Date: Fri, 24 Dec 1999 16:49:00 EST
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: The Christmas Gift (A "Squire of Carlovain" Story)

			    THE CHRISTMAS GIFT
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM

Christmas Day, 1470
Heslov Hall, Carlovain

     On Christmas morning, Andrew awoke in his own room, in a large bed
well-covered with warm blankets and with a fire already blazing in the
fireplace in his chamber.  Outside, a winter storm blew with a soft
hissing; though not severe, it had been blowing almost non-stop for three
days on end with no sign of letting up.  Despite the warmth and comfort, he
was alone and therefore, he hated it.  Blast the Queen anyway!
     She had made the trip from Copenhagen to Heslov quickly, putting to
ship despite the encroaching storms and dangers of winter, and had arrived
in the palace just a few weeks after the King's victory at Winseran Point.
A young and not-unattractive woman with a regal bearing and charming
demeanor, she turned out to have her own opinions about how things were
going to be run in the castle, and foremost was that Andrew was NOT welcome
there for a time.  She had spoken to him the day after the wedding,
privately and politely, if rather bluntly, saying, "I am aware that my
husband does not have any great affection for me, but until there is an
heir to the throne which I have promised him and which he has promised my
father, I would not have him squander his virility in dalliances with you."
she had declared.  Their only witnesses, two of her chambermaids, giggled
at this.
     "You wrong me, Your Majesty."  Andrew protested.  "My only desire is
service to the King of Carlovain, as is your own."
     "And I am aware of the full nature of that service, for he has told my
father's ministers about it unceasingly.  You need not doubt the King's
feelings for you in this, and even I am not your enemy." she had said.  She
was quite unemotional about this, speaking as if this was nothing to do
with fidelity or loyalty or the lusts of the body, merely a routine bit of
housekeeping that needed arranging.  "I will not interfere once his son's
life grows within me and the line is assured.  But until then, I must
intercede."  Then she played her trump card.  "I have already spoken with
the King on this subject, and he has agreed, with the understanding that
you will be permitted to return to the castle as soon as my personal
physician has verified our success.  Until then, I must ask you to not
tempt my husband with your presence in our home.  You can understand my
position, I feel sure."
     "Yes, Your Majesty." Andrew said dolefully.
     A glimmer of sympathy insinuated itself into her features, without
changing the contours of her face in any perceptible fashion.  "I am not as
heartless as you may think.  Once I am with his child, you may return and
be with him in his chambers every night until the child is born and my body
is ready to receive him once again.  It is not my intent to bar you from my
husband's regard or even from his embrace.  I seek only to ensure the
lineage, as I have agreed and as is my duty as his Queen, both to the King
and to my new homeland.  Carlovain must have a clear heir to the crown if
it is to avoid further civil war, which should be as obvious to you as it
is to me."
     "Yes, Your Majesty." Andrew said.
     "Then we can agree on how best to serve the King at this time." And
the Queen held out her hand as a gesture of dismissal.
     Andrew kissed it dutifully, though he felt like biting it instead.
"May I pay my farewell to the King before I go?" he asked.
     "The coach is waiting to take you to your own residence." she said.
"And the King is in conference with my father's ministers, so he will not
have time to take his farewell.  I shall convey your adieu to the King, and
if God is good, your separation shall be brief.  You may go now."
     Andrew stood and bowed hastily; he had offended her somewhat he could
tell.  He stopped and bowed again at the doorway (she had turned away and
wasn't even looking at him), then left entirely, permitting his features to
show disgust and disappointment, only to stop at the manservant outside the
door, who he realized had been waiting for him.  "And what do you want?" he
demanded in a surly tone.
     "The Queen has asked me to escort you to your coach, My Lord." the
servant said apologetically.  "It is this way, if you please, Sir Andrew."
     It seems he wouldn't even get to walk out the door in his own way!  He
had been led to the coach and deposited at Heslov Hall, post-haste.  Though
the trip took only a matter of a half hour to complete, he might as well
have been consigned to the tin mines of Mount Livitan.
     And that had been two weeks ago.  He had many more weeks like this yet
to go, no doubt months even, before the Queen could be impregnated and he
would be permitted to return.  He just hoped she didn't have the problems
some women had in getting with child.  For now, he was getting steadily
bored and frustrated for he had no duties to perform which had hitherto
kept him busy, and, judging him under a cloud at the palace, even the
guests had been few and far between since, despite the oncoming holiday.
     Ah, well, today was Christmas Day.  Yesterday evening had been spent
in the church in Heslov (the King had been there, too, and hadn't even
glanced at Andrew though he had stood directly across the aisle from him in
their two boxes above the crowded mass below!), and this afternoon would be
busy with the Christmas feasts, both in their house and at other places,
that would go on for the next twelve days, but this morning at least was
left to the family to celebrate in private.  He rose and dressed himself,
looking about the room.  Montaigne had stripped the rooms to bare walls,
and taken of course all of his money with him as well as practically the
entire household staff.  Their new home had been an empty shell of forty
large rooms on two floors, in which his tiny family rattled about,
footsteps echoing through hollow passageways.
     His mother had done wonders in the time since, collecting furniture or
furnishings for payment of taxes due or promises of remission on future
taxes, and this without even the town of Heslov itself to call upon.  But
she had concentrated on furnishing the public areas, naturally enough, and
Andrew's quarters, which encompassed the entire east wing of the second
floor, still remained nearly barren.  Walking out of his bedroom which held
only his too-large bed and a wooden box that contained his clothing, he
walked down the hallway with large windows all along one side (though
shuttered now against the bitter cold), and on the other side, going toward
the center of the house, he passed first his private bathroom, with a hole
in the floor that had once housed a gold-gilded bathing tub, then the
exercise room which contained currently only a few handmade weights and a
battered dueling dummy suspended on a pivot and rope so it would swing its
pole about as he sparred with it, then there was the library, a room of
naught but shelves barren of all books, and there was finally the room
which would one day be his personal study, for holding of personal
audiences, or conducting business transactions or meetings.  His study was
totally bare, not even a table left behind he could use.  The Earl of
Sheredov would have even taken the decorative bricks out of the fireplaces
and carved figurines out of the arches and niches had he been able, and
judging from the gouged nicks in some of the stones and beams, he had
tried!
     He went down to have breakfast with his family, determined to enjoy
this much of the holiday at least.  His mother nattered on about the feast
and interrupted her meal to check on numerous things in the kitchen, but he
spoke with his father about minutiae and managed to cheer up a good deal.
      "Ah, I'm so glad we're going to be entertaining here at last." his
mother ended with.  "There is nothing like living in a house to make it
yours entirely and nothing like a party to make everyone know you live at a
place.  One day we'll even have the King himself to come visit us, next
year perhaps."
     "Yes, Mother." Andrew said morosely, reminded of his pariah status.
"Maybe next year."
     "Still sulking about that?"  His mother patted his arm.  "Now, don't
you go taking this to heart." she said in consolation.  "It's only right
that a man sleep with his wife when he marries her.  Why, look at your
father and myself, one bed even though we have room aplenty for separate
beds.  Wouldn't have it any other way, myself, I couldn't sleep without his
snores to inform me that he wasn't off getting into mischief."
     "The King has not forgotten you, son." his father put in gently.  "He
is simply trying to establish the Lady and establish his family."
     His mother picked up on this at once, as if it were just the
opportunity she was looking for.  "Yes, a man needs a wife and children.
You have to think of that yourself, now, you know." she said, grinning
slyly.
     "What?" Andrew asked.
     "The lineage.  You don't want our new line to die with you, now do
you?" she said.  "Ah, the pity!  If I had managed to have borne your three
brothers living instead of dead, I could have turned to them instead, but
as it is, I must look to you for my grandchildren.  And mind you, my son,
your father and I are of an age when we wish to see them.  So, I'll keep an
eye out for a nice wife for you, someone I can count on to take proper care
of you when I'm gone."
     "Very well." Andrew was actually relieved at this contrivance of his
mother; he wouldn't need to pretend any passion for a woman chosen by his
parents and could deal with her the way the King had his new Queen.  "I
place the matter into your hands entire.  You have my permission to select
my wife as you think best both for me and for the duchy."
     "Wonderful!" his mother crowed.  "Why, here I thought you were
forgetting whose son you were and you go and prove me wrong.  And don't you
be regretting your decision, the woman I choose for you will have a nice
face and a gentle personality, just as sensible, calm and good-natured as
my own."
     "As your own?" Andrew, startled, said belatedly.  "But...but...."
     His mother rose, heedless of his sputterings.  "Time for me to check
the cockatrice roast again.  That girl I have helping just doesn't think of
such things, and I have her mixing bread dough just now.  Besides, that
cockatrice will be the centerpiece of my table.  I haven't made a roasted
cockatrice in many a year, Lord love me; I hope I remember how to make the
right stuffing."  A "cockatrice roast", made by sewing the breast of a
large chicken atop the hams of a young piglet and roasting them together
that way, so that the meats combined their flavors, was a work of art in
and of itself.
     "You'll do wonderfully, I'm sure, my dear." his father said genially.
And to Andrew, "And don't worry, I'll check her choice out myself and step
in if I have to.  I've been happy with your mother just the way she is, but
I think you need a calmer soul to share your own life."
     "I think so, too." Andrew said, relieved.
     "Begging pardon, My Lord, Young Master." the butler interposed.  He
and his wife, the head cook, were the only members of Montaigne's original
household who had stayed behind.  "But there has already arrived here
a...person who claims to bear a gift for the Young Master.  His hands are
quite empty and he wears but a few rags of clothing, and is in great need
of a bath.  Shall I send him away?"
     "For me?" Andrew was puzzled.  "Who sent him, Wenren?"
     "He claims to come for himself." Wenren the butler sniffed.  "Young
Master, let me at least tell him to wait until the doors are opened for the
festival this afternoon, when there will be guards to help us at need."
     "What?  Leave him out in this cold for so many hours?  Of course not!"
Andrew said, his curiosity piqued.  "This is Christmas Day, after all.
Uh...take him into one of the vacant servant's quarters and there give him
clean clothing and food, and a place to take a bath.  And see that he is
warmed while he eats and heat water for his bath.  Once he is cleaned and
ready to be presented, you may bring him to me and I shall receive whatever
gift he has, and if this was merely some ploy to gain a meal, we shall
decide then how best to deal with him."
     "As you wish, Young Master." Wenren bowed.
     "Now that's the mark of a noble heart." his father approved.  "We must
be constantly thinking of how best to win the duchy's population over to
us."
     "Ah, they're already more than half on our side." his mother said, who
had returned during this discussion.  "They've exchanged a French lord for
a Neresterii lord.  You forget that I have been out among them and you
should hear their words of loyalty and happiness at your accession.  Now,
if you two are finished, I must turn all my attentions to the day's
entertainment and those which lie ahead.  If you will be kind enough to
stay close to the house today, and be charming hosts who greet our guests
quite genially as they arrive, I shall arrange for a fete that will make it
abundantly clear to all who come that we are worthy of living in this
house."
     "As you wish, my dear." Andrew's father said docilely.
     "And do remember to water down your drinks this time." she chided him.
"Must I instruct the butler to add the water before he presents the flagon
to you?"
     "Of course not, my dear...."
     Andrew went back up to his own quarters, not feeling like chatting
with the few early arrivals.  There would be time enough for that later.
He had stood in the church hall for Midnight Mass last night, and while all
eyes should have been upon the tabernacle and sacred chalice, he could only
look at the royal box in despair.  The King had stood there with his new
wife, in clear view of Andrew and vice versa, but the King had barely
glanced his way, seeming to enjoy and relish his new Queen's company.  Did
he mean so little to his King after all?  Or had he lost his sovereign's
affections to this usurper in the bed?  To think of those strong hands
wrapped around the body of a...a woman, when they belonged around his
own...!
     He felt a rage imbue his bowels, and knew then what he wanted to do.
He changed into more common clothing and strode into the exercise room,
determined to let that dummy perform its duty.
     But a fencing dummy is not a worthy adversary for any but the rank
amateur.  He found himself dealing more half his strokes merely to spin the
dummy into halfway-aggressive postures.  He gave up in frustration and
settled instead for the exercises his father had taught him.  He had
noticed his body's musculature diminishing in size given his inactivity of
the last few days, and was determined to keep it up if he needs must go out
to the stables and work a full day there now and then.  But first he would
take his father's advice and swing about some impromptu weights he had
prepared, merely a pair of matched stones with ropes wrapped around them.
     The work-out did help his rather foul mood, and he finished it an hour
later and went over to the basin of warm water the butler had brought up
unbidden, the same way in which he had brought up a brazier of coals to
warm the exercise room once he had learned that Andrew was in there.  The
man really was quite competent, assuming you didn't mind his frequent
checks upon your status, and that you wanted your least need granted
without even asking for it.  With not even the cold to stave off or oppose
him, how was he to stay a proper fighting man?  He must make sure to
arrange a visit to the barracks of the King's Guards once the holiday was
over.  Surely the Queen would not protest such a visit provided he made no
effort to see the King in the process, and if the King happened to be
making an inspection of the barracks has he often did...well, that wasn't
his fault, was it?
     He could imagine the royal arms about him, holding him in gladness,
that sweet breath in his face before their lips met as the regal hands
stroked his body as they had once so long ago at his father's inn....
Andrew reached down and felt his manhood, as he had that day, the way it
rose in his pants and seethed there with life and need....
     "Young Master?" came the call of Wenren and Andrew spun around, face
flushing.
     "Yes." He said, composing himself as well as he could.  His own fault,
he had learned by now that if he wished privacy he must ask for it ahead of
time.
     "The...the young man is ready."
     "What young man?" Andrew was baffled by this.
     "The one who claims to have a gift for you, Young Master."
     "Ah, yes!" Andrew said, embarrassed.  "I had forgotten for a moment;
my head is still addled from my exercises.  Yes, um...I'll receive him in
my bedroom."  The study would have been more appropriate for such a
meeting, but that was a mere four walls still, his bedroom would have to
suffice.  He went into the place and perched upon the side of the bed, the
best he could manage for someone to pay court to him.
     Pay court?  Was he becoming a pompous ass, as Trevish had prophesied
of him one day in their cups some weeks ago?  Would he ever get used to
this?  To go from peasant stableboy to ducal heir was a precipitous climb;
he still felt uneasy in his role.  And if this visitor intended to attempt
to trick him out of money by cozying up to such a role-playing, then he
would be in for a surprise!
     Andrew, resolved, stood up and wiped his brow with his shirt, the way
he used to as a peasant.  Let this vagabond see him as he really was and to
hell with appearances!
     So he was on his feet and disheveled when the young man appeared.
Andrew was startled; he had expected to see a wretch as had cluttered the
streets of Heslov, some were refugees from the civil war, others had lived
their lives in such manner.
     "Young Master, I present to you the man known only as Jerret."
     The young man was clean-shaven, washed, well-trimmed, muscular.  His
face was clean, open and honest, without any of the craven manners of the
grifters that had besieged him on his few forays into town, so that he
finally understood why Lord Montaigne had never gone anywhere without a few
guards to clear the way for him and ward off unwanted attentions from the
masses.
     "Thank you." Andrew said to the butler.  "You may go."
     "The greetings of our Lord's birthday, My Lord." the young man said,
bowing.
     "I see the butler has dressed you in our house livery." Andrew
observed, noting the colors of the suit, green and silver.  In his commoner
clothing which he had donned for his work-out, a casual observer would
think their roles reversed.
     "That was at my request and it is meet, if I am to be your personal
servant asI hope for." Jerret said.
     "Is that your gift to me, your service?" Andrew smiled.
     "Nay, not entire." Jerret approached closer.  "My Lord, are you
feverish?"
     "Uh?" Andrew wiped his brow with his hand, felt the beads of moisture
collect upon the back of his hand.  "Nay, I have been exercising ere your
appearance."
     Jerret, who now seemed familiar to Andrew in the way a person you have
met briefly many months ago is familiar, was now next to Andrew and he took
Andrew's hand into his own and lifted it to his lips.  Andrew thought
Jerret intended to kiss his hand (while not appropriate in this instance,
it was a common and forgivable mistake of etiquette in a peasant paying
court), and let this young man lift his hand to his lips.
     Jerret did kiss Andrew's hand, but then after a brief pause, his
tongue came out and he lapped at the sweat on Andrew's hand, hungrily, a
gutteral grunt escaping the man's lips as if feeding after a long hunger.
     "What is this?" Andrew was startled.  His hand was being held by the
fingers and the heel of the man's hands, a surprisingly tight grip.  Andrew
made a gentle effort to extricate his hand, and Jerret resisted, pressed
Andrew's now-moistened hand to his cheek and nuzzled it.
     "Ah, My Lord, long have I dreamed of this chance to be touched by you
once more." he sighed.  "Your face fills my every dream of desire, and now
that I am close to you at last, I find your scent to overwhelm my senses."
     "Who...who are you?" Andrew asked.  The face was familiar, but still
would not resolve with memory.  "I know you not."
     "Look upon me again, My Lord." Jerret said.  "If my face does not
remind you, then look upon my hands."
     Andrew looked at the quite-handsome face (still nothing but that vague
recollection) then at the hands as offered.  The hands were...disfigured.
The left hand had only a minor stump of a thumb, but the right was shorn
clean away, leaving a large, pinkish scar upon the side of the hand.
     "Your thumbs." Andrew looked back at the face.  Then in realization.
"You...you were the one I chose at the masque."
     "Aye, and thereby saved my life at the cost of my thumbs." Jerret
crooned, as if this were a matter of little import.  "From the butcher in
the kitchen they fetched to cleave my thumbs from me, I was cast into the
street, bloodied and faint with pain.  I was fortunate enough to make it
into Heslov and stumble into a church before I collapsed, and when I came
to, I was being ministered to by the Merlemagnists in their hospital."
     "Ah." Andrew said.  "I am glad that you fared so well."  The
Merlemagnists were renowned doctors.
     "They nursed me back to health, and I spent then six weeks repaying
them by my labor in their wards."  Anyone who was cared for by the
Merlemagnists paid this price, to serve others for the same length of time
that they had been served, the only cost the Merlemagnists required of
their patients.  In doing so, the peasant often came out ahead, picking up
some of their knowledge of how to care for wounds and sickness, so it was a
price many paid gladly.  "They released me a few days ago and I have spent
the time since in finding you.  You were but a servant when I first began
to search for you, I am pleased that you have gained so much in this time,
but were you a hand laborer, my offer of service to you would be the same."
     "Well...I think we can find work for you about the hall." Andrew said.
They were short-handed, and while this thumbless man would be helpless in
the face of hard labor, there were small tasks aplenty to be done.  "If you
will but summon the butler back for me, I shall tell him to put you to
work.  We have a feast tonight, and you can help serve, for one...."
     "Nay." the man said.  "I did not come for the sake of work for my
hands alone."
     "No?" Andrew said.  "What else, then?  I am willing to give you work."
     "I came for you."  The man knelt, still clinging tight to Andrew's
hand.  "You were my first lover, and in the midst of that horror of the
masque, you were my shining beacon and gentle savior.  I dreamt of you on
my sick-bed, calling out your name, Andre, Andre!"  Jerret paused, lifting
shining eyes to Andrew.  "When I was well I tried the pleasures of the
flesh with others, for gratitude or for diversion, but always you were at
the front of my heart, and I knew when I was released I had to come to you
once more and beg once again to feel your arms about me.  Take my service,
and pay me with your kisses, for they mean more to me than any shine of
silver could!"
     Andrew looked again into the face.  A little too rough-looking to be
truly handsome, it bore an air of crudeness to it, as if the hand of its
maker were not yet adept to its task, falling short of its mark. The jowl
was too large, the eyes too wide apart, the nose too broad and flat, to be
truly well-shaped.  But the eyes shone in the light, the lips were
earnestly parted petals that glistened and the jowl pleaded with him to
accept it into himself.
     And it had been two weeks.  The pain of the King's ignoring him at the
church the night before though he had been in plain sight in his family's
ducal box across the way from him still keened in his breast.  Even in
their days together, the King had steadfastly refused to take him
completely, saying time and again that he could turn from the King to
another if he wished.  And if the King had turned to him.
     Well, this one, Jerret, wanted him.  He might not be wanted any longer
by the royal, smooth hands, but these hands all roughed and calloused and
scarred by royal service, they would take him gladly!
     Andrew reached with his other hand and took Jerret's hand, Jerret
released it, and hands-in-hands, Jerret rose.  "If you wish this truly,
then so do I." He said.  "But let me place the cherub upon my door so that
we will not be interrupted."  The "privacy cherub" was a small square of
wood painted with a cherub; it had a hole upon it which would let it hang
from a peg on the outside of each of the doors in his quarters.  By hanging
it upon the proper door, he warned the servants not to enter that room
unless summoned, and it was in itself decorative enough to be in keeping
with the ducal apartments.
     Andrew went to his box and took the cherub from its resting place atop
it and turned.  Jerret took it from his hands.  "Nay, My Lord, let my
service begin now with this." he said.
     Andrew watched the eagerly moving body as it strode the substantial
distance to the door (these rooms were all too big!) and wiped his brow
again, feeling suddenly bashful.  He had just exerted himself a great deal
after a fairly long abstinence, he was not as he had been with the King,
washed and perfumed, his body cleansed and prepared for the royal pleasure.
     "I...I should wash myself." He stuttered as Jerret approached him once
again.  "I am all afoul with my exercises."
     "Nay, My...Sire, your body smells only of yourself, and it drives my
lust.  I would not have you diminish it in any wise for me, Sire."  Jerret
seized the word only a retainer used to address his lord, and it rolled off
his tongue in a grateful hiss-and-vowel.  "Pray, let the only moisture
which touches you for now be my own and I shall wash you with my kisses."
     Andrew smiled and held out his arms, and Jerret stepped into them.
Andrew closed them about Jerret and found the young man trembling.  How he
had trembled that day so long ago in the King's embrace, when his virginity
still left him rough and foolish, how much it spoke to him now of Jerret's
timid need being held in check.
     "You need not withhold yourself from me any longer." he said.  "Let
your desires express themselves now without check, for I doubt not that
they shall be as pleasing to me."
     In rapturous roughness, Jerret grabbed Andrew and the lips reached up
for his own.  Andrew let them take his own in thrall, let the lips press
against his own so strongly that they hurt, but he didn't let a sound
escape him, let the arms stroke across his back, feeling him out.  Let the
hard shaft within Jerret's tights press against his own in a crush as
painful as the press of lips, manhood to manhood, desire to desire, flesh
to flesh.  Jerret groaned and moved his erection back and forth across
Andrew's, rutting his need against Andrew's shaft and rolling the foreskin
about as he did so, so that Andrew's body responded in pleasure as well as
pain.
     Given full license, Jerret took his liberty; he reached for Andrew's
tunic and untied the lacing at the throat, urged it upwards over Andrew's
body while still not releasing Andrew's lips from his own, only when Andrew
was bare to his armpits and the cloth bunched at his chin did Jerret
release him long enough to yank the cloth over Andrew's head and onto the
floor.
     His trousers, the same sort of loose ones he had worn as a peasant,
were easily disposed of and were soon a pudlde of fabric at his ankles, and
Jerret knelt down and slurped Andrew's pud into his mouth and suckled on it
noisily, as if famished.
     Andrew groaned, threw his head back and gasped, his hands blindly
finding and interlacing into Jerret's sleekly clean hair.  Jerret was not
very experienced, but his eagerness and desire was impossible to ignore and
a damned good substitute, Andrew was reeling from the way Jerret's lips
took him all the way down his throat, held and vibrated it there before
releasing it only to dive back fully as deep once more.
     Andrew groaned, shuddered, and used his hands to bodily pull Jerret's
lips from off his dong.  He was near his explosion and desired this to
last.  "Enough for now." he gasped out.  "Up, on the bed, for God's sake,
if you are to share in more than my own pleasure."
     Jerret stood and almost ripped off his clothes, his tunic and tights
falling easily from his rather slender frame, and nude, went over to the
bed and crawled in, Andrew admiring the slim buttocks as they waggled in
his crawl like dancing balls of joy.
     Jerret stopped in this position, on all fours, his knees well on the
bed, then he lowered himself backward to suspend his buttocks in
presentation.  "Please, Sire, take me." he begged.  "I live for the feel of
you inside me once more."
     Andrew determined to let this young eager servant get all the joy he
could from this, instead of taking his slimy pud in hand and guiding it in,
he chose instead to kneel and lick at the crevice and taste the
freshly-cleaned body.  Ah, Jerret had cleansed himself properly, studying
and practicing for this day, no doubt, when he could give himself to Andrew
once again.
     Jerret gasped and then groaned as Andrew's tongue tasted his anal
orifice and then probed gently into its cleansed depths, Andrew tasting
only the clean skin and delicate aroma of maleness wafted to his nostrils.
Andrew took heart from this and dug in deeper, his tongue fattened into a
spear and he probed and jabbed into the asshole which tuckered and suckled
as he probed, trying to drag it into him bodily, it seemed.
     For a brief moment he succeeded, and Andrew was pinioned in this
fashion, the asshole clutching his tongue in a tight ring and holding on
firmly; he gasped and before he could make a sound of protest however
unintelligible, Jerret's body released him again and he withdrew.
     "Ah, Sire, I burn, I burn!" Jerret sobbed out.  "Pray, Sire, release
me from this fire within me by taking me now, I beg you!"
     Andrew himself was filled with his need, his cock throbbed and pulsed
like a living thing separate from himself, as if it were determined to
burst its internal pressure of its own accord, so he stood and, by
squatting slightly, lowered himself to the level of Jerret's buttocks and
inserted his dong.
     Jerret let loose a sustained animal growl as Andrew's manhood took
possession of him, pushing into him until Andrew's balls nestled against
these almost-bony buttocks, the hipbones were jutting lumps against his
inner thighs, yet Andrew held it there, for his body murmured from within
in a manner that told him the least stimulation more and he would be
undone.
     "Nay, Sire, please, delay no longer, no longer, please!" Jerret
groaned.  "I cannot last the more."
     "I, too, am driven to the edge." Andrew admitted.
     "Then take me in full." Jerret panted.  "I can offer you slower
lovemaking another time, only take me now, Sire, now!"
     Andrew gave in to this combination of pleading from his erstwhile
lover, and the grumbling anger of his balls, he pumped at Jerret's ass,
Jerret howled like a wolf in the night, and then Jerret was groaning and
gasping and there was the bitter raunch of sperm exposed to the air, and
with that smell in his nostrils, and the way Jerret's bunghole clutched him
in a vise in the spasms of his orgasm, Andrew gave a few thrusts as rapid
as the rabbits of the field or the birds in their hastily brief mating, and
he groaned, fell over to hold on tight to Jerret as he continued to hunch
into Jerret's twitching, quivering body as he pumped his jism deep into
those insatiable bowels.
     Done, feeling faint and exhausted from his exertions, his every muscle
clutching and cramping in protest at this added labor of ejaculation,
Andrew dropped onto the bed, and Jerret hastily shifted so that he could
lie in his lord's arms.  Andrew reached and kissed the simple,
uncomplicated face that offered itself to him so totally, and he bestowed
upon it as many kisses as he felt like, for here he was the one of a higher
class, and no hint of superior office stinted him in his pleasure.
     They lay like this for some time, Andrew didn't know for how long, for
Jerret seemed about to fall asleep and Andrew felt loathe to rise himself,
and then came a deferential knock at the door.
     "Young Master?  Young Master?" came the call of the butler.
     "Damn it!" Andrew snarled.  He jumped up and pulled on his pantaloons
hastily, went to the door and opened it the merest crack.  "What is it?
Did you not yourself tell me to put up the cherub when I wished privacy
from the servants?"
     "Yes, My Lord, and I beg forgiveness, but I have here a letter from
the King." the butler presented it.
     "Ah." Andrew opened the door more and the butler's eyes widened at the
sight of the young visitor in Andrew's bed.  But Andrew had eyes only for
the letter.  Surely the Queen was not confirmed pregnant yet!
     "You will wish privacy as you read it." Jerret said docilely as he
rose and reached for his clothes.  "I shall go and help in the kitchen,
with your permission, Sire."
     "Sire?" the butler said.
     "Hm?" Andrew looked at the seal, with green wax, meaning its contents
were of highest secrecy, knowing that he should read this missive only in
privacy.  "Oh, yes.  Wenren, this is Jerret.  He lost his thumbs in the
service of the crown, and you may repose your trust in him.  He will be my
personal servant from now on, but on this day, he will assist in the
serving of dinner."
     "You are accepting his service, then, Young Master?"
     "I am." Andrew said.
     Wenren's face lit in pleasure.  "That is a relief, Young Master.
Jerret is my nephew, my younger brother's youngest child."
     "Why wasn't I told of this before?" Andrew was dumbfounded.  "And why
did you act as if he were a vagabond and ask me to send him away?"
     "Due to his...infirmities, I did not wish to force his service upon
you by my words." Wenren said.  "Had you decided against him, I would have
sent him to live with my sister.  Your family is newly established here,
and I was yet unsure of your kind hearts.  I serve you the more gladly now
and I beg forgiveness for this test of your nature."
     "You are forgiven." Andrew said.  "Now, if you both will forgive me, I
wish to read the message from the King."
     "Of course." Wenren and Jerret left him, and Andrew sank in relief
upon the bed and tore apart the wax, of a special consistency, it crumbled
into dust as it was opened and if reheated it would turn a brown color,
warning all that it had been tampered with.  So he knew the letter had
passed unread from the King to his own eyes and read the short note inside:
     "My dearest love,
     I pen you these words in haste, while sitting fully clothed on the
privy, my only place of solitude in these days.  My heart has been heavy
these many days past for so weakly agreeing to let you be sent away, and I
can only plead that the Queen and her ministers and her physician were all
allied against me in this and I have exacted a price in return which is to
the benefit of all Carlovain if not to you, nor to myself, who must hold a
body other than yours.  When I saw you at the church yestereve, I dared not
let my eyes meet yours, lest I break into public tears.  I had promised
that I would not write to you for fear the letters would be used against me
in future, but as you can see, even a King must sometimes be less than
truthful when the heart pulls so strongly upon it.  I beg you to burn this
communication when you have perused it and keep it not no matter how much
your heart begs you to cherish it instead.
     Know, my dearest love, that I do still care for you and if I am
attentive to my Queen it is only that I may hasten the day of our reunion.
Write me back, publicly but with words chosen in due care, at your earliest
moment, whether or not you can forgive your sovereign for using you so
selfishly, and write me as well with discreet care if you have found
yourself another for the time being, for the knowledge that you do not
sleep in a hermit's bed would give me great comfort, only I pray that you
not give such an one your heart totally, but save the greater part of it
for me who thinks of you when I should be listening to my counselors.  Ah,
there is a knock at the door, I must end this now.  Expect not another note
from me, though I shall write if I can.  Ah, another knock, I must end now
or they shall enter without leave.  Know that I love you still, and never
doubt it.  Phillippe V"
     Andrew read all these words and felt a great burden lift from him.
Here, upon this Christmas Day, he had received his own tidings of great
joy, and could now endure his time apart in equanimity, resting comfortably
within the tender arms of Jerret and the knowledge of his sovereign's love.

				  THE END