Timeless

Chapter Thirteen

Butt naked, straddling the man, doing nothing to cover herself as she glared down at him. They were both breathing hard, anticipatory of what might happen. But that all hinged on her decision. A decision she never got to make.

"My Lord! My Lord!" Evan burst into the tent. And froze, gaping openly in surprise. Ri clapped her hands over her breasts. Shaw pulled her down, flattening her on top of him, and threw the heavy fur pelt (thair blanket) over the top of her, covering everything below her eyes.

"To me, Lad. State your business quickly. And pray the gods help you if you look to her as you do so." Shaw snarled. The boy stammered for a moment, then Donahue leaned in, looking exasperated.

"A survivor's washed up. Ye'll want tae see this. Both of ye." With that, he grabbed his son by the collar and hauled him out.

"I can understand Hubert being a little tongue tied around me," Ri huffed, blowing a lock of hair out of her face. "But Evan's old enough to have had sex. Surely a naked woman isn't that much of a shock." Shaw chuckled at that, kissing her quickly before slipping out of the cot and beginning to dress.

"Men are animals, especially when it comes tae sex. A naked woman is prey to a predator who's starved beyond belief, no matter how recently he's eaten. Move too quickly, and ye spook her." He tossed Ri her clothes, dry, but still smelling of the seaweed she'd camouflaged herself with. "In short, every naked woman is a shock, a good one. No matter how often ye see it."

"That's gratifying, I guess." Ri dressed hurriedly under the pelt. As gratifying as it was, she didn't plan on giving him more of a show than he'd had. Shaw handed her a dirk, a new development which she chose not to comment on, and she strapped it to her hip before he lead her out into the camp.

It was midday. The remains of the wreckage could still be seen, broken and splintered bits jutting out of the water surrounded by floating, charred debris. When Ri stepped out into the sunlight, she drew a few stares and whispers, but the majority of attention was focused on a cluster of men on the beach, staring down at something. Or someone, presumably. The survivor.

"What happened?" Shaw barked to Donahue who was following them. Evan had stayed behind at the camp.

"A man washed up on the beach a while ago. Ye need tae see this." Was all the man would say.

"Move aside," Shaw had to push his way through the group standing around the survivor, muttering fervently. When Shaw finally broke through enough to see, he froze. Ri was caught behind him, without a clear line of sight. All she could do was wait.

"I'm guessing this is yer doing?" Shaw looked back at her, deadpanned. He stepped aside, and Ri saw what all of the commotion was about.

There was Fergus, still gagged, still bound to the chair, his pants around his knees with the cheese knife still stuck fast through his sack and into the seat of the chair. He was alive, alright, soaked through, shivering, and covered in sand and seaweed. Ri smirked at his glaring eyes and his muffled, she assumed, curses.

"He floated on the chair?" She observed one of the larger pieces of driftwood still being beaten by incoming waves. The only way he could've survived was if he fell out of the back window and landed on it, then been carried to shore. "Lucky little shit." She grinned at him. His muffled venom renewed in intensity.

"Ye did this." Shaw was looking at her strangely.

"I won't apologize," Ri shrugged. "He deserved it."