Lady Catherine and her maid trotted their horses through the mist which enveloped the Phoenix Park. She rode with the poise demanded of the Anglo-Irish aristocracy. Despite the brutal murder of Lord Frederick Cavendish, the British Cabinet minister with responsibility for Irish affairs and his chief civil servant, Thomas Henry Burke only a few months previously in the summer of 1882, Lady Catherine was not afraid. She had ridden her horse through the Park every day for the past five years and no Fenians were going to stop her. 

She had been left a sizeable fortune when her father, the 16th Duke of Westford had died in a duel. Her mother had died during childbirth and she and her brother had grown up in the large rambling house with an absentee father, raised by a nanny and a succession of housekeepers. Her brother inherited the title and the lands in County Laois while she preferred to remain independent, living in her late father’s Dublin residence.

At the age of twenty-five, she was aware that society expected her to marry. A woman could not be independently wealthy, but as long as she was the ward of her brother, it was acceptable for things to carry on as they were. Lady Catherine had absolutely no intention of marrying. Her proclivities lay in the opposite direction.

Once back in her house overlooking St Stephen’s Green, her maid, Jayne carefully removed her Ladyship’s riding cloak and hat. Catherine shook out her long dark tresses and unbuttoned the fastener at the top of her blouse. 

“I will take a sherry in the drawing-room, Jayne,” she ordered as she walked off, pulling the blouse out of the waistband of her skirt. When Jayne entered a few minutes later, Lady Catherine was sprawled on the divan chair, with the bodice unbuttoned, her firm breasts and red nipples uncovered and her skirt pulled up around her hips.

Without a word, Jayne placed the glass of sherry on the occasional table by her Lady’s side and dropped to her knees. As Catherine sipped at the sherry and moaned appreciatively, Jayne dragged her fingers up the woman’s thighs. She pulled down the silk undergarments and greedily ran her tongue around Catherine’s dripping pussy. 

Horse riding always made her Ladyship horny. She’d told Jayne once that if the world only consisted of women and horses, she’d be happy. Jayne rolled her tongue around Catherine’s clit as she ran her fingers through the generous tuft of dark almost black curls. They contrasted so beautifully against her pale porcelain white skin. The dark pink of her flower opened for Jayne as she smeared her thumbs over the lips and the maid could see the rivulets of white creamy juices oozing out of her already. She lapped and licked, thrusting her tongue inside like a tiny cock while Catherine gripped Jayne’s short blonde hair hard and pulled her in deeper. 

Jayne rhythmically sucked and licked, knowing her Ladyship was close. With a strangled cry, Catherine arched her back and squeezed her thighs around Jayne’s head. Jayne felt her hair being pulled out by the roots as her face was pulled in deeper. Finally, when Catherine had stopped spasming on the chair, she opened her thighs and Jayne dropped back onto her heels.

Jayne licked her lips, stood up, curtseyed and asked if that would be all. Catherine dismissed the girl with a wave of her hand and took another swig of the sherry. 

‘It was so unfair,’ Catherine thought. ‘If she was a man, she could go to her club now, spend the evening drinking and gambling, then go to the house of her mistress and be back home for breakfast and everyone would look at her as a pillar of the community. Instead, she had to skulk around, always wary of visitors. She was a strong believer in female suffrage and had been enchanted by the thought of votes for women but had been dismayed by the lack of progress. She thought there must be something more effective than writing letters. She had great hopes in Emily Pankhurst who was just starting to make waves in London.

She was just mulling this point when Jayne entered to inform her that Lord Rotherham had called to visit. While Catherine swore, Jayne helped her get dressed again and look presentable.

Lord Rotherham was an old friend of her father, the 15th Duke of Westford and had made his feelings towards Catherine clear on more than one occasion. The thought of his greasy, slimy hand pawing under her skirt was a feeling she never wanted to experience again.

She opened the silver cigarette case and had just taken the first sweet drag when Lord Rotherham waddled breathlessly into the room. The man reminded her so much of a pig. The spare rolls of flab around his neck were a precursor to the larger rolls around his belly and thighs. The straining buttons on his waistcoat bore testimony of that.

“You really shouldn’t smoke, Catherine,” he panted breathlessly. “It’s very unladylike.”

Catherine arched an eyebrow but bit her tongue. She looked at the sheen of sweat on his forehead. While she was wealthy, she knew she would be easy pickings for the likes of Rotherham if her brother wasn’t there to protect her and she knew she didn’t need this man as an enemy.

“I was going to call down and see your brother, the Duke.”

Catherine merely blew a smoke ring rather than question if she had other brothers she didn’t know about that required him to clarify that it was the Duke he was going to see. Instead, she merely nodded and asked his Lordship to pass on her warmest greetings and she hoped she’d see him at the end of season ball next month. Lord Rotherham took her hand and kissed it, his thumb smearing his sweat over her fingers.

“You know Catherine, I was a very good friend of your father’s and I’m sure he would be troubled at the thought of you living here alone in Dublin. I really think you should consider marriage. I’ll talk to your brother about it.”

Catherine felt a cold chill of disgust wrap around her heart as Lord Rotherham bid adieu and left the apartment.

“I hope his carriage bumps the whole blessed journey,” she swore as she looked out the window and watched him climb into the shiny black carriage being pulled by two horses. It usually took around six or seven hours to get to their ancestral estate which was beyond the Pale and was one of the reasons Catherine tried to make the trip home as seldom as possible.

Two days later, she was awoken by a loud banging at the front door and could hear her name being called from outside. She had just pulled on her robe when a flustered Jayne arrived to tell her that there was an urgent message from home. Without bothering to get dressed, she followed Jayne to the drawing-room.

“Lady Catherine, I’m so sorry.”

She recognised the man twisting his cap in apology as Sean, one of the footmen in her brother’s household. When he told her that her brother had been shot and badly wounded in a hunting accident, she clasped her hand to her mouth and staggered backwards into the chair. 

After a stiff drink, she ordered for a carriage to be readied and that she would leave for Laois as soon as it was ready. Jayne departed to pack for the journey while Sean said he would drive the carriage and get Lady Catherine to her brother as quickly as possible.

The journey seemed to take forever. She stared out at the bleak expanse of damp Irish countryside through the window of the carriage. Jayne had tried to engage her in conversation as a means of distracting her from her thoughts but Catherine found herself lapsing back into a brooding silence after only a few minutes.

The sun was almost setting behind the distant hills as they rode through the village near the estate. Catherine knew they were almost home when she recognised the tiny church and the narrow street of houses grouped together.

As they clattered over the bridge, Catherine glanced down at the stream that marked the boundary of the estate. She saw a woman wearing a long grey cloak washing a blood-stained shirt in the water. The woman glanced up as the carriage passed and Catherine found herself staring into the greenest pair of eyes she had ever seen. The woman had a mass of red curls which framed a pale drawn face. They locked eyes for only a second before the woman bowed her head again and continued with her washing. Catherine wondered what had happened to create so much blood as the water around the woman was a vivid red.

She was distracted however as the carriage slowed to a stop. She heard the voices of her brother’s staff poured down the steps from the house to welcome them and to help them unload.

The housekeeper, Mary, was first to greet Catherine as she stepped down from the carriage.

“Oh, my dear Catherine. That we should meet again under such tragic circumstances,” she began before Catherine cut her short.

“He’s not dead, is he?”

“No, my dear, he’s not. Not yet, but best prepare yourself. We fear it’s only a matter of time.”

Catherine nodded and together they walked into the house while Jayne supervised the unloading of the luggage and directed it to their rooms.

Catherine stood in her brother’s room. It was the same room she’d stood in watching her father die. Her brother lay asleep on the bed. He looked pale and drawn. The doctor was not able to give her much more information than Sean had already told her this morning. There had been a shooting accident and he had been shot in the stomach. All they could really do was make him comfortable. Catherine decided she needed a drink and headed to the drawing-room where she knew her brother kept his drinks cabinet.

Lord Rotherham rose from an armchair when he saw Catherine enter the room.

“My dear Catherine. It’s so hard to believe so much has changed in so little time. If there is anything I can do to help, you only have to say the word.”

Catherine found she was too numb to stop him when his fingers caressed her waist as he pressed himself against her. The housemaid, Maeve, interrupted them by bringing her a glass and the decanter of sherry so she sat down on a sofa and watched the crackling fire, staring into the flames. Lord Rotherham was talking in a hushed voice to the doctor who had come into the room and Jayne was discussing arrangements with Mary, the housekeeper. Maeve had picked up the tray and was heading back to the drinks cabinet.

“Tell me,” she asked the room in general as she sipped her sherry. “Was there trouble with the Fenians recently? I saw a washerwoman trying to get bloodstains out of a shirt down at the stream as we entered the estate.”

There was a loud crash and she looked around to see that Maeve had dropped the tray she was carrying and the sherry decanter lay shattered on the floor. She had her hand over her mouth and was shaking. Catherine stood up and took the couple of steps necessary to take hold of her.

“Are you alright? You look like you have seen a ghost.”

The girl was trembling and Catherine waved Lord Rotherham and the doctor away. She led the girl to sit down on the sofa.

Maeve’s voice was barely above a whisper. 

“Did the woman have red hair, Ma’am?” 

Catherine nodded.

“Do you know her? Is she mixed up with the Fenians?”

Maeve slowly shook her head.

“She’s a banshee, Ma’am. She washes the clothes of those who are about to die. Then, once she begins her wailing cry, then the master will die.”

A chill wrapped itself around Catherine’s heart. There must be something they could do. She looked at Rotherham, sure that he had taken a step closer, grinning at the thought of her brother about to die and leave Catherine vulnerable and alone.

“We have to stop her. If she doesn’t cry, then my brother doesn’t die? Yes?”

Maeve looked at the ground and slowly shook her head. 

“You can’t stop her, Ma’am,” she whispered. “She’s not from this realm. She’s a fae. A fairy woman.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Rotherham laughed contemptuously. “There’s no such thing as fairies. It’s all bumpkin and superstition. These potato eaters are just a bunch of unsophisticated savages.”

Maeve’s face coloured but the girl was smart enough not to contradict the oafish Lord. Instead, she bit her tongue and sat meekly by Catherine’s side.

Catherine closed her eyes. Her brother was ten years older than her and she often felt they were living separate lives but he was the only family she had. Despite her scorn of religion, she found her fingers clasped together in prayer as she asked for help.

She opened her eyes, took Maeve’s hand in hers and stood up, pulling the girl up with her. She led her out of the room, away from Rotherham and prying ears.

“Maeve,” she whispered, as she glanced around the hallway to check they were alone. “I’ve got to go and find this banshee woman. I’m going to beg her to let my brother live. Perhaps she will listen to reason. He can’t die. I will be defenceless against Rotherham if he dies.”

“It was Rotherham that shot the Master, Ma’am.” Maeve blushed despite her pale pallor. “We were told not to say anything about it to you.”

With a cold dread, Catherine realised she wasn’t even surprised at his attempt to force himself upon her. The thought made her stomach churn. 

“You have to help me. I need a cloak and a lantern. I have to get to her before she begins this wailing cry.”

Maeve nodded and led her into the scullery. There she found a dark green travelling cloak which Catherine pulled over her red dress. Maeve lit the kerosene lamp and handed it to her.

“Are you sure you know what you are doing Ma’am?”

“No.” she shrugged. “But what else can I do? Don’t tell anyone where I have gone until the morning. Give me time to find this woman and convince her.”

Maeve nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”

It was only once Maeve had shut the kitchen door that Catherine realised just how dark it was. The moon was hidden behind the clouds and Catherine hoped it wouldn’t be too long before there was some moonlight to help her. 

The first leaves of autumn had already fallen as she walked down the drive. The sound of her footsteps was muffled by the rustling of the leaves. She tried to keep the lamp hidden under her cloak so she wouldn’t be spotted if someone happened to glance out of the drawing-room window. 

She checked behind her every minute or so and watched the patch of light from the house grow smaller and smaller as she headed into the darkness. The kerosene lamp threw out a feeble enough glow but it was enough to stop her wandering off the drive and into the trees which surrounded the house and manicured gardens.

At last, she heard the sound of rushing water and knew she must be close to the stream. The woman had been kneeling on some rocks just down from the bridge so Catherine decided that she may as well start her search from there.

The beam of light showed the water splashing as it swept over the rocks but there was no washerwoman or bloodied shirt now. ‘Could she have made it up, imagined it, somehow? Maybe she had been dreaming?’ Catherine thought to herself.

Catherine stood on the spot where the washerwoman had been earlier and looked about. 

She turned this way and that and she pondered where to go. The woman hadn’t gone up the drive as Catherine would have met her so if she was going to approach the house, she must have gone through the trees. Catherine picked her way across the stream using the stepping stones and paused at the entrance to the woods.

It looked even darker in there and the light from the kerosene lamp lit up a tangled undergrowth of brambles and a covering of mosses and lichen. She began to move slowly into the trees. She let her body move in whatever direction seemed easiest and least overgrown and soon had no idea if she was heading towards or away from the house.

She found her mind wandering constantly back to her brother and Rotherham. She felt that if the Banshee took her brother and the alternative was being a bride for Rotherham, she might as well beg the Banshee to take her too.

She heard a rustling in the undergrowth but every time she twirled around, there was nothing there. She had just stepped into a clearing when the moon came out from behind a cloud. The leaves looked almost silver and translucent in the pale moonlight and there, in front of her stood the woman from earlier. 

She had the hood of her long grey travelling cloak up over her head and her face was shrouded in shadow. Catherine swallowed as she slowly approached. The woman raised her head and gazed into her eyes. She reached up and drew the hood back. The mane of long red curls tumbled around her face. Her emerald green eyes sparkled and her pale skin seemed to shine in the moonlight.

Catherine stopped when she was about six feet away from her. The two women studied each other carefully. Catherine could see the hint of a forest green coloured dress underneath the grey cloak. Her feet were hidden in the leaves on the forest floor but she seemed to be about the same height as Catherine as they stood facing each other.

Catherine wondered if she could really be a banshee. She looked so tall and beautiful that Catherine refused to believe she was a fae at all. Perhaps she was the wife or lover of a Fenian rebel after all.

“I… I saw you by the stream earlier. I’m Lady Catherine.” 

Catherine’s voice faltered. It sounded unnaturally loud despite being outdoors.

“I saw you washing the blood from a shirt. Who owned that shirt?”

Catherine thought how crazy this must sound. She expected the woman to laugh or turn and walk away. Instead, she stood, her eyes boring into Catherine. The woman reached up and pulled at the bow fastening her travelling cloak closed. The grey cloak fell in a crumpled heap at her feet. Catherine’s eyes travelled over the dress, admiring the velvet and lace bodice with intricate lace panels sewn into the bodice.

This was no peasant, Catherine thought. This is the dress of a lady, of royalty even. Though Catherine couldn’t help thinking that it looked like a dress from another age, like something from the middle ages. The woman stepped closer and reached forward and took hold of the end of one of the laces holding Catherine’s cloak closed. She gently tugged at it until the knot gave way and Catherine’s cloak also tumbled to the forest floor.

“I know who you are, Lady Catherine.”

The woman’s voice was silken with a soft Irish lilt. She smiled as she saw the confusion on Catherine’s face. Catherine was relieved that the woman spoke in English, having been sent away to England to school, she didn’t have the Gaelic language.

“Then you have me at a disadvantage,” Catherine responded, determined to give this woman as good as she got.

The two women faced each other like equals. Catherine with her dark hair in her red dress with buttoned bodice and the woman with her wild red curls and green velvet dress. The woman slowly walked around Catherine. She held herself with such poise that she seemed to glide. When she was behind Catherine, she leant in and whispered in Catherine’s ear.

“I am Cliodhna, Queen of the faery women, the bean sí.”

Catherine wondered how someone so tall and regal could be a faery. The fairies in the storybooks she had read as a child had always seemed so tiny. She tried to pronounce the woman’s name in her head. Cleena, she thought she’d said. Then she felt the woman’s lips on her neck and a shiver ran through her. The woman’s lips found that sensitive spot just behind Catherine’s ear and she couldn’t stop a whimper escaping her lips.

She closed her eyes for a second and when she opened them again, the woman was standing in front of her.

“Why do you want to save your brother?”

Catherine swallowed.

“How did you know?”

Cliodhna raised an eyebrow as if to say, “why else would you be here?”

“He is my only family and if he is not there to protect me, then I will be taken by an evil man who has shot my brother.”

Cliodhna smiled. Then bit her bottom lip as if she was thinking of what to say next. 

“And what will you offer in return for me saving the life of your brother?”

“Save him? Aren’t you the one who is going to kill him?”

“No, I don’t kill, I merely herald. But please, his time runs short. He totters between this land and the next. If I am not there to guide him with my keening, then he could be lost forever. If he is to be spared, then I must work fast.”

Catherine stared into the deep pools in those emerald green eyes. She wanted nothing more than to swim and drown in them. An image of her and Cliodhna together swam in front of her eyes. She raised her fingers to Cliodhna’s face and gently stroked her cheek.

“I’d give anything,” she whispered before leaning forward and kissing her on the lips. Catherine ran her fingers through Cliodhna’s hair. The red curls entangled and entwined her fingers. Cliodhna thrust her tongue into Catherine’s mouth. The two women’s tongues fought for supremacy. 

Catherine’s hands encircled Cliodhna. One hand caressed the swell of her breast under her green dress, her thumb tracing the laces holding the bodice shut while the other hand slid down her spine and caressed the small of her back.

The Banshee’s fingers unbuttoned the six pearl buttons and Catherine’s bodice fell open. The whalebone corset pressed her breasts upwards and Cliodhna bent her head and ran her tongue along Catherine’s heaving bosom. Her nipples had grown hard and extended and poked over the edge of the corset. Cliodhna flickered her tongue over first one, then the other, teasing them out and kissing them with her lips.

Catherine pulled at the laces of Cliodhna’s dress until it opened and the fabric slithered down over her hips, revealing her naked form. Cliodhna’s hands pushed the bodice off Catherine’s shoulders and down her arms and the whole dress crumpled around Catherine’s ankles. Catherine blushed, standing in the wooded glade in only her bloomers and corset as the now naked Cliodhna’s fingers deftly unfastened the lace ties and the corset opened, exposing Catherine’s breasts and midriff.

Catherine closed her eyes as Cliodhna’s mouth kissed, licked and suckled her breasts. She threw her head back and sighed as the faery Queen’s mouth and fingers sent tremors through her body. Every touch seemed connected to her core. She could feel a tumult in her womb as the woman dragged her tongue along the waistline of her bloomers. With one final tug, the silk bloomers were pulled down over her hips and gathered around her ankles. 

Cliodhna stepped back as if to let them each admire the other's naked form. She nodded approvingly at the long dark hair, the pale skin, the red nipples and the black bush between Catherine’s legs. Cliodhna’s skin seemed almost luminous. The plush triangle of red curls matched the mane of red curls on her head. Her green eyes sparkled as she watched Catherine run her eyes over Cliodhna’s large pale pink nipples.

Catherine stepped closer and taking Cliodhna in her arms, guided her down onto the forest floor. She laid the faery Queen on her back and bathed her body in kisses. Cliodhna’s head rolled from side to side as Catherine’s lips sent shockwave after shockwave to her clit.

Catherine knew this was her only chance to get to Banshee to change her mind and to save her brother and save herself. She dragged her tongue along Cliodhna’s slit, tasting the musky sweet flavour on her tongue. The Banshee’s fingers reached down and stroked Catherine’s hair, pulling on it, pulling her face deeper into the folds of the Banshee’s sex. Catherine’s nose ground against the Banshee’s clit and the aroma of lust filled her nostrils.

As Catherine rolled her tongue into a tube and pushed it inside Cliodhna like a tiny cock, the Banshee arched her back and moaned loudly. Her hands caressed her own breasts as Catherine moved her head in circles, pushing her tongue as deep inside as she could. As she thrust her face into Cliodhna, the Banshee’s howls became louder and louder.

Worried that she might cause the Banshee to cry out with her impending orgasm, she raised her head and climbed her way up Cliodhna’s writhing form. She clamped her mouth to Cliodhna’s face to muffle any screams that might escape as she ground her pussy against Cliodhna. 

The two women writhed, conjoined, their curls matted and slick with each other's juice. They locked eyes as Catherine kept her mouth clamped to Cliodhna, determined not to let a sound escape. She humped her. Her clit and pussy rubbed against the faery Queen. She fucked Cliodhna, tribbing her as their pussies rubbed together. 

Despite the chill air and the strands of mist that swirled over their naked bodies, their bodies shone with sweat. 

Catherine broke the kiss and gazed into Cliodhna’s eyes.

“Will you let my brother live?” she gasped. Her body shuddered as she teetered on the edge.

Cliodhna’s lips twisted in a sneer. 

“Is that the best you can do?”

Catherine responded by bending her head to take the woman’s nipple between her teeth and tug on it as she slammed her pubis against Cliodhna’s clit. The sensations proved too much and as Ciodhna bucked and writhed beneath her, Catherine clamped her hand over Ciodhna’s mouth to smother the scream she knew was coming. She could feel the orgasm building, about to crash over them both. In a frenzy, the women clung to and pawed at each other as they bit and kissed each others’ flesh. They rolled on the earth, hands clawing at buttocks and spines as they pressed themselves, writhing against each other as their juices mingled. 

Finally, Catherine slumped exhausted on the ground, with Cliodhna draped on top of her. In the silence that followed, both women panted, drawing in lungfuls of oxygen as aftershocks ripped through them both.

After what seemed like an eternity, Cliodhna raised her head from Catherine’s chest and gazed into her eyes.

“You said you would do anything. Will you come and join me in my kingdom? Join me in the land under the hill.”

Catherine swallowed as she let the offer sink in. To accept would mean she would never see her brother again but if she refused, Cliodhna would begin the keening and call her brother to the afterlife. Without him, she would be preyed on by the likes of Rotherham. She may as well be dead. She leant in and kissed Cliodhna again.

“Does this answer your question?” she giggled as she wrapped her arms and legs around  Cliodhna. Slowly the two women sank into the leaves and moss.

The next morning, the frenzied search party scoured the grounds of the estate. Catherine’s brother had miraculously recovered overnight and as soon as Maeve had told him that Catherine had headed out into the night to search for the banshee and not returned, he had insisted on getting dressed and leading the search himself. The doctor had forbidden him to leave the house and so he had paced forwards and backwards across the drawing-room while he waited for news.

Finally, there was a knock on the door and Jayne and Sean entered. He rushed towards them, anxiously searching for clues in their expression.

 “I’m sorry, my Lord.” Jayne’s face looked downcast with her eyes red from crying. “We found her clothes in a clearing in the woods but there’s no trace of her. It’s like she’s vanished, Sir.”