Thistles and Wee Creatures
http://www.arkwolf.com/caillechsite/index.html
This is the standard disclaimer. They
don't belong to me. This story is not intended to violate any copyrights held
by Paramount, UPN, or Pet Fly Productions.
This story contains corporal punishment.
Be warned.
Verra big thanks to Spacepixell for beta duty and suggestions.
This story is dedicated to Shiredancer…you’ll see why. * wink *
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Blair picked at his breakfast, thankful for the reprieve of being able to eat standing up while at the same time embarrassed to be once again in the predicament of having to do so.
Lizzie clucked and fussed over him, giving James an evil eye every chance she was able, siding quite clearly with Blair in the matter of the previous day’s escapade. Even though Blair hadn’t enlisted her sympathy, the woman had extended it nonetheless and made a show of acting motherly toward the ‘poor wee laddie’.
“Enough, good woman,” James finally interjected. “The lad was but skelped, and deservedly, as he well knows. I didna torture him.” He smiled indulgently at Lizzie, but she was having none of it.
“Och, you’re a mean old sot, is what you are James Ellison,” Lizzie snipped as she patted Blair supportively on the shoulder. “Come with me, Blair, I’ve need of your assistance in the garden.” She narrowed her eyes at James, daring him to countermand her directive.
James wasn’t up to haggling with the woman, whose maternal claws seemed to be embedded in his wee monster. And perhaps the lad could do with a bit of mothering James mused, as well as a chore to take his mind off his tender bum. He winked at Blair, and conceded to Lizzie graciously.
“Off with you then,” he ordered, as if the idea were his own. He waved his hand dismissively toward the door, indicating Blair could be excused. “A bit of time in the fresh air will do you good, I’ll wager.”
Lizzie ushered her charge out of the dining room with a dismissive grunt of her own, aimed squarely at James. Blair shot James a thankful look over his shoulder as Lizzie hustled him away.
Stephen shook his head and laughingly stated, “He’s a way about him and no doubt. You’d better be careful James. I fear Lizzie will sink her claws into your hide if you continue to mistreat her foundling.”
James batted his brother affectionately and nodded in agreement as the two men finished their meal.
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Once in the garden, Blair made himself useful helping Lizzie pull weeds and harvest vegetables and herbs for the day’s cooking. The two squirreled away a good portion of the morning nurturing a few flagging plants with water and extra attention, all the while laughing and needling each other with silly tales and adventurous yarns.
Soon Lizzie was needed inside but Blair continued on, determined to finish up in the corner of the garden he’d temporarily staked as his own. He was almost to the end of a row of cabbage, when he tugged on a brown wilted leaf, tearing it away. He snatched his hand away quickly when he saw what had been hiding beneath it. A tiny hedgehog, rolled defensively into a ball, was snoozing peacefully in the cool damp earth.
Blair reached out tentatively, touching the spiny ball warily with his fingertips. Getting no reaction from the little creature, he became bold. He worked his hand under the hedgehog and scooped it into his palm. He patted it gently and was rewarded by two beady little eyes peering at him from amid the soft fur of its brow. The little ears twitched and Blair smiled in delight.
“Ah, there, my dear furze-pig,” he trilled softly “aren’t you a braw handsome lad?”
The creature sniffed at Blair’s hand and made itself comfortable, seemingly not in the least startled by its abrupt awakening.
“Oh, and brave too I see,” Blair praised as he petted the hedgehog’s ears. “I could do with a bit of company as I’m not in the good graces of my ogre of a lord at the moment,” he teased, more for his benefit than that of the wee beast. “What shall I call you?” Blair looked at the hedgehog expectantly for a moment. “I think I shall call you wee Geordie, if the name doesna displease you.”
Wee Geordie voiced no objection, but rather snuggled into a ball once again. Inordinately pleased by this, Blair carefully stowed the creature in his sporran, nestling it safely among the trinkets he kept within. He plucked a few scraps of vegetables from the discard heap and dropped them into the pouch. Then he closed the flap and secured it loosely, being careful to leave a space for air to enter. He resumed his chore, cheerily completing the mundane task within a few minutes.
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The remainder of the day passed pleasantly enough. James and Stephen had business yet to attend in Inverness, and took the opportunity to show Blair more of the town. They stopped here and there among the shops and markets, to admire the wares. James allowed Blair to choose a pipe for William, as well as a sample of tobacco from the Indies. A few additional trifles were acquired, some necessities, some simple indulgences for Simon, Sally and a few other members of the household at Cascade Moor.
When Blair petulantly suggested some of the amenities could have been attained for a pittance from Jamaica Pete, James brought him up short with a swift rebuke.
“Ouch!” Blair exclaimed as James’ hand landed on his backside. “’Twas but a suggestion, James, truly,” he insisted with an innocent, aggrieved look.
It was when they returned to the inn and procured a drink to slake their thirst that wee Geordie decided to wake. They chose an outside table in the shaded courtyard of the inn. Stephen and James seated themselves while Blair opted to stand, ostensibly to admire a sculpture hidden among overhanging vines. It was then that Stephen took note of Blair’s sporran coming to life. The pouch moved, at first barely noticeably but soon with sustained movement.
“Blair?” Stephen asked guardedly as he tried not to stare at the lad’s sporran. He kicked James’ foot and nodded at Blair circumspectly when James questioned him with a look. “Is there something amiss?”
“What?” Blair replied just as wee Geordie’s nose poked out of the sporran.
Stephen’s eyebrows rose comically and he made no attempt to stifle his laughter as he pointed at the animated sporran.
James looked over curiously and joined in with Stephen’s laughter.
“You seem to have a visitor, lad,” James managed to get out as Blair’s eyes followed Stephen’s direction.
“Oh!” Blair exclaimed. “You’re awake!”
He looked at James and Stephen, his eyes gleeful. He carefully opened the sporran and removed the hedgehog from the pouch. He held it in his hand, stroking it soothingly as he showed it to James and Stephen.
“’Tis a hedgehog. I found him in the garden this morning. I’ve named him wee Geordie, as the resemblance is remarkable,” he said with a giggle. “They sleep during the day most often, aye? So I was of a mind to allow him to slumber for a while, and then examine him more closely this evening do you see?”
“Well,” Stephen observed. “He does seem to have taken a liking to you.”
“Oh, aye! He’s grand is he no?” Blair enthused.
James held out his hand and Blair slipped the hedgehog onto it. James looked it over closely, with a sentinel’s eye, wary that the creature might be so docile due to sickness. He listened to the tiny heartbeat, and judged the animal’s temperature as he sniffed for any sign of distress or infection. Satisfied that all was well, he handed it back to Blair.
“Yes, lad, he is grand indeed. Though I think it unusual for such a solitary creature to allow itself to be handled so. ‘Tis most strange,” James observed. Seeing a look of disappointment begin to cloud Blair’s features, he added, “He doesna appear to be ill. Perhaps it’s just he’s as curious about you as you are about him, aye?”
“Aye,” Blair agreed with an enthusiastic nod of his head. The trinkets and charms in his hair bobbed against each other, creating a subdued racket, but one loud enough to startle the hedgehog.
“There, there,” Blair soothed as he cupped wee Geordie protectively in both hands. “’Tis naught but my adornments, not to worry, aye?”
The hedgehog seemed agreeable to Blair’s explanation and once again rolled itself into a ball.
“Perhaps it would be best if you were to release it back to the garden,” James suggested.
“But James,” Blair responded, “I’ve not had a chance to get to know him as yet. And could he not accompany us back to Cascade Moor? He’d make a fine addition to Sally’s garden, would he no? I’ll wager he’s a fine guardian, devouring all manner of nasty pests---,”
James stilled Blair’s recitation of wee Geordie’s attributes by closing his eyes and waggling his hands in surrender.
“Aye, verra well then. Find a suitable small crate or such for him---, No! Not your sporran,” James chided as Blair tucked wee Geordie back inside.
“Oh but I want to keep him with me,” Blair argued. “He’s no trouble and I can---,”
“No,” James warned emphatically. “I’m none so sure you’d remain in Lizzie’s favor if wee Geordie were to escape his hidey-hole and rifle through her stores. Your sporran is no place for him. Do I make myself clear?”
Blair’s shoulders slumped dejectedly. “Aye,” he muttered, “clear.”
“Verra well then, we’d best get ready for dinner. And then we’ve the concert to get ready for, aye?” James concluded as he clapped his hands together a few times.
Stephen, who’d been watching in silence the while, now spoke up to help boost Blair’s spirits.
“It’ll be all right, lad,” he said as he rose and stood next to Blair. He leaned close and whispered conspiratorially to Blair as he nodded toward James, “He’s always been a big bully just because he’s the older brother, aye?”
Blair brightened a bit at this as Stephen threw an arm around his shoulder and walked him toward the inn.
“Yes, I can see that,” Blair joined in, nodding his head gravely. “It must have been terrible for you having to put up with his heavy handedness while growing up.”
“You’ve no idea,” Stephen commiserated as the two of them watched James surreptitiously, grinning madly as the sentinel reacted appropriately with a sly smirk and fond head shake.
With James’ attention diverted, Blair saw no reason for wee Geordie not to remain nestled in his sporran, at least for the remainder of the evening.
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“Must you act as if you’re beset with apoplexy each time you’re required to put this on?” James questioned as he squared the stock at Blair’s neck. He straightened the offending piece of leather, tinkering with it for the tenth time since Blair had put it on.
“It’s a nuisance, a tortuous contrivance that serves no purpose,” Blair protested as he jiggled impatiently. He longed to rip the thing off, or at least fidget with it some more, but he kept his hands away as James adjusted it.
James gave Blair an appraising once-over and seemed satisfied at last. Blair pulled a strand of hair from the tail James’ had secured his mane into and toyed with the polished bone trinket Geordie had given him.
“Now then,” James said as he straightened and headed toward the entrance of the gallery with Stephen and Blair in tow.
Recognizing the tone of voice, Blair cut in with a teasing recitation, “Yes, James, I will be on my best behavior James, I’ll not fidget unduly, James, I’ll not discard my clothes and accoutrements and dance about like a savage, though I may be tempted, James.”
James decided to take the comments as they were meant. “Aye, that’s as well as I’m sure the proprietor would have allowed to charge more for a display such as that.”
With that, he led the way into the concert hall.
They’d only made it a few steps, when James realized Blair was no longer at his side. He turned back to see Blair standing stock-still just inside the door, gazing about wide-eyed, with his mouth hanging open.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Blair breathed out in awe as he took in the richly appointed gallery.
There were crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, intricate tapestries along the walls, and brocaded upholstery on the chairs. Women and men decked out in tartan finery and clan emblems milled about speaking in hushed tones while waiting for the call to be seated.
The seats James had purchased were well to the front of the gallery, and they moved slowly toward them, due both to Blair’s dragging feet as he rapturously observed everything going on as well as James and Stephen being stopped by acquaintances and well-wishers.
Once arrived at their designated spot, James pushed Blair down onto a chair; sure the boy would have remained standing, mouth agape, if he’d not done so. Blair stood automatically, hissing a bit as his still tender bum first made contact. James waited for a moment, allowing Blair to briskly rub his backside, and then insisted Blair be seated. Blair lowered himself gingerly and was relieved to find the chair’s soft padding was not just for show.
Small tables were set about among the chairs upon which sat fine china plates filled with sweets and dainty pastries. Well-appointed stewards roamed about baring silver trays laden with exquisite glass goblets filled with wine, tall pewter tankards filled with ale, and small glass cups filled with punch.
Stephen popped a few of the sweets into his mouth and nudged Blair with an elbow as one of the stewards happened by, indicating Blair should take one of the proffered drinks. Blair shook his head nervously, declining the offer. He didn’t even want to think about allowing one of the fancy glasses to slip from his shaky grasp.
James signaled another steward whose tray held heavy bottomed tumblers. James sniffed the air and picked a glass containing a weak beer. He drained about three quarters of the liquid and then handed it to Blair with a wink.
“’Tis just a wee dram, to help ye overcome the jitters. Have a care, so you’ll not spill any, aye?” James prodded.
Blair nodded in agreement, and took the glass with two hands. He gulped a few swallows, trying not to slurp, and swiped the lacy cuff of his shirtsleeve across his mouth before handing it back to James.
The gallery began to quiet down just then as the musicians entered. James relaxed a bit and Blair tensed, belatedly realizing he should have been aiding James with his senses. There was much which might have caused distress…the flickering candlelight reflected off the chandeliers’ crystals, the smells of food and drink mingled with cologne, body odor and woolen tartans, the mixed array of voices in varying decibel levels.
“Not to worry, Blair,” James whispered, “my senses are fine. You’ve not shirked your duty, so sit still now and enjoy the music.”
The musicians bowed and took their seats. Conversations ebbed and died out around them and the stewards retired to stand along the gallery’s walls in small alcoves carved out for just that purpose. Polite applause started up and Blair joined in, following James’ lead.
And then the music began and Blair thought perhaps he was in heaven, if such a place existed. He’d heard all manner of music, including violins, but never played like this. The sounds were ethereal, gentle strains floating through the air. This was nothing like the fiddle music he was used to hearing as played on the docks, or in a tavern, or by traveling minstrels and certainly not akin to the wild, unrestrained Highland ballads accompanied by drums and pipes.
It was just as the first set ended, and the Interlude announced, that Blair noticed wee Geordie beginning to stir.
The patrons were applauding with a tad more enthusiasm than was exhibited during the prelude, people were rising to mill about once again…stretching their legs or to take some refreshment or air before the next set began.
James seemed inclined to step outside, perhaps to clear his senses, and motioned for Blair to join him. As Blair rose from his seat, wee Geordie stuck his head out of his sporran. The youngster hastened to push the small nose back inside before James took notice. But the wee creature managed to get his head twisted about and his neck was stuck under the thong that fastened the outer flap shut.
Watching James from the corner of his eyes Blair popped the loop, freeing the flap, and slid his hand inside with the intention of resettling Geordie.
At the same moment, James grabbed Blair by the elbow in order to steer him toward the exit.
The result was wee Geordie was one moment curled within Blair’s loose grasp and the next was yanked out and into the open. The sudden movement served to startle the tiny creature and before Blair could prevent it, the hedgehog bolted from his hold. He landed on the front of James’ kilt near his knees and dug his tiny claws into the fabric.
Scrabbling for the cover of a warm dark place, as was his nature, Geordie quickly scurried downward and then up and under the edge of James’ kilt. The actions transpired in less than a few seconds, and all James was aware of was the strange sensation of something brushing against his legs.
As James’ hand came down to dust the edge of his kilt and assuage the tickling, thinking it due to nothing more than the kilt brushing his leg, Blair lunged forward.
“No!” Blair yelled as he tackled James around the midsection, knocking him backward.
The force propelled them both into one of the nearby tables sending it, and them, crashing down and sliding across the floor. Splinters of the table along with shards of broken china and clumps of pastry splattered across the floor.
James and Blair careened into Stephen, knocking his feet out from under him as well.
As they hit the floor, Geordie fled from under James’ kilt and took off across the floor. His claws had trouble finding purchase on the polished wood and the slippery gobs of pastry, as did Blair as he pursued the hedgehog on hands, knees and belly.
Almost as soon as he’d hit the floor, James was back on his feet. He’d no idea what had caused Blair’s sudden panic, but the sentinel reflexively went on the defensive. Assuming his guide was once again in some sort of danger, James focused his senses. He tracked Blair across the room, prowling and snarling, as he shoved people out of his way. Stephen followed close on his heels.
Other concertgoers were forced to either jump back in order to avoid being bowled over, or suffer the consequences of a crazed looking urchin upending them. Either way, many ended up on their backsides, taking even more people with them as they grabbed onto arms, legs, dresses, or kilts in an attempt to avoid going down. More tables were demolished with additional food and drink splattered about, adding to the mayhem.
Within a matter of minutes, the gallery was in a state of mild ruination. And as the commotion subsided, all eyes followed the path of destruction. At the end of the debris trail sat Blair hunkered with his back against the wall in one of the alcoves, his hair and attire in a state of disarray. He sat cross-legged, oblivious to everything save wee Geordie, who was now secured within his cupped hands. The lad was murmuring assurances to the wee creature, stroking the top of its head with a thumb.
And when they came upon Blair and saw what had caused the ruckus, Stephen was hard pressed to restrain James from throttling Blair on the spot.
“Blair,” James ground out between clenched teeth. He shook free of Stephen’s hold and gave his brother a cautionary look, assuring him he had no intention of strangling the lad.
Blair glanced about then, and his face fell. He paled as he took in the state of the gallery. And what little color remained drained completely as he looked up into James’ simmering countenance.
“It’s wee Geordie,” Blair explained unnecessarily as he pulled himself up. He extended his arms toward James to show him. “I didna want him to get trampled,” he said bravely, his voice cracking just a bit.
James’ eyes softened a mite, but the grim set remained on his face as he jerked his head toward Stephen. Blair understood his meaning and handed Geordie to Stephen.
The proprietor of the gallery stood off to James’ right shaking his head miserably. The patrons were also gathered about, composing their wits and doing what they could to adjust their attire. Women fanned themselves breathlessly as they rearranged their hair and sipped the wine that was once again being offered. A clean up was already underway as additional stewards and some serving maids went about righting chairs and sweeping away the broken tables, chairs, china and glasses.
Without being asked or told, Blair took a step forward and spoke up.
“I’m verra sorry for the disturbance I’ve caused. And I hope I’ve not caused too much undue stress due to my, um, my,” Blair fumbled for the right word and settled for one he hoped would do, “unruly behavior.”
James turned to the proprietor and instructed him to tally the damage and present the bill to him. Then he returned his attention to Blair. He righted a chair that had landed on its side next to him and sat down. He crooked a finger toward Blair and waited.
Blair’s eyes rounded to the size of saucers as he realized what James meant to do and he stayed right where he was.
“Believe me lad, you dinna want me to have to come get you,” James stated coldly.
Blair shuffled slowly toward James, shaking his head as he tried not to think of all the people standing about.
When he reached James’ side, Blair didn’t struggle as he was lowered over the sentinel’s thighs.
“How much longer is the Interlude?” James inquired of the proprietor.
“A quarter of an hour or thereabout, I should say,” the man answered as he realized the damage was not so great at to prevent the concert to continue.
“Verra well, lad,” James spoke to Blair. “You’ll be feeling the back of my hand for the next quarter hour, or thereabout.”
Stephen took up a post directly behind James, with his back to his brother. He shooed the onlookers back a bit, to give James a small amount of privacy and preserve a wee bit of the lad’s dignity. Then he crossed his arms and indicated to James he could commence.
Blair’s felt the color and warmth rise in his cheeks as James flipped his kilt off his backside.
James ignored the light pink blush that still colored Blair’s butt from the previous day’s paddling. If the lad insisted on disobeying or defying him, then he’d have no qualms about turning him over his knee everyday if warranted.
James began spanking and set a steady pace knowing his hand, if not Blair’s backside, needed to last the fifteen-minute course.
Blair grunted and hissed, but steadfastly refused to let anything louder escape his lips. James’ hand unerringly found its mark over and over. And just as Blair feared the spot James was concentrating on could take no more, the highlander would move to another area. Every inch of Blair’s bum received its rightful share of attention, and soon the flesh was hot and red.
A quarter of an hour might just as well have been an hour, for it certainly seemed to Blair that he was across James’ lap for at least that long.
When at last a bell was rung, indicating the intermission’s end, James delivered a final round of swift, hard wallops and brought the skelping to an end.
He helped Blair to his feet, and immediately began rearranging Blair’s attire.
Blair hung his head, studying the floor. He surreptitiously peered up and about; relieved to note that most everyone had moved off to retake his or her seat for the second half of the performance. He stood as still as he could as James fussed with his clothing, and resisted the urge to bring more attention to himself by rubbing his arse.
Even with unwanted spectators looking on, James still drew Blair to him and gave him a hearty hug. He rubbed the youngster’s back, murmured exasperated sounding reassurances, and kissed the top of his head.
“Will you take wee Geordie from me?” Blair whispered into the folds of James’ shirt. His voice sounded fearful and shaky.
James hugged Blair close to him as they made their way back across the gallery. Stephen walked with them, close on Blair’s other side. Snide comments and muttered words, approving of James’ actions, met them as they made their way back to their seats. James just squeezed Blair’s shoulder, offering him his strength, and Stephen nudged him in the ribs.
“No, my wee monster,” James assured as Stephen handed Geordie back to Blair. “I’m of a mind all wee creatures must band together,” he added with a chuckle.
Blair petted his wee creature and carefully put him back in his sporran.
And then he joined in chuckling along with James and Stephen as he gave up and rubbed his stinging rump.
The End.