girlyswot | Is it still stmargarets birthday?

Is it still stmargarets birthday?

Charlie proclaimed himself completely stuffed after demolishing most of

dogstar101's delicious dinner.

'Time to go, then.' Girlyswot raised a finger to attract the attention of Winewaiter!Albus. 'Have you got the portkeys ready?'

'They have all been slipped into pockets as you directed earlier.'

'Excellent. Can you activate mine and Charlie's first and then everyone else in ten minutes? We just need a few minutes to...' Albus's eyebrows rose suggestively '...get everything ready. Honestly, what is it with everyone assuming that all Charlie and I do is make out?'

'If the uncomfortable Regency corset fits...'

'It doesn't,' she told him firmly, rearranging her bosom just to make Gay!Albus feel uncomfortable in return.

He averted his gaze. 'Very well. We will join you in a few minutes.'

###

Girlyswot landed smoothly, safe in the circle of Charlie's strong, canon arms. She allowed herself a moment just to revel in his comforting presence.

'Here we are, then. Beaufort Castle, home of Clan Fraser. Did you get everything sorted out?'

'Think so. The pipe band are over there, and the Highland dancers are waiting inside to give us a display of sword dancing. There's a range of single malts for TDU to sample and plenty of black pudding ready to fry up for breakfast. I've checked all the charms - all the men will find themselves wearing clan tartan kilts, and the women will have plaids to put over their shoulder. Oh, and everyone will find that any injuries sustained so far will be healed, leaving only the scars.'

Girlyswot looked down. Charlie was indeed wearing a bright red and yellow checked kilt with matching socks that showed off his spectacular calves. She had a matching plaid over her Regency dress. She couldn't wait to start reeling.

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Moonette watched Will leave the bedroom, her eyes on his legs. None of those silly knee socks with the cuff for Will. His socks sort of fell scrunched to just over the tops of his boots. (Remember postcard man’s socks? Perfect!) They hadn’t snogged, though the calm fluffy feeling that pervaded her was certainly similar. Instead, he’d carried her upstairs after that insolent whack on her behind. She’d expected a good fight when they reached wherever he was going. But that didn’t happen. Instead, he’d gently washed the cuts and scratches on her legs, and placed a kiss on each bruise. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
In pure romance novel fashion, she’d put her hand over her heart and replied, “Only here.”

“Aye. I know the feelin’.” And he’d handed her her leather weekend bag with changes of clothes and shoes. “Don’t think we won’t be talking about what happened, lass. We will later. Right now I’ve got my ward to worry about. I’ll find you when I return.” (A/N Therefore, leaving plenty of flangsty potential for later.)

She’d leaned forward to kiss him, but he stopped her. “Not until the mark of him is off ye.” She reached to her mouth where the tender skin above her lip had been rubbed raw by Napier’s beard.”
Then he’d left.

~~~~~~~~~~~

And now I'm rushing back to write the new St. Mags plot twist! (Wish me luck.)

LOL - that was quite a threat to Albus!

Don't worry - true love will save the day. And it's true about choices - you have to have know all the possibilities before you can truly decide. (But if you have a cake for a brain - well *someone* has to take over)

LOL - the Weasleys are nothing but practical. Of course Percy would opt in with you. :)

Yes, Will warm you against any shock. *nods at fluffy medical intervention*

“Not until the mark of him is off ye.”

Oh, well done. Sigh.

Oh, when you play with fire . . .

Poor Will - his back is going to completely give out by the time he carries moonette to the castle.

Sometimes being practical pays off. ;)

I wish you all the luck in the world, my dear. And I hope I've grabbed the braindeadness for the whole group, so the rest of you are able to go wild. I sent a pm to Megan earlier today and cancelled the Akershus party - I do hope she got it - because I'm going to bed. *hugs*

St. Mags dashed toward the sound of music playing. She had been away twenty-four hours - it didn't seem possible - but between phone calls the night before and a stint volunteering at Prince Edward's school, she hadn't had time to go on the computer. Then there were those pesky cake children who had left their sticky handprints all over her. Megan certainly knew how to describe demon spawn. No wonder their soon-to-be mother had lost her mind and decided that the dangerous frontier-era Australian Outback was a better place than hanging out in the kitchen singing show tunes.

St. Mags rolled her eyes at this thinly disguised feminist fable and decided that this story line needed to veer back to fluff or risk being selected for Oprah's Depressing Book Club.

Moonette (whose hair looked fabulous, btw) was organizing a rescue, so St. Mags didn't want to interfere with that story line, either. Dear Gabriella and Richard were doing their best to get Duncan and Elizabeth together, but St. Mags thought that Gabriella should really spend the time designing a wedding gown. Yes, St. Mags had a plan. And if she pulled it off, she would win birthday party Bingo as well. But first she had a prince to collect from school . . .

I hope you feel better soon! Get some rest. *hugs*

I'm sure that's fine. We can carry on in Scotland for as long as we need.

Meanwhile, before dawn the next morning, back in Yorkshire at Fountains Abby, Kate and Nic woke up on separate cots and realized that they were the only ones left behind. "Let's have a full English Breakfast before we go wherever we are supposed to be next,' said ever sensible Kate.

Nic readily agreed. "We have to do something about these 'playing doctor' costumes, as well.

'"Be careful not to touch the Portkey until after we've eaten."

After a substantial breakfast, they touched their Portkeys and found themselves arriving at Beaufort Castle, Kate with her Wallace clan's red, black, and yellow tartan draped over her shoulder. Nic wore a kilt in the tartan for the Meath family. He didn't like it because it was not authentic but the light green with red and brown was colourful and one of his Irish relatives had paid good money to have it designed and made.

They could hear music so joined in the reeling.

St Margarets said something about fetching her little prince and vanished (as people have a way of doing at these parties). Kateleft her escort comparing kilts, hair on legs, and manly boots. Next thing she knew they would be ripping up telephone lines to toss the caber.

She went off trying to find the other women so she could catch up on what terrible injuries and slights had befallen them since she went to sleep. Girlyswot seemed to be holding court. After all, she lived in Scotland now. She said that some members of the party had gone to 19th century Australia to rescue Elizabeth in her stableboy costume. She noticed that TDU and CHK had chosen not to go.

Gabriella was muttering quietly, "I can't make a wedding dress without a bride. What do they think I am, magic? Oh, that's right, I'm a witch."

Next thing she knew they would be ripping up telephone lines to toss the caber.

Oh, that's genius - we should definitely organise some Highland Games for the menfolk to show off their rippling muscles and the womenfolk to ogle them.

Moonette showered and changed into something more demure – longer skirt and fashionable wedges, since her stilettos had seen better days. When would they start making off road styles? Because she wanted to be less concerned about appearance, she only took half an hour instead of forty-five minutes to do her hair and make-up. Then she left the bedchamber for a look around the castle. Will had brought her up three flights of stairs, so she was a little lost already as she started her exploration.

Perfectly in step with the parties, it didn’t take long for something to be amiss. Moonette thought she heard a groan as she passed by one of the closed doors. She stopped in the hallway and listened. Nothing. Then she backed up and put her ear closer to the nearest heavy wooden door. Sure enough, she heard it again. A gasp, then a clatter of something hitting the stone floor, some cursing in what she presumed was Gaelic (where was Hazel when she needed her?) then another low groan as if someone was in pain – a man, actually, as the voice was deep. Moonette paused. She didn’t want to interrupt something…uh…private. And the gasps and groans could certainly be due to a cause other than an injured man needing help.
Then he spoke, his voice thick with pain and a Scots brogue. “St. Margarets. Where are ye, lass?”

Moonette knocked on the door. “Excuse me…Um…Is everything all right in there?”

“Who’s there?” The voice had changed – it was now laced with menace, and Moonette could hear a scrambling over the stone and another groan.

Moonette took a deep breath and pushed open the door, standing off to the side to peek in delicately. “I’m Moonette, a guest here at the castle. Are you in need of help?”

No answer. Moonette peered in a little more and saw where he was hiding, on the floor behind the corner of the bed. A trail of blood smeared across the stone to where he was, and a glint played off the blade of a dagger he held in his right hand as though he’d let it show just a bit out from the bed as a warning. “Where’s St. Margarets?” he asked.

Aye, me an' all...

*faints*

*picks self up off hard stone floor*

LOL, I keep hearing his back clicking and popping! LOL!!!

But yes, I'm all ashiver (is that a word?) at his manliness, even if I did receive a swat on the behind. Ooh, this is fun! Thanks, Hazel.

I had no idea you were so soft, tdu. Where's your sense of adventure?

Goodness, you're amazing, Hazel!

My son's cubscout pack is participating in watered down Highland Games next weekend.

She awoke abruptly and looked around; nothing was familiar. The right side of her face was throbbing and when she touched it, she yipped. What had happened? She couldn't remember but would have bet the bearded man with devilish eyes had something to do with it. She had to avoid him, she thought, getting up and going hopefully to the table but all that remained in the dishes was black pudding. She shuddered and wandered away. There had to be a kitchen somewhere.

A door led to the outside. The warm sun was good on her face so forgetting her empty tummy she followed the metalled road and passed through the open gates in the castellated wall. The road led onward but still nothing was familiar. ‘Scotland’ came into her head but nothing else.

There was a huge old tree and she couldn’t resist going to feel the texture of the bark.

“Hello.”

She started. She’d missed the man sitting with his back to the tree. “Salut.” Why had she said that? He had a pleasant face, despite the curved scar on his cheekbone and an unforced smile.

“Are you from the castle?”

He had a crisp handkerchief spread over his thighs and several sandwiches. Her tummy rumbled audibly. “Jé ne sais pon.”

“You don’t know. You’re hungry, though. D’you care for cheese?” He offered her a sandwich, which she took and nibbled at with a mumbled, ‘mèrcie’.

“Marcus,” he said, rolling the ‘r’. “What shall I call you, hungry lady outside a Scottish castle who happens to speak Jèrriais.”

“I don’t know.”

He waited, watching her encouragingly.

“They said I fell in the river and banged my head. I don’t remember.”

“They?”

“Healer Wood at the castle. There was a woman with him, and a man with the eyes of a devil.” She shivered.

“Will Wood? Ah, he’s a good man—put me back together a time or two. It’s true your memory can suffer after a head injury—I remember one time during training,”

She watched the memory from his past live again as he reminisced to her, and she smiled. It was very strange—she’d only just met him, but she felt safe.

Oooo!

Ahhh. Back safe in Marcus' strong arms. (Well, not yet, but I'm sure soon.) Good for you!

(I'm struggling with plausible backstory for Mary's new hero!)

Oh, is he new? *brightens* I thought you were torturing Jamie again. Carry on. I have to make dinner now, so it will be awhile before I can get to the fluff. I want to ~~thwart~~ make sure our stories line up. :)

I thought it was Jamie too -- and I don't even know who Jamie is. (I mean, I know who he is...I just haven't read the books.)

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Is it still stmargarets birthday?

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