The Great American Novel

The horses thundered across the drawbridge to the Earl's keep, and Chrysanthemum was jolted awake.  Four long days on horseback had given her aches aches and she thought she would never be able to sit down again.  She looked over her father's shoulder and beheld the home of her future husband.

The keep was magnificent, tall towers topped with flags and made of some kind of fancy stone stuff which cannot be named here in these pages because this is a budget novel and I am not being paid to research the time period.  Use your imagination; it looked like the castle from that Bugs Bunny episode where he was Brunhilda.

Anyway, they rode up to the front of the castle and the baron dismounted and pulled Chrysanthemum down to stand beside him.  Her knees nearly buckled, but she steadied herself and stood, afraid of incurring her father's wrath again.  She stared in awe at the castle and for the first time, seriously contemplated marrying the earl.  Marriage to the earl would ensure she would never have to use substandard hair dye again.

The Baron strode forward and hammered on the door.  The heavy wooden door swung open to reveal a man clad in armor, his face surly and sneering.  "What is ye want?" he growled.  "What business have ye here?"

"My business is with the earl.  Tell him I've come with his bride," the baron responded shortly.  "I am the Baron of Balderdash and this is my daughter Chrysanthemum."  He shoved her forward and she stumbled a bit, then righted herself.  The knight's eyes widened as he beheld her disheveled beauty, her magenta hair a cloud of fire around her lovely face, her amethyst eyes dark with apprehension, her luscious bosom spilling out of the top of her dress. 

He cleared his throat a bit, adjusted his armor and stammered "so sorry my lord, please enter."  He raised the portcullis and the baron strode forward and Chrysanthemum trailed behind reluctantly.  They walked into the main hall and she was overwhelmed anew by the size and richness of the keep.  The walls were hung with beautiful tapestries, depicting scenes of courtly love.  There were fresh flowers everywhere, arranged beautifully and scenting the air with their perfume.  She could see through to the living room, where low couches were arranged around a roaring fire.  There were beautiful needlepoint pillows everywhere and beautiful pieces of porcelain were arranged on tables around the room. 

Chrysanthemum was puzzled and she inquired of the knight, who was still standing with them, "I know the earl is not married; does he have a mother or sisters living with him?"  The knight cleared his throat and looked at the ceiling.  His eyes darted around, as if he was seeking an escape.  Finally, he answered "ummmm, well, no, the earl lives alone.  He has a, um, knack for decorating." 

"Oh, I see," Chrysanthemum answered, although she really didn't.  Were her father living alone, his keep would be filled with dead animals and live dogs, not flowers and pillows.  At that moment, the earl himself came sweeping down the staircase.  Chrysanthemum stared at him, entranced.  He was not much taller than herself, although she was tall for a woman.  He stood perhaps eight inches above five feet.  His hair was golden, and swept back from his high forehead, cascading down his back in flowing locks.  He had high cheek bones and a full, sensuous mouth.  He was the prettiest man she had ever seen.

"Hello, hello, hello," he trilled as he came toward them.  "Such a pleasure to have you in my home Baron.  And this, can this be the beautiful Chrysanthemum about whom I have heard so much?"  He lifted her hand and brought it to his lips, but they never actually touched her skin.  Dropping her hand, he looked her over and said "Darling, you look like you've been dragged through the mud!!  Surely you would like to bathe and change?" 

"Oh, yes, that would be wonderful, thank you," Chrysanthemum answered gratefully.  He took her by the hand and led her up the stairs, calling back over his shoulder to the baron "Make yourself at home and I'll be back as soon as I see to the comfort of my ravishing bride!"  The baron grunted as the earl and Chrysanthemum swept up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, the earl turned left and then left again, and then opened a door.  He led Chrysanthemum into a sumptuously appointed chamber and closed the door.  There was a massive bed in the room covered with a rich brocade.  There was another room, and Chrysanthemum could see into it and beheld a tub already filled with steaming water.  She nearly cried with delight, so tired and achy and filthy was she.  She started to remove her dress, then remembered she was not alone.  She looked nervously at the earl; surely he would leave the room before she undressed? 

He waved a hand at her and said carelessly "Go ahead sweetie.  What you have doesn't interest me at all!"  He threw himself on the bed as he continued talking.  "Trust me, I don't want to marry you anymore than you want to marry me!  Only trouble is I need the alliance with your father.  It's the only way to protect my lands and to continue living the life of comfort and beauty to which I've become accustomed.  So ours will be a marriage in name only."

Looking at him, Chrysanthemum knew he spoke the truth.  Without another qualm, she dropped her clothing and climbed into the tub, nearly crying with delight as her abused flesh sank into the warm water.  She didn't speak for a few minutes, reveling in the feel of the warm water caressing her skin. 

But finally she spoke.  "What will we do?" she asked him.  "I love another man and I cannot imagine my life without him."

"You and me both sweetie," the earl answered languidly.  "It will work out somehow.  But for now," he rose from the bed with a look of regret, "I must go and entertain your father.  Now that we're both on the same page," he winked at her, "we'll get through it together."  With a little wave, he sauntered out of the room.

Chrysanthemum laid her head back against the edge of the tub and closed her eyes.  She had never met a man like the earl before; one who seemed to care only for beauty and good living.  He was nice enough, but clearly not the man for her.  She loved only Carmichael.  But her father was a stubborn man, determined to ally himself with the earl.  She could think of no way out of this tangle. 

She let her thoughts drift to Carmichael and wondered where he was and what he was doing.  Then she thought of Albert and started guiltily.  How different things would have been had she never colored her hair.  Albert would still be here and her father would be concentrating on him, not her.  Albert with his dandified airs, with his mincing walk, with his....suddenly, she sat up.  She thought she just might know a way out of the situation after all!

Carmichael flexed his massive biceps wearily.  Even his mighty warrior frame could not long endure the grueling physical labor involved in removing hundreds of boulders from a field.  Still, he had persevered, keeping his mind fixed on the lovely Chrysanthemum, knowing that this brute labor was one more step to his reunion with his love.

Turning to Crud and his henchmen, Carmichael growled "Be you satisfied with this field now?  It is clear of all rocks that might hinder your plows.  Now I implore you, lead me to the hag Chlairol; I can waste no more time!!"

Crud and his men snickered at Carmichael, obviously enjoying his distress.  Then Crud spoke, saying "Yeah, yeah, it'll do.  You saved us about five years worth of work, so I guess I can show you where the old hag lives."  He pulled his beard and scratched his head, seemingly deep in thought, as if debating how best to direct Carmichael.  The other little men continued to snicker and snort and Carmichael thought they must be quite mad.

Finally Crud's expression cleared and he turned to Carmichael.  Pointing one stubby finger toward the hut that lay about 100 yards away, he solemnly intoned "she lives there."  His cohorts collapsed on the ground, howling with mirth, while Carmichael stared in disbelief.  A week!!!  A week he had wasted, clearing the field, while the witch lay within sight of him.  How could he have been so deceived?

Crud gazed at him innocently as if daring Carmichael to do anything about it.  Carmichael stared at him for a moment, then looked at his sword and imagined skewering the little men upon it and roasting them over a fire.  Then he sighed and offered his hand to Crud; it was not Crud's fault that barbarians lacked basic intellectual skills.  Swordplay and lovemaking were the only essential qualities most barbarian's possessed, along with blind loyalty and stubborness.  Brains were not usually high on the list.

Crud stared at Carmichael's hand in surprise and then gingerly, he took it, as if he half expected to be flung into orbit.  But Carmichael shook Crud's hand gently and thanked him for the information.  He then released him and hobbled off down the path toward the hut.

Crud watched him go, mouth half open in surprise.  Then he tore off after Carmichael, hollering "wait...wait..."  Carmichael turned and waited expectantly, his face a study in defeat.  The road to Chrysanthemum seemed to be growing longer and longer.  Crud reached him, and panting, he warned Carmichael of the various traps with which the witch protected her house.  Carmichael thanked him and headed down the path toward the hut, the little men watching him in disbelief.

Carmichael was worried, of course, but he had no choice to confront the hag.  Albert the gerbil had become his only bargaining chip with Chrysanthemum's father.  In order to win her, he had to have Albert restored as the duke's heir and then Chrysanthemum would be his.  He was not sure what would happen with the earl of Ashhole, but he felt confident, it would all work out right.  That is, if he could rescue Albert and convince the hag to return him to human state.

The path to the hut wound sharply up hill and he kept a wary eye out for the spells about which Crud had warned him.  Cautiously he pulled his sword and proceeded up toward the hut.  Suddenly, a light flashed and he felt a curious sensation.  He felt his body shrinking and fur sprouting.  In disbelief, he looked down at his shrinking body and realized he was turning into a gerbil.  What was it with this hag and her stupid gerbils he wondered angrily to himself. 

The transformation complete, he scampered up the path to the hut where the hag resided, intent on entering without alarming her, but she met him at the door with a net and scooped him up neatly.  "Har," she cackled, "you dare to approach my door??"

Carmichael squeaked angrily, his whiskers quivering.  He lunged within the confines of the net, eager to bite the crones fingertips off of her gnarly hands.  But she simply cackled and twisted the net tighter, immobilizing his small, furry body.  "What be yer business here?" she wondered in a gravelly voice.  Carmichael squeaked his rage, and to his surprise, she cocked her head and listened.  "Oh, so this about that wench who owes me for her color?" she mused.  "Yes, I have her brother here as well.  When she is ready to pay, I shall transform you both back to your original forms.  But she better hurry, since gerbils don't last nearly as long as my hair dyes!!"  She threw her head back and cackled with glee.  Carmichael shook his head in disgust.  Women!!!

He squeaked at her again, and she stopped laughing.  "So, you think you can get her father to settle the debt if I restore his son?  Hmmmmmm....yes, that might work....but what guarantee do you give me you will keep your word?"  Carmichael squeaked passionately, his little pink nose quivering moistly, soft brown eyes glowing.  The witch nodded her head in agreement.  "Ye're right, barbarians are too stupid to lie.  Alright, I'll change ye both back and ye have one week to find the wench and collect payment.  Otherwise," her beady little eyes gleamed menacingly, "the next transformation will be permanent."  She walked over to the fire, stirred the contents of the cauldron that bubbled over the fire and murmured some sort of spell under her breath. 

Suddenly, Carmichael felt himself expanding, the fur falling away and his features returning to normal.  A cage by the fire splintered as a similar transformation occurred in Albert.  And there he stood, slender, fine boned, pretty in a manly sort of way.  He bore a strong resemblance to his sister, except, of course, for the magenta hair.  Albert strode forward and pumped Carmichael's hand.  "Thank you, brute," he said, "were it not for you I might have lived and died in that cage.  Although I'll thank you to keep your lusty hands off of my sister!"

Carmichael sighed and turned to lead the way out of the hut.  He had a bad feeling it was going to get worse before it got better.

Chrysanthemum sighed wearily, her body jolting painfully with the rhythm of the horse.  It had been two days since the hag had snatched Albert, two days since she had agreed to marry the Earl in order to save her beloved brother.  She would never forget the look of betrayal on Carmichael's face as he watched her ride away with her father.  He would never understand, she thought despairingly, how hard it was to be a woman, how hard it was to always be at the mercy of men who held the power.  She had no choice but to go with her father; her arches were simply too high for her to do any sort of walking, and Carmichael had no horse, no way to chase down the hag except on foot.  No, she had made the right decision, but it was a decision that made her soul bleed.

She shifted her aching rump wearily and relived those moments of ecstasy in Carmichael's arms.  Many times during the past two days, she had closed her eyes and let those remembered feelings of passion sweep over her to distract her from her current woes.  In her mind's eye, she remembered Carmichael striding purposefully toward her, taking her in his arms and kissing her until she was senseless with passion.  His tongue had played a melody on her lips, a melody only he could create and the music between them quickly escalated to aching need.

Carmichael would gently open her gown, gazing at her steadily as he fondled the creamy mountains of feminine flesh, gently biting the taut peaks of pleasure as she gasped and tossed her about in delight.  When Chrysanthemum knew she could stand no more, Carmichael's questing hand would creep lower, seeking out the core of her womanhood, parting the moist petals, bringing her to the very pinnacle of rapture....

"Ouch," she gasped aloud.  In her daze, she had let her grip slip from the saddle in front of her and she had fallen from the horse right on the firm, round globes of her derriere.  Her father's men pulled their horses up short, and even the horses seemed to snicker at her misfortune.

"Clumsy wench," roared her father.  "Can you do nothing right?"  Reaching down, he yanked her up by her delicate wrist, ignoring her little cry of pain.  "Ye shall ride with me," he snarled as he hoisted her up behind him on his stallion.  "The earl has already waited too long for his prize."  And with that, he kicked the horse hard with his spurred boots, and the steed shot forward, causing Chrysanthemum's pearly little teeth to clack together.

Now the Baron was not a bad sort, really, but he was devastated by the presumed death of his only son and heir, Albert.  In his grief, he felt Chrysanthemum, worthless daughter though she was, was the key to securing the family fortune for generations to come.  A match with the Earl, whose lands ran adjacent to his, would double the family's holdings and keep the family name alive.  He cared for his daughter, and yet ultimately, she was a tool to be used as he saw fit.

Chrysanthemum sniffled behind him, her rump aching all the more from her fall.  "Oh Carmichael, what have I done?" she sniffed silently.  "Please help me, save me from this terrible fate!" 

The horses thundered on relentlessly, bearing her toward a fate she did not care to contemplate.

Carmichael trudged wearily through the wood, his head pounding with every step.  How had it come to this pass, he wondered, that he should be alone, trudging like a peasant, while even now the earl of Ahsshole could be enjoying Chrysanthemum's ample charms?  Carmichael knew he needed to focus his energies on finding the hag and winning Albert back, possibly even restoring him to his human form.  Only then would Chrysanthemum be his.

Carmichael walked steadily for hours, ignoring his many hurts, as barbarians are trained to do.  He was purposeful, fixed on his goal, and nothing could distract him.  He was a mighty warrior and he would not rest until the battle was won.  He was a mighty man, a sexual conqueror.  He was a stud.  He.....

"Ouch," roared Carmichael.  A sudden pain had shot up from his foot and he hobbled over to a fallen tree and sat down.  He pulled off his boot and examined the large blister that had formed on his big toe.  He swore under his breath, and threw the boot across the clearing, startling a flock of birds.  The stench from his large barbarian feet was overwhelming and several small animals in the clearing fled gasping for breath.

After a moment, he rose to his feet and hobbled over to his boot.  He pulled it back on, cursing and gasping from the pain of his blister.  He had suffered many wounds in the heat of battle, but none had pained him as this blister did.  He considered it the final humiliation.

He stoically continued down the path, seeking someone he might question as to the whereabouts of the hag Chlairol.  As he rounded a bend, he noticed some children working in a field, so he limped toward them.  As he approached, the children raised their heads, and he was startled to find they were not children at all, but full grown men.  Their noses were large and bulbous, putting him in mind of sweet potatoes.  They wore long beards, the ends of which they tucked into their belts.  Fierce eyebrows bristled over their tiny, deep set eyes, and their general demeanor was such he feared they would not be receptive to his questions.

Still, he had to try, he reasoned, if he was to make any headway by nightfall.  So he approached one of the small men, his palms out to show he was not armed.

"I come in peace," he announced in a loud, slow voice.  The little men looked at him in disbelief.  "I will not hurt you; I only seek the path to the hag Chlairol," he continued slowly and loudly.  

"Ye know just because we're short doesn't mean we can't hear," said the little man grumpily. 

Carmichael blinked at him in amazement. "I apologize mygood...uh...ma...uh...fellow," he stuttered awkwardly.  "I have never seen your like before and was not sure what language you spoke."

"Oh, yeah, well loud and slow won't cut it if I don't speak the language doofus," the little man retorted.  "Now who is it you're looking for?"

"I am seeking an old hag, a witch maybe, of the name Chlairol.  She sells potions, mostly to enhance hair color I believe.  She has absconded with my true love's brother and I must get him back."

"Yeah, yeah, save the sappy stuff," the little man growled.  "I know the witch you speak of; we once bought a potion from her to cover the gray in our beards and it turned them bright orange!  It took a month for it to wear off and people kept mistaking us for traffic cones!"  He looked at Carmichael appraisingly.  "What do you offer for such information, for it does not come cheap!"

Carmichael looked at him in despair.  "Alas," he told them, "I have nothing. I am but a simple barbarian who makes my living with my sword.  Have you any enemies in need of slaying?"  Carmichael pulled his mighty sword from its scabbard and it flashed menacingly in the sunlight.

"Oh, put your pig sticker away," said the midget.  "We don't have those sorts of problems; no one wants to kill us.  Generally they just kick us out of the way."  He stroked his long beard for a moment, and Carmichael's eyes were drawn to the traces of orange still visible at the ends.  "Let us confer," the man said finally and he drew the others into a huddle with him.

Carmichael sighed impatiently.  The longer he dallied with the midgets, the more likely Chrysanthemum was to be ravished by the lustful earl.  Finally, the little men straightened and the spokesman came to Carmichael.  "You help us finish clearing our field and we will lead you to the hag," he told him. 

"What, me do field work?" Carmichael's laugh boomed out across the field, but it quickly tapered off as he realized no one else was sharing his laughter.  "I do not clear or plow," he told the men, "I am a mighty warrior!"

The little men snickered.  "Oh yeah, mighty," agreed  the spokesman.  "My name is Crud and that is our only offer."  He folded his arms over his chest and stepped back and the other little men did the same.

Carmichael realized he had no choice but to take their offer.  Time was of the essence and the countryside seemed deserted but for these small men.  "Fine," he grunted.  "I accept your terms.  Show me what I must do."

The little man spat on his palm and held his hand out to Carmichael, who stared at in disbelief.  "We must seal our agreement," the man said stubbornly.  Grimacing, Carmichael took his hand and his stomach roiled in disgust at the sticky saliva that glued their hands together momentarily.  Barbarian he might be, but Carmichael was extremely fastidious. 

Breaking contact, Crud slapped him on the shoulder and said "Let's get moving."  Carmichael moved forward reluctantly, willing to do what it took to find his way back to Chrysanthemum.

Slowly, Chrysanthemum's eyes fluttered open and she gazed around in confusion.  For the life of her she could not imagine why she was on the ground.  Slowly she sat up and looked around and then gasped in horror as memories came flooding back.

Albert and Carmichael were both gone and she was alone in the clearing.  Had the hag, Chlairol,  killed them both?  Or had she spirited them away to torture them cruelly until Chrysanthemum rendered payment?  Chrysanthemum whimpered in despair; now she had lost her brother and her one true love.

She stood shakily, trying to clear her head.  There were no signs of a struggle.  Surely Carmichael would not have gone without a fight.  She worked her way around the clearing, looking for some sort of clue, maybe a trail, that would lead her to answers.  As her mind cleared, her senses sharpened, and suddenly she saw it.  A trail of flattened grass and broken twigs, indicating someone's path.  With relief, she hurried toward it.

Several yards later, she was panting in despair.  Her lush, curvaceous figure was created for love, not exercise.  Making little mewling noises, she continued to follow the trail of broken foliage.  In her haste, she was not paying attention and nearly tripped over Carmichael's inert form blocking her path.

"Oh, oh, Carmichael, my love," she gasped, dropping to her knees.  The sight before her filled her with dismay:  Carmichael was unconscious, his pants around his knees, a large lump swelling on his head.  His breathing was shallow and Chrysanthemum feared the worst.

Tears spilled from her magnificent amethyst eyes as she tenderly pushed the hair back from his noble brow.  "Oh my darling, what has happened to you?" she whispered in despair, imagining Carmichael bravely trying to fight the witch as she bashed him in the head with a large boulder.  She was puzzled by the condition of his breeches though.  Why would the witch pull his pants down?  Still, she was touched by his heroic effort, failed though it was.

  Carmichael's eyes fluttered open and he looked up at her hazily.  "Wha....whas....why am I on the ground?"  he muttered blearily.

"I don't know my love," Chrysanthemum told him, "but your pants are down to your knees as well."  As she spoke she unconsciously looked at him and noticed his manhood was at half mast. 

He groaned and sat up, dropping his head into his hands.  "I remember all," he told her, his voice muffled.  "When you fainted, the witch snatched Albert and I made to run after her.  Only I forgot to pull my breeches up and I tripped and I believe I smashed my head on yon rock."  His head was still in his hands as he spoke; he refused to make eye contact with her.

She looked at him in disbelief.  "You tripped and hit your head on a rock?" she said, her voice rising an octave with each syllable.  "The witch snatched Albert because you forgot to pull up your pants????"  She was screaming now and he winced as he raised his head.

"Well, you weren't exactly trying to stop her, were you?" he muttered.  He stood and pulled his pants up and belted them in place.  He looked around, trying to figure out what had happened to Albert and the hag.

"They're gone," she told him dully, her anger spent.  She dropped to her knees, tears welling her magnificent eyes.  "And it's my fault because I can't control my lust."

Carmichael went to her and put his arms around her.  "Oh darling, you mustn't cry.  It was not your fault.  The blame lies with me.  I should be able to control my passion, but alas, when I am with you, it cannot be tamed."  He looked down ruefully at his sword of love, which had perked up considerably when he touched her.

Chrysanthemum looked at him in disgust and pushed him away.  "You're right," she sniffed, "it is your fault.  How can we get Albert back?"

Carmichael stood and surveyed the scene, his warrior eyes looking for traces of the hag's passing.  He bent over to examine a shrub, and suddenly went flying headfirst as horse's hooves thundered past.

Chrysanthemum's father was riding up with his men and he was not looking happy.  "Always, I find you with this man," he roared at Chrysanthemum.  "You must marry the earl or I shall lock you away."

Chrysanthemum looked up at her father fearlessly.  "The hag has taken Albert.  I will marry the Earl if he will help me retrieve Albert."

"Done," her father roared.  He reached down and pulled her up on to his horse and they thundered away without a backward glance at Carmichael who was struggling to remove his head from the shrubbery. 

Carmichael finally extricated himself and stood, unable to believe what had just happened.  Chrysanthemum agreeing to marry the earl??  Carmichael knew she did not love the earl, but she would stop at nothing to get her brother back. 

"I must rescue Albert," he said aloud, "and then Chrysanthemum will be mine."  He hobbled down the path, wondering how he could give chase without a horse.

Carmichael straightened in disbelief and stared at Chrysanthemum.  "Albert is...what?" he gasped.

Chrysanthemum tossed her magnificent magenta hair back and stared at him proudly.  "He's no gerbil; he's my brother."  She hobbled over to Albert and picked him up gently, and placed him back in his cage.

"How did this come to pass?" Carmichael asked, still looking stunned.

Chrysanthemum, turned red, and started fidgeting with the ends of her fiery tresses.  "Umm, well, umm, it's kind of a strange story," she began.

Carmichael arched a brow at her (all bodice ripper heroes can arch their brows; it's a requirement) and leaned back against a tree.  "I can hardly wait to hear it," he told her.

And so Chrysanthemum began her tale, telling of the evil crone Chlairol and her mislabeled hair dye and how she had refused to pay for it and the hag had turned her brother into a gerbil.  Afraid to confess the story to her father, she claimed that Albert had been eaten by the moat monster after she pushed him in for making fun of her hair.  The Earl/Baron/Duke (what was he, I'll have to go back???) was enraged and, deprived of his heir, intended to force Chrysanthemum to marry the evil Earl of Ashhole, who was quite elderly, but extremely wealthy. 

Throughout the telling, Carmichael's brow arched higher and higher, until it was nearly at his hairline.  At the end of the story, he sighed heavily.

"So you mean to tell me your vanity caused the transformation of your brother, an innocent in this whole story?" he demanded.

"He is most certainly not innocent," she fired back angrily.  "He was always making fun of my hair, calling it dirty straw and then when it turned magenta, he called me purple top.  Jerk," she called over her shoulder to Albert, who squeaked angrily.

"I need time to understand this all," Carmichael told her.  He turned and strode toward the river, leaving Chrysanthemum staring in bewilderment.

"Oh Albert," she sniffed "I never meant for this to happen.  You are a pest, but I would never have deliberately turned you into a gerbil."  Albert squeaked disbelievingly.

"I must go after Carmichael and try to make him understand," she told Albert.  "Stay with the horse, I'll be back."  And hiking up her skirts, she rushed toward the river.

Carmichael sat on the bank, his head in his hands wondering how things had come to such a pass. 

His keen warrior ears discerned rustling behind him and he knew Chrysanthemum was coming to make amends.  He did not turn to greet her; he was still reeling from the shock of her confession.

"Carmichael, please," she whispered in his ear, her warm breath against his neck stirring his barbarian lust against his will.  "I was wrong, I know that now.  Do you really think I wanted magenta hair?  Do you think I desired for Albert to become a gerbil?  I actually liked the moat monster scenario better, if you want to know the truth.  Now I have to wait on Albert hand and foot and he is enjoying it a bit too much!"

Carmichael turned, and with a reluctant smile, he took her in his arms.  "I know my sweet," he breathed into her fragrant hair.  "I know your intentions were good.  But what a mess you have landed us in with your vanity."  He could feel her wince at his choice of words. 

"Chrysanthemum, look at me," he told her. Slowly she raised her magenta head and looked at him with wide, limpid amethyst eyes.  "Because of your vanity," he emphasized the word, "your father is trying to force you into marriage, you have a witch lusting for your blood, and your brother is a rodent.  Do you blame me for my anger?"

Chrysanthemum's magnificent eyes filled with tears.  "Oh Carmichael," she whimpered, "I love you so much. I would never have deliberately tried to cause you trouble."

"I know my dove," he whispered, before capturing her lips in a kiss of searing desire.  The passion that simmered so close to the surface between them erupted like a steaming geyser, rendering them both senseless with desire. 

"Oh my God," he whispered in her delicate ear, "you are magnificent.  He could feel his passion soaring out of control, and he lowered her to the ground.  His manhood was throbbing, erect with desire (and once it's erect, you can take it anywhere...never mind, private joke!!) and he knew he must have her immediately, consequences be damned.

He thrust his hand into the bodice of her dress, fondling the creamy swells of her lush bosom.  He began trying to unhook her corset, but desire made him clumsy and inept.  "Here, let me help," she whispered, and with a flick of her wrist, her bodice fell open and laid bare a feast for his eyes. 

He lowered his head and took one proud pink peak in his mouth, suckling as a piglet would a sow.  Chrysanthemum's head fell back, her rosebud mouth pursed in an "O" of delight.  She uttered a scream of passion when he lifted her skirts and impaled her with his love rapier.

Afterward, their passion spent, they lay on the bank, panting.  "What shall we do now," she whispered, one hand twirling the hairs on his manly chest.

Carmichael opened his mouth to answer, but before he could utter so much as one syllable, the evil hag Chlairol crashed through the trees, with Albert grasped in one claw.  "So I've found you, evil slut," she cackled.  "Now pay up or the rodent gets it!"  She held Albert aloft, a penknife held to his furry throat.  Chrysanthemum gasped in horror and slowly crumpled to the ground.

Slowly, Chrysanthemum raised her magenta head from her hands.  She removed her favorite hanky from her bodice, and dabbed her eyes.  She pushed her glorious mane of hair back and stood, preparing to face her father's wrath.  She was confident he would not harm Albert, but still she dallied, staving off the inevitable.

She walked over to the moat, and gazed at her reflection.  Stupid magenta hair, she thought to herself.  The hag had promised it would turn her hair a glorious shade of auburn:  auburn, the color of pride; auburn the color of strength; auburn, the loveliest village....But I digress.  Instead, her hair had turned this wild shade of purply red that seemed to drive the warriors wild with desire.

Still, she thought ruefully, it was the same hag who had turned her favorite brother Albert into a gerbil when Chrysanthemum refused payment for the hair dye.  The hag, Madame Chlairol was her name, became enraged and cast the spell on Albert, turning him into a gerbil.  To reverse the spell would be to restore Albert to human form and to restore her hair to its former dishwater blond.  Chrysanthemum was not quite ready to do that yet, fond as she was of Albert.

The dungeon doors were flung open and in strode her father, Albert dangling in a cage at his side.  "Where is the barbarian?" roared her father.  "I will have him drawn and quartered for daring to interfere with me!" 

"Father, please, he tricked me," sniffed Chrysanthemum.  "He offered to be the Earl's best man, but when I unlocked his manacles, he fled."

"Traitorous Whore!", thundered her father.  "For that, your precious pet will pay."  He opened the cage, took Albert's exercise wheel out, and flung it to the ground, smashing it to bits.  Albert squeaked in fright.

Chrysanthemum had never told her father about the hag Chlairol and the spell she had cast.  Her father thought Albert had been eaten by the moat monster while swimming in the moat.  He thought the gerbil was simply a pet, beloved by Chrysanthemum, and so used it as leverage against her, never realizing it was  his only son. 

Suddenly, Carmichael galloped in on a magnificent stallion.  He used a pole to snag the cage from the Duke's grip and with his other hand, he swept up Chrysanthemum and thundered out.  The porticullis slammed shut behind them, cutting off the Duke and his soldiers and allowing the lovers to escape to the deep forest.

After riding for several hours, Carmichael reined in the stallion.  Chrysanthemum reluctantly raised her head, which had been snuggled into his manly chest. 

"Once again, I save you," he told her with a frown.  "And yet I know not from what."  He dismounted the stallion and lifted her down.  "Why must you marry the earl?  And why is this gerbil so important to you?  I love you Chrysanthemum," he told her passionately "and I would give all to make you happy."

He pulled her close and stared down into her purply eyes.  How could she tell him, she wondered frantically, that her vanity had caused this mess?  How could she tell him that the very magenta hair he adored was what was keeping them apart?

Instead of answering, she pressed her lips to his, rousing the passion that simmered so close to the surface.  His barbarian lust took over, and he claimed her lips in a kiss so passionate, it ignited the ends of her magenta hair. 

She surrendered herself to the passion only he could rouse, the wild, searing lust that clouded her senses and left her gasping his name.  She could feel the bold evidence of his desire through his steel armor, and she reveled in the power she had over him.

He flung Albert's cage aside, ignoring the indignant squeaks coming from the rodent and lowered Chrysanthemum to the ground.  She tossed her magnificent hair back, allowing him access to her slender, swan like neck.  He growled low in his throat, a primal sound of desire, and began feasting upon her like a starving man.

His cold, steel armor pressed into her, but she was oblivious to all but her raging desire.  Suddenly, a sharp pain invaded her passion drugged stupor.  She pushed Carmichael aside and looked down in horror:  Albert had bitten her toe deeply, causing it to bleed.  She whimpered in pain, while Albert looked on smugly.

"Damn you to hell rodent," Carmichael roared and he lifted his sword and was preparing to skewer Albert when Chrysanthemum screamed "NO, please, you can't!!" 

"Give me a good reason why not,"grumbled Carmichael, sword still at the ready.

"Because....because....," Chrysanthemum lowered her glorious head.  "Because he's my brother."

Carmichael slowly opened his eyes, then winced and shut them quickly as pain penetrated like a knife through his skull.  He was lying on a cold, stone floor and his head felt like it had been kicked by his stallion.  He groggily raised himself to a sitting position and took inventory of his situation.  He was chained to a wall in what appeared to be a dungeon. 

His last recollection was of the beautiful MAGENTA haired Chrysanthemum acquiescing to her father's demand she marry the Earl of Ahshhole (prounounced ah-sh-olay...it's French) in order to save her pet gerbil Albert.  He groaned, dropping his head into his hands.  How could Chrysanthemum deny their passion, he wondered, all for a gerbil?  Or was there something more she feared.

He rose to his feet and tested the strength of the chains holding him to the wall.  He pulled slowly and his mighty biceps strained, but the chains held fast.  Panting, he leaned back against the wall, racking his barbarian brain for ideas.  Suddenly, he heard footsteps.

He watched warily as a shadowy figure bearing a lantern came toward his cell.  As it approached, he realized it was Chrysanthemum.

"Oh my darling," he said, "I hoped you would come."

"Shhhh," she told him as she produced a set of keys.  "We only have a few moments and we must get you out of here."

She bent over him, her silky MAGENTA hair brushing his arm as she unlocked his manacles, affording him an excellent view of the plump mounds of her breasts bursting over the top of her dress.  

The moment he was unlocked, he swept her into his arms and kissed her passionately.  But she pushed him away, hissing "not now, you must escape."  But passion had overtaken Carmichael and he pulled her to him again, gazing deeply into her eyes as he pulled her close to the evidence of his desire for her.

"Can Albert make you feel this way?" he demanded of her.  "No gerbil can make you feel the things I make you feel," he said as he bent toward her creamy neck, intent on feasting on the fair flesh before him.

"Oh Carmichael," she sobbed, "I do love you, I do.  But Albert has always been there for me.  How can I betray him?"

Carmichael looked at her, puzzled.  "But darling, he's a..a... rodent," he said.

Chrysanthemum slapped him hard across the cheek.

"How dare you," she shouted.  "You know nothing of me.  Albert is my dearest friend and most constant companion.  You care for nothing but assuaging your lust."

"And is that so wrong?" he demanded.  "I notice you are always a willing participant."  To prove his point, he captured her lips in a searing kiss of desire.  Her protests died away as passion overtook her, the passion that always simmered close to the surface when Carmichael was there.

Without thinking, he lowered her to the ground of his cell, his lips never losing contact with hers.  She made no protest when he slipped her gown from her shoulders, and fondled the twin peaks of her passion.  Her head fell back, her rosebud lips slightly parted as he took one peak in his mouth, like a suckling pig feasting on its sow.  

Just as Chrysanthemum was about to be swept away by the currents of desire, they heard footsteps pounding down the stairs.  Quickly, she shoved him away and tucked her ivory breasts back into her gown.

"You must go," she told him.  "Before it's too late." 

"We are not finished," he whispered, kissing her one more time.  "I will make you see I am more to you than Albert could ever be."  With that, he wheeled around and ran down the hall toward another set of steps, hoping to fight his way to freedom.

Chrysanthemum slumped against a wall, still breathing heavily from the emotions Carmichael could raise in her so effortlessly.  How could she make him understand her bond with Albert?  Would she be able to go through with her wedding the the Earl of Ahshhole?    And what of her father?  Would he kill both her loves?  Chrysanthemum lowered her MAGENTA head into her hands and sobbed in grief and terror.

I just went back and re-read that entry and I had to giggle.  Not because I think I'm all that funny, but because I believe I actually nailed the description of Carmichael nailing Chrysanthemum.  So I think I will expand on their adventures.  I need to get Fabio on the phone for the cover art...

Chrysanthemum leaped upon her white mare and galloped away, Carmichael in close pursuit.  She was frightened of the feelings he caused her, feelings of uncontrollable passion that caused her to abandon all the morals the sisters had so conscientously instilled in her.  

"Chrysanthemum, my darling, wait...."  Carmichael mounted his black stallion and tore off down the beach after her. 

Chrysanthemum's molten, shimmering, magenta hair rippled behind her like a banner, a sheet of flame glowing in the dim evening light.  Carmichael's stallion quickly overtook the mare.  He reached out a muscular arm and pulled Chrysanthemum onto his stallion.

"No Carmichael, you musn't....it's wrong," Chrysanthemum panted, her pupils dilated with fear and desire.

"Chrysanthemum, my darling, the passion that sears between us is not wrong," he told her. 

"But my father says I must marry the earl or he'll kill my gerbil," she whimpered, even as she turned her head to allow him to nibble her shell like ear. 

"I shall protect you and your gerbil with my life," he told her solemnly, just before he captured her lips in a searing kiss of desire.

Chrysanthemum moaned, her fears forgotten as her feelings for Carmichael roared to life in her body like an ocean wave.  Piercing stabs of desire assaulted her when she felt his love rocket spring to life against her loins.

Carmichael pulled her off the horse and threw her to the sand and began kissing her until she was senseless with passion.  His hands caressed the creamy smooth mounds that rose above her dress and his desire increased exponentially.

A sudden cry interrupted their lovemaking.  Raising his head, Carmichael could see Chrysanthemum's father riding toward them, his sword raised above his head threateningly. Even from this distance, Carmichael could see the cage housing Chrysanthemum's gerbil strapped to the Baron's saddle.

Chrysanthemum leapt to her feet, tears of horror filling her eyes.  "No father," she screamed "you musn't hurt Albert!!  I'll die if anything happens to him!"

"Jezebel," he roared at her.  "How dare you lie with this...this...ruffian.  Ye're ruined goods now.  Ye'll marry the earl, if he'll still have ye, or I'll run a spit through Albert and I'll roast him for my dinner."

Chrysanthemum threw herself at his feet, sobbing, reaching toward the cage that housed Albert.  Albert himself was munching contentedly on a piece of cedar and didn't seem to think much of the Baron's threat.  But Chrysanthemum knew he was serious.

The Baron's men had subdued Carmichael and shoved a gag in his mouth, so he was unable to prostest when Chrysanthemum weakly agreed "yes Father, I will marry the Earl to save Albert."

Carmichael lunged against his captors, but they held him firm, and one raised his sword and struck Carmichael across the head with it.  Just as he was losing consciousness, he met Chrysanthemum's eyes for a moment, but she turned away.  Her love for Albert the Gerbil was greater, he feared as he sank to the ground and welcomed the blackness.

To Be Continued.....

Yeah, I thought that title might grab your attention!  A friend and I were discussing novels the other day and we got onto the topic of the good old fashioned "bodice ripper".  If you don't know what a bodice ripper is, allow me to enlighten you.  A bodice ripper is any novel with the words "passion", "searing", "hot", "flame", or "pirate" in the title.  The cover usually depicts an impossibly beautiful heroine with 12 feet of blonde hair flowing down her back.  She is arched, or contorted might be a better word, over the arm of the impossibly muscular hero who also has rippling blond hair.  He looks like an habitual steroid abuser and she looks like an anorexic Barbie doll with a Dolly Parton bust. 

I went through a period of time where I loved them!  I am an impossible, incurable romantic who believes in a happy, sappy ending.  I started devouring romances when I was 12, beginning with Barbara Cartland.  I now shudder to think of just how many Barbara Cartland novels I read.  B.C. was an absolute genius.  Each book was about 120 pages, and with each novel, only the names changed.  Everything else was pretty much the same.  The woman made a fortune writing the silly damn things!  Every heroine had tip tilted breasts, and I have never quite been sure exactly what that means.  Does the nipple point up or down?  Do the breasts themselves tilt a certain way?  Mine are tiptilted down, if you want to know the truth.  They are pointing due south, actually, but that's probably TMI. 

Anyway, each heroine was usually impoverished, usually incredibly intelligent, and always stunningly beautiful.  The handsome nobleman always swept in and rescued her from a life of despair.  I ate them up for awhile, but then they started to annoy me.  The whole tip tilted thing was just the beginning.  I also loathe how when the heroine talks to the hero, she ellipses.  So for example, she might say to the hero "But....my lord....what do....you....mean?"  This can go on for pages and pages and it drove me bananas.  So I moved on to Harlequins.

These occupied me for a couple of years ABC (after Barbara Cartland).  For one thing, the sex was a lot juicier, especially if you got the Silhouette Special Edition.  The action moved from opening the bodice and gazing at the breasts to actually fondling the breasts.  Well, as a hormonal teenager, this was perfect for me!  And the men were much better looking and there were no tip tilted breasts at all.  Still, I knew there must be more.  Then I found the "historical romance".

The historical romance is actually the true "bodice ripper", the others being but pale shadows of the real thing.  Fabio graced the cover of quite a few of these babies in the 1980's, before he got smacked in the head by a flying goose (or was it a duck?)  His shirt was always open to the waist, he was usually bent over the heroine and leering at her exposed (tip tilted?) breasts, and he was hot!! 

In the historical romance, you pick up a whole new vocuabulary of words that describe the human anatomy and sexual intercourse without ever actually mentioning the correct terms.  I am going to submit a paragraph, for your approval, of a sex scene from my upcoming bodice ripper:

Carmichael grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around to face him.  "Chrysanthemum, my darling, you are mine," he told her hoarsely, as he pulled the pins from her hair, loosing the molten floods of her flaming curls.  "Oh Carmichael," she gasped, pressing herself against him "take me now, my darling."  Carmichael bent and lifted her in his arms, his midnight eyes gazing steadily into her eyes of pale seafoam.  Gently, he laid her on the bed and then stood and removed his robe.  Chrysanthemum's eyes widened at the bold evidence of his need for her.  The rapier of his desire was straight and proud and throbbing for her.  Carmichael lay on the bed next to her and gathered her gently in his arms.  "I will never hurt you my darling," he whispered tenderly, before he claimed her lips in a kiss of searing desire.  He quickly removed her gown and lowered his head to her breasts, caressing the ivory globes gently as his tongue found the pink peaks of love atop them.  She gasped with delight and pressed herself against him, longing to be one with him.  His hands drifted lower, and gently parted the moist petals of the flower of her womanhood.  By now, Chrysanthemum was delirious with ecstasy, and she made no protest when he rolled on top of her.  His steel shaft gently entered the mine of her womanhood.  As his throbbing manhood filled her pulsating womanhood, she tossed her head from side to side in worldess ecstasy.

Or something like that.  Yes, think less of me if you will, but I used to read those things.  But only the really well written ones!  I have standards you know.  I would much rather read something like that, where you know exactly what you're getting instead of one of those "women's novels" that try and masquerade as real literature, Danielle Steele being a prime example.  I would rather have my eyes put out with Chrysanthemum's tip tilted breast than read a Danielle Steele novel.  

Once Carmichael breaks Chrysanthemum's cherry, they proceed to have several other sexual encounters, in a variety of places, including but not limited to: in the stable; on horseback; in a meadow; in a forest; in a tree; and in the dining room.  They can't get enough of each other.  When they finally overcome all obstacles and actually get married, the book ends.  

Of course, we know it ends because as soon as Chrysanthemum gets the ring on her finger, she develops a permanent, splitting headache.  Carmichael spends his days either berating her for spending too much of his fortune (because the hero is ALWAYS wealthier than Bill Gates ever thought he could be) or chasing her around the house, trying to impale her with his love rapier.  The moral of the story is the courtship is always hotter than the marriage!

Now if you'll forgive me, I have to go and finish my novel!!