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.Corsicanthrax (and Forrestal)	By : keithcompany Category: M through R > Monty Python Views: 1912 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Monty Python, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Author's Note: Further adventures in King Arthur's Court. Place here because the knights of the round table in this story look an awful lot like the knights in Monty Python's Holy Grail. And Lady Vicarious looks, in my head, like Zoot. Or maybe Dingo...?

Arthur strode along the wall of Camelot. He liked to tour the walls, touch the stones, look out over the approaches.
It'd been a while since they'd been at war, but he liked to consider himself ready to ride again.
Below him, inside the courtyard, knights practiced. They wore armor and pounded each other with weighted weapons. A few hours a day lifting those monstrosities, the real stuff felt light as a feather in combat.
Most favored swords. A few of the knights from up North swung axes. They were fully integrated with the rest of Arthur's forces, but they liked everyone to know of their Saxon heritage.
Arthur gauged the fighting automatically. Lancelot wasn't down there, so anyone had a chance to come out on top.
But he didn't want any of these knights. They were all Christian.
Further on was the archery range.   An auxiliary company of archers waited to practice. Arthur saw the red heads of the men he wanted and started down a tower.
MacLyss was Gaelic, probably Irish. Arthur wasn't sure. When he spoke about his homeland, the accent got thick and the voice thicker. He sounded like he was coughing through the tail of a Shetland pony.
But it didn't matter. He was rock solid, despite being pagan. Arthur hoped one day to unite all of Briton under Christ. For now, though, he knew some of his vassals worshiped the Old Ways. He kept a few Old Way knights around for their sake.
Forrestal was MacLyss' squire. Both were practicing with their bows as the King walked up. The freemen gave both a wide berth as they let fly.
Most of the mounted knights of Arthur's round table wouldn't touch a bow. It was for peasants. An honorable man got within the reach of a lance to his enemy.
But everyone had seen MacLyss in combat. He'd fire three arrows as the other army as still deciding to advance. He'd follow that with two javelins as they charged, and still have his sword and shield ready by the time the armies met.
And his squire, Forrestal, could usually get one more arrow and another javelin in the air in the same amount of time.
They had to know he was here, but they wouldn't stop practicing until they'd emptied their quivers. Well, Arthur was an old campaigner. He needed them trained more than he needed them to obey etiquette. He waited, if a little impatiently.
Forrestal turned first. He'd sped his shafts downstream faster than blinking. From what the King could see, they'd all hit their targets.
The young man looked uncomfortable to Arthur. He didn't know what to do with his hands. He kept looking down, or rubbing his smooth cheeks or adjusting his codpiece.   The King smiled, knowing what Guinevere had sussed out about Forrestal.
MacLyss went slower, but Arthur didn't even bother to look at the targets. If one missed it was because lightning had struck it in mid-air.
He glanced at his liege with perfect confidence. Both were huge men of the Hills. The kind of Gaels that made the Romans build high walls and sacrifice to dark gods of protection.
Red hair flowed in the winds, making Arthur think of some of the tales his foster mother had told him, of wild magic and gods striding the Earth.
All poppycock, of course, but looking on these men, he could see where the stories came from.
"My lord?" MacLyss asked.
"Mac, I have a bit of a problem," he replied. He nodded his head towards the wall. Pages were retrieving the arrows and would return them to MacLyss' rooms.
They moved so the archers could get in the practice.
And for a bit of privacy.
"It seems there's a magic problem somewhere near Mercia."
"Magic?" MacLyss growled. "Why do we always get the magic jobs?"
"You don't," Arthur snapped. "You never get 'Morgana' jobs. Or Tim. You just get jobs where there might be a pagan problem, and I'd rather a knight that didn't just cut down everyone to be safe."
"And we appreciate that," Forrestal said. He added, 'My liege' just a hair too late for protocol. Arthur scowled.
"I think your squire's been under your influence for too long," he told MacLyss. "Which is why I'm here. I think this job calls for his touch."
"Why me?"
"Why him?"
"Because I'm fucking in charge," Arthur said calmly. "Because Merlin says there's something special about this problem. Because I want another full knight that's pagan, loyal and willing to obey me. And because..."
He looked at Forrestal and smiled. "And because my wife thinks you're probably tired of strapping down your tits."
They stared. Arthur quite enjoyed it. It was usually Merlin that pulled this sort of shit out of his sleeve.
----------
Forrestal spent the night alone in the woods. The Christians spent the night before their knighting locked away in stone, kneeling before the Hanged Man.
MacLyss had only three uses for stone buildings. "Fortifications in war and the cold wells keep the mead chilled in summer."
"That's two," a very young Forrestal had pointed out. It was the first time she heard it. "That's only two uses."
He had shrugged. "Well, I drink a lot of mead."
Now she prepared for a private knighting ceremony. "If you're going to represent me, girl, you need to be a real knight," Arthur had said.
"Sort out whatever's wrong in Mercia and when you get back, I'll knight you again, before the whole Round Table."
He shook his head. "A woman knight. Well, progress won't wait. This is the Sixth Century, what?"
"What," MacLyss agreed.
The Wood Folk chittered in the branches overhead. She almost heard them dance on the moss. She lay back against a grassy hill and wondered how one could talk to God under a roof.
Cleansed and at peace, she knelt before her liege for a quick dubbing. MacLyss and Guinevere looked on. Her smiling, him...not scowling. Not entirely, anyway.
Afterwards, the King gave her general directions and rumors. The Queen gave her a pair of spurs. "My father wore these when he was first knighted."
"I... I... I can't accept, milady!"
"Your first act as a knight in my service is to deny Her Majesty?" Arthur teased. She blushed and accepted the honor.
MacLyss gave her Morridgan. The nasty tempered courser looked at her skeptically.
"She, uh, she needs to get out more. Going fat at the withers," MacLyss lied.
"She danced on a bandit's skull on the Feast of St. Cuthbert!"
"Yeah, well." He handed over the reins. Morridgan looked from knight to knight, scandalized. He held the bridle while she mounted, then led the horse to the gates.
"Take care of her," he muttered and sent them off.
Forrestal was two leagues down the road before she realized that she didn't know which of them he'd been speaking to.
-------
The trip was fairly uneventful. Arthur's dedication to civilizing Briton had nearly stamped out brigands and pirates and rogues. Forrestal hardly even saw a bandit for two days.
On the third morning out, five scrawny men jumped down from trees to point sharp things at the lone traveler.
Morridgan's hooves stove in one skull and one rib before she remembered she was mad at carrying a squire.
She stepped to the grass and started eating, forcing Forrestal to dismount and chase down the other three.
The mare also resisted being caught when her rider returned. "I swear," the human muttered, "you're the first cat I ever saw with horseshoes."
But she made a point of thanking the steed for helping defeat the foe, and a brief rubdown, with some effort to clean the blood.
A mollified horse allowed the knight to mount and they continued.
It appeared to be a bad part of the forest as it was hardly an hour before they saw signs of another struggle.
A thorny bush by the road bore a strip of Samite. Forrestal dismounted to investigate.
A thread at the end of the strip led to a scrap of Nottingham lace, thence to something of lesser silk. She listened but there was no sound.
She looked at her packed weapons. The woods were too close for her bow. She took down her boar spear, put the reins up where they wouldn't tangle and walked into the woods.
Morridgan snorted as if worried for her.   The young woman felt touched by the concern. Then she was out of sight and hearing of the road.
Footprints showed a large group had gone through recently. Bits of clothing were strewn across the ground. All clearly of a woman's wardrobe.
Then she started to hear some sort of carousing. A woman shrieking. She sped her pace but not so fast she couldn't move quietly.
She saw the rape through the trees. Seven men held down a figure that must be a woman. She couldn't see through the pack. Another stood over them all, ripping through her dress with the point of his sword.
And stroking himself. Forrestal thought. She could go right and get very close to the group before breaking cover, but if she went left she'd be behind the only one with a weapon ready.
The dress parted and men started to comment on just how damned big the boobies were. The swordsman dropped to his knees, sticking his sword point into the sod. The shrieking increased.
There was no time. Still dressed and armored as a man, Forrestal charged straight out.
Two died with stabs through their spines before they knew she was there. A third twisted, falling back as she thrust. The spear caught between his ribs.
She hardly hesitated but grabbed up the sword and slew another. One came up with a main-gauche drawn, scrabbling for the sword on his back.
Forrestal disarmed him then retreated a few steps.   She didn't want to fight over the top of the poor victim.
The remaining bastards took the moment to organize themselves.
"Oh, look, a poxing knight!" the swordsman sneered. The others drew weapons, one smiling as he worked her own boar spear free.
"Think we should show him what we think of chivalry?"
"Yeah," the others grunted. They moved to surround her.
She drew her own sword left-handed, then threw the captured sword at one of her attackers.
There was no way it was balanced for any sort of throwing. She didn't really want to hit any target.
But throwing it away kept it out of her enemies' hands. Throwing it at an attacker gave him pause, but missing made them underestimate her.
And throwing it off into the trees might entice one of them to break off to go get it.
Sure enough, one spun around and dashed after it. The others sneered. She charged the one with her boar spear. He flinched, then tried to stab her.
She fought the point down and opened the bastard's throat. She feinted a retreat, then leaped at the former swordsman. He got a slice out of her arm then she stabbed his liver.
He was dropping as she turned to the last man in sight. He paused, perhaps realizing she'd killed six men. He backed away, waving his short sword between them.
But Forrestal had a particular hatred of rapists. MacLyss had drilled it into her. "If you're ever overpowered, it's all over for you," he'd say. "Rip, rape and ruin. Some men like to break a woman's thigh. So they get the good flop and twitch action during the sex."
Disgusted and a little brainwashed, she wouldn't let him escape. Not if he might come back with his friend. She charged and his heart saw daylight.
Alert for the last one, she circled around to the maiden on the ground. "Are you alright?" She hardly looked down.
"Should I bother getting up?"
Forrestal glanced down. The woman was mostly naked. Her clothes were split from ankle to throat. Her large pale breasts wobbled in the air, and her intimates were wide open.
"Um, yeah," the knight said. "Why wouldn't you? Are you hurt?"
"No, but usually, after a knight fights for a woman, he expects something in return."
No one came charging out of the trees, so Forrestal glanced down once more. The woman was a bit older than she'd thought at first glance. A round face had a sort of mocking/waiting expression upon it. It was a comely face, the younger woman guessed. She'd been in a few conversations as the other squires rated the ladies in waiting.
Forrestal wasn't interested but she knew how women were graded by men. This woman was a definite VIII at the least.
She glanced around once more, then offered her hand to lift the woman up.
"Get up quick, there's one left out there somewhere," Forrestal said. The woman rose, then staggered a step.
"Can I take your elbow, good sir knight?"
"I'd rather you didn't, if the bastard comes back."
"Ah." The stagger decreased a little bit and they started moving back to the road.
A few yards into the woods they found the last rapist. He was sprawled in the mud, his head flattened.
"Oh!" the victim gasped. "What has happened?"
"He probably tripped and accidentally kicked himself in the head...to death," Forrestal replied.
-------
Morridgan was across the road, industriously eating grass. She probably thought she was fooling someone. Forrestal smiled and stepped out of the woods.
The ears always gave them away. Morridgan's were pointed directly at the woods where the two women stepped into view.
She took one last bite and a half-step, looking up with apparent surprise. It was as if she said, "Oh! It's you!"
Forrestal eased her rescue to a seat on a fallen log. "Here, rest a bit. I'll get you a blanket."
"Thank you, sir...?"
"Forrestal, milady. I'm from Camelot."
"Oh!" Her face showed pleased surprise. "Then you probably have some sort of vow or a curse?"
"I have vowed chastity," the knight admitted. It was easily accepted and stopped things before they revealed too much.
"I assumed as much." She raised one hand. It wasn't dainty, but it was quite clean. Forrestal nodded over it. "I am Lady Vicarious, of Castle Dunfort-Schloss."
Forrestal nodded, then went over to gather the courser's reins. She stroked the beast's nose. "You weren't worried about me in the least, were you?"
The mare didn't bother to reply. "Well, you still have blood on your hoof." Morridgan moved her left front hoof back to hide behind her right foreleg. Then she realized it was a bluff and placed the foot back on the grass.
The snort of reproof was as good as a trophy for the knight. She fished an apple out of her pack and fed the horse. Then she led the beast to where Lady Vicarious sat.
She seemed a bit more comfortable with a blanket covering her torn garments. She watched patiently as her rescuer rearranged weapons and pack to accommodate a second rider.
Morridgan complied easily. She was quite used to her rider ferrying damsels. It was how things were done in her world. There was riding, killing, ferrying and then a long night in a warm stable as the rescued maiden showed gratitude.
Her father, husband or decrepit uncle always ordered grooms to treat the man's horse well. It looked like at least one night indoors on this quest. Things were looking up.
So despite the greater load, the courser's steps were energetic as they stepped off.
"Your home," Forrestal said. "English, Gaelic and German?"
"You speak Gaelic!" Vicarious said happily. "Most people only get part of the name."
"Castle Castle-castle," Forrestal said.
"My grandfather named it," she replied. "Lord Sir Impleecett, Baron of Mercia. He was a dear man, but not terribly original. He just wanted to say Castle. The Castle, Our Castle, My Castle. Actually," and her voice dropped to a throaty whisper. "He wanted to call it That Damned Castle, but Grandmother put her foot down."
They chatted a bit about backgrounds. Forrestal's was largely speculation based on where MacLyss found the abandoned waif.
Then they rounded a hill and Castle Dunfort-Schloss loomed up ahead. Dark and ominous, the black-rock structure seemed to crouch on the side of the mountain, set to pounce upon the road below.
The knight tugged the reins on the already-stopping horse. They regarded the view for a moment.
"When he said 'Damned Castle,' Milady," Forrestal asked over her shoulder, "was he being dismissive or candid?"
Vicarious giggled. Morridgan turned to give the passenger a baleful glare.
-------
The ride up the road to the entrance was unusually steep. Morridgan plodded upwards. She and her rider both stared at the yawning portcullis.
Forrestal was half-hoping her steed would flinch from the dark opening. Then she wouldn't have to admit to a failing of nerve.
Of course, Morridgan waiting for the slightest twitch of the reins as an excuse to spin and gallop away. It wasn't MacLyss on her back, so she wasn't concerned about anyone's reputation.
Neither gave the other a reasonable out, though, and they soon found themselves passing the gate.
Inside it was slightly less gloomy than Forrestal had expected. The inside of the castle's outer walls were the same black stone, but the cobblestones were a pleasant tan.
A white marble fountain splashed happily in the middle.
"Refresh yourself and your steed there, good knight," Vicarious said with a wave of her hand. "Welcome to Castle Dunfort-Schloss. I hope you enjoy your stay."
Forrestal lowered her passenger to the stones, then hopped down after. She looked around as she led Morridgan over to the water. The courser picked up her pace at the promise of refreshment.
"Where's our host?" the knight asked.
"Oh, there aren't too many people in Dunfort-Schloss," Vicarious said. "Just enough to keep the place going, not enough to conquer Lyonesse and sell it to Gasconny."
She sat on a bench beside the fountain's sill and looked around with pride. She looked strangely comfortable with only a bedroll and tattered dress scraps on.
Forrestal shrugged and watched her horse start to drink. When she was sure Morridgan wasn't going to drink too quickly, she cupped her hands under the flow from a spout to get her own.
"Well, that's settled," Vicarious said.
"What is?" Forrestal asked, wiping her mouth.
"Where you're staying tonight." The woman reached down beneath her bench and pulled up a wire cage.
Forrestal thought it was kind of Moorish looking. A tall, slender cage with worked metal bars and curling flourishes. It was maybe big enough for two squirrels. Friendly squirrels.
"What's that for?" she asked.
"Like I said," Vicarious giggled. "It's where you'll spend the night."
Forrestal stared. She took a step backwards, away from the crazy lady with the big smile.
"Well, you're home now, so..."
That's when she felt clothes loosen. There was the sudden slide of an armor strap parting, but all over. Everything was suddenly an inch or more from where it had been.
Her shoulders popped towards her elbows, her belt towards her knees and her shoes felt loose.
Before she could see what went wrong, she saw Morridgan flinch. The horse reared up from the water, giving one hoof a double-tap on the stones.
That was her signal that her saddle strap was loose, a danger to any rider.
"Ooooh," Vicarious cooed. "I love this part."
The gate rattled shut, the sound of the mechanism clanking, thundering across the cobblestones. Forrestal spun to face that. Her feel slipped in her boots, she staggered.
She just barely kept from falling on her face. Vicarious laughed. She turned to Morridgan. If she could draw a sword on this witch, maybe she could force her to cancel the spell.
Morridgan bucked uncomfortably. Weapons and sacks flew in all directions. The bit and bridle slipped, then flew clear as the courser shook her head.
And the saddle slipped around upside down, blocking the horse's legs. She looked like a ridiculous St. Brigg's Day Pony, not a steed of war.
Forrestal scanned for her weapons. The nearest was a lance, no good to her now. The mace looked as big as MacLyss' thigh. Where was her sword!
She saw the hilt and dove for it. Vicarious nonchalantly swept out with her foot and kicked Forrestal to the side.
The force of the blow rolled her over twice. She was then wrestling her armor to stand up. She finally wriggled free and stood.
Her bandeau that had been horribly tight around her bosom hung from shoulder to hip like a slops-man's apron. She'd skinned out of her tunic on her way out of the armor and her leggings were scattered around like twisted snake sheds.
The armored codpiece MacLyss called her Chastity Bulge hung around her knees. She looked straight across the courtyard into Vicarious' shocked eyes.
"My good sir knight!" she breathed. "The Fountain of Maidenhood was only to take your masculinity! Not your MANHOOD!"
"I have no masculinity!" Forrestal protested. She stepped out of her codpiece and stomped over to grab at her sword. It was about as long as she was.
She levered it up by the hilt and kicked the scabbard free. Vicarious covered her smile with one hand as she tried lifted it.
But Forrestal had practiced with MacLyss' claymore and held it at the ready with only a slight delay.
Morridgan was worrying at the straps of her saddle, trying to free herself. Once she had full range of movement, things were going to be set right if she had to kick the castle down.
Forrestal set the point of her blade at Vicarious' chin. "Put me back."
"Oh, that's quite impossible, dear, sir knight. Once you've sipped from the Fountain of Maidenhood, you're cursed for two weeks."
"Cursed?"
Vicarious examined her little cage, sighed and dropped it negligently to the cobblestones. Morridgan kicked it towards the gate as she tried to buck her saddle off.
"Cursed. The incredibly manly men that usually ride through here lose all their hairy manliness." She sighed, sporting a happy smile.
"Tiny, wriggling, indignant things, stomping der widdle feets and making all sorts of ridiculous demands."
Forrestal rested the point of her sword in the hollow of the Lady's throat. "Ridiculous?"
"Ahem. Present company is excepted, of course. Anyway, the curse keeps them small and keeps them in Castle Castle-castle for the time it runs.
"And when they're restored, they can't wait to scurry off, in shame."
Vicarious ran a fingertip along the back of the sword's blade. "Quite the steady hand you have, Lady....?"
"Forrestal. It's my real name. And I was really knighted, so call me Sir." She nodded towards the fountain. "But I'm a woman. How could a manhood-stealing fountain affect me?"
"I'm sure that's between you and your confessor, dear." Vicarious eased the sword aside and stood. "There's a paddock behind the Eastern Tower. I suggest you put your Morridgan there. There's a stable boy to give her a rubdown and make her comfortable.
"Then I'll show you your rooms for the next fortnight." She stepped close, looking down at the frustrated face beneath her.
"One think you should know," she said.
"What?" Forrestal asked.
Vicarious dropped her borrowed blanket and placed her hands on her hips. The movement bared her breasts and thrust them slightly forward. Forrestal couldn't help but gape at the ivory globes.
Suddenly those bards and their epics made a bit more sense. Her jaw dropped. Vicarious stooped like a hawk, sweeping her mouth down towards Forrestal's, tongue extended, lodging it into the gaping hole.
Forrestal gasped in surprise, her inward breath sucking Vicarious' kiss tighter.
Smooth, soft hands caressed her breasts for the very first time, lightly lifting and lovingly squeezing. But behind the gentleness she felt the restrained power, the great potential of the strength the other wielded.
It had been a long time since the knight had met someone so much more powerful than she. And those had almost all been in combat.
And they'd all been men.
She sighed.
Vicarious stood, shoving those magnificent mammaries in the shrunken knight's face once more. Then she turned and walked towards the castle door, discarding the rags of her dress as she went.
Forrestal wiped her lips and stared. Morridgan nickered. The knight moved to rescue the steed. "You said it," she said softly.
She gathered her weapons and gear into a quick stack by the fountain, pulling her leggings back on. They reached to her shoulders so she wrapped a belt under her armpits to hold everything up.
It was a sign of their surprise that Morridgan didn't nicker in glee at the ridiculous sight. She kept looking around trying to figure out what had happened.
Forrestal looked around, too, trying to decide if they should make a break for it. The closed gate looked rather firmly shut. And besides, this was probably what Arthur wanted them to deal with.
"Paddock?" Forrestal asked. She gently tugged at the horse's jaw. A pole-axed courser followed her.
There was a grassy field beyond the tower, fenced in and holding four destriers.
The huge steeds were the choice of jousting knights. Bigger than some work horses, they put a lot of mass and muscle behind the force of one's lance.
MacLyss always wanted one for tourney but found the smaller, more agile coursers to his taste for travel, combat, rescues and generally anything but knocking people off other destriers.
They'd never loomed so large before. Morridgan whickered in surprise. "It's alright," Forrestal assured her, hoping it wasn't a lie. "It'll be alright."
She couldn't see a stable. Maybe the stable boy moved them at night. She opened the gate and eased MacLyss' horse through it.
The curious stallions all pranced over to see the new inmate. Forrestal gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder and left, closing the gate behind her.
Morridgan looked like a pony next to the stallions. At least she looked pony sized.
As the horses crowded her, sniffing and bumping heads, she pushed back. The other beasts were the size of seize engines, so they didn't move, but that didn't seem to matter to the mare. She wasn't about to give in.
"Ayuh, she's got some spunk, she does!"
Forrestal spun to realize someone was beside her. Dressed, and smelling, like a stable hand, a young woman in burlap stood leaning on the fence.
Forrestal stared. The stable 'boy' was a lithe blonde. Her hair was cut short, and she was pretty incredibly dirty. But she was very clearly a young woman and not an effeminate male.
She nodded towards the horses. "They'll try to mount her, they will. She'll have her pick of fine stallions there."
"Morridgan isn't in season," Forrestal protested.
"Dun't matter," came the reply. "They are."
Morridgan feinted, spun and took off running along the fence. The destriers were unable to match her maneuvering. She was clear for the moment. Forrestal cheered.
"An early victory," the stable hand agreed. "But she's outnumbered and nowhere to run."
"I know how she feels," Forrestal said.
"Yeah. You'd better be getting inside. Dinner won't wait."
"Um....thanks," she said, as she had no idea what else to say. She turned towards the fountain. Her belongings were gone.
"I took the tack to the stable," the young woman said. "Maids took the rest indoors."
"Um... Thanks." She felt stupid repeating herself. She shrugged and headed for the door.
The entry way was nearly as opulent as the Round Table room back at Camelot. What wasn't marble was silver unless it was ermine. 'Pretty' wasn't a word Forrestal usually used indoors, but it seemed to be appropriate.
Vicarious stood beside a long, slender table, sipping from a goblet. She'd dressed in a long blood-red dress. There was a word for the material, but all the knight could think of was 'frilly froo-froo shit.'
Still, she had to admit that it looked wonderful on the damned woman's frame.
"This wine," Vicarious said in lecturing tones, "is of a vintage laid up by Carpathian monks over thirty years ago."
Forrestal stepped closer. There was no sign of a cask or another goblet.
"Do you know, Sir Lady Forrestal, where Carpathia is?"
"No, ma'am," she shrugged.
Vicarious frowned as she looked at the fluid in the cup. "Must be pretty far." She flung her wine towards the cold fireplace. "Stuff doesn't travel for shit."
She lowered the goblet and came around the table with her arms wide. "I must admit, I'm a little at a loss. We don't usually have guests to entertain." She gestured.
Where she pointed were various stout but tiny cages bolted to the wall, over the fireplace, under the window, high in the rafters.
"Entertain us, yes." She pointed to a number of poking implements nestled on the mantel.
"But you're merely smaller, not tiny." She giggled. Forrestal flinched.
"What happened to me?" she asked.
"Oh, we'll cover that. You need to bathe, you smell of the road and your horse."
Just then a wild, desperate neighing came through a window. "Speak of the devil," Vicarious smiled.
Forrestal smiled for the first time since she saw Castle Castle-castle. "That wasn't Morridgan."
Vicarious' eyebrows rose. "Would you like to wager?" With a gesture to indicate her leggings and her belt, the knight showed her lack of material to bet with.
"Perfect! If that's your horse, losing her virtue to one of my stallions, you have to go naked for your stay here."
"And if it's not?"
"I won't undress you without your permission."
"That'll be the day," Forrestal said. She held a hand up towards the lady. Vicarious shook and they moved towards the window.
Down in the paddock, the mare was in a corner. Backed in, her tail to the fence. She held the upper lip of one stallion between her teeth. The others tried to muscle past her victim's bulk to attack her but the barrel chests worked against each other.
She finally released the squealing destrier who ran to the far corner. The others looked at her menacingly.
"Very well," Vicarious said. "You win. This time."
"I appreciate that, My Lady Vicarious."
"Call me Vicky," she said absently. She glanced outside. "She looks ready to decapitate one of them. BOY!"
Boy, the blonde girl, stepped into view. "My lady?"
"Stable the horses. Start with the stallions, leave our guest for last."
Boy looked at the courser. "If she'll let me, milady."
"No promises," Forrestal called.
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.Corsicanthrax (and Forrestal)