

If she could have, she would have kept him, or let herself be kept by him. But deep in her heart she knew that this was the only night that the two of them would spend together.

But that didn't stop her from thinking about him after he had left. It didn't stop her from wondering if he had kept good his word and spoken to Liam on her behalf. It didn't stop her worrying about her son and his fate. And as the days passed, her heart sank deeper in her bosom and her head became more bowed as she went about her daily tasks.

And then the strangers rode into her courtyard as she was leaving the stable with the daily milk. She felt her heart plummet, instantaneously aware that she was too far away from the house and stable to be able to run for a weapon and even with a pitchfork in the hand, she would be unable to defeat six men on horseback. There remained no alternative but for her to brazen out the unexpected visit, glad that Arutha was safe in the meadow with the sheep. Carefully she placed the buckets of milk on the ground and walked towards the group of men.

They turned in her direction as she approached them, the front ones rearranging their horses to do so. Rowena dried her hands on the large apron covering her simple gown, more in an attempt to steady her hands than to clean them in any way. The men did not look threatening, but in these troubled times, you could not always tell. She took heart from the fact that one of their number, whom she assumed to be their leader, dismounted as she came closer, his cloak opening to expose the uniform of Liam's soldiers. Boromir must have kept his promise after all, she thought excitedly, she had hoped that he would but as the days had passed she had begun to fear that some evil had befallen him. For the first time in years, she let herself feel hope.

"Goodwoman Landsend?" the officer asked, his face motionless.

"Yes," she confirmed, lifting her gaze to meet eyes of vivid blue.

"Goodwoman Landsend, My Lord, His Grace Liam of Jyranee sends greetings and thanks for the gift of cheese sent to him."

Rowena nodded, wondering if the man could hear her heart beating, so wildly did it pound against her ribs. "His Grace is more than generous."

The man waited a moment before he replied, and Rowena could see that he was assessing not only her character but her body as well, a bold caress that caused her breath to catch in her throat. "His Grace requests that five kilos of the same quality be delivered to the castle on a weekly basis."

Rowena gasped. There was no way that she could produce her cheese in such quantities, not with only three cows. "I'm afraid," she stuttered, "I'm afraid that that is an impossible request."

The officer continued as though she hadn't spoken. "Of course His Grace is aware that such a production may not be possible at this time due to lack of stock. To this purpose he will send you ten of his best cows and heifers within the week. He will also lend you a number of his workers to get the farm back into running order."

Slowly the message behind the man's words seeped through to Rowena's brain and tears began to form in her eyes. Liam had not forgotten her. Liam was not angry with her. Liam was still willing to help her.

"In return, His Grace requests that 50% of the farm and its profits be turned over to him."

Involuntarily Rowena gasped at Liam's bold demand but then lowered her eyes obediently. Of course he was a good businessman – had she not taught him herself? But to ask for so much? For a split second, she had hoped that the memory of his love for her would temper his actions. But what did it matter – after all 50% was better than the 100% she would lose to the sheriff if she refused the offer.

"Of that 50%, 30% is to be invested in the new sheriff, who will also oversee the farm and ensure that everything runs according to His Grace's wishes."

At the mention of the sheriff, Rowena's looked upwards again and she asked in alarm, "the new sheriff?"

For the first time, since he had arrived in her courtyard, the man in front of her smiled and she became aware of how handsome he was. Slight wrinkles decorated the sides of his eyes and his gaze worked both experienced and amused. "I am the new sheriff," he replied to her question. "And His Grace has given me very exact instructions on how to proceed should his commands not be fulfilled."

Despite herself, Rowena felt her nipples tighten at the unspoken promise in this man's words. And she wondered just what Liam had told this man about her and just how he had instructed him. Then her face flushed with colour as she recalled her night with Boromir. Just what had Boromir told His Grace?

"I am at you service, My Lord Sheriff," she answered, bowing formally from the waist, hoping that the man had not spied the lust in her eyes.

"I certainly hope so," he replied, turning slightly so that his answer could not be heard by the men behind them. Then he too, bowed formally.

Curiosity drove her to ask the next question. "What happened to our former sheriff?"

Raising an eyebrow, the new sheriff replied. "His Grace requires his skills on the outskirts of his lands. There have been an increase in attacks by orcs and his lordship needs good men there."

Rowena nodded, knowing that it was unlikely that she would ever have to see the detested man again. The marshlands were notorious not only for death at the hands of orcs, but also from the dreaded river disease. The new sheriff nodded in her direction once more and mounted his horse again. Before he could leave however, she called out "May I be permitted to know the new sheriff's name?"

He dipped his head in an elegant manner before replying. "My name is Eric, also known as the Bold. Oh and before I forget Goodwoman. I understand that you have a son?"

"Yes My Lord," she answered, once again worried at the significance of this question.

"His Grace requests that Arutha of Landsend be sent to his brother at Teleron, there to take up his duties as a page before the month is over. An escort of soldiers will be provided by myself at the appointed time."

Before Rowena could even comment on the honour bestowed upon her house, the new sheriff of the shire departed her courtyard with a rattle of hooves and the soft squeak of leather upon leather.

She stood there long after she ceased to hear their commotion, her thoughts centred on the new sheriff and his dancing blue eyes.

*****

THE END

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: JackieS