Cecilia's Claim by Raven McAllan

the strip of lace around her breast and
upper body. "Tell me if I make this too tight, love. But I need to flatten
you as best I can." With one eye on her face—he wasn't sure that on this
occasion she would obey him—he worked swiftly to bind her breasts.
    "There." He tore the end of the material and made a neat
knot under her arm. "That may not be the most comfortable place, but it
will be the most discrete." He stood back to admire his handiwork. The
delicate lace covered her from under her arms to just above her waist, and left
the rest of her body exposed. It was erotic and arousing. He didn't need to
hear Caleb's murmur of approval to know he agreed. "Try the shirt
now."
    Caleb helped her wriggle into the shirt. It was a tight fit, but
her flattened torso worked in their favor and with a few twists and turns the
well-worn cloth slipped over her.
    "I must say, you still look rather fetching," Caleb
said. "Though as you are bare from the waist down, no
one seeing you would accept that your body is a sylph-like as it seems."
    Cecy stuck her tongue out at him. "Pass me those breeches and
your handkerchiefs."
    Puzzled, Philippe took the square of linen out of his pocket and
handed it over, as Caleb handed her his handkerchief as well along with the
breeches.
    "Right, look." She pulled the garments up her legs.
"How old are these?" She asked Caleb.
    "Very. However they are clean, and unworn since I fell in the
stream. I returned them to the barn in case the necessity to change clothes
occurred. I forgot about them, but they were wrapped inside the jacket, so
didn't get musty or damp." She looked at Caleb in amazement. "These
are yours? They fit you?"
    Philippe smirked as a faint rosy hue crept up Caleb's cheeks.
    "They did ten years ago. Now I fear I would split them at the
seams if I tried to wear them."
    She giggled and pushed the handkerchief inside the breeches and
re-arranged them over her quim.
    "Now I have a cock. I agree if you were to wear them
now…well?" She rubbed her hands over the mound. "I could swear you
have more down here than I suggest."
    "Minx, I'll remember that slur."
    She looked injured. Only the mischief in her eyes showed the
expression was contrived. "It was a compliment."
    Caleb helped Cecy into the rough jacket. "Almost
a scrubby schoolboy except for the hair. We'll have to try and pin it
under the cap."
    "No need. Do you have a knife? A sharp
one?" Philippe grinned; he had an idea what she was about to do.
    "All our knives are sharp." He pointed out as Caleb
pulled out a hunting knife. "But do we need to go to such extremes?"
    "Maybe not, but there again maybe we do. If you have kept me
safe so far, then it behooves me to help in any way I can. Who will do the
honors?"
    Caleb looked at Philippe, and he saw the entreaty in his eyes. He
sighed. "I will. However I use my own knife. Face Caleb
and stand still." He waited until she did as he bid and took out
his own knife, a wicked-looking instrument, which had helped him in many a
sticky situation.
    He took the weight of her tresses in one had and held the knife
away from her throat. "Ready, do not flinch," he warned her, and
before any of them had time to reconsider slid the blade through her hair.
Strands of auburn hair fell to the ground in tiny curls.
    It surrounded Cecy like soft raindrops and he heard her muffled
gasp.
    "Almost done." He took a final hank and
ruffled the hair left. It surrounded her head like a wavy halo.
    "You look like an angelic choirboy." He patted her rump. "Right. Put on the cap, and once Caleb has checked
all is clear, we'll go."
    "I feel like I should have a catapult or a pea shooter."
Cecy said as they began to walk toward the barn. "And
maybe a snare or two. You know, as props."
    'If you think I'd trust you with any of those items you are sadly
mistaken." Caleb said as he and Philippe pushed open the barn doors.
"I value my hide."
    Philippe watched Cecy bristle.
    "No, not because I distrust your aim." Caleb