Devil’s consort courted him

Devil’s consort courted him

The death man’s so-called widow

Captain James Wilkins tossed several coins to the innkeeper of the old and dirty inn, where nobody would ask questions and their presence would be unnoticed. Two days leave was blessed opportunity to make as much love as possible. He wanted a room and privacy. He got both and he consumed the luxury of having his lover in bed among the pillows and blankets. They even didn’t undress for the first round. The hungry kisses changed in to the love bites and their panting filled room as they descend on the wooden floor. His love was briskly on all four waiting for him. James Wilkins fought quickly with buttons of his breeches and pushed them down before he took what was offered for him. The sensation of taking another being with combination of total submissions to his need made him aroused even more. He loved the way he got it and he returned it with his domination over the kneeling beloved. There were no words just gasps and occasional moans accompanied with the gentle slaps as his hips pushed against his lover buttocks. He didn’t give any kiss and there was none from the beloved either. The first round was just animal urge for coupling. The lack of physical contact burst over and over until they both came in the same time as long term lovers could do. He gave a deep kiss and cradled beloved in the tight embrace. The second round was slower, but not much. They needed to feel each other naked skin under their palms. The clothes were scattered on the wooden floor. He laughed afterwards when his lover scolded him for wrinkled and torn garments. The scolding was just their game. Wilkins knew it and kissed soft lips and his hand moved to taste stickiness on his lover inner thighs.
“Dress yourself and be gentleman to your dearest. Let me rest a little. You know you are so …” the voice trailed of and Wilkins knew he made love well. He would take that body again and again until he would be too exhausted to do it.
He put the drawers on and his beloved took modest nightgown and curled under blankets with lose hair. It was their routine, when they had opportunity. He liked the way in which the gown plastered on his love’s skin. The curves of limbs and chest covered by soft white fabric were erotic sight, which made his blood rush to his loins. He wanted to take, to love, to screw. The need was searing. He and the sleeping one had many differences, but living in sin would bring them the same anathema for both of them regardless their church. His feelings were secret as his lovemaking, but feelings couldn’t be hasty as physical pleasure in the dark corners. This night was one of the rare ones; they made it in the bed among the soft clean sheets. He placed pillow under his lover hips to make it more comfortable for both of them. He wanted to stay naked afterwards, but his lover denied it as always
He took the bottle from the floor and opened it. The first draught nearly choked him. The cheap brandy was burning his throat. He didn’t care. He looked at his side. Sleeping beauty made his head spin and not only his and he had to share with the other man in past. The man was dead. Wilkins smiled to himself at the memory of the bloodied corpse. He felt the gain even the battle was lost for British side. He won his love and his freedom. The dark cloud on it was the weeping of his beloved. He had never seen his dearest to show tear of pain until that day. The weeping and mourning consumed his beloved and Wilkins wasn’t allowed to touch the silken skin or even kiss. He hated the death man for such power over his love. He cursed him and he got drunk one night. He had more spirits in his veins then blood when he stormed to his beloved place and made unspeakable act. He savaged what had to be his by all his rights. The rape was nasty word and nastier act. He was violent and when he woke up, he wanted to vomit when he saw what he had done. The night was bad, but his lover meekly cleaned blood from Wilkins body and curled to him when it was done. He tried to apologize, but he was only told not to do it. Wilkins had the key of the beloved’s room again and had his lover in his arms. It wasn’t right he sensed it. His lover cheated on him with death man. The body was his and he hoped that mind was too. The hope was crushed several times. He hated it and the hate slowly transformed him in to the beast when he took his drink. Memories were like serpent from the paradise. Memories filled his head and he tried to push them from him.
“If you must hold on something, hold the bottle,” he murmured.
He gulped the fire from it and dulled pain in his head. The kisses of those lips, the tightness between lover’s tights and the moans of passion should be his, but weren’t. Old jealousy was like unhealed wound in his heart, which gave his relationship bitter taste. All of his sins were more bearable than the fact of being just substitution of someone else. It was like cancer eating him alive, rotting his self-esteem and changing him to violent man. The brandy soothed his depression in rare occasion, while his flesh tearing dreariness reached its peak. His fury often changed in to the physical abuse. He loathed himself after beating the only being, which stayed with him no matter of the sinful status of their secret relationship or his lack of funds, home or whatever stayed against them mainly on his part.
Wilkins touched rosary hanging from the bed frame, where it landed from his lover pocket during violent undressing. He took it in his palm and the tiny crystal beads were as cold as the silver cross in the end with the crucified man nailed on it. The rosary was the gift from a dead man to the lover. Soul’s sins were prayed off with the Latin words of prayer. He learned them by heart from the listening. The pious and full of penitence was voice, that said them each morning before dawn, but in the dusk the same mouth enveloped his cock and sucked him off. The knees spread themselves for him to take body, which kneeled on them during prayer. So-called widow prayed for so-called husband, but never for James Wilkins. He hated those prayers; he hated the dead man’s love. His fist struck the praying figure, this morning and broke lips like ripe cherries under his knuckles. He hit the place, which couldn’t be covered by cloth of dress for the first time. He was scolded, not for the hit, but for the careless choice of place. He felt guilt for the rest of the day, when his love lied about the source of injury. “I fell from the stairs, that’s the shame and my face bears the mark of it,” beloved said to ones who asked. He touched the swollen lip and sleeper stirred, but didn’t wake up. The whispered name froze blood in his veins. “William. Yes. I want You William.” The dream wasn’t about James Wilkins, but about a dead man.


Promised land
James Wilkins did many things since he had spoken for the king in Charleston, many indeed. The war was there as Benjamin Martin had warned them. It came to their homes and to their lives with all its brutality. Martin was right and Wilkins knew it, but others had different thoughts. Was it patriotic to burn his plantation or nearly kill him for his loyalty to the crown? He only spoke at the assembly for the cause; he expressed the meaning of foolish standing against crown. He vowed not to fight as the man who stood against him in most things. Benjamin Martin was his rival in the assembly, but not only there. He took woman, whom Wilkins loved, and married her, before he could even express his feelings to her. The Fresh Water farm wasn’t burned to the ground, but his plantation was. He was traitor for them not Martin. They wanted to tar and feathered him. Was it right? It was, damn, it was. He was traitor for them like they were for him. He said once, that traitor deserves to die traitor’s death. So be it. He was no fun for them he was too hurt to be amusing. They left him in dirt to die. He founded the will to live and fight. He had no home, no place to stay. The fight was the opportunity to find his place again. He found the same about Martin; they both chose to fight as the only act of desperation, which forced them to take commission. There was burning anger in him too. He wanted to preserve the world he knew. The war would soon be over and his country was no longer his, but theirs. Mister Howard spoke about an American nation in Charleston. Howard was dead, American nation became the reality and he lost his soul together with home. Three simple things described his life perfectly to his distastes. He tossed the torch and sold his soul to the devil, but the torch was just to subscribe to an agreement with Satan. The sin was sin and burning whole village to the death in Pembroke’s church was lesser trespass than he had done several moths before the incident. It was his first time and it should be his last, but it wasn’t. He fell to the abyss of debauchery and repeated it over and over without the thinking about the consequences of his acts against God. He took lover of other man in his bed. He made gentle lovemaking to somebody, who didn’t know affectionate touch. He was gentle with his strawberry blond beauty. He had to be, because he was too in love and he wasn’t violent brute as other man, whom he despised to the bone.
Wilkins felt hate for that crushed being, but hate soon changed in pity and pity became insane love. He was consumed by the love. It burned in his chest and set the same fire to his loins. He had the feelings and needs, which he eagerly consumed. He didn’t care about ungodly essence of their relationship. He was mere sinner to the temptation with marble white thighs and the heat that fitted around his cock like glove. Wilkins clearly remembered the day when one dragoon, whose name he forgot, warned him not to touch colonel Tavington’s property. He understood fact of ill-fated tries to mess with colonel’s possession. He clearly remembered his answer about not touching colonel’s women. The laugh that boomed through officers’ mess was something unexpected for him, but when captain Bordon entered it ceased as his anger gaze swept over them. They looked like caught schoolboys not like battle hardened veterans, whom they were. He took it like warning about not talking about superior officer’s toy. Tavington was famous as for his killing as for his whoring around. Wilkins often saw how women fell to colonel’s arms no matter how much virtuous they were. He charmed them like snake with those pale green eyes and clever talks. Names filled dragoons’ gossips. Elizabeth, Amanda, Charlotte and others were used and tossed like leftovers to dogs and dogs tore rest of their reputation to the shreds. Gad about, who would marry her? Wilkins wasn’t saint and he took opportunity to ease loneliness by warm woman body, but it was paid company. Dapper Bordon gave him always the look, when he returned from such business. “ I was condemned to share tent with you not with your whores. Be so polite and take a bath next time before your return. You stink like brothel on move.” Said and returned to his rosary or whatever his well-mannered self decided to be proper for evening. Wilkins was recruited by him from the hellish loyalist militia and was too grateful Bordon for giving him opportunity to join Green Dragoons; hence he never talked back on such comments. There was nothing to say about whores to Irish prude anyway. It was hell to live with Bordon in that time. The man was silent companion and his morning and evening custom of muttering prayers was annoying. He wondered why had to share the space with the saint. He wanted to join the company life and with Bordon by his side it was almost impossible to do it.
Wilkins learned soon after he entered ranks of Green Dragoons about adoration of colonel Tavington and the strange pampering of captain Bordon. They lived and died for this aristocratic beast like there was no superior force than William Tavington. He thought, he understood it perfectly; colonel was dashing officer with no temper just cold authority, but as time passed he saw the darker side of colonel. The ambitions were poisoning the aristocrat. Wilkins saw it and understood why lord general felt repulsion to Tavington’s eagerness for advancement. Tavington’s ruthless efficiency released whenever it had opportunity, to be honest there was plenty of such opportunities, when they lacked colonel developed them. He realized to his horror that fellow dragoons saw it too and took it as fuel to their admiration of “The Butcher”. The fierce warrior was heading in to the battle with the eagerness for glory and always returned victorious. Wilkins realized the other thing in colonel’s behavior, the death wish was written on his face each time they charged. He took the same wish as his own, when he took the same searing lover. Wilkins wanted to bring victory to his beloved. He wanted to offer land and money to satisfy need for place so called home for them. He overheard Tavington and their lover conversation about the possible place to live in. Ohio. The lover encouraged colonel to push himself further to achieve the land or there would be no place for them to go if they wanted to stay with each other. The soft whisper and game with words tossed Tavington in to the insane pursuit of dreamed land. Wilkins knew Tavington was fool and their lover was dreaming about something, which would never exist. The dream killed the colonel. Captain Bordon on the other hand was like shadow of his superior. He bore the different kind of authority. He was like glued colonel’s on heels, ready to carry on his orders, like perfect Aide de Camp. Tavington said and Bordon obeyed and made his will with perfection admired even by lord general himself. Charles Bordon was desired to be in the staff even major Andre tried to persuade him to work directly under him. Bordon stayed where he was and politely declined the offers. He said his place had to be by colonel Tavington to do his duty for the king.
There was mystery about his managing of keeping polite face in whatever he did. He had sweet words in his arsenal as the bribery or the gentle blackmailing. He talks, he was all around. The network of his stool pigeons was waste and effective. He once saw results of other parts of his work. Interrogations of prisoners were messy things and intelligence officer didn’t mind to get dirty during process. He changed completely as the polite mask had over worn itself. The calculated cruelness emerged out when the victim was far form cooperation with the dragoon interrogator. Wilkins still remembered the small farmhouse when he saw it for the first and he hoped for very last time.
“All of it bore aestheticism, James,” he often said about his work or about simple arranging of flowers. Bordon looked like kind person, who was forced to do nasty things. He showed it openly to the world. The truth was valuable goods for intelligence officer. Wilkins saw the brutality, which he was capable, but he saw also how he charmed men and women around him with his perfect manners and polite smiles. Captain Bordon walked through the camp and all men and women turned around to see him. He felt them envying his place as captain Bordon’s roommate that time. That thing never changed as others did in Wilkins life.

Claret on his lover’s lips

He sat on the bed with his back leaned against the footboard and watched his sleeping lover. He thought about making love again. It was about the midnight and the roared song of the patrons was annoying. It was price for privacy to be in such hole full of drunkards. He was poor and he hated it. He could offer his lover only such places and it was like spoiling their moments by nastiness of dirty inns. He put his palm on his lover’s buttocks and pushed up the nightgown. He licked his fingers and run them up and down in the crack and then pushed two of them in the wet opening. It was ready for him and he fingered his lover and rubbed those elastic walls. Wilkins smiled as his fingers were trapped by squeeze of his lover’s muscles. His lover was pretending slumber, but motions of the hips showed the truth.
“You want my cock or just fingers and more?” Wilkins breathed in the ear shell covered by strawberry blond hair and with free hand he took bottle of oil. He wanted to be caring or at least he wanted to pretend to be caring. His lover stirred and opened eyes. He was always startled by such wanton expression and devotion in those blue eyes as his lover looked at him when the lovemaking was desired at the both sides not only at Wilkins. The naughty whisper with voice hoarse with need made Wilkins smile.
“You know my answer but you have no courage to do it....fingers and more is my answer,” his lover purred and moved on all fours and stretched body like eager cat. Wilkins gulped he saw hated colonel to do such thing to his lover. He saw him how he roughly tossed his lover in the stable corner and then he covered his glove with the oil from the lamp. Wilkins was pressed to the wooden wall and tried to catch a glimpse of those two. Wilkins and his lover were keeping their relationship in secret in front of the fearsome colonel. It would be death sentence for both of them if Tavington knew about them. It was hard to see them, they were very careful, but he noticed that colonel gagged his lover and then started to push finger after finger in his lover ass. The memory disappeared as Wilkins kissed his lovers opening and gave it a lick. He tasted his cum on it and he pushed his tongue deeper. He doubted his ability to do what his lover asked for. It was too brutal for his tastes. He had no idea how it could fit down there. He licked the crack up and down there were scars of burns which were made by the deceased beast as the punishment for God knew what. Wilkins braced himself not to show his concern, and then it hit him. His lover was just whore who was used to such things. He heard the hated name tonight and he did nothing about it. So what? He shouldn’t be gentle with such tart. That wanton being wanted to be ravished and called him coward. He would show strawberry blond who is coward here. He kneeled and showed three fingers at once in the tight heat, it was not so tight because he fucked his lover down there twice tonight. The pained yelp was like reward to him, but his lover didn’t make any attempt to get free. He moved his fingers in and out then he added the others and they were in pressed to the knuckles in his lover. Wilkins heard the gasps as he rotated his fingers in the stretched ass. He looked at the skin there it was so soft and pink. He licked it and felt his fingers trough it. It was surreal and arousing in the same time. He pulled his fingers out and made fist and pressed it in, in that time he secured his lover’s quivering hips with is other hand. His fingers dung in the white flesh and left the red marks on it. He felt the resistance but he pushed and then it was in. It was wrong and it had to hurt like hell. Wilkins was past caring as he moved deeper. It hit him again his lover liked it and the arousal was not only at Wilkins side. He pushed in and pulled his hand almost out then he pushed it again. The slickness was only form oil he was sure he did not tear his lover but then he spotted some reddish streaks on his wrist. Then he felt muscles to constrict around his wrist several times as his lover came in violent orgasm. He yanked his hand free and cleaned it in to the towel which lay next to the bed. His lover turned head to him and there was the well known obedience and devotion after such acts of violence. Wilkins saw the red drops on his lover’s lips, they were looked like claret. The blow job he received was perfect and this time it was obvious that he was the only one who was adored by his beauty, not that dead English beast.
“You are beautiful and very debauched,” Wilkins told his lover and pulled down the night gown and patted the round buttocks and covered them with thin blanket. He arranged them in to the spoon manner and tried to sleep, but the he could not. It was like nightmare to thing about the past. Those lost years in America and now those lost years in Spain under the heat and English command. The memories filled his mind and his mind was trying to push them away, but he couldn’t. He thought how hard his start among green dragoons was. The colonel wasn’t making it easy and Irish prude was like babysitter from hell.
Wilkins often failed in making friendship with other dragoons. He made many misplaced comments and their contempt was almost palpable towards him in those times, before he earned his name. Bordon never girded at him. It was always hard to tell what Irishman really thought about things. Wilkins soon learned how to survive next to cold papist. The life with Charles Bordon had simple rules, not ask about his personal matters, not bring whore to their tiny place, not smell too much and never ever speak about flowers, which sometimes appeared on his pillow. He tried to figure the flowers’ mystery and gossips among officers indicate something in which existence he had serious doubts. Wilkins spotted once some pretty camp tart to throw flowers in their tent and he thought about solved mystery. Bordon was pretty popular and wanted. The question was if he cared for or even fulfilled ladies’ wishes. The good feeling about cleared mysticique vanished, when he spotted colonel discreetly did the same thing. His eyes nearly popped out of his skull, when he saw the superior doing such act. He was clever enough not to ask why the toss was made. Bordon took the bouquet and placed it near his cot with his serene smile. Wilkins pointed about his unmanly custom to pick flowers. He was scolded like the schoolboy for lack of gentleman manners and education. He hated Bordon´s patient voice during the process. It was the same kind of tone he was using on ones soon to be death and the local idiots. He took the same custom after years. He knew that he would go out in the morning to pick some for his brutality and broken lip.

He believed in witches

The night became unbearable heavy, the heat was emitting out of the in walls and sounds of cicadas filled the air. Heat made Wilkins skin wet with beads of sweat and headache was adding the bitter edge to his memories. He could not breath, it was suffocating to stay in the room which reeked with coupling and unwashed clothes, which witnessed three days long ride in the Spanish country. Wilkins stood up and went to the window and opened it. He thought that colder night air would make his headache gone. He was wrong, instead he felt call of nature. He looked around and down. The big rat was eating something in the light spot from the inn window. He smiled and opened his breeches and soon he was rewarded by squeaks of panicking rat and the sound of running paws among other sounds he caused. Wilkins tied the strings and closed the window. He tried to imagine the rat expression when it was hit with something wet from above. It had to be the same as of the hedgehog; he made suffer during one of his returning trip from the stormy evening with gamble and brandy. It was only thing, which made him laugh during that particular evening. He witnessed something which made him sick and convinced that Tavington was devil himself. It should be fun and it was with all those fine drinks supplied by decent loyalist family from Charlestown. He drank too much and he gambled his monthly pay, but it wasn’t bother at all. Bordon would lend him some money, he always did. Wilkins was in deep debts in those days, he was still. It did not change and even person, who was lending him the money, stayed the same. He was sipping his drink when he heard voice of very tipsy lieutenant Brook, who was well known for lack of wit. Frankly he was utterly stupid. Wilkins earned dirty look from Bordon, when Irishman noticed with whom Wilkins was drinking. Yes, he was asking for troubles and the evening was full of brandy which clouded the minds and made dragoons boast too much for their own ill fated destiny.
“Nancy boys like flowers, so bring him some and your life will be easier, Wilkins,” said to him tipsy lieutenant Brook, when he foolishly spoke about his difficulties with Bordon. He whispered it in Brook’s ear during that evening. Brook wasn’t gentleman and discreet whisper was not his style. shameful voice boomed through room and set in motion the fury of his roommate, who of course heard it. Other officers froze and all were watching Bordon and his cat like moves to Wilkins and Brook. Lieutenant gained sobriety with astonishing quickness and his stammering apology filled room, only to be cut by colonel’s honey sweet voice. “You know the punishment for the dueling and I will give it to you personally after you will be done with matter of honor.” Bordon gave his superior dreamy smile and went to the business. The Irish was famous for his numerous duels in his homeland. He valued matters of honor above everything else, but James Wilkins doubted it after his shared life with him. Bordon was touchy only in certain matters, yes it included honor, but also some suspicions, which were considered to not be even thought about. Wilkins has never been thoughtful person and such things were unknown to former plantation owner. Bible spoke about those things and the hell opened for such sinner, who insulted God. Those were like witches to Wilkins in his oblivious days, they did not exist. The fear was like heavy curtain falling over his fellow dragoons. Wilkins sensed seriousness of the situation, he would be fool if he wasn’t and mentally prepared himself to be called, but it was Brook who died in fierce duel that night. Bordon sliced him slowly to the pieces with his saber without mercy. Wilkins saw for the first time such planed cruelty and malice in duel, which Bordon displayed to cheering crowd of vultures. Man with saber didn’t care of them, when he cleaned it and took several gulps from offered canteen. He raised it and with wanton move poured it over his face and his upper body. Charles was only in his frilled shit and the way in which the wet cloth plastered on his skin was strangely attractive. Wilkins imagined woman in his place and gulped. Bordon merrily looked over the crowd as colonel ordered disposal of the body and followed his superior to the darkness. All of that was wicked and surely not according the law. His mind was racing, when he returned to his tent. Unit had its own laws and own way how to deal with its members or better was: William Tavington had his own laws and own way ho to deal with his men. He wanted best and had best no matter of law. There was no reason to fight against it or ask too much. The curiosity wasn’t healthy regardless of place or time. He remembered the first time, when he saw the results of colonel’s way with Charles. Bordon returned next day after Brook’s death during dusk. He was pale and barely standing and fell to his cot in his spotless uniform. His harsh breathing sounded like choking, but when Wilkins moved towards the click of pistol stopped him in the spot. “Ask me, or touch me and I will kill you ‘” was all to make him not to ask or even went near him. Butterflies filled his stomach later in that night. Bordon peeled off his gloves an in the dim light of lantern was clearly seen the rough marks of rope on his wrist. Wilkins turned his face to the canvas wall; he tried not to think about the man behind him. He wasn’t foolish to talk about it, it was Bordon’s business not his after all. Wilkins became used to not ask and close his eyes to behavior of his fellow captain, which started to be stranger each week. He was smart enough to turn a blind eye to it. The horror of the death delivered by Irishman was burned in his skull. Bordon was excellent officer and he made his work perfectly, but … those “buts” multiplied their number each month. He tried to convince himself about custom of intelligence officer’s duty to behave like that. Bordon warned him about unhealthy result of misplaced attention to certain things. Captain James Wilkins wasn’t trusted and colonel waited for opportunity to hang him as a spy. He shut his mind to the tempting curiosity about Brodon’s slipping into the night and his returning with dawn, about his strange injuries and about flowers that somebody placed occasionally on his pillow. Bordon mostly put them in the water, but there were rare occasions when he tossed them away.
He wasn’t ready for truth, but his fate didn’t care. Wilkins tried to fulfill his duty and fight for king and country without remorse. He pushed himself further, than others did. Others dragoons despised him, of course not those who joined Legion in Colonies; those shared the same fate as he did. Tavington’s mocking made his life hellish more than anything else and he learnt in several occasion, that his fellow dragoons only waited to shoot him or plunge knife in his bowels in mere sight of colonel’s wish. Wilkins was sure about wish on colonel’s side, he was like sniffing dog around him. Tavington showed openly his distaste to colonial officer and he crushed Wilkins authority to the nothing. Wilkins often heard the whispering about his lack of abilities or traitorous intentions. He had to be watched and he was watched. Wilkins hated it and cursed great deal of time, but he soon gained some reputation, which erased the mark of imbecile-who-is-handling-saber-like-pork-bone at least, from him. Wilkins’s orders were carried on only after silent confirmation of his constant chaperon, captain Bordon. It was humiliating, but it could be worse if Bordon was as same as colonel. Charles began to work on rightful place for Wilkins and soon he sensed the result from it. Wilkins understood that it was the prize he won by not asking Bordon about his personal matters and covering him when he was too affected from his strange night missions. There was mutual silence about that matter. The company accepted James Wilkins and one night they made a birthday celebration for him with silent permission of the fierce colonel. He tried to speak about it with Bordon, but Irishman just shrugged his shoulders and with heavenly smile arranged bouquet of some meadowy flowers in canteen. “You are from colonies and they doubt your loyalty. You can be fine officer, but it will take some time and colonel Tavington will be sure about your worthiness for service. I am here to make him sure about you and than return to his side,” he got calm reply, but the words struck him.
“Charles, you are used to sleep with colonel, don’t you?” said the worst formulation of his thoughts. The gossips, Bordon’s looks to his superior and the subtle hints indicated only one thing and he pressed on it with his impolite remark. He heard that Bordon had shared tent or wherever it had been possible room with colonel, before he joined dragoons, but his question indicated hideous meaning of word sleep not that Bordon shared the sleeping place with his superior. He opened mouth to explain his words, but he never got an opportunity to do so. He barely noticed Bordon’s moves before he felt cold steel of his knife painfully pressing on his neck. The canteen fell and water was spilled over the floor as flowers flew in every possible direction. Wilkins paled under the blade. Truth had slimy tentacles which crawled in his stomach and choking him. The witches really existed; he started to believe in them.


The mere kiss

Wilkins was trapped under Irishman. Bordon was smaller and more slender then him, but he was natural born killer as Wilkins learnt. He would kill Wilkins and Wilkins would die without even noticing it. He sat still and his eyes were fixed to captain Bordon, whose polite mask slipped and revealed the pure rage. It was the last time he saw such thing, for several heart beats the beauty was gone only to appear again with the traits of passion that rage left.
“Clever one, but not too clever to hide his petty discoveries,” Bordon whispered to Wilkins ear and gave it little nib and continued “So what? Colonel always takes everything, which touches his fancy and he doesn’t like to share his claims, nor am I.”
That was sickening situation with man, but it would be the wildest fantasy with woman. He met women like that in Indian tribes. Fierce, beautiful creatures who devoured men. Wilkins mind raced through possibilities to solve it as best as he could. Those rakish touches were surely showed the straightest way to the gallows and from it to the hell or whatever is chosen for sodomite. The witches existed so did sodomites. He got one on his lap and he wasn’t maidish creature, but he was wasp’s queen.
“Get off me,” Wilkins uttered. It was weak sigh for his tastes. There was living camp behind the thin tent’s walls and the gallows liked the indiscreet sounds of such activities. Wilkins was sane and be hanged wasn’t his wished future even when his loins stirred under the pressure of other body. The surprisingly soft lips touched his own in chaste kiss, no tongue, just touch of the hot lips. It was still draining Wilkins’s strength more then passionate kiss would do. It was wrong, it was searing and it was delicious. He couldn't allow it to happen. He couldn't want it to happen. He did nothing to stop Bordon, he knew that he should but his meek self suppressed his resistance. His hands moved to support sitting man on his lap, he should push him away, but he did not do it. “Bordon,” breathed as gloved hand caressed his face. He had to stop it. Just like he had to stop recalling all the times he had wondered about those rumors about Bordon and colonel, Bordon and others. How would it feel if mere kiss made his resistance gone? He lived in wicked place ruled by devil himself and now he had devil’s consort on his lap. He understood in that moment meaning of warning about not touching colonel’s property, but those warnings were useless in a case of property touching him.
”You want your revenge for mockery and I want my revenge for those sluts of his. There is something more,” he rose his gloved hand in front of the stunned loyalist and pulled it off with his teeth, his eyes was fixed at Wilkins’s. His gaze followed the black leather and found torn fingernails and to Wilkins horror freshly. He saw destroyed beds of nails to the mess of dark ulcers on white skin. He felt urge to vomit when Bordon touched him with those hands. The dried blood was a cracked and fresh stream oozing from the wounds and colored pale fingers with claret. The torture was sometimes necessity in gaining informations from prisoners, but why Tavington did such thing on his second in command? Wilkins gulped and stiffed as Bordon pressed himself in unwanted embrace. Wilkins eyes wandered form the mutilated hands and involuntary stopped just above Bordon’s neckcloth. There were blue-black marks of someone’s fingers choking captain with vigorous force. Bordon’ voice struck him with unheard anger mixed with fear. Wilkins though that the cause was Bordon’s fear of colonel’s violence in that time, but he learnt after years truth.
“I made mistake to argue about his bedmate, he will be married to some colonial hussy. I hate the thought, I hate her so much. I want to kill her, cut her in to the small pieces. She will lay her fingers where I am used to touch. Jealousy brought me not only this,” said and the fire flashed in his eyes. Bordon’ hated to be tossed and left behind.
“You know he liked to plunge long needle under ones nails to tear them off. Slowly one by one are going off and you see your hands getting mutilated. He rotates the needle in order to hear you scream more and more. He never stops until they are gone and then he takes his time with needle. The movements in tender flesh are slow and agony makes you scream as he continues to plunge needle in your skin. You are slowly getting mad from the pain and fear. You know James, the nails are only the beginning, and how you can force man in hell of agony. He knows how to do it, oh God he knows and he uses his knowledge, but the pain is the simplest thing of it. The fear is harder to bear,” Bordon covered in lady like modesty his face with those horrid hands. Wilkins was focused on those ruby beads which rolled over the white skin. He felt anger and he felt the need to kill that beast in colonel uniform. Bordon looked like crushed colt. How did he mange it? Wilkins never knew, because Bordon never again looked like that.
Wilkins watched those hands and took them into his own and he cursed himself in his mind for it. He was unsure what to do; he never dealt with such things. Bordon hated touches and he even more hated when somebody discovered that he is something else then perfect Tavington’s second. There was no better way to show the invitation and pity, which wasn’t of course in his mind. “You must report it, Bordon or…” Wilkins said only thing he could make up in such situation. “ Report? And what? To be hanged? No, never! I will never bring shame on our unit. Never Wilkins. I would rather kill or let be killed then report it.“ He moved his fingers up to the wrist only to find roughness of handcuff’s marks. That sensation shut Wilkins mouth.

The Taste of peaches

Wilkins looked at his sleeping lover; the heat of the night affected them both. Cheap places, cheap ale and cheap Wilkins , he thought with distaste about himself and his surroundings. He was once rich plantation owner and now ended as mercenary in British army. He was foreigner in the foreign land. He wondered if he had joined the Americans, would his destiny be different, or not? However those thoughts were like song of the cicadas, just for the night. He remembered his first time with strawberry blond with iron taste of blood and fear of discovery. He closed his eyes and sighed, that time he had to choose and he did it. Their small tent was like oasis for them, but he had the man on his lap and that man was obviously tortured. Wilkins saw a short tremble of pain on Bordon's face as he took his hand away and heard a whisper, barely audible but stunning him speechless: “I am the peach, you like peaches, right?” The kiss came and made his head spin. Wilkins felt his lips moving in cooperation even more he deepened that sinful kiss and embraced Bordon. A small part of Wilkins’s mind couldn’t believe it, but his hands and lips already had a life on their own. His hands locked behind Bordon’s nape and urged him to continue kissing him. Wilkins felt how their kiss changed from violent act to gentle one. He tasted blood and sage in Bordon’s mouth. His tongue scrapped the set of the perfect teeth unlike his own. Wilkins missed several of them, but not those in the front. He was prolonging the kiss until they both were panting. He wasn’t sure how to continue. Wilkins liked peaches, but this one was not fruit even if juicy and sweet. Bite and taste, he thought, but it was the creature in his lap who pulled him deeper in to something which shouldn’t happen, but it did. Wilkins grasped mutilated hands in his as gently as it was possible and was rewarded by timid smile but accompanied with very carnal action. He felt him slip from his lap and before he could protest Bordon kneeled in fron of him and mouthed him trough the breeches. It was surprise for the first time, when he got them opened only by mouth of his lover. He started to insist on that now. It gave him the false thought of power in their lovemaking. The mouth was on him. He moaned and the bloodied hand covered his mouth. Yes, a danger was out there, creeping behind the thin walls. Wilkins sucked the air as his hardness was slowly taken in to the wet warmth. His head fell backward and his resolve not to continue melted. He wanted only one thing, to come. He wanted to forget the horrors of the war, the fact that it was not female who was reducing him to the mewling idiot. That was it. The sucking continued and he could not longer think coherently and then it came, the bliss. He came in to that willing mouth without even thinking that the kneeling man might mind it. It was somehow shocking, when he saw for the first time naked and aroused male body, which wasn’t his own. The lack of feminine curves, smoothness of Bordon’s chest and narrowness of his hips gained his attention, but Bordon knew how to stop all thoughts. He used his body as the weapon against Wilkins’s state of being unsure of rightness of taking him, as he wanted to be taken on the floor of their tent. Wilkins discovered forbidden realm of pleasures that night and had no time to doubt. Bordon never let him to have time for it for several weeks. Wilkins found his new lover to be more skilled then those camp tarts and above he made love for free, which helped to save some Wilkins’s pay. He convinced himself, that it was nothing bad in easing pressure of his loins in such manner even if it was dangerous way to do it. He shared not only cot with Bordon and he was still amazed how cunning Irishman arranged things for their activity. Well doing it on the horseback was little odd anyway and his buttocks hurt nearly for week after that.


Those excuses

The memories of his first intimate experience with luscious dragoon officer were carved in his brain and he was still amazed how much patience Bordon had to have with him in that time. He knew how to touch the erection under his palm to make Charles mewling for more now. He knew how to kiss him and how to make him so wanton. Wilkins was proud of his abilities, but there were darker traits. His lover let him to touch him only when he was pleased with Wilkins. Wilkins sometimes thought that he was kept by him. It was like infection in his chest spreading and Bordon was passionate lover, when he chose to show it. It cracked his shell of self-control to the pieces as he gave himself to the lovemaking with fierce passion. Wilkins hadn’t had such eager lover before. He tried to find some woman to erase need for Bordon, he tried to free himself from him, but he failed each time miserably. He fucked those excuses, but to Bordon he made love. He was consumed by those delirious nights and when he discovered, that woman’s body stopped being arousing sight for him, he gave out his attempts to seek somebody else. He became devoted to captain Charles Bordon; no he was possessed by him. Wilkins wanted to be loved in the same way as he loved, but he has never been near to it. Captain Bordon let himself to be fondled and loved by his new lover in that time. Wilkins was very willing to spoil him like Bordon wanted. Wilkins once said if Green Dragoons’ camp had been kingdom, Tavington would be king and Bordon its queen. “You hit the bull’s eye, old boy!” The cheering answered his statement in particular gambling evening without Tavington’s or Bordon’s presence. Two of them were on their usual stroll for the fireflies or something interesting in the dark country side, which surrounded the camp. He sensed something more in meaning of his words, but it was time of his innocence and his mind was shut to innuendo of unspeakable relationship, which his “king and queen’s” comment indicated. He would now rather tear his tongue out his mouth than said something similar again. The king was dead and wounded queen took the reins and rose through ranks. He became her first knight. He read about king Arthur and Camelot in his youth. His favorite was one of the gallant knights, Lancelot. The queen, Guinevere, had the same strawberry red hair in the book and also drag her first knight in to the sin. He became his childhood hero and he hated and also loved every minute of it. He tried to convince himself, that his lovemaking with his loved one was just substitute for woman touch. He lied to himself and didn’t notice when the simple intercourse changed into something more. It changed his view of Bordon. He saw him acted with cold politeness to others, but in his arms he changed into the passionate creature. It was like shedding of the mask, which was still like marvel for Wilkins. The art of seduction was something natural to Charles. His movements and his looks to his chosen men were full of it. He managed to change them to his likes. Queen Guinevere seduced Lancelot, didn’t she? Did she have the same marble thighs? Did she spread them with such elegance as man under his hands did? Wilkins was the first knight and the queen was skilled. He was sure Bordon made their liaison hidden from the sight of everybody, especially from one man, the colonel. Wilkins wanted to be only one in Bordon life, but there was always the colonel. He observed him during the patrols. He heard Bordon, who was whispering something in his ear. “The land, the money, the status, oh William you will have it,” Wilkins heard Bordon too often for his taste. He was whispering and encouraging the colonel to push himself further. Wilkins saw the results and he did not like it at all. There was a broken man inside in the colonel and that man was trashed to the ashes by silk in Bordon’s voice. The anger, the hate and frustration was released in waves. Those waves washed away the despair, but those waves were made of blood.

Perdition had a name

Pembroke was small village filled with the men and women who were pain in every time. Wilkins knew them and hated them. They considered him rich and spoiled plantation owner. Wilkins was tolerated before the war, or even craved by parents of unmarried daughters. He was rich and the money always opened the hearts of those people. The same people participated on burning his plantation to the ground. There was no love for them in James Wilkins heart. There was cold contempt on his part. Bordon found out about their connection to the Ghost and colonel Tavington had always the idea in his sleeve how to get what he wanted. He wanted the head of Benjamin Martin and his money and status. Wilkins suspected that he wanted something more, what Wilkins would never give to him. But the choice and ability to own that beauty was beyond their reach. Wilkins understood it now, but in that time he did not. He was forced to toss the first torch on the church. The first, who would take the horrid crime on himself. He had the choice to burn those men, women and children to the death alone or join them. The choice was plain and simple. Wilkins hold the torch and looked at Bordon. Bordon looked bored by whole situation, but Wilkins saw it, the gesture. The pink tongue darted from his mouth and Bordon licked his lips in slow and very sensual manner. The road to the perdition was set and Wilkins tossed the torch. He craved for those lips more than anything else. He knew, that those lips would make him moan in pleasure. The hand of God crushed the sinners and Bordon was almost killed in skirmish with rebels after the Pembroke incident. Wilkins hated himself even more for it; he was not there to protect the only thing which kept him sane. The strawberry blond hair were matted together in strings by dried blood, when the patrol brought his lover back in to the camp. Wilkins faced the possibility of loosing somebody, whom he loved. No, he was insane with love to him. The colonel stole the moments which had to be Wilkins, when Tavington was observing the wounded second in command. Wilkins saw for the first time the same emotions in the colonel. The hate and bloodthirsty determination was coiled in their souls with fierce fire which burnt them to the ashes if it was not sooth by the illicit being, who was slipping from their grasps. Bordon survived, but the loathsome Englishman not. Wilkins swore, that he would never experience the same feelings ever again. He was ready to die for his lover, he was ready to kill for him in order to make him happy and yes he was condemned to the hellfire. Wilkins gave a damn about it. He knew, he would not be alone in hell. He would be there with strawberry blond beauty and with his lover the hell pit would be paradies.
Wilkins had some regrets on his part, but the brutality of service ceased them. He sinned by killing of his fellow countrymen. He shot men, women and even children on his superior order. He added only other sin, so why bother more? He grimly thought that he had his revenge by regularl taking upstart’s lover in his bed. He started to believe; that it was him who seduced Charles. Wilkins hated colonel Tavington with the same searing intensity as he loved the Irishman. It was easy to think about revenge, by seducing the other man’s lover. Wilkins was lost in the illusion of having an upper hand in those days. He was wrong, the time showed it to him. He was just mean of revenge, but not his. The North Carolina was burnt country now. Colonel Tavington was searching for his Ghost and he was killing and burning in order to get any informations about his prey. Wilkins was tired of his questions about Benjamin Martin. Dragoons were patrolling trough the country without rest for months. No rest for the wicked. Wilkins was aware that dragoons were wicked. The devil called to the depth of the abyss and received the his share of rascals. Wilkins ordered his men to secure the area and several of them rode with colonel to explore the distant village. Bordon arranged that no doubt. They were in some forsaken plantation and they were alone. Wilkins knew, they would be for several hours. Those hours would be spend only in one possible way. He stopped to protest long time ago. Bordon told him to take his revenge to use him for it. It was tempting to listen those words and Wilkins liked to fulfill them. They were told in whispers, when Wilkins was bending him over the table. It was always like that intense and without any foreplay, just haste preparation and then he slipped in desired body. Wilkins was taking him roughly in those stolen moments, but his lover seemed not to mind. It was so good that it did not last.


Scorpion grass

Colonel Tavington’s loss was Wilkins gain until one day. He embraced Bordon, as he was used to when they were alone, and he coldly rejected Wilkins’s intimacy.
“He canceled his engagement and he wished me to return to his bed. It would be wise to stop our liaison,” Bordon said his words with his usual indifferent voice and smelled to the tobacco flower in his fingers. Wilkins froze not only from the meaning of Bordon’s words but form the sight of the tobacco plant. He wished to forget that field and house in lover’s arms. He longed for lovemaking which would make him feel whole again. The flower and the dried blood on cuffs of Bordon’s uniform returned him from dream about genteel lover to reality in which Charles was just other bloodthirsty hound of Tavington’s pack. Wilkins tried to persuade him not to leave him, he even pleaded him. He promised to do anything in order to keep Bordon near him. The rejection hurt more, when it was repeated with even more coldness. Wilkins had nothing to say, he looked at him as Bordon walked away. He cursed his lack of whatever his docile soul lacked. He stood there and did nothing to stop Bordon. He closed his fist and in the same time cold blade touched his nape. Wilkins heart nearly stopped as he figured out, who was having him on the mercy of his blade. The one who despised the most, the one, who could chop them in to the pieces. It was no doubt that Tavington knew everything. Colonel’s voice made him nearly run, but he was too scared to move. “Mess with my property ever again and I will overlook political merits of your living presence in my unit,” Tavington hissed behind Wilkins back. The threat was simple and plain and letting him live in terror until Tavington’s death. The political merits, he said. The kill would not pass so easily like the colonel wished. Wilkins started to have murderous accidents. That time was full of seek and run. The devil never slept so did Wilkins. Bordon disappeared for whole week and when he returned to active service nobody dared to ask where he was and why he was so pale. Wilkins knew the truth. He lately discovered the long scars from that time. The skin cut in the thin long strips and slowly skinned from the body left the marks, which made Wilkins furious every time he saw them. The plain and simple lesson was hidden in that week. Keep from my property and property was punished for its sins. Wilkins got a replacement for Bordon, annoying fellow with lack of manners and hygiene, but with powerful ability of snoring. “ Do you mind sharing harlot the cheap fuck for both of us, Jimmy,” his new roommate words were as disgusting as rest of him. Wilkins had to be honest to himself, he lost something more then decent bedfellow. He missed Charles as dearly as lover could and he realized it without any regrets. He sought for some private moment with Bordon, but it was impossible to get even near him unnoticed. Bordon was like distant stranger during those painful days, but it was again Bordon, who lifted the misery from him with looks and timid smiles reserved only for Wilkins. He started to believe in Bordon’s forced in choosing of lover. He convinced himself, that Bordon’s coldness towards him was only for Wilkins’s protection. It was time of longing and desire. Wilkins waited nearly for five months until his lover came back to him. The danger was neglected by both of them. Wilkins knew that they could fell in the battle, there was no time to loose. He found the note in his saddleback, folded paper covered with pretty small letters. He wanted to toss it to the mud, but the words were too tempting ot merrily cast away the note and whom wrote it as well. “ Could you forgive me? Could I forgive you? I will wait in the stables by midnight. Come and take or let it be forever.B.” There was something inside the note, small flower, forget-me-not. Some people called it scorpion grass. The scorpion venom could kill, Wilkins could be killed by taking his lover back. There was no time to think about consequences of his decision. He simply decided. Wilkins read it and his mind was working over the words. Bordon wanted him for sure and he even loved colonial, but it was dangerous for both of them to make such meetings. Wilkins didn’t care he wanted to be with or in his former lover. He came and spotted Bordon laying on the pile of hay looking at him in the dim light of moon ray. Wilkins wanted to ask but Bordon mouth covered his as hungry hands began theirs attack n Wilkins breeches. “ Need you now, don’t speak just kiss me” Bordon whispered and to his ear and their mouth locked in fierce kiss. Wilkins hand found fresh scars and he knew that it didn’t came from battle. The lamp showed long scars with pearls of fresh blood. He closed his eyes to not see it. Just sight of it made him even more craving for the Irishman. It scared him in that time. He opened his breeches and the mouth kissed his cock and enveloped him with heat. Wilkins pushed himself further, he was hard and almost came from the sensation, but there was gentle squeeze of his lover at the base of his cock. The clear sight what his lover wanted and when the bottle of sweet smelling oil was produced from the pocket, the doubts disappeared. Wilkins was gentle that night, he had the crushed beauty who risked all.

Closing the curtain

Wilkins sighed, his life belonged to the Irish beauty. Bordon ruled his life with iron fist. Those whispered whishes were making Wilkins to join British army in Spain. He was pushed to listen to the orders. He was pushed to work for Bordon in his spy plays. He witnessed the horrid tortures and the secrets which made his skin crawl. Blood and gold was in his lover’s hands. Bordon was like leech, he took whole for his moment of given pleasure, but he had his dreams which were hidden from everybody. The rough handling and the pain was part of captain Bordon’s life. The pain delicious and purifying was part of the relationship with both men. Wilkins looked at him and took sip from the bottle. Bordon was pushing him to change in to the beast. He was showing him how Wilkins was loathsome. He called him coward and spoke about Tavington with almost worshiping air. That made Wilkins furious. Wilkins wanted to be lover, he wanted to get the feeling he felt. He got the dead man name instead. He started to drink and from despair and anger he started to change. He would never hurt his lover in America, but here in Spain in was almost day to day routine, when he got an opportunity. He was shaping in to the ruthless man who craved for victory in order to get the cleansing lovemaking which would close the curtain of his conscience. Wilkins was living dead without home, without money and without honor. He was feard as a beast, but never admired like Tavington, by his men. Wilkins fingers touched Bordon’s swollen lips. He felt hot breath on them, before tongue licked and urged them to go deeper in the mouth. A shiver ran over Wilkins spine. He looked at man who was nursing his fingers and wetting them thoughtfully with skill, which he performed not only on his digits. It made him painfully hard in his breeches. The sucking and tonguing of each finger made his other hand to clasp Bordon’s cock and as always it began to rise under his rough touch. He discovered that the pain made Bordon more responsive, but he never discovered how far the responsiveness to the pain went. Wilkins was sickened by mere thought of previous lover’s roughshod treatment to his redhead, but he began to follow his steps, when he drunk too much and he was very drunk in the hot Spanish night. He knew it even now, when Bordon’s tongue was curling around his finger. He withdrew his hand and touched Bordon face and found ice in his eyes. The passion wasn’t in them, just calculation of harlot, or was it only imagination of brandy dulled mind? His fingers hold Bordon’s chin and made him to look at his direction. He was hurting him and gave damn about it. The cicadas were roaring even trough the closed window and patrons downstairs were singing something about love treaded for money.
“You are with him, aren’t you?” he barked all of his doubts. He felt pang of jealousy in his heart and he wanted to be sure, that he was wrong. Bordon never answered his questioning. He shouted on him, when he was tipsy or even beat him, when he was to drunk to think about his action. The jealousy triggered him to it and lack of defense on Bordon’s part only heated his rage. The mornings with regained sobriety were hellish. He felt regret and shame, but he had stopped to apologize to Bordon with words. He just put the bouquet of fresh flowers on Bordon’s pillow and he knew,when the flowers were picked and arranged in to the potiche, his lover forgave James Wilkins. There were roses blooming around the house and he didn’t have to travel for the morning bouquet. Wilkins tried to hold his anger, but it was burning for too long and it wanted to go out. He desperately wanted to hear his lover, how much he was wrong, how only Wilkins was in his dreams. The truth, although was well known, hit him like arrow. It hurt, it made him furious. Wilkins felt his blood to rise in his face and his hands curled in to the fists. He heard it and it was like both of them froze in time and space.
“Yes, James. I am. You are bringing him back to me. Hurt me and he will be back and you will be tossed in dung, you fool,” Bordon spitted out with malice. Something in Wilkins cracked and he took Bordon’s chin in his fingers and looked in his eyes before he hit him.
“Not in the face, you idiot,” Bordon hissed and his body showed how much he liked the roughness he was handled with. It was obvious he wanted more. The truth was here and Wilkins was again dragged in to the bloody game of beating and raping his lover. He would feel bad in the morning, it would be eating him alive and that was what he did not want feel ever again. Bordon played his game with two men with conscienceless as Wilkins thought. He discovered how he played with poor colonel how he used his eagerness for glory in battlefield and his brutal personality to his wantings. He lived for his pleasure, too rich too well born to be tossed in such unit with such rascal as Tavington was, but Bordon found here what he wanted and went on it. Wilkins was told, that Bordon did his duty to the crown, but truth was that Bordon sought something else. The strong man who would posses him and who would give him what he wanted and who would be ruled and used. Bordon urged his lovers in to the circle from which would be only one mean of escape. The death. Wilkins understood now, why Tavington charged so recklessly. He wanted to die, he wanted to be free from shame of his origin and his relationship. There was no love, just craving and lust. Wilkins hit Bordon again. His fist connected with his jaw and then over and over. Bordon as always did not protect himself, he even started to rub against Wilkins. “ I will give you what you want, you whore,” Wilkins said and he was surprised how calm was his voice. The blood trickled from Bordon’s mouth and teeth flew on the floor from the broken jaw. Wilkins lips curled in to the smile as Bordon started to struggle. Wilkins did not stop, his fist started to punch the squirming body and he used his weight to pin him down. The blood was splashing the walls and the scream tore the night. Wilkins panicked and he grabbed fist of strawberry blond hair and smacked the head against the board then dragged Bordon to the bed and tossed the dazzled dragoon on it. The saber slipped in his hand with well practiced ease. The sheath fell on the floor. Wilkins bent over his lover. Bordon looked at him and moaned. It was not from pain. “I will give it to you,” Wilkins smiled and caressed his cheek with now gentle fingers. “The home, the place you craved for. I will give you something what that English bastard was unable to give you. I love you the most,” Wilkins whispered in his ear. He put his hand over Bordon’s eyes. They obediently closed. “Beautiful,” was breathed out from Wilkins lips. The sabre moved like on its own over Bordon’s throat. The blood gushed from the cut. It even filled the mouth. The body started to trash under Wilkins. The fear was in Bordon’s eyes. The queen overstepped and made her knight to act. Wilkins kissed him and sucked the breath from his lover. He suddenly got the taste of this situation. The given pain was the pleasure. It was cleansing. Wilkins felt calm for the first time from his speech in Charlestown. He found his place. He sat on his heels and looked at spamming body with interest. The death was beautiful. His lover was beautiful in scarlet pool. James Wilkins felt the pleasure and he was not ashamed from it. He let it overtook him. He was finally free. When the wave of the breathtaking sensation ceased, he started to act. There had to be done several things. He washed himself in the basin and dressed up. He cleaned his sabre and marched out. He cut the roses and returned back. He promised his love flowers for his rough behavior. He started to cover the body with them until he was satisfied with the picture. Red with red made his hearth ache with need, but there was no time. Wilkins sighed and closed the door and went down.
“Captain still sleeps , he drink too much , so do not wake him before the noon,” he said to inn keeper and tossed him the coins. He took his horse and soon he trotted to the place when he knew that somebody would be. The French were there and waiting for their double agent as Bordon told him. The intelligence game of his dead love would be his ticket to the new life. Major Ducos was waiting and was surprised by Wilkins arrival. Wilkins took his chance and won that night. He had a place where he fit, he had home, money and desired status. Being French dragoon colonel had its merits. He looked over his shoulder before his unit charged,the pretty red haired lieutanant was behind him. The young man was pale with dark circle around his eye from previous night. Everybody knew, nobody cared.

*END*