Chapter 30
Trewoofe
Excitement bubbled in Trewoofe as he ambled after Avice. Together, they stood at the hatch set in the frozen ground. Just as the midwife was about to try and wrench it open, he caught her wrist.
“Allow me.”
Trewoofe wrapped his fingers around the frozen handle, the cold stinging his bare skin.
He tugged, and the door would not budge.
He pulled harder and it shifted slightly.
With a third heave, he threw it open. A stitch snapped under his bandages, the thread pinging against his tender skin.
He stepped back and pressed his belly. He bit back a wince, knowing that his little witch would send him back inside if she suspected he had hurt himself.
Avice missed nothing. “You pulled a stitch, did you not?”
He looked away.
“Lord, if you have broken one, then you must go back inside and lie down, in case blood leaks from the wound,” she lectured.
Trewoofe burnt under her steady gaze. He took a deep breath, fighting the compulsion he had to do as he was told.
He met her eye. “No.”
Avice opened and closed her mouth.
“You went into the Underneath for me. To save me. I can bear a little ache to help you when you go down. I know it scares you.”
Her throat bobbed and she blinked up at him. “Thank you, Lord.” She began her descent. “I imagined your voice, you know, in the Underneath. I pretended I heard you, by my side. It helped me face it all.”
Trewoofe glowed under her admission. He did not want her to be alone underground and tried to follow her in.
He quickly realised he would never fit. His horns were too tall, his body too long and wide, and he would just end up knocking everything from the shelves.
He settled tensely on peering down into the gloom as she fumbled with the jars closest to ladder.
He reached down. “Hand them to me. Together, we can carry more back to the cottage, and you will not have to go back down as quickly.”
Avice nodded. She stood on the bottom rung of the ladder and passed him up one at a time.
In total, she gave him six clay jars, one after the other, sealed with a ring of wax cloth to keep the food fresh.
Trewoofe studied them before he placed them carefully on the ground beside him.
Each had a charcoal etching of a different vegetable, mushroom, or herb.
He furrowed his brow as she stepped out of the dull light of the opening.
“Aha!” she cried from the cellar.
Alarm rang within him. “Little witch, are you alright?”
“Yes!”
He smiled at the giggle in her voice just as she emerged from the gloom, eyes bright as she looked up at him. Desire curled in his belly at the sight of her joy.
She is adorable. He reached for the last jar she held up and took it. “What is it?”
“Stewed apples,” she puffed on her climb up. “They are sweet! You will love them.”
He placed it next to the others and reached back in, offering her a helping hand.
She grinned – fine lines appearing at the edges of her mouth and eyes – and took it.
He pulled her up. Halfway, another stitch pulled, the snap against his skin distracting him.
He fell roughly with a thud, and Avice landed right on his lap.
She wriggled against him, trying to right herself.
Trewoofe stifled a groan, feeling his cock harden against his hose.
His breath hitched as he pushed himself up; her cloak was tousled to the side, and the skirts of her dress bunched up.
His gaze was drawn to the red ribbons at the top of her stockings, and he remembered the way they tickled his crest as she sat astride him.
The sight had him fully erect, and he could barely restrain his need to rut.
“Lord! I am sorry, did I hurt you?” she gasped.
He gave her a lopsided smile. “You will be cross with me.” He chanced curling one of the ribbons around his claw, before tugging down her hem to hide her tempting thigh.
“Another stitch has broken.” He pulled the cloak around her and touched his fingers to her face on the pretence of tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.
She chuckled. “I am cross, but I am sure I can manage to forgive you.”
Trewoofe considered himself a polite Knucker, so he sat stoically on the pallet, with his back to Avice as she washed and changed her clothes. He longed to peek, but even Ashling and Bramble looked away to give the midwife some semblance of privacy.
She had tried to get him to lie down so she could repair his wounds first, but when he saw her chattering teeth and the frost in her hair, he insisted that she make herself comfortable before he submit to her ministrations.
So, there he sat, dying to look but respectful of her modesty. That was until he heard a hiss of pain, followed by a whimper.
Trewoofe could not bear it.
He stole a glance over his shoulder, and his jaw dropped in horror at what he saw. On her belly was a huge purple bruise, vivid against her pale skin. He shot up, once again banging his horns on the beams, and dashed towards her.
“I know a Tall One did this!” he snarled. “I could smell it on your cloak. It is taking all my self-control right now to not change back, go to the Underneath, and tear them all apart. Do you know who did it to you?”
Bramble piped up from his spot by the hearth. I killed one called Robin. I did not catch the other’s name.
“Well done!” Trewoofe acknowledged before turning back to Avice.
It was then he realised exactly how bare she was.
Her cloak and boots were tossed on the floor.
Her chemise and dress pooled around her broad hips.
He spotted the inked leaves on her collar bones that curled up her shoulders and out of sight down her back.
His gaze dipped. Only a thin piece of cloth covered her breasts, and his eyes drew to the round pebbles on each one, straining against the fabric as though they wished to escape.
Trewoofe blinked as he registered that Avice had recoiled from him, her mouth open in a silent scream. Had he scared her? That was not his intention. His reaction to her injury was because he adored her and it was devastating to see her hurt.
He slouched, trying to shrink himself. “Little witch, I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you.”
She closed her mouth with a snap. “It is alright… You surprised me more than anything. I am, um, in a state of undress, Lord.”
He tilted his head. “I apologise, but I still need to know who did that to you.”
“A Tall One.” Her throat bobbed. “He had mismatched eyes. Blue and green. He…” Tears welled in her eyes. “…he tried to violate me.”
The thought of her being defiled in such a way while trying to save him had him dropping to his knees before her. “I know that Faerie,” Trewoofe growled. “He will die for it.”
Her breath hitched. “Thank you.”
Avice reached into his hair and caressed the base of one of his horns, sending sparks of pleasure shooting down his scalp all the way to his toes.
Trewoofe rolled his eyes in bliss, rumbling from her caress. “How did you get away?”
She giggled as he leant further into her touch. “I go gathering in woods teeming with Good Neighbours. My herbing knife is made from iron. I am not foolish enough to travel the land without some sort of weapon.”
“My little witch is clever,” he purred, before dropping his gaze back to the harsh bruise on her belly. “Let me soothe your aches? I cannot bear it that you have been injured on my behalf.”
Her fingers froze, entwined in his hair.
One heartbeat.
Two.
“Please do.”
His stomach somersaulted at her consent.
Trewoofe inched himself closer, shuffling forward on his knees. He dipped his head, opened his mouth, and extended his tongue. He brushed it against her silken skin. Avice tensed before relaxing into him.
He stifled a whimper as he ran his tongue over her softness, lapping at her like he was dying of thirst and she was a sacred spring.
He looked up. Her large breasts rose and fell.
The little pebbles beneath the cloth were more pronounced than before.
It gave him pleasure to see his gifted pendant following the pattern of her breath.
She dropped her chin. He curled in delight at the rosiness of her cheeks and heady glint to her eyes.
She feels as excited as me.
His throat flushed just as his crest would, colours of pink and purple shifting just beneath the skin.
The coloured display was followed by the hard press of his erection against his hose.
He dropped his gaze back to her belly, the bruise was long gone, but neither of them had uttered the word ‘stop’.
I need to rut.
He ached to serve Avice in all ways.
But only when she was ready.
Here she was, cold, tired, aching, and hungry. Trewoofe knew it was not the right moment. She needed to rest and recover. Not to mention they had an audience over by the hearth.
He stood abruptly, stopping short of cracking his horns against the beams. He shifted from foot to foot, his erection throbbing painfully beneath his clothes.
“Lord, are you alright?” Avice asked, her face crinkled with concern.
“I am sorry,” he grunted. “I need to pass water. Where shall I go to do that?”
She chuckled and pointed to the closed door. “Just in the garden is fine. I usually walk further into the woods, but it is too risky to do that right now. Please, not too close to the cottage.”
Trewoofe nodded and bolted from the room, slamming the door so roughly the whole cottage shook in his wake. He sprinted onto the frost, the chill stinging his soles, and tucked himself behind the largest tree, so he could hide what he was about to do.
Grunting, he fumbled with the ties of his hose. He snarled as he scrabbled with the knot and stopped just short of ripping it completely off. Finally, he pulled his throbbing erection free.
He pricked with guilt at thought of lying to Avice. It is not a complete falsehood. I do need to pass water… I just need to rut first.
Trewoofe pressed his head to the trunk, the edge of his horns cutting grooves through the bark.
With his thumb, he spread the beads of moisture that leaked from him over the head.
He let out a whimper at the thought of Avice doing this for him in the future, imagining it was her hand rubbing his engorged length.
Yes, he still towered over her, but now – if they were careful – he would fit.
From the base, up the shaft, to the head, he tugged.
He squeezed his eyes shut, working himself, until stars danced on the back of his eyelids.
Trewoofe shoved the sweep of his horns further into the bark as he increased his tempo, yanking his twitching cock.
“Oh, my little witch,” he groaned.
His hips began to buck in rhythm with the speed of his hand, heightening his urgency.
Avice may come looking for him soon, and as much as he wanted to serve her, he did not want her to find him like this – in the throes of his own self-pleasure.
In his hurry, his claws accidentally tangled in the downy hair of his crotch, and he yanked them free with a hiss.
He found he liked the gentle sting and wondered if Avice would tug at the hair on his head.
That sent him over the cliff edge he had been teetering on.
He plummeted into climax at the thought of her hands tangled in his mane, pulling at his sensitive scalp.
Tiny stars exploded across his vision, and pleasure pooled his core until it finally broke free.
He ripped his horns free of the trunk, sending a crack all the way through as his white-hot euphoria spilt into his eager hand.
There was so much, as though he had been saving it all to fill her.
Trewoofe puffed and panted, bicep burning, still working himself until he had squeezed out every last drop.
He finally stooped to wipe his hand in the frost, ridding himself of his sticky seed.
He hoped this would satisfy his need to rut with Avice, until the situation to properly court her presented itself.
Spent, he spun around and tucked himself back into his hose. He leant back against the cracked trunk, trying to catch his breath in the last twitches of his euphoria.
The tree had had enough of his abuses. It surrendered to his weight, crashing to the ground with an earth-shattering crack. He threw himself out of the way off the branches, only to feel a third stitch snap under his bandages.
“Avice is going to be so cross with me.”
That sent a skitter of delight up his spine. If the Knucker was honest with himself, he quite enjoyed it when his little witch told him off.