Chapter 13
Ri woke the next morning feeling warmer and more safe than she could ever remember feeling in her life. She wasn't quite surprised when she opened her eyes and found herself held tightly to Shaw's chest. But she was inexplicitly angry that, as close as they were, as naked as they both were, she couldn't bring herself to pull away. So much so that, an hour later, when Shaw finally stirred and opened his eyes, she was glaring furiously up at him, still pressed firmly against him.
"Lass?" He seemed relieved, but Ri was gratified to see a tinge of weariness in his eyes. "What's wrong?"
"Why are you cuddling me?" She arched a brow.
"Ye swam, I still doona ken how but ye did, all the way from the ship tae the beach, against the current, and in freezing cold water. Ye were near frozen solid, passed out in my arms, and wouldna stop shivering. Ye needed heat. Twas the quickest way tae provide it." Shaw's weariness eased, replaced by amusement. He held her closer, and Ri grit her teeth to suppress a moan. Sexual heat pooled in her abdomen, had been building, she assumed, throughout the night due to the closeness of their nude bodies.
"I ran into some trouble. My escape plan backfired, I had to improvise. Sorry about your . . . Uncle, I guess." Since she didn't seem to want to stop him, she tried distraction.
"Better he than ye." Shaw nuzzled her cheek and neck, making no attempt to hide his relief. "Ye'll tell me about that later. For now," he slung her leg over his hip, pressing against her as he shifted their position so that he was stretched over her, braced so that he didn't crush her. "I've wanted ye e'er since I first saw ye. Actually, e'er since I first saw ye fight, tae be honest."
"Ah, yes, because nothing says sexy like a girl doused in the blood of her enemies," Ri cleared her throat. Swallowed hard when Shaw chuckled, making his abdomen, and various attached parts she'd prefer not to speculate on, move in an . . . interesting way.
"Aye, tae an extent. But mostly twas yer spirit, yer grace and yer wit. Twas nay something I'd e'er seen afore. Ye were . . . different, than anything I'd e'er kenned."
"Even when I threatened to maim you if you ever touched me? Which, by the way . . ." Ri arched a brow, indicating their entangled limbs.
"Worth it," Shaw kissed her, thoroughly. She could feel his heart thudding with hers they were pressed so tightly together, blah, blah, blah and all of that other romantic crap. Honestly, Ri really wasn't paying attention. She was just . . . floating. Enjoying the warm fuzzies and tingles the contact caused and the complete emptiness that accompanied her being lost in the moment. And (as much as she hated fluff like that, she had to admit it was true) in him.
"I'll nay take ye unless ye want me tae." Shaw assured her when they came up for air. "But I'm verra much hoping ye'll put me out of my misery soon." He pressed closer and Ri couldn't stop herself from arching up into him. She let out a gasp, but managed to bite back another moan. Shaw kissed her collarbone and the hollow of her throat, then twisted them around until he lay on his back, Ri straddling his hips. "Yer in control, Ri. As always." His smirk said that wasn't quite true, but he wasn't lying either.
This was new for Ri. She had experience with arousal, she'd touched male genitalia ("Oh for gods' sakes, penis! Can't even think the word," she thought, chastising herself), but other than that . . . She'd fought hard, through everything she'd been through, to hold on to her virginity. She wasn't saving herself for marriage, but she was determined to choose when and where she lost it, and to whom. Shaw was definitely a contender. The only contender, really. And Ri was seriously considering awarding him the prize.
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."
"I've no doubt, but really? His . . ." He indicated the knife. Ri's grin turned evil.
"His testicles? He was misusing them." She shrugged. "He's lucky I didn't take them altogether." There was a general clearing of throats and shuffling of feet among the men. Shaw seemed satisfied with her answer, but still a bit uncomfortable.
"Take him up to the camp. Untie him, un– . . . stick him. Warm him, feed him, but keep him under guard. I'll decide what to do with him later." Fergus' flurry of muffled noises were angry and guttural and he was, carefully, lifted onto several shoulders and, gently, carried back up the beach. "Ye impaled his balls." Shaw sounded incredulous.
"Fergus is an asshole. He has no honor. I'll gladly fight fair with someone who deserves it, an opponent I can respect. Common thugs, on the other hand, I've no problem fighting dirty with."
"If we doona fight fair, how are we any better than they?" Shaw criticized. Ri patted his arm.
"That's why I stuck him instead of just cutting him up. Or just straight up killing him, I honestly wouldn't lose sleep over that." She shrugged. "I meant to leave him alive all along. But while I was making my way up to the deck, I didn't see one of the crewmen bringing more rum from below deck. He sounded the alarm, and I had to give them something else to focus on. I really am glad Fergus survived." This seemed to startle Shaw.
"Ye just said ye'd hae no problem killing him," he pointed out.
"Doesn't mean it's the right thing to do."
"He killed all these people. Ordered them tae the slaughter like livestock, as though they meant nothing." Shaw reminded her angrily.
"I know," she soothed. "And he needs to pay for it. But if you kill him, he's dead. That's the end of it. No retribution, he's just gone. He deserves to live, to spend every one of his remaining days knowing that he fucked up. That what he did was not okay. Worse than that, you have every right to kill him. But if you don't, if you show him mercy, he owes you his life." Ri took Shaw's hand, squeezed it lightly. "You and I both know, sometimes the worst thing you can do to someone is to let them live." She left him with that, walking further down the beach at an ambling pace. She felt Shaw's eyes on her for a while, but then they weren't there anymore. She turned to see him headed back to the camp, most likely thinking about Fergus' fate.
As soon as he was gone, Ri turned back to the ocean, scanning the sand for the mass of seaweed she'd disguised herself with. The row boat was still there, sitting cockeyed on its hull a little ways behind her. She'd pulled the strands off in clumps as she'd walked out of the water, so there should be a line of green dots trailing out from . . . there! Ri ran to them, sifting quickly through one after another, occasionally checking to see if anyone had come looking for her. Her hand brushed across something soft in the third clump, the bag of gold. She'd give that to Shaw, Fergus owed him much more than that. But where was . . . ?
The next clump was pay dirt. She pull the metal cylinder from the soggy mass and slung it over her shoulder. She'd forgot about it last night. Too cold and tired to care what she was throwing off as long as it took some seaweed with it. Perhaps it had been a good thing. She didn't want people asking questions about what she was up to until she had all the evidence.
Ri snuck the cylinder into camp. Easy enough as everyone was still talking about Fergus' survival and what Ri had done to him. All she had to do was snatch a cloak from a clothesline, pull the hood low, and avoid common areas. She made her way around to where the horses had been stabled, still saddled in preparation of their departure. The cylinder was secured onto Macbeth, hidden by his blanket and her saddlebags. Just in time.
"My Lady," Iain ambled, as much as he could amble with his beaten body still healing, up behind her, his smile charming. Ri's return smile was more polite than genuine as she pretended to finish checking the saddle straps. "Ye've done us a great service ridding the world of that buffoon of a Laird. Mayhap ye'll make a career of it and offer yer services tae clans in need." He snickered at his own joke.
"You're talking about Fergus?" Ri asked, patting Macbeth's neck. "Did you not hear the news? He washed up on the beach not long ago. Your brother had him brought back to camp."
"No doubt tae give him a proper burial. My brother always has been soft hearted. Tell me, was the corpse horribly mangled?" Iain sounded so gleefully giddy, Ri almost felt bad for bursting his bubble.
"Not at all," she sighed. "In fact, I'm afraid the Fraser is very much alive, if," she recalled his shish-kebabed nut sack, "a little worse for wear."
Iain's face twisted into an unsavory expression of furious contempt. Most any man would've cringed away from him, but Ri had seen such looks before. She didn't think he'd attack her, if not because of his brother then because of his physical condition, but still . . .
"Alive," Iain hissed venomously. "Alive? Ye'll nay do as commanded, ye'll nay warm my brothers bed in return for his care, ye refuse tae do anything that's proper for a Lady, and the one time ye may be of some use ye canna e'en do that right!?" He almost howled at her, reaching as though to strangle her, then thought better of it and whirled on his heels, then whirled back. "And Shaw didna hae him killed on the spot!? He took him in tae camp!? ALIVE!?" Without waiting for an answer, he spun away once more and stormed off into the heart of the camp, no doubt searching for the offending party. Ri blew out a heavy breath, flexing her hands and rolling the tension from her shoulders. Something about the younger Logan just didn't sit right with her.
Ri left the filched cloak on a fence post and wandered back to the tent she'd woken up in. A guard stood outside the flap, a massive claymore held before him. He nodded to her as she approached, and Ri took that to mean she was allowed in. She crawled back into the cot and huddled up under the heavy pelt, shaking a little. She was still cold. Not to the touch, not as though she'd been out in the snow too long. More like a living thing trapped beneath layers of warm flesh, left to slide around inside her, along her bones and organs, chilling them from the inside out. Even the pelt was doing no good.
She must've slept. The next thing Ri knew, Shaw was sat on the cot beside her, shoulders hunched and his head in his hands.
"What's wrong?" It took more effort than it should've to say those two words clearly and without them slurring into each other. Shaw turned to look at her, one hand taking hers, the other caressing her cheek and chin, temple and hair.
"Yer sick, Lass," Shaw sounded tired. "Ye've been asleep for two days. We've moved away from the coast, but we're nay e'en halfway back tae Loganach, as I'm afraid ye'll nay make it if we move too fast."
"You sound like I feel," Ri chuckled weakly. She struggled to lift the hand he was holding, tugging feebly at it. "Come lay down for a moment."
"Nay, Lass, ye need tae get better." Shaw protested, though he physically didn't resist.
"And you need to rest if you don't want to wind up like me. Besides, you're so warm . . ." Ri squeezed his hand as much as she was able in her frail condition. She shivered as she said it, which seemed to convince Shaw. He slipped in next to Ri, curling around her to offer as much heat as she could. She moaned, snuggling just the teeniest bit closer. "Sleep," she mumbled. "You'll feel better in the morning."
"And what of ye?" He already seemed to be dropping off, his words beginning to muddle.
"I want to go home," Ri breathed against his neck. And although her mother came to mind, as a mother always does when one is sick, it was not their one story house in the suburbs she thought of as she drifted into oblivion.