Date: Fri, 02 Jul 1999 14:37:25 GMT
From: Jamie Wilsen <jamiwilsen@hotmail.com>
Subject: Montrose

Send comments to:  Jamiwilsen@hotmail.com

*		*	*	*	*	*	*	*

Note:  Iain is pronounced `Ian'; the character is based upon the Bard of 
Keppoch, Iain Lom of the MacDonalds.  Most of the personal references and 
descriptions of Montrose are based on historical fact, though the romantic 
connection between the two is extrapolated unashamedly from certain 
interesting verses the Bard wrote in praise of one who signed himself in 
later letters as "Your very loving and trew friend to command".  It is also 
certain that Iain Lom did exchange many letters and poems, and followed the 
exploits of Montrose's year of brilliant victories that followed the 
time-setting of this short story.  Inspired by the last great 
gentleman-cavalier, I offer apologies to any readers who may feel that this 
story does not do one of Scotland's greatest military leaders justice!

*		*	*	*	*	*	*	*
MONTROSE

   The fire was still strong as Iain sat outside the croft.  He absently 
regarded the lowering clouds gathering about the peaks of the surrounding 
mountains.  He had been filled with worry through the passing storms but 
anxiety had been replaced with anticipation. Now that the time had finally 
come, he found himself checking and rechecking the little path that led 
winding up the hills through this secret valley. The mountains were silent 
enough by day; as night crept upon them in the mute blaze of sunset and dark 
shadows engulfing the glen, he fancied he heard the whispers of hidden 
elvish watchers.  The shimmering leaves of the nearby trees and the tinkling 
stream gave voices to the imagined creatures.
   Almost nervous he was, and he chuckled at himself; why, he was acting 
like a smitten swain.  True, the one for whom he waited was a hunted man, an 
outlaw and, despite all his deeds and words to the opposite, a heralded 
enemy and renowned traitor of the land.  Those arrayed against the King 
feared his champion more than the monarch himself.  Lord James Graham of 
Montrose had been proclaimed worth over fifteen thousand pounds alive for 
bounty.  It'd not be collected.   Iain smiled: there was not one Highland 
native of this mountainous country that would not risk life and limb for the 
King's man and it was for this that Iain was proudly secure in the hope that 
the Graham would take an evening out of campaigning and politicking.  And he 
chuckled, remembering again the indignance in his friend's response when 
he'd learned of his excommunication from the gentry and government of this 
fair but divided country.  It had actually not come as a surprise to most 
who knew him well; the Graham had made his name during his debut in 
political campaigning with the start of the Covenant and steadfastedly 
claimed complete loyalty to King Charles I despite the obvious contradiction 
such a statement held.  Why, many had flocked to the signing of the 
newly-drafted and drawn Covenant in Edinburgh because of their high feelings 
concerning Charles' Catholic injustices towards the Protestant population of 
Scotland.  James Graham was himself a Protestant but the depraved, 
ambitiously selfish and twisted machinations of the nobles gathering under 
the Covenant's banner, confusedly mingling with the soldiers and original 
founders to muddy their own ambitions for an oligarchy, had driven him to 
finally choose sides.  He had not wanted to.  He never meant for it to come 
to actual conflict. James had hoped that the King merely needed persuasion, 
not the ensuing clashes with the Covenanter armies, which James himself had 
led - to victory, no less. Now, men were talking of joining the King's cause 
merely for the Graham.  Iain had even heard it rumoured that the Graham 
would travel down to Oxford, to meet the King in England to obtain troops, 
cavalry and support.
  But blast it, where was he?  Surely he'd remembered this evening's 
appointment?  And that it would be here, at his croft, in this glen?  Iain 
shook his head, peeved with himself.  Worry was not a healthy habit.  His 
friend would be fine.  Now that one could surely ride, had bested each and 
every opponent and, come to think of it, he'd never known him to let down 
anyone - from casual acquaintances to the King himself.  He'd have sent 
word, wouldn't he?
  He sighed, impatience surging through him, as well as a little chagrin at 
his state of mind.  Why should he trouble himself if the man didn't make it? 
  He wasn't worried about being snubbed; it made no difference to him that 
he was only a poor poet to his friend's grave, courageous champion.  No; it 
was, he decided, pure selfishness on his part to expect him to drop all 
honorable concerns and go hiding out of his way into this lonely corner of 
the world simply to meet him  He finally identified the cause of his worry.  
It
was not that he was afraid James would not make it to this clandestine 
meeting, as it must be, for enemies abounded and waited for opportunities to 
entrap him, no; it was that he couldn't imagine why it would be important 
enough for him to remember.  The good Lord Above surely knew that though it 
may not be important in the grand scheme of things, that it was quite 
important to him, famed scribbler.  The young nobleman had fired the 
inspiration of many Highland poets and writers as well as most of the towns 
and glens and even the sons of the very same worthies opposing the King.  
Iain therefore regarded himself as the luckiest of the lot, to have gained 
the trust and friendship of such a heroic yet chivalrous fellow.  But he 
couldn't stop; he worried that in attempting to come, James had been 
captured by enemies.
  In his clouded thoughts he almost missed the striding step of the younger 
man as he appeared from out of the gloom, purposefully moving up towards the 
tree-sheltered croft.  Iain stood.  "Lord Jamie!  Well met; I see you made 
it past the wolves at the gate!"
  James Graham, fifth Earl and chief of the clan, was not quite out of 
breath, used to marching at a quick pace, but he slowed as he drew near.  
Iain waited until he drew a few breaths and came to a halt before him.  
James shook his head.  "Aye, wolves indeed.  I was worried I'd not make it 
here by nightfall.  Why, I had to detour around the friendly Shepherd 
himself!"
  Iain raised his eyebrows.  "You went around that peak? It's no wonder 
you're hours late, man!" He made no mention of the way James was dressed: 
innocuously enough, with a simple plaid and a cloak against the wind and 
rain despite the decidely summery-clime for this time of year. It was just 
so out of character. His white shirt was mostly hidden beneath his 
travel-stained cloak, betraying the origins of fine lace and linen under his 
uncharacteristic dress.  Indeed, the midgies would have feasted well had 
they both been not used to living out-of-doors. The Graham usually dressed 
up, not down; nothing ostentatious, mind; merely well as befitted a man of 
his station and breeding. But nothing could disguise Lord Graham's elegant 
movements, the pride in his bloodline and heritage implicit in the grace 
with which he moved.  He was a spare, lean figure but his appearance was 
made larger than life by the pure beauty of his face.  Not to say that he 
lacked masculinity - in that department he was virile enough, for despite 
his rather slight frame and stature he carried himself as a noble born and 
bred. His eyes were a deep gray and thoughtful, his mouth betraying a subtle 
humor.  His serious countenance once broken by a smile positively glowed 
with disarming charm.  His hair was fastidiously kept, though it surely 
proved a task for he had an abundant mane of chestnut curls.  The 
fashionable, pointed beard and tiny moustache that he kept neatly trimmed to 
a minimum did nothing
to hide the vitality and vigor of his youthful idealism, though he was no 
longer a stripling.  A true cavalier, and didn't he look it. Iain suspected 
he was edging thirty, though could not remember off-hand the age he'd been 
when he'd seen him leave for Europe after that wayward sister of his.  
Twenty?  There was an implacable strength and integrity in his very bearing 
that made all respect him upon first meeting, softened only by his carriage, 
a demeanour which could only be likened to a stag.  A very noble cavalier.  
Iain had himself likened him in verse to a king's son in more ways than one.
  All in all, quite a change from the slight, boyish figure who had left for 
Europe to search for his eloped sister so many years before.  Beside him, 
Iain felt coarse and rough; he had never noticed it before, nor minded it in 
other company.  But then, he'd not seen him for a long while.  Their 
relationship had consisted purely of verses exchanged across the distance 
between lonely Glen Etive and the Graham's various residences - Kinnaird, 
Kincardine and Brechin.  For a moment, he wondered; the unlikeliness of 
their abiding friendship, the Bard of Keppoch and the Graham...  but he knew 
the glue that held it together was a profound respect that James had for him 
and his ready coin and supper for any poet who called in at his castle.  Not 
to mention Iain's own steady support as a slightly older man, a Highland 
native and advocate of the King's cause, though privately he harboured a 
much deeper regard for James that went way beyond what even he dared ken.  
When strong drink made him too honest he knew there existed something akin 
to hero-worship in his heart, though why he kept this hidden even from 
himself, he could not say.
  Iain added, "Did you meet any sentinels at the entrance to this glen of 
mine?  I'd `a thought this was too lonely a place to be watching out for 
such as yourself."
  "Aye, a few Campbells camping out.  Naught to worry.  I hope you weren't 
fussing in dread over my foolish bones?  What a bracing climb!  Come, let's 
eat; I'm starving!"
  He sat himself down by the fire and removed his boots, wearily stretching 
his legs out before him.
  Iain dished out stew into two pans and handed one over with a suspicious 
eye.
"Where's your horse, Jamie?"
  He only laughed.  "Grazing in the copse down there.  Don't worry, I 
tethered him.  He prefers it down with the deer to standing up here on this 
windy hill all night.  Not that I'm complaining, mind.  I envy you this 
spot.  So peaceful.  Far removed from that hectic, politic rabble.   I've 
had a bellyful of it, all of it."
  Iain sat likewise, his bowl before him, wondering at the young lord's 
tone.  James had always been the relentless and untiring champion of the 
Royalist cause, in fact any cause that begged justice and truth, yet he 
seemed ill at heart and disillusioned.  Aware he was pressing the matter, he 
said, "Is aught amiss?  I've never known you to lose a battle yet; nor an 
argument, at that."
  "Nay, my friend.  Another kind of battle, a losing one that I cannot hope 
to win, yet must try anyway.  I can't abide the hypocrisy and decadence that 
seems to be the primary corrupting force of this fair land at this time.  I 
noticed it when I returned from Europe - my sister..."
  "Have you had any word of her?"
  "No."  Jamie was curt, obviously not wanting to digress.  "But it all 
seems to have increased in the last few years.  It will be a hard winter for 
them, I promise before God!"  His cultured lowland accent of course stood 
out, particularly when he became heated about something.  He would betray 
himself sometime if he weren't careful, thought Iain.  What with his 
forgetting to address in Gaelic and being unable to disguise himself.  Not 
that it was his fault.  And not for the first, Iain felt a twinge of 
jealousy.  Well, not
everyone could be born an earl.  Funny, that he actually looked the part 
whilst the others more resembled elderly dried lizards. But it remained a 
liability for James that no matter how careful the disguise he donned, he 
could never hide his identity from others.  It was particularly the way that 
he moved and carried himself, as though he were a monarch himself.  
Ironically, this was all very unconscious.
  Iain regarded his fervent expression. Jamie's eyes were haunted with 
unspoken musings and lit with a keen vengeance; he was thankful that he was 
his friend, not foe.  Quietly, he said, "How long has it been since you 
could forget all that for a while?  What have you been doing since you 
returned?  Have you written anything?"
  Jamie grinned at him, gratefully.  "That is what I've been looking forward 
to.  I can honestly say that I was able to enjoy travelling here.  Often I'm 
moving so fast that I can barely register my surroundings.  And at night, 
too! How I envy  you, with your life of an itinerate, lyric dreamer, welcome 
at every door, calmly lazing about up here in the Highlands.  I enjoy the 
hills and the paths round here, particularly."
  "You also enjoy dashing about," Iain scoffed accusedly.  "So, out with it! 
  What have you composed?"
  Hesitating, Jamie threw him a glance and pretended to be engaged with his 
stew.  But Iain was patient and continued to glare at him.  Finally, Jamie 
threw down his spoon.  "Yes, alright; enough.  I admit I've done nothing, I 
have no offerings.  Nothing finished, anyway.  That doesn't mean that we 
cannot compose some now, on the spot.  However," and Iain braced himself, 
for he could feel it coming, as he usually could, "I give you my solemn, 
sworn oath, upon my honor, the King, upon his cause and the loyalty I bear 
him, that I will always in future enactments of war and other tragic 
melodramas write such words of stirring glory or misery as move me.  And I 
shall make time to send them to you."
  Iain raised his brows and lifted his spoon to his mouth as he replied 
around a mouthful.  "Very dramatic.  I thank you; I, in turn, swear to 
always return the favour.  Favour?  Honor, rather! Whereas I, on the other 
hand, have composed various pieces in my hours of indolence and sloth that 
you may find passable.  I've got them inside."  He motioned with a jerk of 
his chin towards the dimly-lit croft behind them, sheltering the fire from 
the rising, whipping wind.
  James chuckled, the humour in his face transforming him from a coldly 
beautiful, noble figure to a lively and easy friend. "What are they doing in 
there?" He brandished his spoon at him.  "And after laying down my guilt so 
readily, too!"
  Iain shook his head, grinning.  "Best not to look at them now.  I was 
drunk at the time; we should wait until we have reached that state 
ourselves.  I'm thinking, perhaps you could tell me what you have been up to 
after all this time.  You sent no word of events, only future dates and 
promises.  I am short of news up here, though the place swims with 
Campbells.  The MacDonalds have all been behind the King's cause, but there 
are many others who are not.  Still, those who have not come forward tend to 
be the real allies. The Lords of the Isles may also surprise you yet, 
Jamie."
  James shrugged and placed his finished plate on the ground.  He stretched 
out along his side by the fire and regarded it as he pulled his cloak about 
him.  "Be that as it may, I will not count on anything.  Forgive me, my 
friend, I cannot bear to speak of either politics or religion this evening."
  "Very well," remarked Iain, his hand going halfway to his pouch before
remembering that James abhorred tobacco, especially the smoke. He didn't 
make a habit of it himself but only when he had visitors so he would 
definitely refrain in his present company. He considered getting his flask 
of whisky he'd been saving and decided to wait.  He too stretched out, on 
the opposite side of the fire.  "How is Magdalene?  And little John, and 
James?  I trust they are well?"
  A sudden proud smile lit James' face at the mention of his sons.  "Aye, 
they are very well.  James is a sight for a father to behold and John, well, 
he is growing to be every part a true and brave man.  I swear they do the 
Grahams proud.  Little James takes such delight in bettering his riding 
skills."
  Iain noticed his friend's reticence on the issue of his wife.  Clearing 
his throat, he said, "And Magdalene.?"
  Sighing, James turned to lay on his back and regard the clouds scudding 
across the stars which had begun to show.  The giant bowl of the sky 
encircled by the majesty of the Etive mountains never showed the same face 
twice and right now they were forbidding and mysterious as if hiding the two 
of them within their valley-folds.  "The poor dear.  She doesn't understand 
me, what drives me, inspires me.  What makes me believe in glory and honor, 
valor!  She strives so to be supportive, wifely and good. I haven't the 
heart to complain of anything she does.  But she is, well," he stopped.
  Iain said nothing, merely nodded.  Waited.  Obviously the good woman, 
married to her childhood friend at sixteen and having not seen him for many 
years, had been taken aback to find her boy-husband returned from Europe a 
grown man with a man's notions rather than the fancies of the adolescent she 
had married.  And she'd not been the only one; no doubt the father, Lord 
Carnegie, under whose roof his daughter remained at Kinnaird Castle, had 
also found Lord Jamie changed.
  James burst out, certainly needing someone to express all of this to, "She 
is a good and dutiful spouse.  But her mind belongs to her father and her 
heart to her sons.  There is no room for me.  Oh, to be sure she is my wife 
in deed as well as name but there is only that."  He shook his head.  "We 
were starry-eyed once, happy to be comfortable in the security of being 
wedded.  I believe - I believe that our children are the only thing that 
keep us together, now."
  Sympathy rose in Iain.  "Well," he answered, attempting to give some words 
of encouragement, "many marriages, especially ones begun so young as yours, 
need children and duty to keep them going.  Often affection and duty take 
the place of love."
  "Love?" scoffed James. "There is no romance in the thing at all.  It is an 
institution, no more.  My one love has always been this land and its 
freedom.  No one person can ever take the place of that.  My heart is 
Scotland's, forever."
  This new attitude of James' was a slightly less idealistic and rather 
depressed view than was his previous wont.  Iain was sure that it was his 
years and experiences with Scotland's nobles that had so disappointed him, 
not just his maturing in Europe.  But this was too miserable.  He had to 
bolster his friend's spirits.  He grinned at him.  "Well, how is she to 
compete with a mistress like that?"
  James ruefully lay back, relaxing once more.  "You're right, of course.  
But even dear silly Kate, though a woman, could understand what I'm on 
about!"
  "Oh, aye!  And she being your close sister, a firebrand and now lost to 
that dark warlock who tempted her away..."
  "Well, I'm hardly alone.  There's Archie Napier, and his wife - not to 
mention yourself," James dissembled.
  Iain laughed outright at him.  "I'm every bit as much a man as Lord 
Napier, Jamie.  I wonder if the climb hasn't addled your wits.  Or was it 
all the weeks you've been spending in Holyrood of late?"
  James' brow lifted.  "I, in Edinburgh?  Give me your lonely Shepherd's 
peak over that farce any day!  Nay, I've been hieing round the provinces, 
trying to gather clan support.  And see here, you've got me going again.  
Enough of this.  Do or do you not have anything to drink?"  He rose to a 
sitting position, glaring over at Iain accusatorily.
  "Very well," rumbled Iain, feigning resignation.  He got to his feet.  
"I'll bring it out." He went into the cottage and retrieved the bottle he'd 
been saving, as well as two beakers.  "This is the spirit for tonight.  A 
good brew of mine, if I dare say so myself."
  "You distilled this?"  Jamie sat up straight, gingerly taking the 
proffered cup from Iain.  He lifted it to his nose while waiting for Iain to 
seat himself.  "Dare I try?" he quipped in speculation.
  Unable to hide the smug pride from his voice, Iain replied, "Aye.  I've 
been saving it up now for two years.  I kept it under the loose floorboard.  
Wouldn't do to have roving Campbells stealing it."  He lifted his hand high 
and said with a little more solemnity, "To your good health and success, 
m'Lord.  May the Graham ever remain in Heaven's regard."
  James scowled a little.  "And let us add, too, to our long and lasting 
friendship - may we  always remember each other in our prayers, whatever the 
future brings.  There are clouds gathering on the horizon and they stretch 
much farther south than Edinburgh."
  He lifted the cup higher and then drank.
  Iain hesitated briefly, then followed suit.  He looked away and waited a 
few minutes before asking, "Do you refer to the King's troubles with English 
Parliament?  Or to Ireland?"
  James shrugged.  "Does it matter?  He is beset on all sides, and at home 
as well as abroad.  Shameful, that there is no-one without who would lend 
aide to our monarch but then they have wars enough of their own."
  Suddenly, the thought struck Iain: that perhaps his dear friend was no 
longer happy.  His one enduring impression of Jamie Graham was of a serious 
mind and a cheerful, composed countenance who was easy to smile and given to 
good humor. But now his strong, deeply religious and righteous soul was 
riding the waves of a turbulent sea.  "Are you troubled, Jamie?" he asked, 
quietly.
  James gazed down at the fire, thrust a branch into it, turning it, the 
sparks flying up and lost in the wind that caught at them as it blew from 
behind the croft.  "No, but there are troubles coming.  And, I fear, war."
  Iain closed his eyes momentarily.  "So the summer reveries are over.  Ah 
well,  there’s glory and valorous deeds to be had as well as blood spilled."
  "Hm.  And perhaps, though the danger to yourself would be as great, you 
would accept the invitation to travel with what army I can muster, to 
compose romantic epics of the glorious blood-spilling of clansmen on our 
soil?"
  Iain stared at him.  "You think I would not?  By Our Lady, you'd have to 
imprison me if you didn't want me following the troops' progressions - you 
know I can out-march you over hill and heather."
  James shook a finger at him.  "Aye, but not a true march, my friend.  
You'd have to stay behind with the women and camp-followers.  It'd be the 
safest thing, after all.  I'll not see our nation's treasure so endangered."
  Iain sucked in a breath.  "Now you do sorely jest with me.  But be warned, 
my pen is mightier than yours, and we have yet to see what your sword can 
do.  Or are you but wild boasts? Your little skirmishes with the Royalists 
are nothing to what you may have to face with the Covenant troops you 
yourself led against them!"
  James grinned at him.  "You would challenge me?"
  "You misunderstand.  I challenge you to a duel of words.  Let the best man 
win, once we have soused ourselves."  And he held up the bottle of whisky 
once more, wickedly.  Iain made a great show of pouring it out and insisting 
on filling their cups over again, but he could not help regarding his friend 
surreptitiously.  His spirits appeared to have lifted, so that was all well 
and good.  But what was this sweet ache that had grown within his own 
breast?  He longed to comfort James somehow.  He respected him too much to 
dare follow that train of thought very far, yet his could not keep his eyes 
from straying along the length of his body down to his stockinged feet.  He 
even had to suck in his breath at one point and keep to his own cup, for 
surely his own laughter was slightly strained and unhinged. And yet - the 
boy truly had become a man, and in a way that surely tugged at the interest 
of other men as well as the ladies.  Iain scowled to himself, privately, 
pretending that his glowers were aimed at his now-empty cup but in truth he 
was uneasy.
  He had never hidden his adoration or respect from this man but now, alone 
together amidst this setting that they both enjoyed so well, it became... 
inescapable.  It disturbed him, for he'd never felt so inclined toward any 
other man in his life.  Every time Lord Jamie's lips curled up in a smile as 
their light-hearted banter continued, Iain found himself wondering what it 
would be like to press his own mouth to his; warmly, intimately.  To hold 
down the smaller, younger man beneath him and feel his body moving under 
his, desperately, even passionately... This would never do, he berated 
himself once more, catching himself in the act of actually fantasizing of 
physical union, forbidden caresses.  And a sudden notion came to him.  Aye, 
he loved this man, more than any woman who had ever inspired his romantic 
poet's heart, especially because he was so much more than a mere man, an 
extraordinary individual.  Others certainly worshipped Montrose in their own 
ways but he feared this was becoming an obsession.  Suddenly, jealousy bit 
deep; that all he should have was this brief, shared interlude and that 
unappreciative, ungrateful woman should have his affections so chastely and 
so dutifully, so exclusively...
  "My dear bard, have you heard a word I've said?"  Jamie's eyebrows were 
lifted, regarding him with an amused and quizzical expression.
  "Eh?" He started.  "My apologies, milord, I was worried I'd gone dry 
again."  He pointedly frowned into his cup again.
  "Yes, you seem to be knocking it back with abandon tonight," commented 
Jamie drily.  "Drowning your sorrows or some such.  But you still haven't 
answered me."
  Uh-oh.  "Er, which part?"
  Jamie stared at him thoughtfully for a moment.  Then swirled the contents 
of his own cup and said, before draining it, "Upon my offer."
  "W-which one?"  Mercy on me, he thought, had the drink loosened his tongue 
as well as his brains?  He'd have to watch what he said.
  The Graham's left brow rose pointedly.  "To share your latest verses.  As 
I mentioned earlier, I have started a composition that needs revising by 
some notable figure in the field.  Yourself, perhaps."
  "Oh, very well," he grumbled, rousing himself sufficiently to stagger back 
into the wee croft in the dark and shuffle through his books.  He finally 
laid hands upon the parchment in question and brought out the binding with 
it to shelter it from stray raindrops should they appear.  The sky was now 
dark and the Shepherd did not look to be lenient with them tonight.  He 
cursed his own flushed face heated by the drink as he took his place by the 
fire once more.  A glance at James showed the drink had not spared him 
either, though he rather suspected it was more becoming upon his 
countenance.  In fact, Iain mused despite himself, Jamie's skin was fair 
enough to betray even the slightest stain of rose and the heat brought out a 
healthy glow that was too becoming.  At least in his present state.  He 
forcefully cast his eyes down to the pages and mumbled, "I have committed 
them to memory, of course, but I would not wish to marr the rhythm by 
stumbling."
  "And you're drunk," Jamie added, grinning.
  "Yes.  Now, here.  'To all who hold such places dear, as true as honor'd 
hearts may be, none may hold this fair one near, though live 'neath skies as 
free, for she is grander than all designs, beyond all mortal schemes, and 
she created in Heaven's signs, the hope of all men's dreams.'"  He intoned 
softly, growing ever more slowly towards the end of his recital, lost in his 
own words and lost in the feeling of them. He read the poem in its entirety, 
feeling the rising swell of the magic, the spell of writing.  The 
bewitchment that words cast upon the mind and eye.  He looked up suddenly.  
"Not as good as your own offering, I daresay.  I have treasured the one you 
sent me, 'My Dear and Only Love'.  I confess that one has inspired me."
  Jamie shrugged.  "Be that as it may, yours is your own.  I cannot claim to 
see a resemblance but for the subject.  Fair Scotland."  Iain was scowling 
at him.  "What?" he demanded, "Why glower at me so?  I only speak the truth; 
you know me better than to think I'd flatter you."
  Iain shook his head.  "No, I want to hear your piece.  I have a suspicion 
that it is more than worthy."
  But Jamie only sniffed in reply and composed himself for a moment, to 
gather his memory up.  "Well.  'When Heav'n's great Jove had made the 
world's round frame, Earth, water, air and fire; above the same, the ruling 
orbs, the planets, spheres, and all, the lesser creatures in the Earth's 
vast ball: but, as a curious alchemist still draws, from a grosser metals 
finer, and from those, extracts another, and from that again, another that 
doth far excel the same, so fram'd he man of elements combin'd, t' excel 
that substance where he was refin'd, but that poor creature, drawn from his 
breast, excelleth him, as he excelled the rest, or as a stubborn stalk, 
whereon there grows, a dainty lilly, or a fragrant rose, the stalk may 
boast, and set it's virtues forth, but, take away the flower, where is it's 
worth?'"  He fell silent.  He lay back, his eyes closed, the firelight 
dancing on the shadows and planes of his face.  Presently, he said, "I have 
spent too long concerned with transient things, Iain.  I long to replenish 
my spirit with simple verse and the smell of the heather here.  This 
gathering storm has swept me up and now I am powerless to fight the pull.  
The current is too strong."  He opened his grey eyes and gazed directly into 
Iain's own, the simple action so direct that a shock of quite indefinable 
proportions stabbed at Iain's belly and he felt his heart constrict with the 
surge of emotion that arrived upon its heel.  He was quite incapable of 
interrupting as the Graham continued, "There are sadly very few kindred 
souls such as yourself who can actually find the beauty in words to describe 
the scene as fits.  My own offerings are quite paltry compared to yours.  
What they own in conviction are lacking in beauty and they are quite crude 
despite my sincerity."
  "Nonsense!  'Tis the sincerity that holds the beauty."  Iain himself was 
quite sincere.  "What have you called it?"
  "Ah.  You could not tell, from the obvious remarks about creation and 
man?"  Jamie was jesting with him.
  "Just tell me what it is," stated Iain.
  "'In Praise of Women.'  It is not finished," he added, hastily.  "There 
are a few more lines I'm working on.  As soon as I complete it, I'll write 
it up and send it to you."
  Iain couldn't help rolling his eyes heavenwards.  "M'Lord Montrose, you 
are quite incorrigible.  I can do nothing with you; you're beyond all hope.  
Be careful, lest you flay the wrong man with that wit of yours sometime.  
Those who stand against you have no idea that your pen is as mighty as your 
sword."
  "I have hardly yet drawn my sword!" Jamie laughed.  "And I meant only to 
thank you in gratitude for your friendship.  For it is as I said: there are 
very few who share the love of verse as we do.  I have but few acquaintances 
who can claim a poet's soul."
  "Fine," Iain conceded.  "Shall I offer my services then, as a learned 
scribbler, to tutor your lines to completion?"
  "Ah.  And what other areas do you find me lacking, I wonder?  I'm sure 
that your pen is mightier than my blade."
  Iain stared.  "I can't think what you mean by that."
  "Can you not?"  Jamie was wearing an enigmatic smile, his head propped 
upon his hand, one hand tightening the end of his cloak about him against 
the wind which was now beginning to blow sparks from the dying fire.  "You 
have composed verses raising me to the level of a king's son, haven't you?  
You could just as easily bring me lower than that snake, Argyll.  A cattle 
reaver, perhaps.  Or even a Catholic."
  "Now that is going to far," exclaimed Iain in mock severity.  "I?  
Question your devotion to the Protestant cause, after defending it so 
staunchly against Charles and his bishops?  Perish the notion, m'Lord!"
  But his sarcasm had not gone astray and Jamie actually laughed out loud, 
the laughter caught by the gusts of wind as Iain finally gave in and poked a 
stick at the fire.
  "We should go in, I think," Iain suggested.  "T''is not getting any 
lighter yet.  And I don't want you running about the hillsides after dark in 
a drunken condition.  Too many roving Campbells."
  The fire had been too sheltered by the slight rise of the rocky 
outcropping surrounding them to betray their presence to anyone beneath that 
particular altitude.  James followed Iain into the little shed.  Iain roused 
the smouldering hearth and set it going, a much happier flame than the one 
outside.  And turned to find the Earl of Montrose stretched out as 
contentedly as a born-crofter on the mat on the floor.  He sat down, afraid 
to examine the feelings that arose as he realised that he had the man 
himself in his dwelling, on his bed.
  Drowsily, his voice slurred by drink, James remarked quietly, "Don't wake 
me, my friend, for the morrow is ours.  I have a particular urge to take a 
boat upon Loch Etive in the rising sun."
  Iain commented, "I thought that your time was precious.  Are you not meant 
to be back by the morning after?"
  "Actually, yes."  James cleared his throat.  "By Heaven Above, you would 
begrudge me a single day of truancy?!  I think I have earned it, do you not? 
  Besides, Magdalene will hardly miss me."
  The mention of his wife's name sent a burning brand of jealously spiking 
through Iain again and he hardly knew he spoke as he retorted, "That 
simple-minded, disloyal trollop hardly comprehends what she has, and abuses 
you in ignorance and misplaced marital dudgeon!  She certainly doesn't 
deserve a husband as true nor as possessing such honor fit to replace the 
king himself! I wouldn't be surprised if she had accepted any man her father 
chose for her.  It was only fate that decided you to be her nearest 
neighbour.  And I doubt that even at this moment she thinks of you, but 
instead lies stiff and cold beneath her borrowed covers in her father's 
house, worrying that your 'wavering' loyalties to king and covenant may 
place her father's good name at a disadvantage.  Nary a thought to your 
sufferings in the name of valor and what is right!"  He spat the words out 
heatedly, before he realized it and belatedly caught himself mid-tirade.  He 
closed his mouth and swiftly glanced at James, who was propped up on both 
elbows regarding him in utter astonishment.  He wished he had kept his mouth 
shut and leaned back against the wall on the other side of the hearth, 
awaiting Jamie's disapproval at his strident, shaming abuse of his wife in 
his presence, and in her absence.  But it didn't come.  Instead, James 
seemed lost for words, for once.  It took a lot to do that and for a moment 
Iain wanted to enjoy the triumph.  To catch the Graham off-guard, who always 
had a ready reply, eloquent and with a strong command of several languages 
under his employ, was no mean feat.
  James' voice had a note of respect as well as surprise.  "She is only a 
woman, after all.  By my faith, Iain, she can hardly help herself.  It's her 
father that is to blame, he keeps her torn between he and I and unfairly I 
might add.  That's most likely to end now that I have taken King Charles' 
side at last.  It was my alliance and my part in the Covenant that was 
disapproved of by the family, not me or my person."
  "Forgive me, Jamie," begged Iain, quite contrite.  "It was the drink; I 
had no right to speak of her in such a manner."
  "Nevermind.  I quite agree with you, in any case.  It is partly her that 
inspired me to write 'My Dear and Only Love'.  What good is love if it 
cannot stand up in honor and truth against what is evil and unjust?"
  "Quite."  Iain was mortified to find himself frighted now to even lie down 
beside him.  He was worried at the feelings raging inside him.  This was 
more than respect or love for a comrade, a companion and a friend.  It was 
more than the fancy for a fair face.  It was more than devotion to a lord or 
even a king.  This went beyond the bounds of propriety.  This was love, but 
love of a sort he had never imagined could exist within him.  He wanted to 
follow him like a hound through whatever venture he might pursue, and to 
hold him close against any ill; to comfort and support him if he should need 
in any way, and be with him in both companionship and- and what? To lie with 
him like a common street-wench? he asked himself in scorn.  The thought of 
James atop Magdalene filled him with rage, loneliness, despair and even a 
little frisson of excitement.  Did she lie beneath her lord and husband like 
a limp fish out of the loch, or did she writhe beneath him with unbidden, 
unwanted lust?  Did she feel shame at arousal, or did she indeed feel 
nothing but a sisterly fondness for a man she had known as a child?
  "You've gone very quiet," James observed, "I cannot help but wonder if 
you've gone morbid as is your wont at this stage of the drinking process."
  Hastily Iain acknowledged, "You know me too well.  You must not worry, for 
you won't have to talk me out of it.  I do think we should sleep, anyway, if 
we intend to drift around Etive in the morning.  I'll need my rest if I'm to 
make it through that, first thing."
  With one eye open, James muttered, "Hm.  Your judgement is still fairly 
gone, my friend.  Surely you don't mean to sleep with your back hunched up 
against the wall?"
  Swallowing, Iain got up and tended the fire.  After dithering about he 
finally could not put it off any longer and stretched himself out awkwardly 
beside him on the floor, on the mat previously laid down adjacent to his.  
After a few moments however, he knew the cold wind outside was reached its 
fingers in to pluck at them and he got up to gather the blankets by the 
light of the glowing embers.  When they had settled down and an amiable, 
tacitly agreed silence sprang up, Iain lay awake in the dim confines of the 
cottage, whose walls seemed to be fluctuating wildly with the half-light and 
the whisky which still sang in his blood.  He offered up a silent prayer to 
be able to forget the warmth and the sound of the quiet breathing that 
emanated from the man beside him. Sure enough, he'd always been fond of 
Jamie the lad, and as he'd always been, James the Lord and Nobleman, the 
Friend, but... James the King's General and Champion?  James the Lover?  He 
looked over at him.  He was seemingly asleep, his
breathing slow and even.  He felt the stirring in his groin and the heated 
tingle as it gripped him.  He fought the urge to reach over, to touch him.  
So close.  He closed his eyes and turned away, sighing.  What would he think 
of him if he knew?  Where did James himself draw the line?  Would he be 
angry, disgusted?  Offended?  Secretly pleased or flattered?
  He tried to ignore the fact that James was lying a few scant inches away 
and busied his whirling thoughts with musings on what they would do in the 
morning.  An unexpected day granted him with his favorite, truest friend.  
What a boon!  Thoughts of his boat and the possibility of swimming should 
the day prove clear and warm rose to occupy his mind sufficiently.  Before 
he knew it, he was drifting off in the whisky haze.
  It was many hours later and a cold, pale light was in the sky as he awoke 
with a start.  The fire was dead.  He felt stiff and uncomfortable; cold, 
even.  His thoughts were fuzzy but his mind wasn't, the effects of the 
whisky had long worn off.  In fact, he needed to relieve his bladder 
desperately.  He sat up groggily, startled by the sight of James' feet 
sticking out from under a blanket beside him, silent and prone.  The 
instantaneous rush of memory brought him fully awake and he carefully crept 
outside to go relieve himself behind the croft.  Dawn was not far away.  He 
was shivering soon, as he stood surveying the mist as it settled all about 
the mountains and curled around the hillsides like ghostly dragons.  The 
golden stream finally dwindled and he absently shook himself.  He was 
momentarily distracted, standing there holding his own cock, because he 
began wondering if he were to physically enjoy union with Jamie, would he be 
too big?  Would he hurt him?  Never having engaged in such congress, he had 
only imagination based on crude jests and description to go on.  By the time 
he got back inside the relative warmth of his croft, his teeth were nearly 
chattering.  As he settled himself back down quietly, he gingerly wished for 
a moment simply for heat's sake that he could press himself against the back 
of the man who lay on his side, facing away from him towards the wall.  And 
then he remembered that would mean touching him; putting his arms around 
him, even.  And then he thought, why not?  Slyly, so as to make him think 
that he was only seeking warmth, himself.
  Innocent in itself, the act.  Nothing to arouse any suspicion of unnatural 
desire or intent.  Hardly breathing, he edged forward and wondered how to 
proceed.  He felt clumsy; should he be too forward now, he'd undoubtedly 
wake him.  He decided to just lean against him.  There, no harm done.  And 
now one knee pressed into the inside of his, just like that.  Now, don't 
move.  Wait.
  Tired as he was, Iain almost dozed off once more.  The sudden shifting 
startled him awake as James stirred, unconsciously drawn by the warmth of 
his body so close to him.  He pressed back against him, leaving Iain to 
inhale sharply as he felt the full impact of James' back and shoulders 
against him through his light shirt and blanket, his thighs resting against 
his.  Iain's skin was burning, he could feel the heat from James searing him 
through the clothing they both wore.  To his mortification, he felt himself 
growing quite hard from the continued contact.  Not to mention also from the 
knowledge that it was James Graham of Montrose laying with him spoon-fashion 
in his sleep.  Iain wondered how much he should shift his hips back lest his 
erection actually press against James in any way.  But he lost this 
completely as James sighed deeply in slumber, settling back even more.  It 
was easy now to put an arm around him, holding him in place in this current 
embrace.  He didn't want to move; this was too wonderful.  And there was 
nothing wrong with holding him in mutual comfort, friendship and warmth, was 
there?  His conscience pricked him at that thought, for he knew very well 
that he was taking advantage of a situation that James might very well 
disapprove of had he been awake.  After all, that was no sheathed blade or 
mere stick that was prodding against the sleeping man's upper legs.  But he 
was paralyzed.  Seemingly of its own volition, his cock had decided that 
this was the most excellent thing that had ever transpired and refused to go 
down.  He gave up trying to will it so and surrendered to the pure pleasure 
of holding the Earl of Montrose in his arms.
  It would be so easy to slip his hands down along his waist, to his hip, to 
his bare skin... no, no! Don't do it.  He swallowed, trying to stop the 
trembling in his legs and hands.  He didn't want him to wake.
  But James sighed again, leaning his head back farther so that Iain 
couldn't help but find himself lost in the fragrance of his thick and 
glorious hair, laced with some unnamable spicy scent.  He couldn't place it 
and after mulling it over as he breathed it in, realized it was James' own 
scent, not some expensive herbal wash.  A tremor shook him, not of cold this 
time but of undiluted lust.  He pressed his face close behind James and 
against the back of his neck.  His arms tightened around him, his heart 
threatening to burst in his chest.  Indeed, the pounding of it was loud in 
his own ears and thudded harshly in the silence.  That alone would awaken 
him, he feared.  But he was no longer thinking, for James moaned softly in 
his sleep and moved against him once more.  Too late now, for if he pulled 
away he would most definitely wake him...
  The sleeping lord was now pressed completely against him quite 
comfortably.  Iain could hold out no longer and planted a slow, warm kiss on 
his neck, followed by another.  He found himself mouthing his neck tenderly, 
his lips moving to just behind his ear.  He was intoxicated.  His arm 
tightened around him instinctively to hold him in place.  There was no 
mistaking the little shudder that ran through Jamie as Iain continued to 
kiss him gently.  So he stopped.  Jamie moaned again, the sound piercing him 
to the core.  He wanted to hear him cry out.  With pleasure.  He lessened 
his grip, worried that the shaking of his limbs would yet betray him.  He 
found himself wondering if Jamie imagined he was with Magdalene, or with 
another woman, was dreaming of it while he held him.  And then he wondered 
if Jamie were as hard as he just now.  Sheer curiosity overwhelmed him and 
he decided to dare it: he moved his hand down along his chest, past his flat 
stomach, to feel through the blankets wrapped around his body.  Sure enough, 
there was a telltale bulge.  He grinned behind him.  And moved his hand up 
again only to slip it between the covers and beneath his breeches.
  His skin was hot and delicious.  Iain's hand moved lower, finally 
encountering Jamie's hard shaft.  He was rigid and Iain moved his thumb over 
the slit, wetting the head with the copious precum.  This illicited an 
involuntary gasp from Jamie who brought up his own hand to grasp Iain's 
through the thin, coarse material of the clothing.  Iain froze but Jamie 
didn't take his hand off of him, merely began to move in a motion that quite 
robbed him of breath and made his head swim.  Sleeping or not, James wanted 
him unmistakably to continue.  Well, who was he to deny him anything?  He 
began to pull on his long, slender member with long, gentle strokes.  
Continuous shudders now racked Jamie, sending his body jolting against 
Iain's own hard erection which made matters worse for him.  Every time 
Jamie's upper thigh rubbed against his now-raging hardness, he fought 
against the desire to simply push him onto his stomach and strip down his 
clothing to reveal his naked ass.  The thought of it made him pump Jamie's 
cock faster and now Jamie was almost bucking in short, irregular staccato 
movements.  He gave up pretending and eagerly mouthed Jamie's neck once 
more, even nibbling on his earlobe.  His cock was hot in his hand, and 
pulsing with the anxiety for release.  But the confines of his clothing made 
it difficult for Iain to do the job properly and he found Jamie's own hand 
jerkily attempting to pull his clothing away.  Iain let go his throbbing 
cock and pulled his hand out, sitting up and quickly throwing the blankets 
off of the both of them, like lightening.  He divested himself of his own 
clothing right enough. He helped Jamie out of his shirt and then stripped 
the breeches down past his knees, off of his feet, to be discarded on the 
floor.  He quickly pushed him down upon his stomach and moved to lay upon 
him full-length.
  As he carefully wedged his own thick cock between Jamie's smooth, pale 
buttocks, Jamie convulsed slightly, obviously worried.  But Iain only 
settled upon him warmly, his hands moving to pin Jamie's arms under him, 
using his superior weight to keep him prisoner beneath him, just as he'd 
envisioned the previous evening.  He didn't move further, not wishing to 
alarm him.  He simply enjoyed holding him there, kissing the back of his 
neck softly, knowing Jamie's cock was trapped beneath his own stomach and 
the mat, and that his own cock was dripping so steadily he wouldn't need to 
avail himself of the lard beside the breakfast provisions.  Ah, the moment 
of truth, of glory.  The anticipation of a pleasure so painful that it made 
him shudder atop the smaller man.
  Jamie was whispering something and Iain leaned close.  Jamie was repeating 
himself.  "Please, please..."
  A wave of heat washed over Iain and he found himself gripping him even 
more tightly, rocking slightly with his ample cock still lodged firmly in 
place.  "So, my lord wants to be fucked, does he?" he growled hoarsely, 
feeling the sweat trickling from his arms and sides onto Jamie's skin.  If 
this was sin, then surely the volcanic heat would sear them senseless in 
sulphur and brimstone if they proceeded further for Iain had gone too far to 
stop now.  James began bucking back against him, the act of doing so rubbing 
Iain along the length of his crack and transporting him to another realm of 
desire.  He realised that this was precisely what he'd been wanting, had 
been yearning for since they'd first met.  And amazingly, Jamie seemed to 
share the sentiment!  So much for waiting...  he drew back carefully and 
pressed the tip of his cock against Jamie's waiting rosebud mouth, so tight, 
and pushed slowly.  Resistance at first, with Jamie going rigid with tense 
pain under him, but the slickness of his own arousal lent aid and even 
Jamie's virgin hole could not help but surrender to this slow penetration.  
As it went on, and on, each progressive inch was more devastating than the 
one before, and still he pushed forward.  The charge had been mounted and he 
felt Jamie's buttocks clamp on his cock like a hot vise.  But no matter how 
stiffly he held himself beneath Iain, the thick, erect cock that speared him 
thrust deeper and deeper until finally, after agonizingly slow minutes 
later, it was buried to the hilt.
  Panting above him, Iain stopped where he was lodged so deliciously and 
whispered tenderly, "Are you alright?  Do you want me to pull out?"  As if 
Jamie would believe that he would stop, now... now that he had finally 
claimed his body and proven that his sword was, after all, mighty in its own 
right.
  "No! Just - just give me a moment!"  Jamie's breathing was as labored, and 
strained as he added, "I didn't know it would feel like this."
  "I don't want to hurt you.  You must tell me-"
  "No, I'm alright!  Just let me adjust.  I - I want this.  I always have."
  Iain pressed his cheek to his, saying softly, "Not as much as I.  I have 
wanted to do this to you for years."
  There was a moment's silence and then James burst out, "By Our Lady, what 
kept you, man?!  If I'd only known..."
  Chuckling slightly, Iain said with as much relief as mirth, "I'm just glad 
I'm the first."
  "First?"
  "To have you, m'Lord Montrose.  Or didn't you know; half the population of 
Scotland's youth are in love with you?"
  "What?! Don't talk havers!  That's absurd."
  "Is it?  Everyone claims you are an angelic herald from the divine king 
Himself."
  This bordered on blasphemy and in outrage, Jamie attempted to struggle out 
from under him.  But Iain was ready for it and grasped him once more.  
Lifting himself up and settling down between Jamie's spread legs which were 
still firmly in place, he began pulling his cock out and then forced himself 
into him a little more roughly.  His hands went to his hips to help him 
balance himself as he did so. This brought a gasp from James that Iain was 
quite overcome by and could no longer help himself as he repeated the action 
again, and then again, beginning a steady rhythm as he pounded his arse with 
more abandon.
  Crying out, James found himself thrusting his hips back to meet each 
collision with a sensual surrender that surprised his sensibilities no end.  
This, James said silently to himself, was what had been missing in all his 
sexual escapades with women, and he'd certainly had no dearth of experience 
- what with all his travels in the exotic East and courts of Europe.  But 
never this; perhaps it was the mutual regard in which they both held each 
other that stimulated this final coupling to higher heights of requitement 
than he could ever have imagined.
  Iain was thrusting faster and faster, losing control, his own cries of 
passion ripped from him as he plunged into him like a rutting beast.  This 
was pure animal, pure sensation.  But he could not deny that this was way 
past sex now, he was fulfilling a desire that had been so long in the 
growing that mere release was not going to be enough.  He knew it 
instinctively, even as the relentless motion of his fucking the incredibly 
sweet, tight ass beneath him increased in speed and strength until Jamie's 
cries under him became almost pleading.  Oh, the thrill and power of being 
able to make this man squirm helplessly...  even as Jamie spurted wildly, 
his voice reaching an intensity that engulfed the senses of the man driving 
into him, Iain felt white stars explode in his head as his own orgasm 
finally erupted, uncontainable, over and over, emptying into Jamie's body in 
a hot fountain.
  Release was more than a relaxed calm after a simple sequence of spasms: 
Iain had a very long series of moments before he could recollect his 
surroundings.  Speechless, he managed, "I've never felt like that.  It was 
never like that for me before."
  Jamie was quiet, breathing hard beneath him.  Suddenly contrite, Iain 
moved off of him and grabbed a blanket to wipe himself, then turned to face 
the sight of Jamie laying prone yet.  Now worried, he touched his shoulder.  
"Did I hurt you?"
  "No.  You have no idea, do you, you simple fool?  Do you really believe 
this changes nothing?  Faith, how can I ever face Magdalene again, now.  
After ... this."  He rolled onto his back, his limbs relaxed in the 
lassitude of his afterglow.  He brought his arm up to his forehead and 
rested it there, his eyes flickering over to Iain where he sat somewhat 
concernedly.  Seeing his worry, James chuckled slightly and sat up, reaching 
over to pull him against him in a clumsy embrace.  "Are you not glad that we 
have the day as well?" he asked, mischievously.
  Iain found himself fumbling for words.  "Jamie," he managed to choke out, 
"Do you ken at all how much I love you?"  He clung to him desperately; 
trying to hold the sudden swelling of hot tears that tried to gather in his 
eyes.  Blinking, he waited.
  Jamie sighed against him in contentment.  "Of course.  I'm not blind.  You 
blush almost as easily as I.  I began to suspect last night that you had 
something on your mind other than poetry.  But I never dreamed you'd..." he 
trailed off.
  Iain remained as he was, holding the only man he'd ever truly loved 
closely and heatedly.  "So final, it is.  And yet still a beginning.  I'm 
afraid once is not enough; such beauty has to be tasted again to be 
satisfying, don't you agree?"
  Considering, Jamie replied, "Surely.  But it is my turn now.  'T'is only 
fair, yes?"
  Suddenly smiling quite evilly, Iain shook his head.  "I'm afraid not, 
milord.  You see," he said, using the advantage of surprise and pushing him 
down, "I am bigger than you are and this is one sport in which you cannot 
best me!"  He took the threat from his words by covering his hot skin with 
feverish kisses, that white skin and flawless, fit figure; trim from 
exertions and with a perfectly-formed chest, his nipples standing perked by 
the chill air and the contrasting warm ticklishness of the kisses Iain kept 
bestowing.  James tried to regain his position but found himself being held 
down yet again by his now-fervent friend.  And found further that he didn't 
wish to struggle very hard, although his legs were being lifted now, too.  
The logic was after all very agreeable - a repetition of that first 
explosion of oceans falling and boiling pleasure screaming throughout his 
entire body was more than welcome.  Surprisingly quickly after such a 
thorough exercising, his straining member agreed with him most vehemently.
  Incoherently, Iain found himself saying, "Jamie, Jamie; you don't know how 
much I've wanted you, wanted to do this to you; wanted to fuck you, make 
love to you. Oh my sweet lord...to fuck you, hard...oh, Gooood!!" Quickly 
spearing Jamie's ass again, Iain was facing him this time and was glad of 
it, for now he could possess his mouth as well.
  The shock of finally kissing him for the first time sent a pulse of fire 
shooting through his belly and his heart as he felt Jamie's lips part and 
let his tongue probe deeply to claim his lips, his mouth, his taste, and to 
enter him simultaneously, to have him as he would a woman.
  That last hurtled Iain past the barrier once more and he found himself 
fucking him fiercely as Jamie seemed to cry out like a drowning man under 
him, muffled against his mouth, moaning into him, meeting his own voice to 
create a mingling spiral of lust that circled higher and higher.  The sound 
of Iain's ample, tightly drawn-up balls slapping against his flesh was 
inescapable but matched by the sounds of a no-longer-virgin arse receiving a 
second lesson in lusty desire and fulfillment.
  Iain scarcely noticed the tears that found freedom to be lost amidst the 
storm. Staring down into his eyes, he was riveted, lost in that tranquil but 
relentless gaze.  The passionate fire in his own being was mirrored there. 
He found himself saying over and over, "I love you," gibbering in between 
kisses so deep as to be awesomely distracting.
  And for once, Jamie was glad to finally lose control.  There was no need 
for him to be in control of this, could finally admit that he did not want 
to.  The sheer gratification of this admission filled him with such 
satisfaction that he was able to let go completely, to give in to the 
stabbing penetration that Iain was driving into him with such concentration. 
  As the dam broke over them, their simultaneous release spilled and 
exhaustedly came to a rest - it took forever to come back down.
  As the dawn took its turn to break over the sky in a blaze of gold and 
white, the first streamers of the sunrise illuminated the perfect tableau 
within the high and lonely cottage in the glen - the two naked lovers 
inside, their hearts and bodies finally basking in the treasure they'd 
sought and found: each other.

END