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Gypsy Rover

by Denny Wheeler

This story owes its existence to two people--Leo McGuire, about whom more at the end, and the delightful Desideria, who wrote a story ("Snowbound") for me as a gift, and by gentle encouragement persuaded me I could write fiction.

Maeve heard it through the trees--soft singing and whistling that lifted her spirits and drew her further into the greenwood. On this fine spring day, she'd slipped out to gather flowers and herbs, not planning to go far, though being away from home was her preference. But the music was sweet, and she, whose happiness was often small, took joy from it.

Coming where she could overlook a brookside glade from a thicket, she found the source of the music. A dark, lanky man was cleaning his camp, whistling and singing the while. She stayed where she was, watching him at work, listening to his music, and liking what she saw.

Then, after some time, the man spoke, saying, "Whoever you are, you can come out now--I'm safe enough for you."

Maeve stepped back and went around the bush-clump she'd lurked in, and walked down into the glade.

When he saw Maeve, he doffed his cap, bowed mockingly, and said, "Welcome, milady. Have you come far this day?"

"Not but a little way. My father's castle lies just beyond the wood. Your music drew me here, Master Gypsy. Do go on," she said, as she sat herself on a dry rock.

"No gypsy am I, though I'm of the travelin' kind, milady. But it's the music, is it? Very well, then," he said, while sitting down with a small harp. "And what sort of tune would the lady care for this day? Niall am I, and for you I'll play or sing."

Gifting him with a smile, Maeve said, "I am Maeve, and I liked what you whistled and sang before. Is there more like that?"

"Maeve, is it now? And well-named you are, for merely the sight of you could intoxicate a man. As for the music before, why that was just me larkin' about, wasn't it? But sit you there, and I'll sing to you of a man and a maid."

And Niall did sing of courting, and of love, and Maeve did find her heart melting. They talked, and he sang, and the day slipped away, until the sound of church-bells came.

"Och! 'Tis late--I must finish my gathering and return home. Will you be here tomorrow, Master Niall?"

"Why, I've no reason to be leavin' this place yet, do I? If you seek me, me you'll find."

Maeve went off down the path, found some flowers nodding to the brook they grew beside, gathered them and returned to the castle.

As she went about her evening tasks, she thought of Niall, and her thoughts were such as to cause dismay in her father if he'd known. She remembered how his strong fingers caressed the harp's strings, and thought of how those fingers would feel were they touching her. She thought of his music, and how it had touched her heart, while she imagined his hands bringing music from her body. She then thought of the discontented years she'd lived through, and the bleak-looking years ahead.

By the time she'd undressed to her shift and fallen into her goose-feather bed, her mind was consumed by visions of Niall touching her. Slipping her hands under the silken sheets, she pulled up her shift so she could touch herself freely. Her fingers went between her legs, as she imagined Niall's would do, touching, teasing. She stroked the insides of her thighs, thinking of his hands on her, and of his lips on hers. Her breathing quickened and deepened, keeping time with her fingerstrokes. Moving her hands up, she centered her strokes about her woman's place, touching her moist lips and stroking up between them, moving ever more quickly as she neared her release. Allowing a series of small moans to escape her lips, she brought her fingers up around her pearl, which brought her over the top while she envisioned Niall thrusting into her. "Oh, Niall," she hoarsely whispered as the shudders ran through her body.

She slept, and dreamt of a traveling life with the rover.


Next day, Maeve again went to the glade with a light heart--but a heart which was set on a new path. Niall had won her, though he knew it not.

She found him, again whistling, busily curry-combing his horse in the morning sun.

"Good morrow to you, my lady Maeve. It's a welcome sight you are this day, for tomorrow I ride away. Sad I'll be to leave the place you are, but leave I must."

"Leave? Tomorrow?" burst out of Maeve. She ran to him, grasped his hand in both of hers and said, "Take me with you, then. I can't bear to have you go away, and remain here without you."

"Are you certain, my lovely Maeve? Happy I'd be to have you go with me, but you're a lady from a castle--are you ready to ride the day long, and sleep on the ground? For that is what you'll do if you go with me. I've a ways to go these next two days, and no bedding-place save the woodlands will there be."

"I can ride, and I've slept on the ground before, and gladly will I, so it be with you beside me. Will you have me, then? I can bring little out with me save my horse and a bit of clothing."

"Come to me, darlin', and we'll seal the bargain." With that, Niall swept her into his arms for a long, deep kiss that made her heart swell, and was fully all she'd imagined a kiss could be.

When their lips parted, Maeve said, "Oh! My father will seek after me, you know--it's a proud man he is, and not one to let his daughter ride off with a traveling man. Can we evade him?"

"Trust me, my intoxicating lass--I've a trick or two up my sleeve, and some more surprises in store as well. It's nothing you have to fear, I'm thinkin'. So, come out to me in the morning mists, and we'll away from this place. Say nothing to anyone, mind--we do need a bit of a start."

"Oh, Niall--I do trust you, and I need to be with you. You are my heart, and I'll count the moments 'till we leave in the morning. Now kiss me again, and hold me a bit before I return for my last night under Father's roof."

Their embrace lasted longer this time, and the kiss was one in which each promised all there was to give. Most reluctantly they parted, though it was but until the next morning.


Before Maeve went to bed for the last time in her father's house, she picked and chose what she should take with her; she reluctantly left her velvet gown, it being most impractical for traveling in the weather. Even more reluctantly, her boots of Spanish leather--they being really for indoor wear--in favor of her riding-boots and walking-shoes. Having made up her mind, and a smallish pack, she went to bed and slept.


Maeve woke just at the dawning, rose and dressed for traveling. She put on her cloak, and went to the stables to saddle her horse. She gave 'good morning' to her father's stableman, telling him she'd be gone much of the day, visiting her sister in the next valley.

She rode out to Niall's campsite with a light heart and a smile, knowing this was right for her.

Niall was there, waiting, his horse saddled, the camp cleared, the packhorse loaded. "And is it ready to ride you are, intoxicating Maeve? We've a long way to go before this day's done, so let's away."

With that, they rode off, up the stream. As they rode, Niall began to sing, and Maeve whistled a descant to his merry tune.

The day went quickly, and Niall showed a knowledge of the land and all its ways--more than Maeve had ever expected. They covered many miles, yet always seemed to be taking the easiest possible route so to spare their beasts. When they stopped for the midday meal, their singing was often interrupted by a kiss--and both knew the coming night would see them lovers indeed.

After the short rest and their meal of bread and cheese, Niall led them along a narrow valley, following a brook downstream along a gentle slope. The rivulet's course was a windy one, twisting as it did through a series of rock-strewn gullies, above the which they saw forested uplands. Niall told Maeve that late the following day they'd have followed the brook to its end at the River Claydee, but there was a special place soon to be reached, and that would be their resting-place for the night.

Just past midafternoon, they rode round a bend to see the brook joined by another, and the broadened stream re-split into many smaller ones which chuckled around what was almost a village-worth of large stones. Off to one side was a small glen; the music of the water was like none she'd heard before.

"Maeve, it's over there in the glen we'll spend this night. I fell in love with this place even before I did with you, my intoxicating sweet lady," said Niall.

"Oh, Niall--it's beautiful to the eye and to the ear. How could you not love such a place?"

They rode to the glen, dismounted, and made their camp, with their blankets rolled out together on the meadow. Niall built 'a handful of fire' as he called it--only enough to heat water for tea--and they sat by it drinking their tea, and eating their bread, with a small bit of smoked fish that Maeve had brought along. While they ate, they talked of Maeve's life; she told Niall there'd been a fellow with his cap set for her, but he seemed more intent on her father's lands than on her. She being an only child, her husband would likely follow her father as castellan.

As they cleared away after the meal, their paths frequently crossed enough for a quick kiss or small hug; it almost became a dance to the music of the waters, and its steps never took them far apart. Eventually, they came to a stop facing one another, and almost touching.

Maeve took Niall's hand and led him to their bedding place under the trees, saying, "Come lie with me, my love. It's time for us to know love together."

"Lass, right gladly I do agree with you," said Niall as he lay down beside Maeve and kissed her softly. She returned the kiss, and its softness moved to an intensity welcomed by them both.

As they kissed, their hands moved almost on their own--his, to the mounds of her breasts, where their soft touch was as she'd imagined it. Her nipples rose to meet his touch, and a great warmth began to fill her. Her hands found his strong back, stroking as she felt his muscles work. Breaking the kiss for a moment, he pulled off his shirt and breeches, and helped her doff her clothing. "There, my beautiful Maeve, now we're dressed for the occasion, aren't we?" he said.

"Oh, yes we are, you roving man. Now what roving will ye do?"

"Well, I've always been partial to hills and forested valleys, now, haven't I?" he said, lowering his mouth to her breast, and his hand to her thigh. She pulled his head even closer to her and spread her legs so he could reach her fully. He opened his mouth to lick a circle round her nipple while her hand stroked the back of his head. Her breathing became deeper as Niall's tongue centered on her now-erect nipple, still circling it. He sucked the nipple into his mouth, and she felt the warmth center between her thighs.

Her hand found his hardness--oh, how hot it was to her touch! Niall simply moaned over her breast, and he suckled on her nipple even more. His hand moved to her inner thigh, and upward. She reached and pulled that hand to her mound, saying, "Touch me here, Niall. Now." He began to rub her mound gently, while his fingers just brushed her opening lips. She pressed her hips upward into his hand, while she began stroking him, letting her fingertips just touch the head of his cock.

"Ah, yes, my love--that's right," said Niall around her nipple, then he vibrated his tongue on it, humming the while. He felt Maeve's wetness leaking out onto his hand, so parted her lips and stroked between them. Her response to this was to begin a rhythmic movement with her hips, while she stroked his cock more firmly and insistently. Niall moved to her other breast, and repeated the 'circle-suck-vibrate' with his tongue, and began to insert only the tip of his finger into her as he moved between her engorged lips. Each time he did that, she hunched toward his hand, trying to get more of it inside herself.

Niall then began to kiss and lick his way down Maeve's torso, pausing to salute her navel on the way. He moved himself so to reach her with his mouth, and began kissing her inner thighs, always barely missing her lips and clit. She began to writhe and moan--her voice rising in pitch as her arousal became greater and greater. When Niall at last lowered his mouth to her mound and began to kiss and lick around her opening, she pulled his head to her, and her voice went up again. "Oh, my dear Niall--that's so very good! Love me with your mouth, then I want you inside me, please. But while you do me like that, turn so I can get my mouth on YOU, sweet man," she said.

Willingly Niall moved his body to accommodate her wish, but kept his mouth busy on her sex while he moved. She reached out to him and took him in her hand again, guiding his cock to her willing mouth. As she engulfed the head of it with her lips and tongue, he licked her clit, causing her to once again raise the pitch of her moaning, which in turn vibrated his cock most wondrously. He began to stroke into her mouth while he kept licking and nibbling on her lips and clit; they both were now moaning uncontrollably, though her moans had almost reached the level of keening. She released him, saying, "Please--I want you inside me now, my love."

Moving around and over her, Niall lowered his head to kiss his dear lady, which she returned with full feeling. She spread her legs more, raised her knees, and guided him to her opening. As he slowly entered her warm tunnel, she resumed her moaning, and continued to kiss him strongly. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him into herself. "Ah, my dear lovely Maeve, you're feeling so very good to me," said Niall, as he began to move within her, slowly and gently. He kept his movements like that--short, slow strokes, staying almost completely embedded in his dear lady. Maeve squeezed him with her arms, and within herself, moving with him and feeling his love for her along with her rising excitement.

Niall looked down at Maeve's face, which had the loveliest smile he'd ever seen, simply lighting her face, and her eyes shone with love. He kissed her again, and both of them felt the heat of their loving spread throughout their bodies. Maeve began to 'sing' again, her voice rising. Their tongues were nearly as deep in each other's mouths as Niall's cock was in Maeve, and their bodies continued to respond, one to the other. "I love you," they said, almost in unison, just before climax overtook them both and Maeve's keening rose to its highest level, as Niall shot into her, whilst he rumbled out his joyful sounds.

They slowly came back to Earth, kissing and fondling one another--their touching was a needful thing for them both, and they caressed and whispered words of love to one another. Niall wrapped them in the sleeping clothes and furs, saying, "Sleep well, my love. Tomorrow we ride on." And they slept.


The next morning, while Maeve and Niall rode on down the valley, Nicol her father sent for her. The report he got back was simple enough: "She's not to be found, and her bed looks unslept-in." With that, a search of the castle and its immediate grounds was begun--with no success. But one of the gatemen reported that she'd gone down a particular track into the woods two days before. Following down the track, they found where Niall's camp had been. One of the men said he'd seen a gypsy-man in the area two days before, and maybe that's who'd camped there. As they looked more, they saw tracks that matched Maeve's--then signs where the couple had ridden off.

"She's run off with the gypsy, or he's taken her! Fetch my fleetest steed, for I shall hunt him down," cried Nicol. "The rest of you--some return and watch the castle, others go by differing ways to see if you'll cut their path. I'll follow the tracks for as long as they last," he said.

When the groom brought the horse, Nicol sprang into the saddle and rode off, following the traces the couple had left the morning before. But in not too long, he lost the trail in stony places. He continued to ride, now in a pattern which he hoped would cross the tracks he sought. But, as it happened, he never saw the marks left by the lovers' horses, nor did he find his way to the glade of the singing water.

That evening, as he began to think of a camping-place, he came upon a smallholding cut into a clearing. On inquiry, he was told that those he sought hadn't passed that way, but he was welcome to spend the night. As he and the crofter talked, Nicol learned of the lands about, and that there was a large demesne down by the Claydee, and likely some news would be available there.

Come morning, Nicol rode off, following the crofter's words, toward the Claydee and the ford which should lead him to the manor house. As he rode, he began to see signs that he was entering a well-run holding, and evidently not a small one. The path, which in the forest had been almost a game-trail, gradually became a well-defined roadway. Following this, he rounded a bend and saw the river before him, and beyond it, what had to be the home of the lord whose lands these were; a finer mansion Nicol had never seen. Surprised he was, to find such in the lands he'd thought were almost empty.

As he rode down to the fording-place, it was clear there was a watch set; a man-at-arms rode down to wait across the river. Crossing, Nicol gave his name and degree to the waiting man, and described his search. "Sir Nicol, I'll take you to the Great House, where my lord may know somewhat of these matters," said the armsman.

They rode up to the mansion, where a groom came to take Nicol's mount. "Care for him well, mind," said Nicol, "he's borne me on this long search, and I may have more seeking to do ere I turn homeward."

"He's a fine beast, Sir Nicol, and he'll get the best I have," said the groom, as he led the horse off to the stables.

"Do you come this way now, and it's to my lord I'll take you," said the armsman who was guiding him. Accordingly, he followed the man toward, and around, the great house. As they rounded the corner, Nicol could see that behind the house were gardens, both for the eye and for the table. He began to hear music--a man was singing to the small-harp, and sweet the singing was. He cocked an eyebrow at the armsman, who told him, "That'd be my lord--he's a great one for the singing, and won his lady with his voice."

Passing through a gate in a hedge, they came to where the music sounded. Nicol saw a man in gypsy-like garb seated by a table, and he was obviously the singer. The armsman went before, and as his master stopped, announced, "This is Sir Nicol, who seeks his daughter Maeve. She's reported to have run off, or been taken. Either way, there's a gypsy-man involved." Turning to Nicol, he said, "This is Lord Niall, and I'll leave you now."

Nicol was about to address Lord Niall, when he heard a voice he well knew. "Niall, my dearest, did I hear the name 'Nicol' spoken just now?" Turning toward the house, he saw Maeve approaching, with a spring in her step, and a smile on her face.

Nicol looked from one to the other, saying, "Where, then, is the gypsy-man, and how came you to be Lord Niall's lady, Maeve my daughter?"

Niall's grave expression gave way to a hearty laugh, and he gestured to Maeve, as if saying, "You answer him."

"He is no gypsy, my father," she said, "but lord of these lands all over. And I shall stay 'til my dying day with my whistling gypsy rover."


Whistling Gypsy came over the hill,
Down thru the valley so shady;
He whistled and he sang
til the greenwood rang,
And he won the heart of a lady.

A dee do a dee do die day,
A dee do a dee day-o
He whistled and he sang
Til the greenwood rang,
And he won the heart of a lady.

She left her father's castle gate,
she left her fair young lover;
She left her servants
And her estate
to follow the gypsy rover.

A dee do a dee do die day,
A dee do a dee day-o
She left her servants
And her estate
to follow the gypsy rover.

She left behind her velvet gown,
And shoes of Spanish leather;
They whistled and they sang
Till the greenwood rang,
As they rode off together.

A dee do a dee do die day,
A dee do a dee day-o
They whistled and they sang
Till the greenwood rang,
As they rode off together.

Last night she slept on a goose feather bed
With silken sheets for cover;
Tonight she sleeps
On the cold, cold ground
Beside her gypsy lover.

A dee do a dee do die day,
A dee do a dee day-o
Tonight she sleeps
On the cold, cold ground
Beside her gypsy lover.

Her father saddled up his fastest steed
And roamed the valleys all over
Sought his daughter
At great speed
And the whistling gypsy rover.

A dee do a dee do die day,
A dee do a dee day-o
Sought his daughter
At great speed
And the whistling gypsy rover.

He came at last to a mansion fine,
Down by the river Claydee
And there was music
And there was wine,
For the gypsy and his lady.

A dee do a dee do die day,
A dee do a dee day-o
And there was music
And there was wine,
For the gypsy and his lady.

"He is no gypsy, my father" she said
"But lord of these lands all over,
And I shall stay
'til my dying day
With my whistling gypsy rover."

A dee do a dee do die day,
A dee do a dee day-o
And I shall stay
'til my dying day
With my whistling gypsy rover."

The Whistling Gypsy was written by Leo McGuire in Dublin about 1950

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