Haunted by Love

I wake to a grey light at the window and Ruth in my arms, her bum pressed against my tummy as I lie curled against her. Her naked bum against my bare tummy because, I remember, we are naked in bed together. The previous nights of haunted, broken sleep had obviously caught up with me and I must have fallen asleep while we cuddled. I can feel her breathing, soft and even, that tells me she is sleeping soundly and I cannot resist the temptation to slide my hand gently up and delicately cup her left boob. The firm softness of it is wonderful and my thumb caresses the soft skin. I feel a gentle bulge under my palm that can only be the hardening of her nipple.

Last night I had been unsure about the idea of sex with Ruth but that is not the case right now as my own nipples have become tight, hard points and I feel, basically, pretty damn turned on. I want to... well, I'm not actually sure exactly what, and I'm still unsure of how Ruth would react. Perhaps if I leave my hand here...

She doesn't wake but her arm moves, trapping mine. I kiss the nape of her neck and close my eyes as my fingers stroke her cupped boob. I don't think 'pretty damn turned on' covers what I'm feeling here as thoughts of touching her as a lover inflame me. I move my hand to take her hardened nipple between my thumb and forefinger and gently, roll and squeeze it in the way I do my own when I masturbate.

Her breathing catches and in a panic I release her nubbin. "Please don't stop, Beth darling; that feels so good." She tells me sleepily. Relieved, I resume, though now she's awake I'm a little firmer in my squeezes and caresses. She wriggles, pressing her bum harder into me and I feel her hand on my hip and thigh as she strokes my skin. "Are you all right with this my love?" she asks.

"Oh god, yes!" I exclaim. "I feel so turned on this morning, Ruth; I really want this, I want to make love with you." She rolls in my hug, taking the boob from my grasp, until we are face to face and the movement of the covers brings the scent of my arousal wafting up.

"Oh wow, smell how turned on you've made me!" she says, a smile lighting up her beautiful face.

"That smell is definitely as much me as it is you!" I reply as I lean in to kiss her while my hand again enfolds her boob. Ruth's hand reciprocates, sending such shocks of pleasure through me. I feel her hand move lower down, fingers trailing tingling lines across my tummy. However, her fingers do not stop and I feel them brush through the now moist tangle of my pubes towards my opening. "Oh, Ruth!" I sigh and copy her, sliding my hand down to between her legs. The hair feels less dense than I expect as my fingers encounter the crease of her pussy. There is something slightly surreal about this, not that I'm in bed with a woman, or even that I'm about to touch her in the most intimate and sexual way possible, but that I so completely and desperately want this.

"Shall we?" She asks as two index fingers nuzzle at two sets of wet labia. For the first time, I understand that this is just as momentous a moment for Ruth as it is for me."

"Oh yes, my darling friend," and with that, we penetrate one another. It is hard to say which feeling is better: her slipping inside me or the feel of her warm, wet womanhood engulfing my finger. Both are truly wonderful and elicit simultaneous gasps of pleasure.

I curl my finger as it glides easily into her hot interior, seeking the sensitive spot in her that matches the one I love to rub within me. At the same time, I cannot help pushing my hips forward, urging her deeper inside me. To my surprise, she pulls back momentarily but thrusts again but now with the added pleasure of two fingers inside me. "Oh yes! Fuck me with your fingers, Ruth!"

My own finger is buried to the hilt inside her, rubbing the soft sponginess of her G-spot as the pad of my thumb presses against the top of her pussy, seeking to stimulate her clitoris within its hood. Ruth's moan tells me it's as good for her as it is for me.

I feel the first trembling tendrils of approaching orgasm and know that my first climax, as Ruth and I become true lovers, will not be long coming. I hope that I bring her to climax too.

Just then there is a sound from outside that startles me and makes Ruth freeze: the muted but unmistakable sound of an engine and the crunch of tyres on gravel. "Oh shit! What time is it?" she asks urgently.

"I don't know, why?"

"It's probably the... fucking... builders!" she complains. I can't help it, I start giggling and after a moment, Ruth joins in.

"What do we do? Will they just walk in?" I ask, trying to be sensible.

"Probably, it's what they usually do because the door is always unlocked, though they normally call out as they arrive."

"So, we're either going to get caught naked in bed together or out of bed at least semi-naked."

"Beth... um, these two guys are from the village so... would, um, would it matter, I mean, would you be okay liv... er, being here, with me, if they knew about us?" Like the comment about cooking last night I get the impression there is something deeper behind her question but we can hear faint voices approaching.

"Ruth, I think we need a long talk but right now I vote for staying in bed and, as soon as they open the door, asking your workmen to go and sit in their van for ten minutes. Okay?"

She nods and moments later a deep, Cornish-accent voice calls out, "Mornin' Ruth. Proper foggy it is this mornin' and no mistake!" The door opens and a burly ginger-bearded man in grubby overalls stomps through the door, stopping dead as his gaze falls upon us, leaving the taller, fair-headed man following to walk into him. "Oh, er sorry I didn't realize you were, er, like..." He turns bright red and steps back, standing on the foot of his mate behind him in the process.

"Tom, would you and Danny mind very much popping back in, say, ten minutes? I'm afraid we both overslept." She tries to sound lighthearted but, under the covers, I can feel her squeeze my hand for comfort.

"Oh, er, right you are. Come on Danny." With a little slapstick toing and froing Tom hustles Danny out of the door, though the taller man cannot resist a backwards glance at the two of us. Once alone again, though the door is still ajar, we scramble out of bed, smiling. I feel her juices chilling on my fingers and the temptation to taste them is irresistible and I slip them into my mouth. Her flavour is not too different to mine and I know that I will not mind tasting it again. I see Ruth watching me and she raises a quizzical eyebrow even as she copies me.

"You taste nice, darling," I assure her, "and very well handled just now," I tell her as we draw together in the chill air for a quick kiss before we hurriedly dress.

"We'd best wash our hands so we don't smell of each other." I give a pout of disappointment but do as she suggests. "I'll put the kettle on. Can you make the bed and tidy up over there, Beth love?"

The workmen Danny and Tom return, calling out sheepishly as they approach the door. At least, Tom is sheepish; Danny, on the other hand, has a knowing, mischievous glint in his eye as if the idea of finding two women in bed together is a long-held fantasy. Perhaps it is.

Ruth chats to Tom who seems to relax a little while I set about attempting to make porridge, desperately trying to remember where Ruth keeps things. I want to be useful but also to show these men that I belong here... I stop with a jolt. Bloody hell, is that what I want? Do I want these two guys to see us as a couple?

I get back to porridge, managing to find the oats and a suitable saucepan before Ruth, having finished with Tom, comes over. "You know," I whisper, "if you were to kiss me while those two were still here, I wouldn't mind."

"It's tempting," she replies equally quietly, her head close to mine, "but I reckon Danny boy there would enjoy it rather too much!"

We milk the goats while the porridge cooks and, having made tea for the men and ourselves, we sit down to eat as Tom and Danny clomp out the door and up the stairs. "So, what shall we do today? The library's closed today so I'm all yours."

"Ooo, I do hope so!" she says with a smile. "I seem to recall you saying we need a long talk so are you up for a walk on the Moor?"

"In the fog?" I ask.

"Oh, that's clearing away already, so what about it?"

"Okay; it'll give me a chance to try the walking stuff I bought at the weekend."

Ruth is, of course, correct and the fog has thinned to a slight mistiness by the time we head out. She leads the way, through the gate I scrambled over that first night, then veering right, up the hill. I draw alongside her and our hands clasp as we walk on in silence for a while.

"Ruth," I break the silence at last, "last night and this morning you said things: the comment about my lack of cooking skills needing to be addressed when... something; then, this morning, you asked if I'd be okay with the builders knowing about us..." She looks uncomfortable and nervous. "Ruth, this morning you nearly asked if I would be okay living here with you, didn't you? And the cooking thing; I couldn't quite work out what you almost said at the time but I'll bet it was something like 'when we live together', yes?"

"Yes," she murmurs. "I meant what I said about thinking things happen for a reason, that you were supposed to find me that night and I was to help you; that it's right that we've become friends."

"And lovers?" This makes her smile.

"Oh yes. Damn, I was proper close to cumming this morning," she complains.

"Me too and it was bloody frustrating. Okay, it's my confession time. This morning, when you were talking to whatsit, to Tom, I really wanted to get on and show that I belonged in your house. Basically, I wanted them to see us as a couple. So I guess yes: I do want to be with you... and not just for a quick fumble in bed together!"

She lunges at me, grabbing me into a tight bear hug of a cuddle and I hug back. "You did like the fumble in bed though, didn't you?"

"What a silly question: of course I did! However, that does leave the fact that I have a home and career in London." I see the look on her face and I wonder if I'm picking up her gift of knowing what someone else is thinking. "You're going to tell me it's just a detail aren't you, and that it'll sort itself out?" She nods.

"Love will find a way," she says. This should have sounded ridiculously schmaltzy but there's something about the calm, certain way she says this that makes it seem like a fundamental law of the universe, like gravity. Actually, it sounds like love would probably give gravity a run for its money! Hey, maybe she's right.

We come to a halt as we crest the brow of the tall hill we've climbed and look out across the Moor and it undulates away from us, a patchwork of colours -- autumnal browns, coppers and golds displacing the greens of summer -- with little pockets of fog lurking in the hollows, all fading into the pale, misty distance. I draw close to her, slipping my arm through hers and leaning into her. There is a peacefulness here but also, as Ruth observed the other day, a power; it is quiescent at the moment but I can imagine, in storm, gale or blizzard, the brutal force of this place.

"I love the end of the year," Ruth suddenly disturbs my reverie.

"Sorry?" I ask, a little confused, "They're a couple of months left yet, surely."

"Do you know what today is?" she asks. I've rather lost track of the days since being here so I have to work it out.

"Er... oh, is it the thirty-first of October? Or do you mean Halloween?"

"Samhain, actually."

"What's Sah-wan?" I ask trying to say the strange word.

"Samhain is the Wiccan new year. It's a time of spirits, as you could guess from Halloween, and also for remembering the dead. However, it's also a time for looking back over the year and I guess it was that which got me thinking. So much has changed for me this year, what with giving up my job and finding Trehalow Farm and moving here; I have so much to be happy about... and even more, now you're here."

"You're such wonderful and lovely person, Ruth." A cold gust of wind makes me shiver as its chilly fingers find gaps and openings in my clothing. "Brrr, I need to get moving again; so, which way now, my darling? Which way is the Hotel?"

"Um, that way," she points off somewhat to the left, which she probably knows is south-by-south-west or some equally nautical-sounding direction. "Did you want to walk there? It's about a mile or so."

"Well, we go up to my room there and try some new things on each other," I suggest.

"That sounds tempting but... Beth, I'm not sure I can really face going into that room, not on today of all days: it is the anniversary of the disappearances, remember, and it's Samhain too. I know I'm not really a Wiccan but I remember Mum saying that today, particularly tonight, is when the spirit world is especially close to this one so things can, sort of, come across..." She gives a little tremble and I can empathise: the idea of encountering the ghost of Sir Lovell storming through the hotel is, as they might say here in Cornwall, 'proper terrifying!'

"I'm not a Wiccan either but you're right, Ruth: it is too scary. I know, what about we go back to the farm and I can give you a hand with some painting and," I give her a quick kiss on the cheek, "when Danny and Tom have gone..."

"Come on girl, let's get home!"

Chapter 10: Samhain Night

We pile through the door into the kitchen, pink cheeked and happy, pulling up abruptly when we see Tom and Danny sat at the table drinking tea. It occurs to me that it's a bit early for lunch and this may be why Ruth is still without electricity since they don't exactly appear to be pulling out all the stops to get finished tomorrow. However, despite the urge to say something I bite my tongue, figuring that it's not really my place.

"Early lunch?" Ruth asks, echoing my own thoughts.

"Oh, yes, well with all the dust Danny an' me needed a drink so we thought we'd take a lunch, er, early like." I suspect these two have been shirking, and not for the first time, and I have an idea.

"That reminds me, Ruth, you never did guess who it was I met in the BBC canteen the other week when I was at lunch." I give her a surreptitious wink. She looks a little confused but plays along.

"No... well, I didn't want to join in with your 'Guess which celebrity I met' game. So, go on then, who was it?"

"Well," I reply to Ruth knowing that Tom and Danny are listening, "it was one of the presenters, Jack Bowles, from the Watchdog programme." I pause and Ruth looks nonplussed, as I'd guessed she would. "Oh, of course, you've no telly. Well, it does consumer protection stories, you know: exposing scams and rip-offs and companies who treat their customers badly, like builders who do poor work and the like. He was saying that they're always having to look for new stories..."

"Right ladies, if you'll excuse us, Danny and me must crack on and get back to work." Tom stands up so abruptly his chair topples over behind him. He hastily retrieves it and ushers Danny out ahead of him.

"Tom, the electrics will be done before you go home tomorrow, won't they?" Ruth asks, fighting to control the smile on her face.

"Oh yes, a proper job too." He assures her before hurrying away.

"Thanks, Beth; that was very clever. You just earned... I don't know what but I'm sure I'll think of something in bed tonight!"

"Hmm, I might just hold you to that! In the meantime, I was going to help you decorate so shall we get started?" I ask as I remove my coat.

"Okay. Shall we change into old clothes? I can let you have the ones you wore the other day."

"Back to 'refugee chic' then," I smile. We both head upstairs into what is, or will be, the master bedroom to change, while resolutely ignoring the two men working in the other bedroom and what they might be thinking. Back downstairs we begin by emptying the dresser before trying to move it. There isn't a huge amount -- mainly a dinner service and some serving dishes plus one drawer full of cutlery -- but the dresser is a very solid piece of oak furniture. "Have you had this dresser long? Did you bring it with you?" I ask as we prepare to move it.

"Oh no; it was here when I bought the cottage. It was filthy, all dusty and covered in cobwebs and dirt, but when I cleaned it up, as you can see, it's in very good condition. There's not even any woodworm."

"So, have you moved it before? It looks bloody heavy!"

"I didn't even attempt it, not on my own; I just cleaned it where it stands. Are you ready?" We get into position. "Remember, we're just trying to slide it out from the wall." I nod and, with a count of three we heave... and fail to move it even a millimetre. "Shall we give it one more try before we ask Tom and Danny?"

"Definitely; we're strong, independent women!" I reply with a smile. "I just hope we're strong enough." We try again, fingers hooked between the dresser and the wall and pulling hard. This time there is some movement.

"Stop!" Ruth exclaims in panic, "It's just toppling forward!"

"We need to pull from lower down then," I suggest. I reach lower and slip my fingers behind the dresser and they brush against something. I feel around but with my fingertips, I cannot tell what it is. "Ruth, there's something behind the dresser here." She comes round to my side and, when I indicate the location, she has a feel for it with her slimmer hand and longer fingers.

"It feels sort of rough and folded. I wonder what it is?" she muses, obviously as curious as I am.

"Perhaps if we both pull on this side we can move this out enough to reach behind?"

Together we haul, with me squatted down and Ruth above. Suddenly, with a complaining shriek of wood on stone, the dresser moves. It's not far, just a few centimetres, but that's enough. We both reach behind but it is my hand that finds the object, which has now slipped down to the floor. I pull it out and stand up to see it is some kind of purse or wallet, roughly the size of a paperback book and made of leather, I guess, but the surface is dry, rough and cracking with age. We glance at each other and by unspoken agreement, we take it to the table to examine it.

"You open it," I tell her, "this is from your house." She nods and, with care, opens the flap. I had wondered if there might be something valuable inside, jewellery perhaps, so seeing only paper is a bit of an anti-climax. Very gently Ruth pulls it out: It is a bundle of papers, folded together. With the care of an archaeologist handling an ancient papyrus, she carefully unfolds them. The topmost paper is half filled with flowing, neat handwriting but it is the large, shaky and obviously hastily written sentence at the bottom that catches my eye:

Lovell is outside yelling for Rosa. I believe he means to drag her back to the Hall, or else to beat or kill her. I must protect her. I pray I have the strength.

"Shit!" I gasp, pointing to the final lines, "This must be Arabella's writing. I think 'Rosa' is short for Rosalind... and that means..."

"It means Lady Blyth made it here when she ran away, by the looks of it. It seems obvious when you think about it: where else would Rosalind flee but to her girlfriend's house?"

"Unfortunately, Sir Lovell worked that out too. Do you think he knew about them, you know, being lovers?" I wonder aloud.

"I don't know but I would guess he knew they were friends and very close; I think he'd have resented that, especially if it helped Rosalind stand up to him. Let's see what the rest of the page says."

Wednesday, thirty-first. My darling Rosa is sleeping. She was so cold, chilled nigh unto death, when upon the door I heard her rapping faintly. The dear woman fell to the floor as I opened the door, her linen nightdress soiled and besmirched by the Moor, soaked through from the wild, wind-driven rain. She was so wan and icy to the touch that all I could think to do at the first was to draw her inside and shut the door on the storm raging without, and thereafter to hold her, praying that sharing my warmth might revive her.

Ruth looks up and our eyes meet just moments before I lean in and kiss her. "Thank you," I whisper, remembering my own arrival here. She reaches up and strokes my cheek affectionately before we look down to read on.