invisiblecompany

"It's greener than I expected," Tara commented as she surveyed the scenery.

"I thought it'd be raining, I think we got lucky," Willow agreed. She was taking their bags out of the back of their rental car and stopped to join Tara in admiring the view. She had chosen this establishment specially, doing a lot of research on location and amenities. Though they could have stayed at a chain hotel, she knew Tara would prefer a smaller and more personal place. This wasn't a hotel as such, more like a private home that took in guests, there were only three guest rooms and the owners went by the impressive names of Lord and Lady Livingstone.

"This is beautiful." Tara had not moved since she climbed out of the car. She was overwhelmed by the sight of the charming whitewashed cottage with stone walls and exposed wood beams. Willow had shown her online pictures, but the pictures didn't convey the sense of history and elegance. She knew that the cottage was 400 years old, which would put it in existence when her own ancestors lived in that area. She felt an attachment to it immediately.

"Welcome to Livingstone House," their hostess, a middle-aged lady with an easy smile, greeted them. "You must be my American guests. I'm Morag Livingstone. Do come in, you must be tired."

"Thank you Morag, pleased to meet you," they greeted the kind lady of the house who led the way inside.

"So you are the Livingstone of Livingstone House?" Tara asked politely.

"My husband's family has lived on this property for centuries," Morag explained.

"It's beautiful," Tara admired. "We don't see anything like this in the US; it looks so well preserved."

"Oh yes, Ian, that's my husband, and I modernized it but we kept most of the original features. Now lasses, leave your bags in the hallway, come into the office and we'll get the boring formalities out of the way, aye?"

They had been traveling for what seemed like a whole day, but the cozy office with wood panels and a roaring log fire made them feel at home straightaway. Morag had obviously been expecting them and she served them each a cup of steaming tea from a china tea pot.

"Hmm, real tea from a tea pot, I could get used to this," Tara sat back in her lush leather chair, enjoying the taste of the hot tea and the comfort of the office.

"I have you down as one week, aye? Do you need any suggestions for places to visit? Loch Ness, Inverness, the distilleries, most people are interested in those. We have leaflets and brochures in the drawing room, but the best library book can't beat the real source," Morag commented.

"Yes, we're staying for one week, then we're going to Edinburgh for another week. Sorry, you were saying something about the real source of information?" Willow asked.

"Why, ask me, of course. I ken everything about these parts," Morag winked and handed a heavy bronze key to Willow. "Here's your key, and please sign our wee guest book, Ian and I are always interested in keeping in touch our guests from all over the world."

"We'd love to," said Tara, who carefully wrote their names and addresses in the "wee" guest book, which was actually a heavy leather book filled with names of visitors. When Morag saw her name, she let out an audible gasp. "You're a Maclay!" she said to Tara.

Tara blushed. "Um, yes. That's one of the reasons why we're spending our vacation here. I want to visit the country where my ancestors come from."

"Ack. We don't get many Maclays coming by, most took McLea or MacLeay," Morag spelled out the various forms of the name. "In fact, McLea in Gaelic means 'the living son' which is where Livingstone comes from. You might be related to my Ian, if you trace your line back far enough."

Tara's expression was one of utter surprise and delight. She turned to Willow. "Did you know this when you did the booking?"

"No, it's a co-incidence," Willow said.

"I'm so lucky. Thank you," and Tara brushed Willow's hand lightly in gratitude.

"You'll be wanting to visit the area around Loch Achilty and the church at Contin then. The remains of the tomb of Big McLea is inside the church. He was a clansman who fought the Mackenzies in the 1400s. Most of the McLeas and MacLeays flitted off to Northern Ireland in the early to mid 1600s, but there are still traces of history left in these parts," Morag helpfully added.

"That ties in with most of what we were able to gather, but I had it so set in my mind to visit Scotland first," Tara said.

"I'm glad you decided on Scotland first. If you're interested my Ian will have more stories for you, he's out at the big house today, but he'll be back tomorrow."

"I'll try to catch him then," Tara said. And had to discretely cover her mouth at a threatening yawn.

That didn't escape the eagle eyes of Morag Livingstone. "Well lasses, you must be knackered. Your room is at the end of the corridor, it has garden access if you're not afraid of the chills. Will you be wanting dinner tonight?"

"What do you recommend, Morag?" Willow asked.

"Well, out at the pub tonight the Old Boys are rehearsing for Christmas, you should go. Tell Stan that I sent you. Tomorrow night, I'll cook you the best Scottish dinner you've ever tasted. There's a family coming in the morning from Germany, so it'll be nice and cheerful with a full house."

"It sounds lovely, Morag. We'd love to join for dinner tomorrow," Tara said.

They took their bags to their room and for the second time that day, Tara was overjoyed at her surroundings. The room was brighter than she expected, large full length windows captured the light and the garden outside. She was drawn to the view already; through the pine trees she could see the distant fog shrouded hills.

The room was full of flowers, from the patterns on the wallpaper to the bedspread to the vase of delicate flowers on the small table. The center of attention was the king-sized bed set at an angle at one corner of the room, affording views of the stunning landscape outside. A decadent-looking white chaise lounge opposite the bed and an antique writing desk made up the rest of the furniture.

"Wow, this is the prettiest hotel room I've ever been in," Willow said.

Tara nodded. She was taking it all in, the hotel, the talk with Morag, and now the exquisite room before her. She reached back and pulled Willow to her, wrapping Willow's arms around her waist as they surveyed the heaven they found themselves in.

"I don't know what to say. Thank you for this."

"Anything for you my love." Willow rested her head on her love and whispered.

This was such a memorable moment, Tara just wanted to stay where they were. But there were places to visit, history to explore.

"Do you want to rest a little first? Plan our day?" she asked.

Willow paused for a moment. "I don't know about you, but I could do with a shower. I feel all sticky with sweat and airplane air."

"Take your shower first, I'll unpack and take a quick nap," Tara said.

"Don't want to join me?" Willow grinned suggestively.

"And end up leaving the hotel at dinnertime?" Tara raised one eyebrow in challenge.

Willow gave her a brief kiss and rummaged through their bag for clean clothes. Tara was just opening their other bag when she heard a squeal of joy.

"Baby, come look at the size of this tub!" Willow skipped back into the room, took Tara's hand and was pulling her toward the bathroom.

They gasped at the sight of a gigantic clawfoot bath at the side of the bathroom, with fittings that appeared to be antique yet shone like they were brand new. A flat round shower head above the tub was the only concession to modern day design, yet its classy design fitted into the serenity of the room unobtrusively.

"This day is getting better and better, I want to just lie in this tub and not get out," Tara sighed.

"Let's do that. We're on vacation, if we want to take a long hot bath, that's our prerogative," Willow said. "I'll run the bath and tell you when it's ready."

"You sure, sweetie?"

"I want to pamper you. Please?"

"Yes."

It only took a few minutes for Willow to run the bath. When Tara came back into the bathroom, it had been converted to a steam-filled sanctuary, rich with the scent of jasmine bath oil. A naked Willow greeted her with a soft kiss, then helped her out of her own clothes. They stepped into the bath hand in hand, the heat of the water drawing small gasps as it took a few seconds to warm cold toes and feet.

They settled into a comfortable embrace, Willow holding a clearly drowsy Tara, who leaned back and felt Willow's nipples hardening at her back.

It was time for relaxation though, not for making love. Not yet, she thought to herself, as her mind and body unwound under Willow's gentle attention. Her lover was washing her carefully, taking care of her, making her feel cherished.

"How are you feeling?" Willow asked.

"Hmmm. Good," Tara answered, as if in a dream.

"Better or worse than our last tub experience?"

That brought her thoughts back home, to their own more modest bathtub, and Thanksgiving weekend.

"Hard to compare," Tara said.

Willow seemed far away, then she came back. We're thinking the same thing. "Yeah, difficult to compare. But I think I just want to hold you; we'll have plenty of time for the other thing."

Tara was just about to say the same thing. "You know me so well, Will. You know just what I want, when I want it."

She could feel Willow's wide smile on her back. But then her lover started sponging her again and so she was lost in a blanket of opulent indulgence, such that all she wanted was to curl up inside the calm silence. It was only the first day of their vacation; there was so much more to come.

*****

"Welcome to the White Hart, you must be the lasses staying at Morag Livingstone's." A tall, red-faced, bearded man greeted them as they pushed open the heavy doors of the pub. True to their prediction, their stay in the luxurious bath had been lengthy, and they were so relaxed afterwards that they had taken a nap. When they woke up it was already dark.

"Hi. Yes Morag sent us. You must be Stan," Willow almost called him Hagrid, his size and earnest demeanor was exactly like the care of magical creatures teacher.

"That's me. You be wanting dinner? Morag called and told me to take care of you, otherwise she'll do great harm to me," Stan winked as he seated the lovebirds at a high table at one side of the bar.

"That'll be nice, thank you," Willow said appreciatively.

"Can I get you something to drink first? Local ale?"

"Um, we're not big beer drinkers," Tara started.

"You must try our local brew at least once. It's very good ale," Stan pleaded good-humoredly.

They agreed to a 'half' of ale each, and were glad they did. It was served at room temperature and tasted richer and more bitter than ordinary beer, but they were pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to sip. It was cold outside but the pub was warm and cozy inside.

At Stan's recommendation they ordered grilled sea trout with warm spinach salad for Willow and three cheeses risotto for Tara. It was nothing like the haggis and venison stew with dumplings that they had imagined. Stan told them that Scottish cuisine had moved beyond those clichés and into the modern times, though sometimes he had requests for the old-styled dishes too.

For dessert they shared a rich chocolate fondant with orange rose syrup, taking turns to feed each other discreetly and wondering if the village store sold chocolate syrup, for non-cooking purposes of course.

Tara was contemplating licking a stray droplet of chocolate sauce off Willow's chin when there was a commotion and everyone inside the pub jostled to find a position to gaze out of the windows. Willow leaped out of her seat to investigate and came back with news.

"There's a bunch of men in funny-looking hats coming this way," she reported.

"We're being invaded?" Tara joked.

"I think that's the 'Old Boys' Morag was telling us about. Tara, I think we're about to have our first bagpipe experience," Willow answered, straining her neck to see what was happening.

A squeak followed by the blare of bagpipes shot out and even the air squealed in protest. The noise came closer and the doors opened to admit a group of elderly gentlemen in berets and kilts. They looked mighty and magnificent in their uniforms, but their playing sounded like cats being strangled by barbed wire fences.

"Is it me, but do they sound out of tune?" Tara grimaced.

"It's not you," Willow shouted over the squawks and screams.

They endured the playing till the end; it was one of the longest three minutes of their lives. Willow thought that being tied up at a stake with her mother threatening to burn her alive had been a more pleasant experience. At last it ended and the speeches began.

"Ack, ever since Colin MacDougall was put down by the gout, the Old Boys are never the same," an elderly gentleman at their next table leaned over to explain.

"The gout," Willow repeated, trying to keep a straight face, but the elderly gentleman seemed serious.

"Aye. Colin was the leader of the band, and now without him at the top, the Boys are all out of sorts," he added. "You notice how many Boys there are in the band?"

Willow did a quick tally. "Eleven," she answered quickly. She found it ironic that the band, with an estimated average age of sixty-five, would be referred to as the Boys.

"One less and how they don't sound right at all."

"Do bagpipe bands always need twelve?" Curious-Willow asked.

"Nay, but eleven pipers cannae be called a piping band, that's me own opinion anyway."

"Surely they'll find someone else?"

"A laddie built like Colin MacDougall, can toss a caber to 11.00 every time, and can pipe like Robert Bruce? That's one in a million, lasses, one in a million."

The band struck up another tune. This time the old gentleman informed them that it was a march, or 'light music' as opposed to the more traditional piobaireachd, which he pronounced PEE-brook. Willow thought that if what they were hearing was 'light' music she didn't want to know what 'heavy' entailed.

The droning continued.

They politely clapped at the end of the recital, and shared the look of two people who would rather be doing something else. Anything else.

A lull in the proceedings gave them the opportunity to settle the check with Stan, who flatly refused to charge them, citing "any lasses who are as bonnie as ye should always have yer dinners paid for by gentlemen. And I, Stanley Burns McCoist, am a gentleman."

The air was bitterly cold when they exited the pub. The cold breeze stabbed through skin and bones, causing them to move closer together.

"Was it this cold when we came out earlier?" Willow's teeth had begun to chatter and her fingers felt numb.

"No, I think temperatures drop a lot at night in these parts; it's a rural area so there's no protection from buildings. Plus, it's a clear sky. Look at the stars," Tara exclaimed as her eyes gradually got used to the dark. The cold forgotten, they walked a few minutes to the shore of the loch and found a secluded spot to enjoy the view of the night sky reflected upon the still water surface. The moon had risen high in the sky, but the familiar constellations were still visible.

"Constellation views depend on latitude and longitude. I should know this, but I'm too cold to crank up my brain to work out the correlation between latitude and visible constellations. I know for a fact that we're much further north than Sunnydale so there are more star systems that are permanently in the skies here than at home," Willow said, grateful for Tara's warmth next to her.

"I know for a fact that I'm lying on the bank of a great Scottish loch, with sheep at the other side of the shore and surrounded by the ghosts of my forbearers. I know that there will be straw in my hair and grass-stains on my clothes and mud on my shoes when I get back, but I feel so much closer to nature, to the forces of the earth," Tara said, turning her body so she was on her side, facing Willow.

"Your country lass tendencies are coming out," Willow laughed. "I'm glad I brought you here."

"Oh aye, me bonnie lover. Let me show you how this country lass appreciates her city dwelling goddess," Tara slipped into a deliberately bad Scottish accent, but the toss of her hair and the smoldering look she threw Willow's way took all inhibitions away from the redhead.

"You know how sexy you are?" she rolled over and buried her head in Tara's neck, alternately licking and nibbling on the cold skin.

"Only with you," Tara was shivering, whether at the cold or at her lover's touch, she didn't know. She reached for Willow and they found their bodies naturally fitting in, each groove and curve perfectly in line.

"Hhhh," Willow gasped.

"You want something?" Tara teased.

"You," was the breathless reply.

"Let's go back to the hotel, me fiery lassie," Tara pushed herself up into a sitting position.

"You want fire, you ain't seen nothing yet," Willow whooped as she jumped up and began running toward the village. "First one back calls the shots."

"No fair, I'm not wearing sneakers," Tara shouted, but her lover was already yards ahead. She shook her head and started in pursuit.

Two very breathless witches crashed into their room, lips already meshed together, arms and legs wrapped around each other. They peeled their coats off and threw them -- somewhere. Willow turned Tara around, pulled the sweater and bra off and pushed her lover's arms over her head against the antique door. Tara was still shivering from Willow's touch. The small doorknob bit into her back, but she didn't care.

Willow allowed her hands and mouth to freely roam all over Tara's body. She gathered Tara's breasts in her hands and squeezed, eliciting a thick groan from the back of Tara's throat.

She slid one hand between their bodies and undid Tara's belt, followed by the button and zipper of Tara's jeans. She hooked her thumbs over the elastic of Tara's small panties, and followed their path down, so she was kneeling in front of her lover.

One by one, she lifted Tara's feet to free them of the encumbering material of the jeans and panties. With both hands, she trailed a slow tantalizing way up from the soles of Tara's feet, past firm calves, before allowing the heel of her hand to inch its way up the front of Tara's thighs. At the top of her thighs she drew her hands around to cup Tara's soft and full hips and as she lowered her head she could smell and almost touch each drop of arousal coating Tara's curls.

"You have the best smell in the world," she hummed into the curls. And heard a primal groan from Tara who was helpless against the door waiting for Willow to take the lead.

Willow's hands played across Tara's hips, finally arriving at the place she never tired of visiting. Her thumbs gently coaxed open her lover's folds and she bent down to kiss the down-covered lips, inhaling deeply and appreciating the slightly salty, slightly acidic, delicious smell of Tara and only Tara. She teased further using her tongue and flicked it across Tara's engorged clit. As she did so she heard her lover gasp and felt her grab her head, firm fingers becoming entangled with her own red hair.

Her tongue began a determined path inside smooth, wet folds. She stroked it down one side, then up the other; she darted it briefly into the opening, then dragged it slowly out and across Tara's clit. She then plunged it back inside, curling it up to touch the roof of Tara's channel. There was her rhythm -- thrust, draw it up, flatten it against Tara's clit, withdraw, suck, then repeat. It was mesmerizing, she saw herself kneeling in front of her naked lover, whose arms were stretched up above her, trying to grip onto something while her head shook from side to side with an incoherent series of moans and whimpers the only sign of how close she was.

Tara was panting now. "More, more," she repeated. Willow could feel her lover's desire rising. She focused her tongue on Tara's clit and slipped inside with two fingers, pressing in and up. She swept her tongue over Tara's hard clit again and again, in time with the push with her fingers.

Tara's cries turned to "Now, now, there, yesssss!" as her walls tensed and shrunk against Willow's fingers and she felt Tara come wildly against her face, a gush of velvet juices drenching her chin and jaw.

She slowed the movement of her fingers into calming strokes, staying focused on Tara until the tremors in her body eased. She stood back up and they shared many soft kisses.

"Thank you," Tara murmured.

"Thank you," Willow replied.

"Bed?" Tara suggested. And Willow half-carried her spent lover to the bed, stripped herself and crawled in under the covers.

Tara leaned into her and they settled into a comfortable close embrace. Willow brushed Tara's fine hair and Tara purred in appreciation.

"You like that?" she asked.

"You know I do." Tara moved, planted her lips against Willow's pulse point and sucked gently, sending the fluttery feelings up her spine.

"Hey, you're tired. I thought you wanted bed," Willow said.

"Bed, not sleep."

"But, tired?"

"Never too tired to make love to you. Stretch out," Tara directed.

Willow felt the brief sting of the cold air as Tara flipped over their duvet, but the room was warm enough. She lay on the bed, her arms stretched out fully, as Tara sat back and drank her in. She should feel naked and vulnerable, but it was Tara. She wanted to open herself fully, because it was Tara.

Tara started at the top of her head, leaning down to place light kisses over every inch of skin she could see. Light feathery touches that made Willow come out in goosebumps, wanting more.

Tara's warm hands were circling her breasts now, and Tara's mouth took one small pert breast in one gulp, as if swallowing it. Finally letting the breast go, she held the tip of one nipple between her teeth and flicked it with her tongue, and Willow shuddered at the sensation. Tara repeated at the other nipple and Willow's goosebumps spread all over her body.

"Cold?" Tara asked.

"No."

"Sure?"

"Yes."

"Turn over."

Willow obeyed and lay on her stomach. Tara started her slow journey down Willow's back, alternately planting kisses and brushing lightly with the tips of her fingers. Soon she knelt by the bed and had eased Willow's legs wide open. Beginning at a spot inside Willow's knee, she kissed her way slowly up the back of the thigh. Willow's breathing became shorter and she found herself whimpering at each kiss.

Willow was afraid that Tara would tease her endlessly until she was a limp puppet, but this was not the case. Tara's kisses had reached her sex and she lightly traced one finger around the closed lips. Tara kissed the swollen tip of Willow's clit, steady tapping movements that set fire to Willow's nerve endings. Willow was having a hard time maintaining her composure, all she wanted was to scream loudly and open her legs as wide as she could.

Sure fingers lightly traced around her entrance, close but not venturing inside. Tara kissed there twice and then Willow gasped as she felt two fingers push in slickly, and her hips shot uncontrollably up in the air.

"More," she gasped. "Please, Tara, more."

The next pass, Tara had three fingers inside, opening her lover up, filling her completely. Willow clutched at the pillows as Tara drove in continually, a long drawn-out rasp escaping as she moved harder against Tara's fingers.

Tara's other hand reached down to grasp her hard clit, rolling it between her fingers like a marble. She pinched it tight, stopped the movement, and Willow had to suppress a scream of agony at the prolonged pressure.

When Tara's hands started moving again, they did so with even harsher pressure, pounding into Willow, twisting her clit, and adding kisses along Willow's back. In no time, it was too much for Willow and she thrashed uncontrollably as she came very hard against Tara's hands. Her orgasm surging relentlessly amidst shuddering that seemed to propel her off the bed so that not even Tara could hold her still.

When finally she was spent, all she could do was to sprawl on the bed while Tara extricated her hands and began to lap up the sweet nectar.

"Will, are you with me?" Tara asked as she climbed up, pulled the duvet over them and held Willow tight.

"Hmm, I'd ask you for seconds, but I don't think I have the energy," the very drowsy redhead replied.

"We have plenty of time, it's only the beginning of our vacation," Tara said softly, kissing the back of Willow's neck lovingly.

Willow managed to turn herself over to face her lover. She kissed her deeply, savoring her own taste on Tara's tongue.

"I can't believe it, it's only our first day," she agreed. "Happy Pre-Christmas vacation, Baby."

"I know. Happy Pre-Holiday vacation, Sweetie," Tara said.

They had another two weeks of this. There was so much to look forward to.

*****

The End