I never published this story. Never even tried. But when my friends challenged me to do a Doctor Who bodice-ripper, how could I resist? They were amused. Hope you will be too.

Doctor in Distress

by K.A. Hughes

The pondwater sparkled in the morning sunshine, concentric circles caused by the droplets of water that fell linto it rippling off toward its edges. Fiona was washing her hair, no small feat with such hair. She gave it a shake, sending red-gold spikes flying in all directions, then combed through them gently with her fingers. With a sigh, she sat back to let it dry in the sun. The hair would find its own design. It always did. She was sure the effect would be flattering. It always was.

Idly, the woman glanced down at her reflection in the pond. This was one of her favorite pastimes. What she saw pleased her and she took inventory: fair skin, deep, wide-set, amber eyes framed with luxurious lashes, a pert, little nose, a fine, generous mouth, and a small, dimpled chin. Crowned with waist-length, coppery tresses, the effect was dazzling, a fact Fiona knew well. Smiling, she leaned closer to appraise the rest. Her slender, swan-like neck melted into creamy shoulders from which swelled a ripe bosom. Below, a tiny waist flared to rounded hips and trim legs. In all, a well-put-together package, she decided. Fit for a king.

Fiona sighed again and watched the effect. What a waste to cover it all, but she did, shimmying into the soft chemise and kirtle. She slid the bodice down on her shoulders, thought a moment and inched it lower. It would do. Fiona had been on the road since early yesterday with only the clothes on her back, a dangerous position for a beautiful, young woman. The woods were alive with brigands and bandits who would gladly take advantage of a tender morsel such as she. The thought of such treatment caused a breath to catch in Fiona's throat. A hand flew to her bosom in dismay, where it deftly unbuttoned another button for maximum effect. A woman should not be without a protector. She had been so since yesterday when her husband had thrown her out for toying with the stableboy. Such a temper! She shivered at the memory. At least she had escaped with her life, more than she could say for the unfortunate stableboy!

"Pity," she thought. "Such a waste of a comely thigh."

Hair drying nicely, Fiona stretched back into the most advantageous pose, arranging her skirts artfully. She lifted her head slightly, listening. Could that be a rider approaching? Blessed with acute senses, she smiled, just as tall, burly man broke through the trees and dismounted by the pond, dropping the reins for the horse to drink.

"Ooo," squeeled Fiona.

"Ahh," crooned the ruffian, licking his lips. "What have we here?" He rubbed his filthy hands in glee.

"Please, sir, began Fiona fetchingly, "abuse me not. I am but a poor outcast with no home or family to shelter me." She batted the luxurious lashes expertly, dropped her chin and her pitch, and looked up at him.

"Well, now, we'll see about that." The ruffian fell to his knees beside her, reaching for the ripe fruit. Fiona made small, protesting sounds as she leaned toward him.

"I'll shelter you, wench," he chuckled, unbuckling his belt.

"Nay, sir, please don't molest me," she cried, pushing her sleeves farther down her shoulders.

At that moment, a wheezing filled the glade, disturbing the assault, and an odd, blue box appeared as if by magic. Fiona and the ruffian paused in mid grope and stared as a tall, white-haired man in a satin cloak stepped from the door. He stood, arms akimbo and surveyed the scene. Fiona, quick to sum up the possibilities, and the cut of the cloak, promptly screamed with all her considerable might.

"Help sir! Rape!"

The ruffian looked even more startled at this turn of events and rose, pants falling to half-mast.

"Tain't no rape, your lordship," he protested. "She..."

"You villain," the man countered, taking in the ruffian's disheveled appearance as well as Fiona's distress. "I'll teach you to take advantage of an innocent girl." Fiona whimpered even louder. The gentleman sank into a peculiar, crouching stance, ready to give the man a sound trashing, but the brute yanked up his pants, bolted onto his horse and was off into the forest.

"Oh thank you, sir," the woman sobbed, clutching her blouse, not too tightly, to her near-naked breasts. "If you had not appeared, I surely would have been lost." Fiona sobbed louder for effect.

"Here, child, you're all right now." He handed her an immaculate handerkerchief, at which she took a long, careful look before she blew her nose. He gallantly turned his back, giving her time to repair the damage to her dress. "What is your name?"

"Fiona MacDougal MacMurray, sir, of Clan MacDingel-MacDougal," she answered proudly.

"I am the Doctor," he announced.

She dropped a smart curtsey, bobbing prettily, and smiled as the Doctor cleared his throat.

"Perhaps I should take you home now."

The statement brought a further storm. "But I have no home," she sobbed. "My husband has cast me aside and I have no where to go." With a sniffle she stopped. Her eyes were actually beginning to tear, and that always left them appallingly red.

"What about your family? Won't they take you back?"

"And disgrace my father?" she cried. "I could never do such a thing. My duty as a daughter was to marry MacMurray and save the family fortune. I have done so and now he no longer wants me. He says I'm too old." The sobs degenerated into wails, distressing the Doctor further.

"Here, here, stop that now. I'll see you are cared for. Certainly can't leave you here," he added to himself. "Come with me."

The Doctor led Fiona to the door of the TARDIS, where she balked, looking to him for reassurance. He smiled kindly, and with a shrug, she entered. Once inside, her mouth dropped and she spun to take it all in.

"But it's..."

"Yes, I know," he said wearily.

"What is it, then? A magic box?" she marvelled, running a slim-fingered hand across the console panel. He gently pulled her hand away before she sent them both up in a puff of smoke.

"It's a machine for travel. Now where would you like to go? London? Paris?"

"I shouldn't like to go anywhere. I should just like to stay here with you in this marvellous machine," she answered, wide-eyed, tipping her chin and glancing up at him coyly. The Doctor cleared his throat.

"Yes, well, we'll see, but first, are you hungry?"

"Oh yes, sir!" she cried. "My lips have not tasted food for days. In fact, I feel quite faint." Fiona fluttered a hand to her forehead and rolled her eyes upward. Actually she had eaten a hearty breakfast for which she had paid quite well. Fiona stifled a burp.

"Here now, none of that," the Doctor said, taking her arm and leading her from the room. She leaned against him, expertly appraising the costly material of the velvet sleeve in her grasp.

"A hearty enough appetite," the Doctor observed as he watched Fiona devour a second roast beef sandwich. He leaned against the counter, his eyes never leaving the captivating creature. A fine figure of a woman, he decided. "Had enough?" he asked as she wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

"Oh yes, sir." She smiled demurely, dropping her eyes. "But now I yearn for something to top off the feast."

"Well." the Doctor shuffled through a cabinet as she rose from her chair and started toward him. "I'm sure there's something..."

"I can think of something I'd like," Fiona cooed, reaching for his shoulder and pulling him to her. She planted a long kiss on his lips, running her fingers through the elegant white curls. The Doctor clutched the counter top, then almost involuntarily let go. Fiona laughed and released him.

"I'd like to show my gratitude for your rescue. Have you a more comfortable place?" she asked innocently unlacing her bodice.

"Um, um, yes," the Doctor croaked. "Yes, I think we can find somewhere more appropriate." He started for the galley door, throwing a backward glance at Fiona who twisted a lock of her coppery hair and smile seductively. He led her through the corridors to a cramped, cluttered room, the centerpiece of which was a large, antique bed.

"Ah lovely," Fiona sighed, dropping her kirtle to the floor. "Come, Doctor, don't be shy." All trace of shyness had certainly disappeared on Fiona's part. "Come now, love," she purred, pushing him back among the pillows and straddling him. "There's a good boy."

Hours later, the Doctor lay exhausted across the bed. Muscles he had not used for decades reintroduced themselves. He groaned.

"Ready for another go?" Fiona asked casually. She wandered idly around the room, picking up and examining a curiosity here, a book there. Still naked, she wore on her head an old sealskin hat as she bent to poke through a carton with the bell of an old recorder. For a wealthy bloke, she saw little evidence of gold or jewels here. This was not going as planned. The amber eyes widened and the generous mouth gathered into a pout as she kicked at a pile of old clothes.

"Doctor, darling," I've given you all I have to give. You surely wouldn't begrudge a poor girl a trinket or two?" She smiled winningly.

"I could and I will!" he snapped, embarrassed and disgusted with himself for his weakness. He rose from the bed, tugged the sheet around him like Romans of old and groaned again as his back popped. "Get dressed. You're going home!"

Again the amber eyes widened, this time in panic at the thought of lost opportunity. Quickly she summoned her best tears. Red eyes be damned.

"Oh, no, Doctor, please. You wouldn't, you couldn't leave me to return disgraced to my family, or worse alone and at the mercy of brigands and scoundrels? Don't you remember how you found me?" Fiona drew her shoulder blades together to prompt his memory.

"Oh, yes, I remember," he sighed wryly. "Pity the poor brigands." he picked up his clothes and headed for the shower. "Get dressed! And put that silver cigarette box where you found it."

"And leave me disgraced without even a piece of finery for my trouble?" she wailed.

The Doctor paused in the doorway and then turned. "My dear. That was no trouble for you at all."

The silver box bounced off the closed door.

Moments later they emerged into the console room, he nattily dressed and she pushed before him, sobbing bitterly. This was absolutely not going as planned. The man was a brute, unworthy of her charms, and she glared at him to let him know of her contempt. Shaking his head wearily, the Doctor gave her a push.

"Not a word!" he commanded as he pressed the release for the door. There was menace in his eyes and she obeyed. And sulked. Through the open door, Fiona once again glimpsed the pretty, little glade where they had met the day before. Now, however, it was no longer deserted. Men and horses filled her view, foremost among which stood a giant of a man: MacMurray, the wronged husband.

"Ian!" Fiona shrieked. "My darling, save me, for I have been bewitched and my honor ruined by this vile wizard. I am so ashamed!" Fiona struck a dramatic pose, letting the long hair tumble forward across her tragic face. She shot a look of terror in the Doctor's direction and ran into her husband's outstretched arms.

The sinewy biceps closed around her in protection. "Forgive me, my dear. I should have known you would never be willingly unfaithful to me," he rumbled into the cascade of copper curls. "I shall dispatch him for ye' at once, for I cannot live without ye'." To the Doctor he roared, "Defend yourself, knave!"

MacMurray advanced on the TARDIS, sword drawn and eyes burning. Behind him, Fiona's face shone with triumph. The Doctor took a step backwards, nearly stumbling over the threshold and disappeared inside.

"So much for chivalry," the occupants of the glade heard as the TARDIS disappeared.

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