Chapter 10
"Ye see?" Darrach clapped Shaw on the back, laughing good naturedly. "Tis in the nature o' women tae be dominated. Sometimes ye need tae show them their place, but those always end up being the most fun. A good rough tumble, a firm hand and a stern word and they fall at yer feet."
"I hae na touched her," Shaw mumbled, staring at Ri's retreating back in confusion.
"Then something must be workin'," Darrach slung his arm around his Laird's neck and jostled him. "The Wolf snaps up his prey and takes her back tae his den tae be toyed with, aye?" He laughed uproariously. It had been a week since Ri had returned from her night-time escapade. She had not spoken to, barely looked at, Shaw since. On the rare occasion she was expected to make a comment or answer a question, she did so as briefly and distantly as possible, with respect and deference to him, but without warmth, familiarity, or even the slightest hint of teasing. It was unnerving.
They still slept together, despite the fact that she refused to allow him to touch her, but in a way that was the worst part. To lie next to her every night, feeling her soft breaths against his skin, hear her little mewls and whimpers as she slept, dreaming restlessly. Shaw wished to reach over and hold her, but as stubborn as he was, so was she, and if he showed her any unwanted attention, he had no doubt that, while he refused to allow her to leave his bed, she would, in turn, refuse to allow him into his bed and he would be left to make a pallet for himself on his own floor. And what angered Shaw the most was that he would gladly do just that.
"Stop," Shaw sighed, ducking under his oldest friend's arm. "I ken that's what ye've been raised tae believe, and as long as the woman is willing I've no qualms with the way ye treat them, but I dinna feel the same. I like her spirit, I dinna wish tae break or tame it. I'd ask that ye respect that."
"O' course," Darrach seemed surprised. "As long as she's here I'll respect yer wishes, as a friend, a brother, and a clansman. But I'm loyal tae ye, Wolf. I'll nay have some wench disrespect ye and all ye've done for our people."
"Thank ye for that," Shaw nodded. "But please, watch how ye refer tae her." The warning was soft, less a rebuke and more of a request. But Shaw knew Darrach would comply. He had grown up with Darrach, they'd survived for years by leaning on each other, saving each other's lives again and again until all of their collective blood debts had blurred the lines between blood brothers and brothers by blood. Shaw loved Iain, would die for the kid, but Darrach was his brother as well as his comrade. Shaw never imagined to have such a relationship with his familial brother, had always protected Iain from the horrors of war and, to an extent, the terrors of responsibility. It had been one of the worst mistakes of his life.
Just as the Willows had done with Austin, Shaw thought grimly. But no more. He'd left Ri alone with her thoughts for long enough. Fiona had given him an idea of what had been done to her, but he would wait for Ri to entrust him with the information before he said anything about it, but he would have her speak to him. Until then, he'd do as she'd asked. He'd treat her brother like any other recruit.
Well, he conceded, thinking back to the past week and every time the kid had been flattened by even the weakest of his new trainees, maybe not like every other recruit. Shaw had deliberately moved the recruit's training to this morning, pulling them away from their morning chores and taking the place of the more experienced warrior's training, because Fiona had said that Austin hated mornings. The Lady Fiona did not seem to have the same problem, as she frequently enjoyed spending much of the day watching them train from Cook's garden just across the courtyard. Shaw caught quite the maniacal grin stretching her face several times.
It was a hard morning of work for everyone. Austin seemed to give up at every turn, but Shaw would hear none of it, and Darrach would hear even less. The lad quickly learned to stay in line and do as he was told, although with plenty of grumbling and muttered complaints that did not serve to endear him to the other boys as they were forced to work harder every time he did.
As they had broken for lunch today, Shaw had clearly heard Austin muttering under his breath in broken languages, so tired that he began to mix English words with French and another similar, yet more lyrical language. Shaw could tell none of what he was saying was very nice, despite understanding very little of his words, but he'd decided to let it slide this time, walking past the exhausted lad without a word.
His being hard on the lad was necessary, Shaw thought as he entered the Great Hall; a lesson in humility. But in truth Shaw had used the lad to expend his worry for Ri, his anger that she had left without a word and at her cold distance from him now, and, mayhap, though he was loathe to admit it, his hurt that she hadn't confided her fears in him and trusted him to protect her.
Then again, he thought, after what he'd learned from Fiona, about everything that had happened to her, why should she trust him? What reason had he given her to trust him? She had saved his life, and in attempting to return the favor, he'd locked her up in his keep and forbade her to leave. To him, this seemed perfectly natural, but to her . . . Oh gods, what had he done?
Shaw could have thumped his head on the trestle table as he sat heavily in his chair. Of course, he wouldn't, not with most of his clan around him, clamoring for food. He was a fool, an arse-breath'd, beef-witted, goatish pillock. Gods help him, he was clueless, no wonder she wanted nothing to do with him! He had to make this right, even if it killed him to do so.
Shaw caught the arm of the maid pouring him ale, giving her a request for the cook to make two plates and a tankard to be sent to his study. The maid was confused, but nodded in understanding. Shaw waited until she returned to the kitchen to scoop up his tankard and storm, as quietly as one can, out of the great hall and off to the stables.
"Okay, so no violent deaths, no suicides, no murders, no death threats," Ri muttered as she shifted through records. So far, there was nothing in the past twenty-five years that could come close to involving Shaw or anyone who might have a score to settle with him. Ri supposed the number one suspect would have been his step-father, who had married his mother a few years after Shaw's father had been killed in battle, leaving him in charge at the ripe age of seventeen.
The newly married couple had moved to the edge of the Logan lands, living in one of their smallest castles with a pittance of a staff. Apparently, this was so Lady Logan's new husband could beat his wife into submission. According to the records in front of her, several months after her wedding day, the poor Lady had stumbled into the castle, broken, torn, and bleeding, only to die in her sons' arms after revealing her husbands' wickedness. Shaw and Iain had not been kind, locking the man in the dungeons for weeks on end with minimal water, little to no food, and daily public beatings until the creep couldn't even be bothered to roll off his cot to take a piss. Then, the man had been dragged out into the village and beheaded as a warning. Unnecessary violence towards a woman would not be tolerated.
Normally, Ri would suspect the man's family as possible traitors, but he had been a nomad, a sell-sword passing through who had caught the eye of the Lady and decided to stay to court her. No family, according to record. Not even a name. Only his arrival, the Lady's marriage, his crime, and his punishment had been left. Everything else about him, his name, where he'd come from, and any identifying details had all been scratched out, effectively erasing him from history.
"Great, back to square one." Ri sighed.
"My Lady?" A tentative nock on the door almost came as a relief. The records had been gathered from the library and left in Shaw's study for her perusal, and in the days spent in this room, Ri had become more and more aware of how strangely comfortable she was in a space that very obviously belonged to someone else.
"Come in," Ri called. A scrawny little girl, barely Austin's age, pushed through the door carrying two plates heavily laden with food in one hand and a tankard filled to the brim with ale in the other. "Oh, here," Ri stood and gently took the plates from the girl before she could protest. "It's okay, I've got two hands, too." She set the plates on the desk, then moved so that the girl could set the tankard on the desk as well. She adjusted the plates out of nervousness then looked around, seemingly lost. "It smells really good," Ri broke the awkward silence. "Thank you very much for thinking of me. Would you like to sit down?"
The girl turned beat red, protesting in Gaelic, "No, no, the second plate isn't mine! The Laird asked me to send these up, I don't know why he wanted two plates, but that's what he said! I'm so sorry to disturb you, but the Laird asked me to –"
"It's alright, it's alright," Ri made no pretense about not understanding the girl, though she still spoke in English, knowing the poor child was too flustered to recognize that she was speaking Gaelic just now, although she might if Ri started speaking Gaelic as well. "I understand, that's fine. Please, believe me, you aren't disturbing me. I was beginning to feel a bit lonely all on my own, and quite hungry, so I'm very glad you're here." The girl calmed a bit, but was still frightened enough to give a quick bob of a curtsy and rush out of the room.
Ri sighed once more. Purple eyes, strange dress and speech . . . in her time she had been labeled a freak, a social outcast. But here, Witch was a far more dangerous title, Fairy-Born only slightly less so. At home she was poked fun of, but basically left alone. Here, she was feared and shunned. She wasn't quite sure which she preferred, honestly.
Ri moved the tankard aside and tucked into one of the plates ravenously. She hadn't eaten in eighteen hours, and the food looked wonderful . . . as long as she didn't ask what was in it, she had learned.
"Try the ale," Shaw spoke from the doorway. Ri eyed him wearily, then the tankard in front of her. As thirsty as she was, she'd always been a lightweight, and had never enjoyed who she was when she was drunk, never enjoyed losing control of herself. She was allergic to alcohol, if anyone asked. It was easier that way.
"I don't drink ale, or mead, or beer. Nothing alcoholic, nothing that dulls my senses or my judgment. But thank you for the thought." She lowered her head in submission with great difficulty. The longer she did this, the harder it got to defer to him. She was rebellious by nature. Rebellious, but not reckless. And yet every time she looked at the man lately she was ready to fight him, verbally or physically, until one of them was on the ground begging. And she wasn't quite sure whom she wanted to come out on top, whether he should beg her to leave, or she should beg him to forgive her.
"My apologies," Shaw cleared his throat. "I'll hae someone bring up a tankard o' cider for ye," he leaned out the door and shouted over the railing for the promised cider before Ri could say anything to the contrary. Instead of kicking her out of his chair behind the desk, he pulled a second chair over next to her and settled himself into it, digging into the second plate. Ri went back to her own food, slower this time, more contemplative.
He smelled of horses, Ri noticed. He'd trimmed his beard back to more of a scruff, he ate like a pig, and with his hands, and . . . dammit, that really didn't bother her. The same maid came in, refusing to make eye contact, dropped off her cider, and left with a hasty curtsy. Shaw took the ale that had been brought up for her, guzzling it – almost nervously, it seemed. Ri sipped at the cider, suddenly not very hungry. It was another couple of tense minutes before she got up the courage to ask, "Okay, what is it?"
"What is what?" Shaw looked bewildered.
"You're shoving food in your mouth, downing that ale like it's the Elixir of Life . . . you're nervous, and from the way you're flicking glances my way, I've got the feeling it's because of me. So what's going on?"
"I –" Shaw swallowed what was left in his mouth, gagged a little, then chased it with a massive gulp of ale. He stood, wiping his hands on his pants before holding one out to her. "If ye'd follow me, My Lady, I've something for ye."
"This oughta be good . . ." Ri blew out a breath. But she stood as well, ignoring his proffered hand. "Lead the way, Cochise," she gestured out the door. Shaw blinked, but nodded. Ri followed him through the hall, down the back stairway, and around and out the side door of the castle. They were near the stables, directly in front of the training yard and across from the main gate. The horse smell wafting from Shaw, was the same that was carried on the wind from the stables. So Shaw had spent some time at the stables today? Apparently so, considering that was where he was leading her.
"Vanish," Shaw snarled at the stable hand, Hubert, in Gaelic. Hubert shot Ri a look filled with teenage longing, no doubt bolstered by the fact that she was still borrowing his clothes, and bolted from the stables. Shaw stood in the middle of the walkway, poking at the dirt and straw floor with the toe of his boot. Yeah, definitely nervous. "Um . . . How's yer side?" He mumbled.
"Better," Ri nodded. "Still sore sometimes, still kind of tender. But I'm healing."
"Good, good," Shaw made a noise in the back of his throat, almost like clearing it. "I – bluidy hell," he sighed, "this is harder than I thought t'would be. I wanted tae . . . I'm sorry."
"You are? For what?' Ri looked around, pretending not to really care. One of the horses slung his head over his stall door, examining her. He was gorgeous, a massive, flea-bitten buckskin stallion, a Morgan maybe, with a lovely, latte colored coat and a mane and tail almost as dark as Shaw's hair. Ri let him sniff her hand for a few seconds before cautiously stroking his cheek.
"I'm sorry for nay listening tae ye," Shaw was having trouble getting this out. Ri scratched the stallions nose to cover her amusement. She felt bad for the guy, really she did. But there was something to be said about such an Alpha male losing his cool. It was kind of endearing. Which she should not be feeling towards him right now. "I'm sorry for keeping ye here. I was trying tae protect ye, but in doing so, I fear I've imprisoned ye. And then I expected ye tae trust me, tae confide in me, and I became angry when ye didn't. I dinnae blame ye for how ye've treated me thus far, ye were right in doing so. And ye were verra diplomatic about it, ye ne'er caused a scene, nor did ye try tae undermine me out of spite. I thank ye for that. And I'm verra sorry tae give ye cause tae feel unhappy with me or unsafe in my home, because I want it tae be yer home as well. For as long as ye need it tae be.
"As such," Shaw blew out a long breath. He'd said the whole thing in a rush. Ri's hands had stilled one on the bridge of the stallion's nose, the thumb stroking absently, and the other on his jaw, scratching lightly. "I offer . . . a compromise," Shaw heaved a heavy sigh, seeming to hate this part most of all. "I . . . will allow ye free passage to and from the castle. Without a guard. I ken what yer capable of, I've seen what ye can do, so . . . I ken ye can take care o' yerself. I'll allow Lady Fiona tae come and go as well, but she'll be assigned a guard for her outings, and that guard canna be ye. She must hae a clansman with her at all times when beyond the castle walls."
"Better make it two," Ri shrugged. She was touched by his gesture, but felt infinitely guilty that her distancing herself had caused him grief.
"Aye," Shaw chuckled stiffly. "Point taken."
"Thank you," Ri kissed the stallion on his forehead, "for the compromise. That's very generous of you, especially since you didn't have to consider my comfort or accommodate me in any way."
"Aye, I do," Shaw insisted fervently. "Ye saved my life, Ri. I owe ye a blood debt. Tis nothing tae be taken lightly. In truth, I owe ye everything."
"Which means nothing unless you're honorable enough to repay that debt. That takes a great sense of loyalty, and a lot of courage. You're a good man, Shaw. Thank you for that."
"Aye, well, I've apologized, I've compromised, but I've yet tae rectify the wrong I've done ye. I've released ye tae roam as ye please, but I've nay given ye the means tae do so."
The stallion reared back in surprise as someone came thundering through the main gate. He stamped, startled by the shouts of the guards and the panicked cries of the horses outside.
"Easy, easy," Ri intoned, calming the horse as best she could. The stallion shook his head, pranced a bit, but settled easily enough. "You should go check that," Ri motioned to the door, indicating whatever commotion had spooked the stallion.
"They can wait," Shaw sounded awe-struck. "I've ne'er seen him settle that quickly. How'd ye do that?"
"I've always been good with animals," Ri shrugged, still refusing to look at Shaw. "It's not too hard when you understand them." She rubbed his ear. "He's gorgeous," she breathed.
"He's yers,"
"Wha –" Ri gasped, freezing.
"Ye'll hae tae name him first, o' course, but he's yers." She could hear the smile in his voice.
"I –" Ri couldn't help herself. She whirled on Shaw, clapped hands to either side of his head, and pressed her beaming smile to his. He was shocked, obviously, but recovered almost immediately, kissing her back as enthusiastically as she'd kissed him.
It wasn't her first kiss, but it might as well have been. His mouth slid against hers, smooth as silk, and she shivered. She tried to copy his motions and he took advantage of her inexperience, opening her to him. At the first touch of his tongue, she thrilled, he bit roughly at her lip and she might have melted had he not been holding her so tightly.
Without meaning to, she sucked in a gasp of air, directly from his lungs. He groaned loudly, clasping her tighter and pressing himself closer to her. Ri heard him drag in a breath through his nose and tried the same thing again. He returned the favor. And then Ri didn't have brain cells or synapses to spare to be guilty about any of it, least of all how she never wanted this to stop.
"Macbeth," she gasped as she came up for air.
"Huh?" Shaw mumbled against the place on her neck where he was kissing. Okay, that felt good. Ri struggled to focus.
"The horse. You said I have to name him. His name's Macbeth."
"Macbeth?" Shaw snorted, pulling back to look at her in question.
"Where I'm from, the name is cursed. Seems fitting for something of mine to be cursed." Ri smiled up at him sadly, wrapping her arms around her. Shaw still held her, his gaze searing her with its' intensity.
"Yer the strongest person I ken," he cupped her cheek. "Yer a warrior, same as any of us. Ye fight for yer family, ye fight tae survive, and tis the only thing ye can e'er see yerself doing. But sometimes I see ye, Riona Willow, and I see a regular woman who just wants tae live happily and be loved." He kissed her again, light and simple. "It doesna hae tae be one or the other, Lass. Ye can hae both."
No one had ever said that to her before. Ri had never been told that she had a choice, not once in her life. Agatha was right. Shaw was the closest thing to a soulmate Ri could imagine having. And if she let herself, she could really fall for him, quickly and completely. And that was a choice as well.
Shaw kissed her once more, fierce and wild.
"Laird! Laird! WOLF!" A man ran into the stables, shouting for Shaw at the top of his lungs, then stopped short at the sight before him. Shaw snarled as he pulled back, although he refused to release Ri, despite her embarrassed attempts.
"WHAT!?" Shaw roared.
"My Lord," the man spoke hoarsely, frightened by the display. "The, the Frasers. They – they're attacking . . ."
Okay, so this is the result of several rough drafts, a weird inspiration of a dream, bits and pieces of writings and ideas, and an all-nighter spent hopped up on Mountain Dew and cupcakes while my cats yell at me to feed them. Let me know if the chapter makes any sense, let alone fits with the rest of the story.