Lord Ronan looked about for his lady wife at Ft. Gaines Their little lord, William, as fast asleep, and in the care of his grandparents, Orabasia, and Pierre. This was truly their time now. He carries with him a snifter full of Drambuie, for Lady Zakelina had always loved it so, and he loved the things it did to her. So strong was the Scottish liqueur, that it made her lose her inhibitions and take advantage of his presence to the fullest. She always had like seeing Ronan in a kilt, especially when he wore it the traditional way. Easy access, she had said.

Lady Zakelina often like to walk about the mezzanine of the old fort here on Dauphin Island. The place was nearly two hundred years old, but still sturdy, with the exception of the one corner that would get flooded when the tide came in. She generally avoided that. It was unusual to come up on the mezzanine at night. The gulf breezes were chilling in the November night, and her tightly cut, multi-coloured cotehardie offered little protection from the wind. She smiled when she saw her husband with the heavy black cloak and the full snifter. She had no idea of what was in it, but it would surely warm her, as would his presence.

"Good eve, milord," she said, "are those for me?"

"Aye, lassie," answered Lord Ronan. "How many oil rigs do you count tonight?"

"I can't see as many as during the day, but the lights are very pretty. I think I saw twenty earlier. William likes to come up here and count them with me."

"You wore him out."

"I had help." Lady Zakelina turned about, and pointed to the children playing in the well lit courtyard of the fort. Music came up from the Mongol's party, a mixing of mediaeval instruments with popular tunes. It was rather weird to hear the counter melody to "Breakfast at Tiffany's" on an Italian recorder, but then earlier on, a talented lady did an Arabian dance to bagpipes, and quite well.

"It's my turn to help you, milady." Ronan took the very full black cloak and hooked it around Zakelina's shoulders. His wife of six years looked very desirable tonight. The wind blew her silver streaked, brown hair from her face, and the lights from the oil rigs reflected into her very clear, green eyes. He handed her the snifter, and pulled her to him. She took a sip of the heady liqueur, and felt the hardness beneath his kilt against her thigh as the heat from the alcohol permeated her body. She looked up into his slightly bloodshot, now turquoise eyes, then to his long red-gold hair, then down again, and smiled.

"Your kilt is growing, milord," she teased.

"Always for you, lassie," he whispered. Zakelina returned his comment with a kiss of her devotion, and received one in kind. Ronan lifted her up against the bars that protected her from toppling over into the gulf. He held her waist tightly, as the full skirt of her cotehardie swirled about them.

"You've gotten a head start on me. You usually don't develop a brogue until you've had a few. Did someone bring some Glenfiddich?"

"Aye, and they did."

"I should have known. It had been a long time since I tasted a single malt on your lips. Might I have more?"

"Gladly."

Ronan stepped into the fold of his wife's skirt, and she put down the snifter, then wrapped the overlarge cloak about them. Winds came from the south, and the cloak stay on around them both with the wind's flow, shielding them from prying eyes. Zakelina's hand roamed down find that Ronan was a true Scot on this night. His phallus was warm in her cold hands, but her preferred her hands be cold. "Regimental?"

"Whenever I can."

"You like this?"

"Ooh, yeah..." Zakelina continued her stroking, and brought his face to hers to lock lips. The kiss tasted of expensive Scotch and strong liqueur, with a sweetness of pure emotion that was unique to only them. Ronan reached down to pull up the full skirt that whirled about her shapely legs. She was wearing period-style cotton stockings. They came only to the knee, and they were bound up with leather garters decorated with Celtic knotwork in many colours.

"When did you get these?" he asked as he ran his fingers up her covered calf.

"I made them. I guess you were wondering why I was using your knotwork design book so often."

"I really didn't pay attention."

"And now that you have?"

"I'd like to see more."

"I may be Russian, but that doesn't mean the I can't go Scottish regimental, too."

Ronan's hands roamed further up, to the silky skin between her thighs. "I see what you mean. Easy access?"

"I thought you would like it as much as I do."

"I'll just show you how much." He pulled the nether lips apart, and ran his fingers around her secret bud, and brought a flush to her face. Where her skin was once cool, it was now very hot, and slick with want. Though the cloak was a good shield, in this unpredictable wind, soon their tryst on the mezzanine would be seen, no matter that had been married for quite some time. Logic dictated that more privacy was needed.

"And very dark." thought Ronan as he wondered how many times the old fort's magazine had been used for their intended purpose. As many times as this fort had been used for such events, in probably happened often, but they had never stayed long enough at any one time to try it themselves, or with anyone else. Polyamory had its advantages, but not on this night with a loving woman so willing.

His manipulation of her warm flesh had already brought her to a climax, and she was a very sexual creature. She would crest over many times within a matter of minutes. Oh, yes, it was good that the magazine was close.

"To the magazine, milady?"

"Yes, indeed, milord."

Ronan led her to the ladder that led to the north magazine, hoping that it would be empty. More people were coming up on the mezzanine, but the access was easier from the southern end. By the time they worked to the north side, they would be blissfully unaware of the individuals that occupied their previous space.

He came down the ladder first, and she followed. Ronan was offered a view of her tight bottom under the long, full skirt as a draft blew it out above him. It wasn't as though he had not seen such before, but the slightly dangerous setting was filling him with a new kind of energy.

When their feet hit the ground, Zakelina ran her hand up his taut thigh, and around his shaft. He was still rigid. "Just checking,"she said. The teasing was getting hard to bear. Zakelina giggled as he briskly led her to the magazine.

It was dark and quiet, but Zakelina decided that it would not be for long. She led him to a dark corner, and pinned him to the wall, and let her kisses roam over his face as her hands roamed over his body. In moments, she was on her knees, beneath the kilt, and giving Ronan one of his favourite delights. A buzz from the liqueur had filled her head, and caused her muscles to loosen. She ran her tongue up and around the silken shaft, and plunged his fullness into her hot mouth. While sucking him down, she teased a secret place on the shaft, that made him moan in desire, and opened her mouth further to him, until he found he caught in the top part of her throat, and she was swallowing in air along with him, milking his phallus with her throat, and teasing with her tongue. He would have loved to have take him all the way over, to sate him completely in this way, but she could not be denied.

He pulled her away, and brought her up to meet her, eye to eye. "How was that, milord?" Zakelina asked.

"Too good, milady," whispered Ronan, then he kissed her roughly, and deeply, turning them about so that she was now pinned against the magazine wall. He hiked her full skirt up, and pushed up into her awaiting warmth.

Zakelina had always wanted this, and in six years, the opportunity had never arisen for them to take advantage of it. It was happening, here and now. Her husband was pushing up into her, hitting every nerve, taking her to newer and higher places. She had thought he could not take her higher, but on this night he was doing so. Plunging up into her, and out again. His silken hardness filled her again, and brought her to a working rhythm of climax after climax. She clamped tightly onto him, and milked him for all his energy, for even though she had been sated many times over in the last few minutes, she still wanted more. She wanted to cry to the people outside the magazine, to tell them how good Lord Ronan made her feel, but that would bring on the curious. It was not needed, not when she knew that Ronan was going to explode his seed into her at any moment, and when he did, she took that explosion at full force, and carried him along with her last climax.

Ronan pulled her skirt and his kilt down, and wrapped her up in the black cloak.

"How are you, milady?" asked Ronan.

"Why even bother to ask, milord. I do need a few moments to come down from my natural high, though, and I think you do, too."

"Fine, but let's get out of here first." They left the magazine, and went down into the courtyard. The party was still full swing, and cloven fruit was being passed around. couples flirted and teased each other with the clove-studded orange, and musicians played Jimmy Buffet's "Volcano" on lutes, drums and recorders. Lord Ronan and His Lady Zakelina walked by on their way to their respective lounges, and just smiled. They knew that they would not be the only ones using the magazine on this windy night.