Taking Back the Knight (Camp and Devilla-Roche)

Sir Roland had the mare at a trot. He was almost there. The house of his fiancee was just ahead. Her written words to him of what she would do to his body when she saw him had him boiling.

For three years he had battled in distant lands and touched no woman, though he had seen things that would have scandalized his provincial associates, and had changed his views on much. Only his Percheron mare, Engage, had kept him warm at nights, for he taken the vow of chastity until marriage. That very vow had saved him in several ways. He had avoided the pestilent diseases of the cities by avoiding physical contact, and the lustful diseases as well. Additionally, his reputation for not touching the wives and daughters of the enemy had gained him respect, as he’d also let it be known that any man under his command who took an unwilling woman would be marrying her if she chose, after that man felt the lash for his disobedience and vile behavior.
It had been noted that when assassins stalked the other lords and commanders that he remained unattempted. Some nasty rumors of aiding the enemy had surfaced, but the good Duke who left the army had quashed them most quickly. “If you louts are unable to keep your bollocks in your britches, don’t be surprised if you offend someone with the ability to do you ill. Roland has honor. For all the vile heresies of the enemy, bravery and an understanding of honor they have in spades.”

The Duke had been far less thrilled with Roland’s interest in things arcane. Though Roland had been born with no sign of the Touch, he saw no reason why any tool should not be used to profit. So it was he who had convinced the Duke to change direction when lost in the desert, pledging his life if he were wrong. The star chart and lodestone which he had purchased allowed their arrival in in time to save a Christian City, surprising the enemy from the rear, and the grateful Duke had granted him a fief on the spot, entitling the young Lieutenant with a Barony, and breveting him to Captain. The requirement that he wed a lady of the kingdom troubled him not a bit. He was affianced to such, and the three month limit to wed after his return should be easy to manage.

Then had come Jerusalem…and not even the city proper. It had been a small burgh nearby. He was overseeing the ordered taking of the town when a local woman ran to him. “Lord Knight, if your honor is intact, then save the children. They are going to fire the house!”
He had trotted after her, to see some mercenary company had, in fact, lit a building on fire to drive forth the inhabitants. He had run in, and found only a poor small girl cowering in a far corner. Wetting his cloak along with his cape, he enwrapped her and raced through the growing flames to leave the building despite pain like he had never felt. As he exited, to give the child to a grateful mother, the burning lintel of the front door came down showering him with coals.
Roland only dimly remembered the falling timbers, but the searing pain he would never forget. The force had driven him downward as it crashed down onto his chest.
When he awoke, the mother of the child was tending to his wounds. His family crest, the wild wolf had been engraved on a bronze plate in the center of his chain armor. Now that wolf’s head was burned forever across most of his chest, and the pattern of the chain links melted into his back, shoulders and upper arms. Fool that he was, in the local heat, he had dispensed with his padded coat and had had nothing underneath.
The woman, named Gamina, was daughter of a learned apothecary, and together they had kept the infection from him and the swelling down. While abed, he learned so much of his adversaries that no one had bothered to learn ere now. As he exited their home forty days later, it was a much changed young man who braided his hair back and resumed the command of his troops.
He had gone forth to win in battle after battle, even against overwhelming odds, refusing to cover his chest, using a shield instead. He became known for ignoring the levy soldiers and singling out noble opponents for single combat. It was a new strategy and it worked showing a new way to gain victories. He ransomed those he defeated, taking their wealth and their right to fight and sending them home.
When he unknowingly took the son of the Sultan, his saddlebags creaked with concealed gems from the ransom.

But for all his honor, dark tales grew. “He has aligned with the spirit of the wolf and is cursed! Why else would the Lord have branded him so.” And so the tales spread.
When he entered a surrounded enemy citadel alone to parley, then led them peacefully out with their arms yielded, it was not the reputation of his honor, which the enemy had yielded to, which his own side carried word of. Instead it was said that he had ensorcelled them and he grew even more apart from his own.

His mind returned to the present. He had not even visited his parent’s estate, but come straight to her house. If nothing else, she represented stability.
Roland and Magdalena had never been in love. They were entirely unlike in temperament and he honestly considered her shrewish. But their parents wished to combin the fortune of both their houses and he was a dutiful son. He was now twenty-two, and she would be twenty. He rather hoped her skinny willowy frame would have gained a few pounds. Getting children with her might not be a joyful experience, but he looked forward to being a father. And running a Barony would keep them both busy, so they need not spend much time together.

But at her home, she was gone....having left with a tailor. He was stunned. Lord Francis her father, informed Roland that they did not have the money to repay the brideprice. The Wolf Knight snarled at him, “Then if you do not wish your home to feel the fires I bear within me, you will swear fealty to me as your lord. I will see to it that your family is not dishonored and pay your debts that you may continue here.” Having little choice, the Baronet agreed, giving Roland his title on the spot.
Slowly, he turned towards home directing his score of warriors to precede him, then rode quickly. He needed his mother's arms. Arriving at the courtyard, he looked around, but something was amiss.

The yard was only partially weeded and there was a loose shutter. Three men were banging on the front door of the manor trying to open it. One of them yelled out. "It's no good Miss Charlotte. You've staved off the bills as long as you could, but now it's come due. As debtors, we have the right to recompense. We'll just take some of the nicest furniture and call it even, then come back to bid on the property."

Roland jumped from his horse and then three men turned, looking suddenly worried as he suddenly lifted their leader from the ground and pinned him to the door with a long sword at his throat. "Who dares to threaten the estate of my parents and those within and plot to take our family belongings? Tell me so I may know who I intend to kill."

One of the men blurted. "God, it's Sir Roland, the Wolf Knight, returned from the war! Mercy Milord, but your parents are gone 18 months and naught has been paid in the last 14 since they died for food and supplies provided. The law gives us right to recompense."

Suddenly, what he said came through and Roland stepped back, staggered. "Dead? No....it's can't be." Then he collected himself. "Fear not for your debts. Bring a properly notarized statement of account first thing on the morrow. My exchequer will review them and pay all valid debts, with a ten percent late fee. But they had BETTER be valid expenses."

The men counted themselves lucky and hurried away as Roland quietly knocked on the door.
The 5’10” man removed his helmet to show flowing chocolate lock of hair, sweat matted from riding, and clear steel grey eyes.

"Hello? It is I Roland...returning to a house gone mad.” He kicked open the door to find a skeleton staff huddled inside. Defending them in the front was the maid who was also the Seneschal of the home, Charlotte de la Grange. He paused to look up at her with some sense of awe, for the woman exceeded seven feet in height, and was both widely and powerfully built.
As a boy of ten, when she was 16, her already mountainous breasts had soothed him when he fell and he remembered well her carrying him home and how thrilled he’d been at her touch. He’d wanted her as he grew older, but his parents would never have approved and the marriage arrangement had long been in place. Now none of that mattered.

He ignored the amazed glances of his men as he went into her arms, whispering, “Oh Charlotte, they made me be such a bad boy. But I’ve brought home such treasure that money will never be a problem. Are…are they really gone?”

His head came up, “Men, fan out and secure the grounds. Speak to the chef and buy anything he needs, for tonight we feast in honor of my parents, and of loyal Charlotte, who has maintained my home.”
He looked up at her, “Take me to where we can speak alone and tell me of what has transpired.” It was obvious he was close to breaking down.

Besides her Amazonian-like height, Charlotte de la Grange was quite the voluptuous and curvaceous woman. 'Massive' and 'Enormous' were adjectives that did not quite do her justice. Even 'Beautiful' could, in some respects be an injustice to her. Charlotte, a fifth generation de la Grange, was born to serve the needs of Sir Roland's family and their manor. Such as it was with her mother and her grandmother before her, Charlotte was trained as a nurse, then as a junior maid, and was the manor's head maid. With the death of Sir Roland's parents, she was given no choice but to oversee the manor in the hopes that the heroic knight would someday return. Charlotte, to her credit, was able to keep the manor up to snuff - at a bare minimum of what was required. She did so with only a few servants and a dwindling supply of food and non-perishables.

Charlotte stood there, her long, thick flowing blonde hair, in her maid uniform, which, surprisingly fit quite well for her ungodly proportions. She stood there in disbelief. She didn't think that Sir Roland would return from war, but here he was, in her arms and in her bosom. She could not have been happier. Hearing his question, and paying little attention about the riches that he returned with, she shook her head and simply said, "Yez, Zir Roland 'zey ar' gone. 'Zey ar' in God'z kingdom now my Lord."

After hearing Sir Roland instructed his men about a feast, she listened to what he needed more than anything else - her. She bore all those maternal instincts that he relied upon. He needed a physical connection to her. He needed, he needed the love that she could give him.

For her part, Charlotte knew he had had enough. He needed a release, to get things off of his chest. So, when he asked of her to be alone and explain of his parents death she obliged.

"Mas'er, we muz' go up to yoo' room. Pleaze follow me."

As she went up the marble steps of the Grand Staircase, every physical asset of hers was on display, from her enormous bosom shimmying from side to side, to her hips jiggling up and down, to her beautiful derriere as it moved independently from the rest of her body, as if it had a mind of its own. The odd thing about Charlotte was that even though she was so tall and so big, even though she had mammoth proportions, she was terrifically spry and moved with grace and speed. Slow and lazy she was not.

Once in his room, she closed the door and locked it for privacy reasons. Then she called on him. "Come 'ere to Charlotte an' let me take care of yoo."

It did not take long for her to strip him of his clothes. Charlotte was taken aback when she saw all the scars on him. Wounds from fighting in the war. She ran her fingers over his backside, but said nothing. As she continued to take off his clothes, she did so gingerly and handled his body the same way. Despite the scars, and the imagery in her head as to how he got those scars, Charlotte continued with such confidence and knew that she could take charge of him like this, behind closed doors. Before he could utter a word to get the story on his parents, Charlotte de la Grange knew better.

"Shhh! Yoo little man. Yoo know bet'er 'zan to zay any'zing until I 'ave taken care of yoo."

With that, she removed every article of clothing from her body and then swooped him up off of the stone floor. Now in her arms, she brought him to the bathroom and placed him in a sitting position on her soft yet enormous knee. She then place her hand in around his huge cock and his balls. She even moved it up and down his shaft, but only a few times. Enough to get Sir Roland's attention.

"Iz juz' like I uzed to do w'en yoo wee younger, rememb'r? Now get you buzinezz done, an 'zen I put yoo in a bath. Once, yoo in 'ze bath we can talk about many 'zings.

Charlotte. That name meant so many things in his past. He'd expected to never be close to her again, and that had caused many a sad yearning recollection.

This was the only name other than his mother...and generally moreso...that had ever meant solace, comfort and nurturing. He'd suckled from her at ten, been carried when his ankle was twisted, been kissed and teased when he felt unsure of himself.

In so many ways she had been the balm to bring a young man safely through his teen years. While he'd never made love to her, she had pleasured him readily enough, making sure he 'waz no in diztrezz.' He loved her French accent and wondered if sometimes she added to it just for him. Then he was following her upstairs to his room, excitement shooting through every pore as she locked the door behind them. The sight of her swaying breasts and ass had fully awoken his desires, which had been chastely clamped down for years.

As she removed his clothes he started to protest, sure that his scars would repulse her...but she hardly seemed to react at all, stroking over his shoulders in an almost clinical way. He realized that her care and devotion to him was far deeper than his own skin.

When she began to disrobe, he could only look on in wonder as breasts like kegs came out, with dinner plate aureolae angling form. Oh how he wanted to suckle and bury his face within her bosom.

She managed to defer his breakdown over his parents, distracting him masterfully. When she stopped stroking, he was pressed against he massive nude rack and he was already close to release.

Then she gave him permission to relieve himself. She'd primed him and he stood on his knees, sliding them between her massive thighs into the protective warmth that would always be there.

His hand reached and pushed and as he thrust up, her entered her soft yielding cleavage, sliding betwen her ready breasts. After three years, he came quickly and heavily. Many times the volume that most men could produce flowed out in gushing streams between her himalayan mountains.

He held onto her shoulders for a minute to regain his balance, he leaned into her shoulder, kissing her cheek and neck, not yet invited to take her lips, but knowing he could. It was a sweet game they played.

He could have asked her to hold him tight, to protect him in her big arms. To take care of him, he knew was her primary duty and joy, but to merit it, he had to let her do it her way. "I'm ready Charlotte. Take me...I really need a bath."

He held himself to her, whispering. "My scars, they itch and hurt and crack open. Help me Charlotte, you are the only one who really still cares for my and I adore you for it."

Then he was quiet as she wished. So much to share. His ennobling had left him with a title...that was good, because he needed to calm himself. As she moved to carry him, he kissed her soft neck again and closed his eyes in trust, exhaustion overtaking him.

His men made good progress helping with the grounds of the Barony. Soon they were having a rollicking good time.

Charlotte carried him over to the bath, had him stand there for a moment. She then opened up a spigot at the trough and a rush of warm water cascaded downward in a sheet over the trough's edge and fell right into the stone bath tub. Meanwhile, Charlotte took a clean rag, wet it with the warm water and then proceeded to clean Sir Roland's soiled cock and balls...she did it in the most loving of ways...strangely for her, this was more than just work...she knew they shared a certain intimacy...she loved him and would do anything for him...she served him as though she were his mother, his wife, and his servant all rolled up into one person...she knew that he loved her and this intimacy they shared.

With the tub full, she closed the spigot, proceeded to pick Sir Roland up and place him gingerly into the bath. Charlotte went through the soaps and oils and began to bathe him. As she continued from face, to chest, to arms she spoke about his parents in a hushed tone, "Yoo mo'zer an' fa'zer, zey wer' out on a short trip to Lady Grace'z 'ouse. It should 'ave been like always. A day over an' a day back. 'Zey 'ave done 'zat trip a z'ousand timez, you know?" ~Charlotte pushes Sir Rolland forward and wipes the special healing oils over his back~ "Well, zum'zing zpook 'ze 'orsez. 'Zey ran wild. Very fast 'zey run, until 'zey turn before 'ze cliff. 'Ze carriage, it come looze an' " ~she wraps her huge, soft arms gently around Sir Rolland~ "An' 'ze carriage goes over 'ze cliff."

Charlotte gently weeps...then continues to bathe him...

"I must apologize my Lord." Charlotte says with all of her heart. "Yoo parentz, 'zey ar' buried wi'h 'ze rest of yoo family out on 'ze ridge where 'ze oak treez ztand."

Charlotte finishes bathing him and places some wrapping around his scarred back. "I do 'ze oilz on yoo back an' maybe in a week or two, zey will feel better my Lord."

Her large hands. So many overlooked those hands, but he thought they were wonderful.
Mind you, he was no spindly lad. The trials and training of years of knightly preparation, followed by three years on campaign had given him a body of carved oak. Not a spare bit of fat hung from his chiseled frame. He had once lifted and thrown an insolent trooper like a spring lamb.
But Charlotte's hand were large and wrong enough to crush a man's skull...yet she always kept her strength under delicate control. She had been a model for him growing up, and he had taken the side of any oppressed cohort, defying the bullies though it cost him repeated pain.
Her hands...now gentle as a doe licking a fawn. As she ran them over him to cleanse him, the knots of days on the trail began to unwind and he lost a little internal hardness.

How glad he was that it was in her powerful protective arms that he learn of the fate of his lost parents. He wept with shoulders heaving, loosing his grief into the safeness of her vast bosom. So many missed moments he would never regain. Well, he could still make them proud.

Quietly, his lips moved to a nipple the size of his thumb, and as its softened leathery nub was captured by his lips, he began to draw upon her. Relieved to find that she yet had milk for him, he shuddered and hugged into her, even as her hands placed soothing balm on his scar riddled back, her warm rich cream became a balm for his soul.

The room was still, apart from the rippling of the water, the soft wet sounds of her hands kneading the oil into him, and the creaking of the floor each time she shifted her weight.
He let the peace of his room and her presence fill him, accepting what was must be a d counting his blessings before speaking.
"My she-bear, you know that the faithless bitch skipped out on me. Apart from the dishonor I don't really care. That title is mine now. I demanded it from him and he agreed.
But the Duke, bless him, has made me a Captain. I have a title now. He has promised me this unruled Barony we sit in...if I marry a Lady. If I don't, he may take back the offer. I suppose I should care more, being higher in the ranks raises my children's opportunities... But right now, since I have no fiancee, no arranged marriage, no Lady whom I have committed to court, children are less on my mind.

Besides, right now I'd make a horrendous father. Everyone says I'm mean tempered, always angry, and quick to judge...and they are right. But there is a reason. Charlotte, please listen to me and don't laugh, for you are the only person I feel I can share this with.
Your family is known, I believe, for having the Sight. If my history serves me, then I recall that my Grandfather saved your Grandmother from a mob who claimed she was a witch. My learned Sire calmed them, had her say the Lord's prayer and drink holy water, then pointed out that her healing skills were listed among the Godly gifts in the Bible. Since then, your family is above suspicion, though I did often wonder about those drinks she crafted for my father once he hit 50...I noticed mother was the one requesting them and for days after, she'd dote on him."
He paused to turn his reddened eyes to her.
"Charlotte, I can't sleep. Literally! An Imam called down a curse of souls upon me and since then, every night as slumber takes me, I am beset. I thought it but horrific nightmares, but my Squire has sworn differently. I believe Jon is a cousin of yours? Fine lad, he'll make a good knight soon. Anyway, he has the Sight, and said that when he sees me sleep, a dark cloud covers me and invades me. The Imam who cursed me did give something to break the curse.
The Duke and I were there and my Arabic is not perfect. The Duke said it was 'Only a Noblewoman's heart will shield him.' But I wonder if it was a woman's noble heart. That's why he insists I marry into nobility I think."

Listlessly, he looked up at her. "Charlotte, you usually have taken the lead, and have Lead me well. Please...would you cradle me like you did when I was small. I feel safe in your arms. Perhaps it won't come so quickly and you can wake me as soon as I'm in pain. I am at my wits end and have desired to kill myself...but I think that is their goal."

Having gone beyond what any might in exhaustion, his head drooped and his breathing calmed. But no sooner had he gone at ease than a darkness seemed to permeate the corners of the room. It flowed thicker and to those with the ability, faces could be seen moving about. Angry visages with teeth bared.
It thickened above and moved towards him sliding across his legs and making him cry out. But oddly, it seemed unable to approach Charlotte and the portions of him close to her remained untouched.

Charlotte held him tightly up against her body and kept him deep within her bosom. She practically grew around him to ward off the darkness. Once she had him in a protective state, she raised up her right arm and waved it slowly from side to side. While doing this she spoke in French a chant of some sort....

"Pauvres âmes des ténèbres qui sont morts par l'épée retournent à la terre où vous appartenez pour vous ne sont pas accueillis dans cette maison." (Poor souls of darkness who have died by sword return back to the earth where you belong for you are not welcomed in this household.)

With each time Charlotte said those words, the darkness, those angry visages retreated until they were gone, for now. Sir Roland was asleep. Charlotte brought decided to bring him to her room. She gingerly placed him in the depression in the middle of her bed. She then gingerly laid on top of him and held him the way a lark would protect her young in their nest. Her massiveness surrounded him up to his mouth. Her huge breasts, her wide hips, her gelatinous stomach surrounded him in an odd comfort. Her naked heat kept him warm and comfortable, even though half of his head was exposed and he had only his two nostrils to breathe from.

Charlotte brought her head down to his and had to ponder what Sir Roland said just prior to falling asleep in her arms. She knew that her marriage to him was an inevitability. She was the only one who could care for him, the only one who could truly love him. Charlotte had lived a life of an servant and would continue to do so happily. She knew that for his family's sake, he had to keep his title and by extension the lands that her family have called home. It was the Duke that would need convincing of her worthiness to marry Sir Roland. She would have to prove to him that it was a noble woman's heart that could only marry Sir Roland.

With that she too fell asleep with Sir Roland until the crows broke the silence of the night in the early morning....

Roland slept. He truly slept.

There was a dream or two in which dark creatures unseen pursued him, but each time he was whisked away in soft strong arms.

After seven hours he awoke, only to realize he'd been caught by the enemy and bound head and foot and....wait...that wasn't it. His eyes opened to the early predawn light streaming in through the glassed window.

Only his face felt the early chill, for the rest of him had Charlotte as his blanket.

In a rush, it all came back, the betrayal, the loss of his parents, and the gaining of one who loved him. He tried to move to hug her and realized that he was entirely pinioned. She had perfectly covered him so that her weight would not mash him, but that he was completely immobile.

He realized then that he had not been to the bathroom in some time and his kidneys had been working overtime, processing the delicious milk with which he'd been fed.

"Chawotte...hewwo." His mouth was smothered under her and he could not even yell. He tried ot wiggle, but to no avail. As he started to hyperventilate, he forced himself to relax. He was a knight and knights did not panic.

So he wiggled his head until he could turn it and gain a slight gap. "Darling Charlotte, keeper of all I hold dear, would you please awaken and let me venture forth to the toilet? I'd really prefer not to pee your bed."

He paused to listen and it hit him. Just what was Charlotte to him. Oh, he loved her touches, trusted her and such. He'd rather be with her than any other, and her body was his idea of perfection. But what was their relationship? Technically he was her lord and master, and she beneath him...of course at the moment, he was definitely beneath her!
But how did he feel about her...it was a conflict. She was his willing servant, and yet...he respected her...now he truly needed her. But for what? He tried to imagine his life without her and it was grey and bleak. To sleep apart form her...wait...sleep? He had slept! She had broken the curse! He HAD slept!

His eyes looked up at her and he considered...if he lost her...a horrible ache in his heart began and he wanted to hide...suddenly he had to look back on feelings he had denied himself for years. He loved her. But he had a duty to take care of his people. Could he we her knowing that he would probably lose the Barony? his decision was lightning, yes...he could.

"Charlotte...my love. Please wake up. I love you. I want you. May I be permitted to court you? I want to give you time to know who you are dealing with.... a man scarred inside and out, imperious, sometimes foolhardy, but loyal to a fault. Perhaps someday I will earn the right to ask you to wed, but until then, please court me."

Birds had begun to sing outside and his squire, Jon, came in. He looked around curiously for Roland, and lit a few candles, then when he turned his mouth dropped and he blushed. He'd never seen his cousin in such a state of undress...and atop...oh my. Purpling further, he averted his eyes and went over to them. "Charlotte, Cookie is making hotcakes and wonders how many you'll have."

The manor and surrounding buildings began to awaken to a new day...one better than they'd seen in a long time.

Roland had to wait until Jon left. "Charlotte, please! If you care for me at all, let me up, it's starting to ache."