A Lullaby for Arr'ness

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A Lullaby for Arr'ness

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It had been a few days since their last real encounter's dubious ending - for the most part the Scot had seen fit simply not to be around when Kenzi came for her exercise sessions with the pegasus. He'd done all the preparatory work, making sure to leave near the creature's corral the best oats and a few sugar cubes (not to mention a healthy supply of dried apples, the best he could do on short notice at this time of year), so that she'd have little do to other than give the winged horse treats during her walks. But after their last somewhat terse exchange, he was avoiding close contact.

And it was killing him, truth be told, creating that space between them. Not killing him in the mortal sense (only the lack of a head would do that), but killing him inside. The dreams had been worse. Not simply running from some nameless, white-caled danger, he felt as though his spirit was being drawn out nightly for torture, to be the plaything of a cold, cruel female, curling horns above her sharp ears. A true archetypal she-devil, straight from his Christian-bred nightmares. The lack of close contact with Kenzi was letting the Unseelie witch right back in, and she was capitalizing with a vengeance.

But to the decidedly non mystical Scot, these were still simply dreams, that he still awoke from day by day, and was still able to manage some functionality. The pegasus was interesting, but not the fulcrum of his business. The 'regular' horses were his bread and butter. And so it was that one early afternoon, he came riding back to the stables from further out on the lands he used as ranch on a deep-chested, coal-black stallion, twenty hands high at the withers. A future warhorse, in fact, and still brimming with a stallion's lust for life when Roderick half-dragged, half-coaxed him back into the communal corral. Roderick took a moment to catch his breath, wiping his forehead with a leather-gloved hand. On a whim, he strolled back to the other corral, Blackie's, to check on the creature.


Kenzi was crouched upon a high railing that was near parallel with the gleaming, powerful back of the idle Arrn'ess. Clucking softly in what seemed to be a rhythmic pattern of sound, she gently slid a hand along his back and flank; hand and sound complimented one another and the feisty stallion seemed to visibly calm. Her tone changed ever-so-slightly as she moved slowly, grasping gently ahold of his mane as she slid a leg part way over his back. As the creature began to shift and stamp a little in impatience, though surprisingly not bucking or gnashing teeth at her, Kenzi crooned softly to try to calm him while continuing the slow ascension upon his back.

Success would be hers after several more minutes of this back and forth melodious language and halted movements. Kenzi leaned forward and lay her cheek upon the dozens of ribboned braids of Arrn'ess' mane and just rested while her racing heart began to slow down. She had no idea what had come over her, causing her to want to attempt to ride the wild flying horse but when the idea had taken hold, she seemed to know exactly what to do to achieve her goal. Soft clucking continued as Kenzi fished a sugar cube from her pocket and held it out as the stallion turned his head to accept his reward.

What he found when he rounded the stables was not what he'd expected. He'd never given her a schedule, never given her any sort of strict protocol to follow - not that he thought she would heed him anyway, headstrong and lovely lass that she was - but he'd not expected her there right then. Hesitation warred with the longing to be closer to her. But it was not simply her delicate features and touch which drew his eye; he began to pay close attention to what she was doing with the pegasus stallion. Even compared to the feisty black he'd just corralled, the winged Arrn'ess was by far the most willful of any creature he was training, and every moment of every day with the beast had been a struggle, the bruises of which only faded due to the Scot's special nature.

Yet there she was, murmuring to the creature, soothing it as if she'd raised it from a foal and her voice was the first human(esque) one it had ever heard. Stamp of impatience? If Roderick had been the one in there trying to calm the beast that way, he'd be lucky not to get trampled, and he was an 'expert' horse breeder and rider.

He could not of course detect her desire to ride the creature, though she might not realize that was exactly what Roderick was supposed to be doing - training it to accept a rider. He opened his mouth as if to call out to the pair - willowy, striking lass and fire-hearted stallion - then clamped it shut. The moment was too precious, almost too sacred, for him to interrupt. He leaned there at the edge of the stable building, watching, rapt. For some reason he wasn't as exhausted as he'd been earlier, even after a hard day's work, as his loch-blues lingered on her just a bit more than it did Blackie.


Kenzi continued to stroke the silken mane, twirling the loose strands idly around her fingertips the way she knew the pegasus enjoyed as her other hand slid up the elegant neck to gently scratch behind his ears. She received a little neigh of approval and laughed softly, an almost tinkling sound. The redhead continued to just lounge upon the back of the wild hearted pegasus, twins of spirit that they truly were, and began to hum softly until the stallion turned his head and tucked his muzzle beneath a finely feathered wing.

She had hummed him a lullaby and put him to sleep.
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Roderick, watching the two, bore a very small smile on his face. His eyes landed upon her features, and the world became dimmer. Only her face, the line of her jaw, the freckled dashed across her nose as if by the hand of some artistic angel, and of a sudden, he.... remembered:

He'd already been blooded in battle after battle with the Stewarts, and earned no few scars of his own - manly scars, to the 'Black' Douglases, named so by the clan which aspired to royalty simply because they fought them. but today was not a day of battle, but a festival day. He may have been drunk on scotch and dark, bitter ale, but was more so drunk on the sight of a woman, a red-haired, bonny lass who kept casting coy glances at him. Demure, but tempting in her way. Surely one to catch the eye of every village lad, but it was the fighting men she looked to, and Roderick had done well in the day's games, winning handily the caber toss and hammer-throw. If only there was some way he could get her alone, away from the mother who hovered near her like a hawk over newly hatched chicks.

Roderick's eyes blinked open, returning to the waking world, his vision clearing, once more seeing what truly lay before him. The look on his face was nothing short of astounded. Was this another dream, some vision the likes of which he'd never had? Or was it memory? His left hand gripped the edge of the building, as his head spun with the aftermath of the memory, and in his haste to be away, the scuff of a work boot on the ground would be the only chance of detecting him, that or a casual glance. He needed to get somewhere, inside, he needed a dram or three of scotch, and it was to his own humble house across the stableyard he stumbled.

Kenzi had been entirely unaware of the presence of Roderick until the sound of footsteps caused her to lift her head and glance around. Her heart began to pound in response to the adrenaline that seemed to pump through her system every time he was near. Had she the time to think the action through, Kenzi likely would have just let him go but instead pursed her lips for a light whistle, hoping to catch him before he was too far away to hear it. She didn't dare call out to him for fear of waking the sleeping pegasus upon whose back she still reclined.

What are you doing Kenz? Leave that confounding damn man alone. She tried to warn herself but little good it did; the redhead slid gently off the back of Arrn'ess with very little response from him (perhaps there was a bit of magic in that lullaby that Kenzi was unaware that she possessed) and hotfooted it out of the corral in pursuit of a man that was more dangerous to her than any she had ever encountered.

The vision had caused the clumsy boot scrape that had given him away; he was a large man, but any Highlander worth his salt knew how to tread lightly. There was no other way to fight the Anglish (or his own countrymen) than to hit and run, to attack and melt back into the highlands where none could pursue.

But they were neither in the highlands, nor was the lass in the corral an Anglish force, and Roderick was too unsettled to really get far before he heard that soft whistle. It might have been a siren's call for all that he could ignore it. Clenching his fists, closing his eyes, and mentally bracing himself, he stopped and turned at the sound of her hasty steps behind him.

When he did turn to look at her, he had a strange look in his eyes: half-wild, half sad. He was obviously terribly exhausted and showing the signs of it (another reason to avoid her lately, at least in his mind), but he drew himself up with Scottish pride, and managed to offer her a smile. It may have lacked the bright cheer he usually possessed, but it was a smile nevertheless.

"Och, 'ello Kenzi Davis. Yer..duin' guid work wit' Blackie there. Ye're a natural." It couldn't be. Couldn't be the same lass he'd left back in Glenfinnan. The Glamour may have blotted out his memory, but once the sight of her with the pegasus had reawakened his mind, remembrance had come flooding back into him, of those days back in Scotland just before he'd 'died'. Put on a good face, Roderick. Don't show the lady the threatening tears.

Her pale face with its smattering of freckles was lowered slightly but those eyes, stunning in their fervent desire to catch sight of him, were lifted and seeking out his own. What she saw within those first few moments before he could hide behind that prideful Scottish strength caused her brows to furrow, marring the perfection of her visage. Thick lashes fluttered a few times before she boldy stepped forward, and placed both of her hands upon his cheeks, having to stand on tiptoes to comfortably do so.

"Don't struggle," she chastised before he even had the chance to try. Her voice softened as she glided her thumbs soothingly over his cheekbones while gently resting her other fingers against his jaws. "I'm not sure what I did last time but...it seemed to help?" She finished the statement with a question, faltering a bit as she simply had no idea why she was doing such a thing as cradling his exhausted face within her hands as if she, alone, could cure him. The smile that had greeted her, though far from the typical that seemed to cause her breath to catch in her chest, was still enough to elicit a somewhat shy one from her. "You're not taking proper care of yourself, Roderick." It wasn't a question, nor was it a biting remark, merely a simple statement of truth that had one corner of her generous mouth tilted in a downward slope.

With her hands still upon his face, cradling and attempting to somehow banish his demons, Kenzi finally spoke of her work. "He's an amazing creature. He also told me that he will not be going back with the elf that brought him and has agreed to stay here with you if he continues to receive extra apples. He appreciates you for obeying his wishes and providing more." The redhead giggled just a bit at that last remark, because her conversations with the pegasus were quite amusing in the fact that he felt superior to most two legs, including this Scot that would never be subservient to another whether man or winged beast.
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For his part the sight of her held him in place as surely as manacles of iron affixed to an oak tree. the closer she moved, the easier he felt in his mind, and his heart, and even before she touched his face, he'd already taken a step closer. He even dipped his head a little, to make her reach easier. The only thing he said during her strange ministrations - indeed effective those days past - was, "Aye, lass, et 'elps a great deal. I'm no sleepen' well. Bahd..dreams, of late."

He truly wanted to tell her he knew her, that he had known her, but there was still a fog in his subconscious, and something - in truth, one of the many binding thorns the Glamour had driven into his mind - was keeping him from saying anything of it. Though his face soon eased of hits dark shadows, and he let out a calming breath - shivering along his spine with the touch of her slender, pale fingers - he kept his peace about the vision he'd just had.

She helped him past the internal struggle with her description of her 'conversation' with Arrn'ess - perhaps he might get that silly elf-word down someday, after all - and drew his mind to a practical course of thought. "Aye? Well, I ded ferget the carrots, though thos're 'ard tae come by in airly winter. But...'ow d'ye mean tae purchase 'im? The lady Venlia, she does no seem the type ta part weth such a creature all too easily," he murmured. While he spoke, his hand reached out almost of its own accord, resting lightly at her waist. Closer now, until he was nearly pressed against her. Practical words, impractical actions, but Roderick couldn't help himself! the burgeoning thought that they might once have been lovers was hard to shake - but how could that be?

She was pleased with his lack of stubbornness and relaxed visibly as she both spoke and continued to caress his face, feeling that warmth spring to life beneath her fingertips. "What sort of dreams are you having?" Perhaps impolite to pry into the man's personal struggles, she *was* turning into a bit of a caretaker-- if twice administering some inexplicable healing touch could be considered caretaking, that is. The warmth increased, not entirely unpleasant but very much like pressing a heating pad against bare skin; there was a noticeable change in the temperature. "I took a semester of dream interpretation last year, maybe I can help." This was the way of Kenzi, she had taken a class for just about everything . Mostly though, right at this moment--even if she wouldn't admit it to herself, she just wanted to be closer to him in some way. She was drawn to the man, despite her own denial of that fact, in ways she couldn't explain. Her own dreams, and the odd way they drew her to him, seemed entirely too real.

As his coloring improved and the dark circles beneath his eyes faded, Kenzi found herself smiling a bit more even if she looked considerably more fatigued. That hand at her waist was given a cursory glance before the wide blue eyes shifted back to his face. Devoid of discontent or rebuke, that gaze roved over his features before lingering upon his own. Something was boiling just beneath the surface between the two, and Kenzi knew it affected him as much as it did her. She cleared her throat to speak, having trouble at first forming words, "I haven't figured that out yet. He just told me a few minutes ago that he is staying."

Kenzi cleared her throat once more and slid her hand down his cheek to rest upon his shoulder. "You appear healthier. I don't have any idea how it works, but it does indeed seem to. How do you feel?" Fingertips gently grasped the fabric of his shirt and rolled it between them.

He could be a stubborn man indeed; he was not the type simply to back down or surrender, never the type to lay down his claidh mor while a battle remained to be fought, but this was different. As warmth, as life, flowed back into his features, he felt it within, as well. Magic. He'd spent no small amount of time (as humans reckoned things) living with, married to a Mage, which had softened an upbringing laced with fear and superstition of the mystical arts, practices of the devil as any 'properly' raised Scot knew.

But his former wife - for all that his love for her was gone, not even a memory of emotion left to him - had not been evil. And nor was this lovely, troublesome Kenzi Davis. Roderick knew evil. Her first question was an inquest, really a rather deep and complicated thing even though she'd meant it innocently enough. Still close, even brushing himself ever so faintly against the front of her, his voice was low and a little throaty, emerging in something just above a whisper. "In me dreams Ah'm bein' chased, evair chased, by some.. dark thin', wot reaches fer me wit' white hands an' sharp talons. Ah'm en a forest, runnin'...an'." He stopped, shook his head, blinking. "I canny always recall the details, lass." Indeed, having touched so close on the nature of his Glamour, the threatening memory haze began to roil across his mind once more.

But she was there, and they were touching. He knew not why he did so, but he dropped the leather gloves he held in his other hand, and placed that on her waist too, behind her back. Pressing against her was no longer a barely hinted thing. "I feel...like Ah've known ye a long time, Kenzi Davis, es 'ow I feel. Remembair when ye said tha' nae long past?" Immortal though he be, holding her like this was making his heart pound against his chest, blood rush in his ears, a poignant and addictive sensation. Lust? Whatever it was, he could not help himself from the license he took with her. The closer he got, the more he touched her, the more relieved his soul.

Bloody confusing women and their mystical ways!
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What Roderick called magic, Kenzi simply had no understanding of. She'd never before experienced this ability to transfer her own life force to another while taking their calamities; perhaps it was an extreme case of empathy. Or perhaps it was magic. Whatever it was, it wasn't something that felt "bad" to her. In fact, she rather liked being able to help him. As he described his nightmares, her face mirrored the sympathy she felt for him as well as the desire to help him. There was surely nothing she could do and she didn't know this man well enough to offer. "Is there anything I can do?" For some strange reason she felt there was, even if there shouldn't be anything a simple young woman like herself could offer.


It was quite confusing for Kenzi, the intimacy required with his mending, and she typically ran from any form of intimacy. Yet instead of running this time, she moved closer and allowed the brushing of their bodies. His other hand rested upon her back and the touch sent tingles up her spine so that she closed her eyes for a brief moment and leaned forward until her forehead almost touched his chest. One of her hands slipped from his jaw, dropping to rest over his heart, with fingers lightly brushing and alternately tapping the hard wall of his chest. "I...do," nodding slightly. "I do remember...and everytime I am with you, I am more certain than the time before," her soft voice lowered further, as if she were musing to herself though he would be able to hear. "It isn't possible though...is it?" Her face lifted so that he was faced with the full force of Kenzi's intense blue gaze.

A gaze that was more intense than the bluest highland loch reflecting a Scottish morning's sunlight, hers. Eyes that he knew somehow. He simply did, and logic and intellect couldn't explain it. Not that Roderick was truly a 'thinking man', more prone to action and deed than idle words and flights of fancy. He didn't answer her first question immediately - what indeed could he do? Roderick suspected far, far more than met the eye, eyeful though it was - lost for breathless seconds in her gaze and in the feeling of her hand laid across his suddenly pounding heart, his workshirt unsuited to the task of concealing that tell. He was trembling very slightly, like a spring coiled, tensed just before action.

Scared? But what about this wee lass could possibly scare such a big, strong man? "I no knoe ef et es possible, lass. But I..recall a time back in Scotland. A bonny lass there, 'ad tae leave 'er ta fight Stewarts an' Anglish. She... coulda been yer twin, Kenzi Davis." Not that he could clearly recall the name, still too much of the Glamour's haze fuzzing the details of his memory. But the face...

"Ye 'elp me when yer close. When I see ye..when ye touch me, it 'elps me." He stopped, and the merry grin which he so usually bore returned, in something like its usual luster. "Guid line, aye? Tell me ef et's worken', wuid ye?" The intensity of holding her - for holding her close he was, his strong right arm surrounding her, keeping her against him - was not less, but contact made his heart feel light enough to tease.

The pounding of his heart beneath her hand, barely muted by the soft cotton of his shirt, became the conductor setting the rhythm of her tapping fingers. His trembling, however faint, infused her body with energy just as she had infused him with her own life force; her body shuddered involuntarily against him as the effect of those power arms around her hit home and he spoke.

Shaking her head, Kenzi tried to make sense of what he was saying and the confusion, as well as near panic, had to be visible in the depths of those blues that were now tumultuous like a storm. "That can't be...I mean I...that's not..." His muscular arms served more purpose as her knees buckled, as they seemed to do so often when he was so near. "I...the last time I saw you..." She shook her head again and stopped speaking so as not to make herself seem entirely insane. What would this man think of her? Telling him that she could speak to a pegasus, heal his exhaustion, and now this? That she knew him from God only knew how long ago? No, this wasn't a conversation that needed to occur.

Kenzi was so shaken by his words that she nearly sobbed as she laughed, a touch hysterical perhaps but trying so fervently to...what? Not alienate him? Why should she care? But she did...care. It was a sense of something far deeper than she could comprehend. It wasn't her own emotion that she felt but the feelings of a woman that she didn't even know...was it her? Was she going crazy? How could she separate her own feelings from those of...this memory? Did *she* want to hold him or was that simply the effect of the memory?

She tried to force the laughter once more, hopefully less hysterical, but looked down so those twin mirrors to her soul weren't visible with their hazy confusion, concern, and emotion she couldn't be sure she felt at all, but somehow knew was partly hers. "It's definitely a good line. I'll tell you if it is working if you tell me what you're trying to accomplish..." She smiled, face still nearly buried against his chest where the smell of hard work, horseflesh, traces of his soap, and his own unique scent assaulted her and threatened to make her swoon like some silly schoolgirl. This is not the time to be losing your sensibility, dummy. She admonished herself mentally but it wasn't much help as her sensibilities had been lost the moment they touched that first time in the Arena.
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Post by Kenzi »

There, she'd said it. The 'last time' she'd seen him. None of it really made sense, but Roderick was not one to believe in coincidence. In his world, in his philosophy, as strange as life could be there was yet a plan to it all. Life was not simply a chain of random events - though between Glamour and his recent experience, his faith in the Catholic teachings of his youth was certainly not as rock-solid as once it had been.

Still, he believed it, believed that he had once known her. He knew nothing of past lives, of alternate realities (aside from what any curious seeker of knowledge might chance upon in this world that touched all others), and day-to-day, such lofty theories mattered little. Whether knowing her meant that she, too, was like him, had come from old Scotland, or some other miracle was at work, it didn't matter. He knew how he felt right now, and what she did to him. Love? An esoteric poet's concept, not the visceral feeling of a woman in your arms.

He could tell they'd treaded headlong into dangerous territory though, by the tone of her voice, the nervous laughter, and Roderick was a man of cheer, of merrymaking, and not the type to dwell in the darker depths of human emotion. His reply was light in tone, though he had yet to release her from his soul-hungry clutch. "Ah'll let ye knoe when I lairn et mesel'. 'Alf the bloody time nae a soul kens wot I'm talken' aboot, includin' me." He grinned down at her, and winked. And realized they had left unsettled the matter of Blackie - Arnn'ess, she'd probably insist on that bloody elf-name now - and how he was to be purchased from Venalia (as if one really owned such a creature, but business was business). "Ah'm nae sure ef she'll take the deal, but I c'n likely find a few steeds wot might be up tae 'er standairds, Lady Venalia's. Wot I c'n offer ta 'elp ye, I well, tho' I'd rather no get inta a dispute with an elf sorceress, ye ken?"

He realized that he actually would dispute an elf sorceress, for this confusing, beautiful young woman, but it would not do to tell her that. Man had to keep some pride about him.

Yes, what she felt had been pinned by some of the great poets but so difficult to comprehend on an emotional level. The feisty redhead preferred to keep everything cerebral, safe and logical, not clouded up by feelings or intuition. Yet here she was with this feeling that was hers/not hers and in the arms of the man it was directed at. How does one pull logic from such a confounded situation? She simply couldn't. All she could do at this point was hold on to what felt solid even if that was the root of the problem.

So hold on to him she did. The hand that had still been pressed to his cheek lowered so her arm could slide around his waist and hook a finger through his belt loop. What was she doing? Simply making lemonade out of lemons. "I cannot accept such a deal. I will figure out something, though I do not know what he expects me to do about his problem. He just simply informed me that he would not go and very much settled the matter." Kenzi looked up and smiled. "Seems ye're nae t'only stubbairn lout aboot t'place." It disturbed Kenzi just how comfortable she felt speaking with that thick brogue while standing in such a way, teasing him as if she had been doing it for centuries...maybe she had?

Combined with the vision, the waking dream he'd just had, the brogue she spoke sent another shock through his system, and tickled another spell-buried sense of memory, familiarity. He'd heard her lapse into the Scottish before, of course, but never had it struck him like this. He'd heard that very tone before - even spoken in that same way, the same words, comparing him to a stubborn stallion. But that didn't mean he was just going to lay down and take it, now did it?! His hand at her back moved, a naughty thing apparently liberated of his typical moral compass, and it slid down to settle in a full-handed grasp at her backside. Which he had the temerity to squeeze, whilst replying, "Who're ye callen' a lout?! I'll 'ave ye knoe Ah'm a respected businessman 'round 'ere!"

He was not yelling, his voice only raised in mock severity, and of course, he'd ruined it all in his licentious grasp, and the fact that he was having trouble keeping the grin off his face. Foolish, however, as he was far too close to prevent her smacking him silly for his daring. But though he was not a typically perverse man, the curve which he'd grabbed felt rather nice in the cup of his hand. So much for not being like a slimy Anglish poof!

Mentally he was already bracing himself for her retort. But at least he might well have distracted her from the rather heady, heavy subject matter, the strange psychic territory into which their conversation had been travelling. It was still there, in his mind, questions roiling and fighting for recognition in his consciousness. The dark pall of the Glamour, he did not feel right then, not at all. Somewhere, a horned devil of an Unseelie was screeching her rage - tonight was not going to be a good one, when sleep finally did claim the Scotsman.
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