(NSFW!) Nettles I - Short Story

[demidekidasu]

Part three of Ysabel’s adventure in the medieval Welsh Marches. It continues after THIS STORY.

 

Please note that there are some specific opinions and views expressed that are not mine, but rather those of purely-fictional characters in a purely-fictional tale :)

 

WARNING: CONTAINS VERY STRONG LANGUAGE AND ADULT THEMES

 

 

 

 

NETTLES I

 

 

It was already a job to bite, missing a tooth. Even the horse couldn’t eat it, nor the birds at the side of the road. No wonder they’d given her the bread for free. After ridding them of the witch that’d plagued all the lads’ minds, she’d thought they were showing their gratitude, not punishing her for burning the place to the ground.

 

At least the rain’d buggered-off for the evening, though it’d probably come back before dawn to piss-her-off again, slowing the trip to Carmarthen yet more. All the world’d be turned to mud and the horse’d throw a fit.

 

The road led over the crest of a hill and she spotted a small town lay by the coast below with a large castle sat upon a great rock at one end. It looked mighty, but if an army came marching from her direction, they’d clearly see the town’s walls were only for show with no ramparts atop. The town’d be f*#@ed.

 

It wasn’t her problem and none of her business, the hangover still lingered and she only sought a place to rest for the night and mend. The man in Carmarthen’d have to wait, she’d show up when she damn-well pleased.

 

Suddenly, things moved in her lower gut. Very suddenly. It was either the bread or last night’s brew. She jumped off the horse with no time to tie him to a tree. She needed a bush, fast. f*#@-the-horse, he could run off for all she cared.

 

She hurried into the greenery and panicked when her belt wouldn’t come undone. She fumbled and fumbled, trying to loosen the bastard thing. She farted and the s#*! poked out, just as she’d managed to undo the belt and squat down in time.

 

A twig snapped to her left. Some pervert was watching. “Avert your eyes or I’ll...chop you in two,” she said, mid-turd.

 

“I don’t watch, milady. I’m-a-hiding,” the voice whispered.

 

“Then hide...elsewhere...for the love of...God!”

 

“I daren’t, milady. They might spot me!”

 

She snatched some leaves from nearby and wiped herself, pulled up her leather pants and fastened the belt as quick as she could.

 

“Milady!” cried the voice. “Nettles!”

 

“I thought you didn’t watch, you perverse bastard!” she yelled.

 

“I merely glanced! I saw nowt I shouldn’t!”

 

Ysabel’s backside started to itch. Then it started to tingle. Then it started to sting. “f*#@-the-world and all that’s in it!” she howled, reaching for herself with both hands.

 

“You’ll need some dock leaves, milady!” the voice said.

 

“What do they look like? Tell me!” she screamed, dancing about.

 

“There’s some here. Drop your trow and I’ll help!”

 

Ysabel fumbled and fumbled, again. She couldn’t understand how she’d gotten them off last night for ugly-Gwyn after all the beer. The damn thing was more secure than a portcullis.

 

She managed to pull them down and she bent over, shoving her backside in the air. She didn’t care for shame nor dignity, her arse burned with the fires of Hell and needed curing. “Hurry yourself!” she cried, knees trembling and face scrunched.

 

The man ran over with a huge wad of dock leaves in his hand, trying his best to not be seen by anyone who might be near.

 

“Touch a place you shouldn’t and I’ll kill you!” Ysabel spat between her legs.

 

“Fear not, milady,” he replied, “I’m a man of virtue!”

 

He rubbed her with the dock leaves, being very careful where his hands went, just as he’d promised. It soothed and felt wonderful, working like a charm. Ysabel sighed her relief, clenched the dock leaves between her cheeks to keep them there and quickly pulled her trow back up.

 

“You’ve saved my arse,” she quipped, fastening her belt. “What do they call you?”

 

“Heddwyn’s the name. What do they call you, milady?”

 

“Ysabel.” She eyed the skinny, middle-aged man. “Ysabel de Bayonne.” He was caked in mud. Beneath the mud he wore a pale-green jerkin and a tattered pair of short, dark-brown hose. He had a big leather pouch on his hip. “What’s in there?” Ysabel asked, pointing to the pouch.

 

“That’s my remedies, miss Ysabel de...”

 

“Bayonne. Ysabel de Bayonne. Are you a healer?”

 

“That I am!” he said, nodding with pride. “I’ve never seen a woman carrying a sword. Or a bow. Or any of these weapons of yours, for that matter.”

 

She laughed. “I don’t doubt. All other women I know of care only for sewing and weaving.”

 

“Aye, this is true. What is it you do that requires such an arsenal?”

 

“I’d need to kill you if I told,” she said, her face turning quite serious.

 

“Oh, well, I’d rather you didn’t tell then,” he said, surprised by her reaction.

 

A silence hung between the two and they looked at each other for a moment, reflecting on the embarrassing event. Ysabel broke the silence. “Why do you hide in the bushes like routed game?”

 

“Oh, well, that’s a tale-and-a-half, milady,” he said, scratching his whiskered chin. “You see, there’s a lass down there in the town...”

 

“Oh, that sort of tale, eh?” Ysabel chuckled.

 

“Not at all!” he snapped. “She’s a guardsman’s lass, but they aren’t married, you see. Now, he’s gone and gotten her up-the-duff.”

 

“Up-the-duff?” The odd local sayings never failed to hurt her head.

 

“Aye,” he said, “carrying his child, she is. Well, as they ain’t married—and never could marry because he’s already got a wife back in England somewhere—they’d asked me to rid them of the problem before her belly grows and the whole town shits a brick.”

 

“I hope you didn’t,” Ysabel scowled.

 

“No! Of course I didn’t! Let me tell the bloody-tale, will you?”

 

She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “Sorry.”

 

“Well, you see,” Heddwyn continued, “I told the guardsman I’d do no such thing. Now, honestly, I’m starting to wish I’d done it. He went and told the whole f*#@ing town that I’d gone and gotten her up-the-duff.”

 

“Oh, I see,” said Ysabel.

 

“There’s more to it than that, love.” He gulped. “Well, see, the thing is...”

 

“...What?”

 

“Well, she’s my daughter, you see.”

 

“That’s a bad rumour to have spread about you,” said Ysabel, raising an eyebrow.

 

“You’re not wrong there, love. And, the tale gets even worse.”

 

“Go on.”

 

“Well, the town went mental. They’ve run me out!” He flailed his arms in the air. “Even my wife wants my head.”

 

“What of your daughter? Did she not speak up?”

 

“She can’t. She’s dumb. Has been since she caught the pox as a child.”

 

Ysabel thought for a moment as Heddwyn rambled about his wrecked home and his ruined life. She was in no mood to give much of a s#*! for his laments, but he seemed like an honest man and she thought it only fair to help him after his helping her.

 

“As you’ve done a favour for me,” she said, “I’ll help you. But, you’ll keep your mouth shut about what transpired in these bushes.”

 

To be continued...

 

[Lisnpuppy]

Heh hee hee

Can't wait to see how this all works out. Hope those leave don't need a reapplication. *smirk*

 

 

Only thing I see from this first reading...his calling her "love" It seems somewhat out of place to me. You have to be the judge and maybe I will change my mind. But he seems very polite despite helping with her bum. lol

 

[Maharg67]

Excellent! Nice use of vulgarity and real down to earth life. The two main characters seem well balanced off against each other. :thumbsup: :thumbsup: :thumbsup: :dance:

[demidekidasu]

lol thank you and sorry for the super-late reply :tongue:

 

I will get on with the next part of this tale soon!

Edited September 4, 2013 by demidekidasu