Chapter 19: First Visit

[Autumn, 1678]
Oxford, Oxfordshire

IT HAD RAINED all night. Nevertheless, Gérard called on Sandrine and Amélie at the appointed hour on the following Sunday. It continued to rain, but not heavily.

“Up, ladies! Time to leave,” Gérard shouted from the road. When he did so the front door opened and Master Heathcoate appeared, ready to thrash the miscreant who disturbed the morning routine in front of his house and business establishment.

“You—” he broke off when he recognized Gérard, and his scowl turned to a smile. “Boy, what are you doing here so early?”

“Mistress Amélie wishes to go for a drive, Master Heathcoate,” Gérard answered. “Despite the rain,” he added, “or perhaps because of it.” He glanced at the sky. “I’m told it will stop shortly, is that true?” Heathcoate gave a shrug as if to state the obvious—who knew what the weather would do at any particular moment? “Wherever Amélie goes, Sandrine accompanies her. That was her father’s one specific instruction to us before we departed the island.”

If Master Heathcoate had his own opinions about the wisdom of this he kept them to himself, and waved the three off as they left in their carriage.

The rain stopped before they were hardly out of town and the sun appeared through the clouds. When it did, the wet leaves of the trees, those few leaves that remained, dripped from the night’s rain. The road was mud. All three wore boots but there would be plenty to clean on their return to Oxford.

Gérard’s easy handling of the horses meant he had plenty of time to pay attention to Amélie and Sandrine. Indeed, with one on each side of him he was nicely sandwiched between two warm females. Except that they were not alone on the road, at least on the portion within the city and until the outskirts, he probably would have found places for his hands to explore. As it was, each woman one had a hand on his thigh dangerously close to sensitive territory. On the one hand, Gérard had hopes they would continue, but he knew intimate behavior in public would bring down retribution by busybody bystanders. There was also the danger those bystanders might take active measures to show their displeasure.

Two hours later they reached the top of a small rise. The horses were blowing and stamping and ready for their water and their oats. Gérard left them ground hitched while he fetched the pails of water and oats from the back of the carriage. He soothed the two beasts with words and hands and took a few minutes to brush them while they watered and fed.

While Gérard tended to the horses, Sandrine and Amélie moved forward on their own to see the circle. Now, in the sunlight dappled with clouds, the stones appeared innocuous. They stood at the edge of a small meadow surrounded almost entirely by forest and away from the road and the pasture where they had stopped the carriage.

The circle, if it could be termed such, was an irregular one, and the stones, almost all of them taller than man-size, tilted at one angle or another. In the years since they were placed in position shifts in the soil and the winds and rain had conspired to permit them to relax in a random fashion. Granite, thought Amélie, which meant the stones themselves were probably not of local origin. The principal stone in the quarries in the surrounds was limestone.

Mistress Heathcoate had been unable to tell them how old the stones were. “Aye, they’ve always been a part of Oxford, you know? No one really knows how long they’ve been here, or when they were set where they are. They aren’t natural, you know that, but all of the oldest legends and stories about this place speak of them.”

In the center of the irregular circle were the remnants of bonfires, evidence the site had seen fire frequently. Outside the circle, the surrounding forest pressed closer at some points than at others. To judge by the diameter of the irregular circle, the stones themselves would be lit by the fire when it was at its brightest, but it was easy to see that once the fire had died down somewhat the lessened light, coupled with smoke and incense, might obscure some of the stones furthest away from the fire.

What might have occurred beyond the stones and at the edge of the forest would have been almost invisible to the dancers and revelers inside the circle.

“Amélie, feel this, will you?” Sandrine stroked the nearest stone. Her fingers seemed to seek out every ridge and bump and imperfection in the rough, rain-pocked surface. “I know it seems strange, but this rock feels alive.”

Amélie joined her and put her hand over Sandrine’s. “Feels pretty warm to me, Sandrine.”

Sandrine poked her. “Not me, silly. The rock.” Amélie did not move her hand but she turned and leaned in and kissed Sandrine. “I love you, Sandrine.”

After she returned the kiss Sandrine withdrew her hand and looked at Amélie. “Where did that come from, Amélie?”

Amélie shrugged. “I don’t know. It is as though I felt the rock warm through your hand. It was calling to me, somehow, through you. Didn’t you feel that?”

It was Sandrine’s turn to shrug. “Not really. But you’re right. The rock felt warm to me, too. Almost as though I were touching the skin of a live animal. A very rough animal with rough skin.” She chuckled. “Kind of like Gérard.”

Amélie poked her. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” asked Gérard as he joined the women. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” answered Sandrine. “Feel the stone, Gérard.”

Amélie was silent. Gérard noticed, but didn’t say anything. He put his hand on the stone for a second and jerked it back. “It’s hot!”

Amélie put her hand next to the spot Gérard had touched. Instead of pulling back she pressed her entire palm against. She felt the ridges and bumps in the stone impress themselves on her palm almost as though they were attempting to caress her. She put her other hand on the stone and experienced the same warmth and the same caress.

“Oh, my lord,” she whispered.

Sandrine and Gérard watched Amélie move closer to the stone and press herself against it. After a second she withdrew momentarily and threw off her cape and hat. Sandrine grabbed them before they fell to the wet grass. The sun was brighter and the air warmer. It was clearing. Without another word Amélie pressed herself against the stone. Once more she remained only a moment before withdrawing. She undid as quickly as she could the laces on her bodice and exposed as much as she could of her bosom. With a wrench that tore the seams she pulled the fabric down to free her breasts.

“Oh, my god,” she repeated and pressed herself against the stone. She felt the stone rough but warm and alive against her bare breasts. Her nipples seemed to seek out their own little crevices and for a moment she felt the stone tweak them in the fashion she responded to. Without thinking and without speaking she began to move slowly against the stone, her legs slightly more separated than decorum would indicate. Beside her Sandrine and Gérard exchanged another glance.

Without speaking they made Amélie a sandwich with their bodies. Gérard kissed the side of her neck, then on the mouth, her lips parted and his as well. Sandrine repeated Gérard’s actions. With her free hand Sandrine pressed against Amélie’s bottom. When they separated Sandrine looked at Gérard and nodded in the direction of her hand.