Chapter 5
Shaw sat on the edge of the bed and stretched, careful to avoid the sore ribs and bruises from yesterday’s encounter. As he angled his head to crack his neck, he caught sight of the woman stretched out on the bed next to him. Riona. No, Ri. She preferred Ri, or she wouldn’t have introduced herself as Ri. An unusual name for an unusual woman. Yet even her strangeness intrigued him. Shaw let his eyes drift over her sleeping form, illuminated by the embers of the dying fire and by the candle he had just lit on the end table next to him. She was laying on her side, arms curled towards her chest and knees pulled in close. A protective position, self-comforting.
He had heard her beginning to whimper towards the wee hours, and remembered being confused by the strong urge to comfort and protect. He had thought better of that soon enough. Her threat in the Great Hall, he knew, was not to be taken lightly, but he had not realized how serious she had been. He rubbed at his jaw, still a little tender from her wild swing. Even sleeping, the woman was an excellent fighter. So, instead of attempting to hold her, he simply lay as close to her as he dared, whispering words of comfort and strength. She seemed to calm at the sound of his voice, and soon drifted into a peaceful slumber.
Although she had shed the trews, she still wore his shirt as she slept next to him, the laces still opened wider than was probably modest. Upon seeing her in the great hall, multiple emotions had shot through him at once: relief that she was awake and well after near twelve hours of sleeping like the dead, shock at what she was wearing, arousal at what she was wearing, a possessive rage that every one of his men was ogling her, and pleasant surprise and pride at how well she had handled the situation. It had taken all of his self-control not to forcibly remove her from the Hall, and from all of the unwelcome eyes. Now, seeing her in his clothing, sleeping peacefully in his bed, a rumble of satisfaction echoed through Shaw’s chest.
Ri stirred, opening her mouth to take in a small, delicate breath. A lock of hair slipped from behind her ear and fell across her pert little nose. Even the twinge in Shaw’s jaw could not suede him from reaching out to tuck the hair back. When she did not immediately reach out to slap him, Shaw allowed his hand to linger, brushing his thumb across her soft lip, his fingers trailing down the velvety skin of her cheek and neck. Ri let out a breathy noise, not a moan, but not a sigh either. Entranced, Shaw continued, cupping the dainty curve of her shoulder, still covered by his shirt, rubbing gently at her ribs, careful to avoid her stitches. His knuckles skimmed the flare of her hip.
Shaw grunted as he was suddenly, and very forcefully, flipped onto his stomach, his arm twisted up behind his back. Two toned legs pinned his lower abdomen to the feather mattress, and a firm buttocks, unfortunately covered by the tails of his shirt, settled over his own. He knew, without even struggling, that short of falling off of the bed, the edge of which was a good distance away, she had him completely at her mercy.
“What did I tell you?” There was a smile in her voice. She had leaned close to murmur in his ear and he could feel the laces of his shirt tickling his back. Whatever she did to him, he decided, was well worth this.
“Not nearly enough,” Shaw chose not to answer. “Ye failed tae mention where ye might have learned such skills, My Lady.” She was silent for a moment, then, as quickly as he had been trapped, she let him free, climbing gracefully over him and off of the bed.
“I’m not a lady,” the teasing was gone from her voice, and the harshness of her words made Shaw frown as he sat up.
“Yer nay a lass?” He attempted to put the mischievous light back in her eye.
“I am female,” Ri refused to bite, “but I am no Lady. And you are no simple Logan.” She folded her arms, framing her lovely breasts, flattened as they were beneath her bandages, in a most appealing way, and leaned against the window frame. Shaw was fully aware of his state of complete undress, knew his stirring cock was being openly displayed as he leaned back on his hands. He also knew that despite her refusal to look anywhere other than his face, Ri could very clearly see the effect she was having on him. And the fact that she did not seem to be offended or flustered both intrigued and disappointed him.
“No Logan is simple.” Shaw feigned insult.
“You know what I mean,”
“Aye, I do,” he chuckled. “Laird Shaw Logan, at yer service.”
“Wolf?” Ri was inquiring as to the origin of the name.
“A story for another time,” Shaw sobered. “I am needed soon in the training yard.” He approached her, expecting her to scurry out of the way. Ri did not even flinch as he drew close, and Shaw was almost tempted to lean into her, using his arms to block her in, just to see how she would react. Instead, he allowed his face and chest to lean in closer than was probably comfortable as he bent to pull a fresh pair of trews from their chest.
“You’re trying to make me flinch,” Ri, as delicate and fragile as she seemed, was no little woman. Even so, as tall as she was, Shaw was well over a foot taller. Bending like this brought his face mere inches from hers, close enough that he could kiss those pillowed lips if he wanted to. And Lord have mercy, did he want to. “You should know, when I flinch, someone tends to lose a few teeth. Noses get broken, as well as a few bones . . . you get the picture.” One of her hands came up and, very roughly, almost more of several small slaps, patted Shaw on the cheek. Shaw felt his blood rise, excited that his strange woman had the nerve to stand up to him like this, but also very angry that she was treating him like a child. His curiosity overrode his anger, and he allowed her to continue. “Laird or no,” she gripped his jaw and angled his head to look him in the eye, “make one wrong move, and you will regret it. I am very appreciative of the help and hospitality, but I will not hesitate to correct you should you step out of line.”
“I could have you executed for such a threat.” Shaw gripped her wrist and pinned it to the wall next to her head. She did not resist him, and he brought his other hand up and planted it against the wall next to her head.
“But you won’t.” She was very confident in her statement.
“I will nay have ye undermine my authority.”
“I have no intention of doing any such thing. Which is why I have not protested the room assignments, nor insisted that we will be leaving when I know very well that you have no intention of letting us go anytime soon. But I am not above protecting myself and my companions from unwanted attention.” Shaw blinked at her steeled words.
“You shall come tae no harm while on my lands. I will nay allow it.”
“I don’t know you well enough to trust your word.” Ri spoke matter-of-factly. Shaw was saddened by her lack of trust. Not that she was wrong to be cautious, even of Lairds, but because he knew what it would have taken to make her so suspicious.
“What happened tae ye, lass?” He released her wrist in favor of cupping her cheek. She did flinch at this, her eyes refusing to meet his. Shaw felt the familiar anger burning his throat, this time accompanied by the protective urge clawing at his chest. This time, it was his turn to take her jaw, gently, and turn her head to look at him. “Yer safe here, Ri. Ye shall nay be harmed as long as you are under my protection.” And Shaw had no intention of lifting that protection. Ever.
“The sun will be up in an hour or two,” Ri pointed out. “We should get going.”
“We?” Shaw took her arm as she pulled away from him. She twisted out of his grip and slipped out of the bedroom door. “Ri!” Shaw hissed, grabbing the trews he had been reaching for and yanking them on. He hurried out the door and down the stairs after her. “Ri!” A few of his men sat in the Great Hall, their facial expressions stunned. They jumped at Shaw’s bark of, “Where?” Their arms snapped up, almost as one, and pointed towards the kitchens. There, Shaw found the cook, his mouth agape, whose only answer was to wobble his head in the direction of the back door, leading out towards the gardens and, beyond, the training yard and armory.
The training yard was yet abandoned. Unusual, as Shaw usually started training around this time. Small footprints lead into the armory, soft shuffling noises indicating there was someone inside.
“Ri,” Shaw growled, rounding the doorway. “What are ye doing!?” The smell of singed flesh filled his nostrils as he rushed forward, snatching the red hot poker from Ri’s hand. But the damage was done. A dagger, its tip partially smeared with blood, and a long string of red soaked thread was all that remained of her stitches. What was once a sizable slice in her belly was now a long, molted scar, turning an angry red from the heat of the poker. But the wound was closed.
“Now I don’t have to worry about ripping them open,” her face remained impassive, betraying no hint of pain. Shaw gaped at her, incredulous, only now noticing that she had pulled on a pair of the smallest trews from the folded stack in the corner. The ones she had chosen were usually worn by Hubert, a young, unusually thin lad just shy of thirteen who was apprenticing with their horse master.
“Where did ye get the poker?” Shaw could have kicked himself for the dumb question that slipped out while he was distracted with the way she had taken the bandages meant to hold the stitches and wound them around her breasts. Not to bind them down, but more to support them. Very fetchingly, he might add. He was mesmerized by the swell this caused as well as the very enticing cleft that had been produced.
“The cook had left it stuck in the fire. I don’t think he actually noticed that I took it.” Ri had discarded his shirt and was pulling on one more fitting to her size. Shaw was almost disappointed at the change. He tried to shake of the fog that had settled over his mind.
“Why in God’s name would ye do that tae yerself?” He demanded. “And why do ye insist on wearing men’s clothing? Ye shall have gown of yer own afore the day is out, mark my words.”
“And despite the lovely gesture, it will do you no good. I will not wear them.”
“Why not?” Shaw scowled at her tone of finality.
“Why do you wear pants, instead of the kilts I’ve seen on every other man?” Ri shot back, raising both eyebrows over eyes Shaw could have drowned in as easily as the ocean.
“Because I dinnae enjoy the feel of the morning breeze whistling along my crack as I move,” Shaw folded his arms, failing to see what this had to do with anything.
“Similarly, I do not feel comfortable allowing a long skirt and laced bosoms to dictate the range of my movements.” She spoke as though informing him that the sky was blue. “If I cannot swing my legs freely, or bend and twist as I want, then how am I going to fight?”
“Ye do not have tae fight. Yer safe within these walls.”
“So are you,” Ri pointed out, “and yet you couldn’t wait to get out to the training yard this morning.”
“Aye, but I am a man, and the chieftain of my clan. Tis my duty tae protect all within my care, which includes remaining fit and ready for battle.”
“And the two people taking up your guest rooms are under my care, which includes me in the training.”
“Yer all under my care, now.” Shaw was beginning to get irritated. “Ye dinnae have tae look after them, nor do ye have tae train nor fight.” Surely even a woman could not refute that argument.
“Let me ask you something, Shaw.” The way she looked at him made Shaw want to take a cautionary step back. But he didn’t. “If you were out travelling, possibly selling your sword, and you came across someone being beaten, you’d lend a hand, wouldn’t you?”
“Aye,” Shaw said slowly. “But –”
“And if you were injured while rendering said aid, and the person you helped took you back to their home and fixed you up, wouldn’t you be grateful but not completely trusting due to the fact that you did not actually know this person?”
“Aye, but –”
“And if that person told you that you couldn’t leave their home for quite some time and had several big, muscled men to make sure you can’t leave without permission, and then that person proceeded to tell you that you, a trained, seasoned warrior, that for the entirety of your stay with them, you are only allowed to wear a bunch of heavy woolen blankets wrapped around you so that you can’t walk without having to kick your ankles free with each step, and that you are expected to sit still all day poke a sharp sliver of metal on a string through a piece of fabric all day wouldn’t you take offense?”
“I – . . .” Shaw stopped. She had a valid point. He would be upset. Any warrior would be. And from the way she had fought the day before, there was no doubt that Ri Willow was a warrior. “But yer a –”
“DON’T say woman,” Ri held up her hand, her scowl dark, her voice fierce. “Just because I am a woman, does not mean that I can’t take care of myself, does not mean that I can’t learn how to fight, does not mean that I am any more helpless than you are, and it does not mean that I am any less of a warrior than any you have ever fought with.” She did not shout nor did she raise her voice any higher than a normal speaking tone. But every word was like a knife she spoke so sharply. Shaw grimaced. He’d sensed that he’d messed up in some way.
“As I said before,” Ri continued, “I have no intention of undermining your authority. But neither will I stoop to sitting quietly in a room and being as useless as a glass hammer. If you don’t want me working with your men, that’s fine. I have no problem training on my own. But I have every right to keep my skills sharp, and that is exactly what I will be doing during my stay here. So, if you would like me to do so away from your castle and your men, away from where your people might see, just let me know. Do we have an agreement?”
Shaw blinked. The cloiche on this woman. He had had his men whipped for similar impertinence. Even they had known their mistake as they were in the process of making it and had shrunk away as soon as the words left their lips. But this woman stood tall and strong, her chin thrust forward in challenge. She did not display any indication of aggression, but she certainly was not backing down. She was spirited and strong. And Shaw liked it. This might be fun . . .
“My men seem to be running late,” he could not help the grin that quirked his lips. “Mayhap ye’ll teach me some of yer tricks?”
~~~
Cloiche means testicles in Scottish Gaelic. I hope.