Authors: Lisa Dawn Wadler
Claire took in the small, dirty room. It was dark, but she could smell the dirt; it was like the smell of filthy bodies, earth, old food, stale beer, and something else that had no name. A metal grate on the floor held the fire, and the walls let in the cold wind. The room held two stools and a beaten-up small table and one bed with a battered wooden frame, bound by ropes with a thin kind of mattress on top. The door was barely a door, more like wooden planks bound by more rope with plenty of gaps in between.
This place is disgusting. It’s like something out of a bad dream or a crazy movie. This place is simply scary. Yeah, that’s the word. I’m so far out of my comfort zone. Let’s face it. My comfort zone is on a permanent vacation. It left with rational thought and what should be, and they have taken hygiene along for the ride.
The only positive was that the room was dry.
Ian spoke as Claire cringed. “The bed is yours, Claire. One room is for the best. I believe it safer for us not to be separated, not here anyway. There is nay a lock on the door and ‘tis nay a fine place.”
That was one statement Claire did not need.
Not a fine place? Really, not a fine place?
That much was painfully obvious. The main room was missing a few people when they returned. The sounds coming from the other rooms gave them away. She asked, “Ian, is this place what I think it is?”
Please tell me it’s not. Please tell me my imagination is working overtime. I don’t want to be where I think I am. I want to be at home, I’d even settle for the home you spoke of, but not here.
Ian’s chuckle answered for him. “‘Tis nay a place one would bring his wife if that is what you mean.” Instead of further explanation, he handed over a cloth and motioned for Claire to dry her hair. “However, the room is somewhat warm and dry and all we could find. I would have preferred a different place as well. We will have to make the best of it. A night in this weather would nay have worked. It is too cold and too wet. We will eat, get some rest, and continue on the morrow, early, verra early.” With that for an answer, Ian started drying his own hair.
“Come, lass, by the fire. You are drenched, and I can hear your teeth.” Claire moved to join him by the warmth of the flames. He removed the wet blanket and tossed it into the corner. “Still you shiver. Remove your wet clothing, I will find you something dry.” With a quick reach into the saddlebags, Ian offered her a dry shirt and said, “It may nay be the cleanest but ‘tis dry.” Placing the shirt in Claire’s hands, he started to help her remove her sweater.
Gently pushing the overly helpful hands away, Claire said, “I can manage myself. Would you mind turning around?”
Okay, dry clothes are a good start. Warm and dry are good things. I can survive one night here, right? The disgusting will eventually wash off me. I hope they have soap at his home. Has someone invented soap yet? If they have, it hasn’t caught on here. But the shirt smells good. The shirt smells like Ian.
With a quick grin, Ian moved toward the bed and turned. He needed to remove his wet things also. He tried to focus on his own needs, removing his clothing, drying himself, and wrapping the course sheet around his waist, willing himself not to hear her wet clothing hitting the floor, not listening to the sounds of the drying sheet warming her body and certainly not mixing those images with the sounds of passion, or what passed for passion here. Bunching the sheet in the front, he waited for permission to turn.
Claire finally spoke. “You can turn around now. All done.”
The sight that greeted him was a fine one. Her back was to him, and she faced the fire. The shirt covered her to the knees and the outline of her womanly form was visible due to the flames. Ian’s breath left him in a whoosh of air. When Claire turned to face him, her hair unbound, a drying cloth in hand, and more of her figure revealed to him, his body sucked the air back in with force.
“Are you all right?” Claire asked with a voice filled with concern.
“Fine, I am fine,” Ian lied through gritted teeth. “Just cold, Claire, just cold.” He moved slowly to join her, afraid the urge to pounce on the woman would win. Taking her hands, they felt warmer, but not warm enough. He rubbed hers within his own, keeping his full concentration on her hands, not looking to see what the lacing of the shirt on her body would reveal. He felt her flinch. That’s when he noticed her bruises. “Your hands, the backs are bruised. You should have told me you were injured.”
Claire answered, “They’re fine. I bruise easily. It’s from the hitting and the blocking and the fighting. It doesn’t matter. They’ll fade quickly.” Her eyes closed on her last words.
“Try not to think on it, lass. ‘Tis done. Whoever trained you would be pleased at your skill.” Ian wondered out loud, “Who trained you? Do all women of your place have such skill?” He knew he had found the right question as Claire’s smile returned.
“Michael trained me, I guess. He owns the place where I work. They do this there, teach people to defend themselves. Most do it for exercise and for fun, not for . . .” Her voice trailed off, not willing to say “for killing.” “Anyway, most don’t. But my Dad thought it was important. We used to do the classes together before he died.”
There had been little mention of Claire’s father in any detail yet. “Tell me how you gained such ability.” Ian’s goal was to keep her talking and get her mind off of the battle and death.
“I wanted to go to the mall with Brooke and no parents. My dad was a bit overprotective. We argued about what I could and couldn’t do alone. Somehow we ended up with me taking self-defense classes. When we went to sign up, Michael talked my dad into more, something for both of us. We started going twice a week together. It was nice, that time just me and Dad.”
Claire continued. “After Dad died, it was Michael who talked me into continuing. Said it would make my father proud. Said I should never quit and that I still needed to be strong. So I stayed. Then Mom took me and watched every class from instruction to sparring.” With a pause to blink back tears at the memory, Claire continued, “When I was sixteen, we ran into some financial problems.” She noted Ian’s blank stare. “Money problems, a lack of coin?” Ian’s nod prompted the continuation. “We just couldn’t keep making the payments. It was kind of expensive.”
Her tale continued with Michael not letting her quit. Offering her a job after school, at the front desk, answering phones, greeting people, and sometimes explaining the classes to potential customers. The best part was all the classes she could take were included at no cost with the job.
Claire explained the job didn’t pay great and it was only twenty hours per week. With both her mom and her working, they still couldn’t cover their expenses. They were practical and sold the big house, the one next door to Brooke’s family, and moved to a smaller place in a different neighborhood.
After high school, Claire stayed and started full time. Michael’s wife had just had a baby, and she didn’t want to do his paperwork anymore. She wanted to stay home with baby Jake. Claire took over the office work and loved the accounting part. The numbers just made sense to her. She found ways to cut costs and help Michael finance an expansion. Plus, her training continued. She also took college classes, one or two at a time, at the community college. There was a focus there, too—accounting. She had found her calling.
This was a story Ian could follow. “How far did your training go, Claire?”
“I have two stripes on my black belt.”
The pride was obvious in Claire’s voice. “And ‘tis a fine thing?” Ian asked, not sure of what such a ranking would mean.
“Yes, that is a fine thing. Not many go that far. I never would have on my own. Michael kept pushing and refused to let me stop.” Claire’s eyes smiled at him as she remembered.
“Your Da would be proud, I am sure of it.” Then Ian asked out of curiosity, “What was your father’s name?”
“Michael.” Claire offered an explanation, “My father was Michael, and the name of the man I worked for was also named Michael. It’s a very common name.” She took Ian’s nod as understanding for the similarities.
A knock at the door interrupted their quiet conversation. Ian rose in a flash to stand in front of Claire, blocking her from sight with his sword in hand. The lass was hardly dressed to be viewed by any, and he had sworn to protect her. With a harsh tone, he asked, “What?” in response to the knock.
The door opened with a push from Thomas’ shoulders, his hands full with the tray of food and drink. “The meal you paid for is ready.” He didn’t hesitate while heading for the table, as an armed man wrapped in a sheet apparently gave the owner little cause for concern. Setting the tray down on the waiting table, Thomas turned to leave as quickly as he had entered. Stopping at the door and without turning to face Ian, he said, “Be smart this night and stay in the chamber. I can nay be responsible if you leave your wife untended.”
Relaxing the stance of a warrior poised for battle, Ian replied, “I have no intention of doing so. However, I appreciate the warning.” Ian wondered at the implication as Thomas left with no further comment.
“Why would he say something like that?” Claire asked.
Turning to face the question, Ian jested, “Mayhap Thomas believes I would leave you untended while seeking out one of his women.” Seeing the shock cross her features, Ian continued, “Or mayhap the man has some decency. ‘Tis not a place fit for a fine woman like yourself.” He left out the worst thought, wondering if Thomas knew more than he revealed.
The smell of warm food changed Ian’s thoughts. He motioned for Claire to rise and move her stool to the table, letting out a laugh at the sound of her stomach rumbling. Ian said, “Aye, I am hungry as well.” The meal was some kind of stew, bread, and a piece of cheese, not much, but it would suffice. A clay pitcher that held the wine, with two somewhat grungy pottery cups, completed the offering.
Ian moved the other stool to sit at her side, keeping Claire on his right; he offered her the first bowl. Noticing her stare, he wiped the cups with his worn linen, poured some wine, and then offered her the first cup. Ian broke off some bread and, using his dagger, gave her half the cheese. He started on his meal, and the silence continued. With the meal finished, there was still no conversation. Concerned that the joke about paying for a woman had caused the silence, he said, “I am nay the type of man who would pay for companionship, Claire. ‘Twas meant to add humor.”
“What? Oh that? Of course not, why would you?” Claire didn’t care for her tone. The casual note she had intended had gotten lost. Looking at Ian from the corner of her eye, she doubted a man like him ever had to do anything less than smile at a woman. He was simply beautiful; he had big green eyes, dark lashes, thick midnight hair falling to his shoulders, and an incredible muscular build. She hated beards, but even his long stubble looked good. The previously broken nose had healed a little crooked.
Imperfection leading to perfection.
Broad shoulders, a muscular chest lightly covered with the same dark hair.
That is no six pack. It has to be at least an eight or ten pack. How is that even possible? Ian probably had women offering themselves constantly, and who could blame them?
And I’m sitting here, in this place, eating with him, wearing only his shirt while he wears a sheet.
She shuddered, hoping it was from the cold.
Noticing her discomfort, Ian walked to the bed and brought back the blanket that had been left for them and draped it over her shoulders. “Lass, move your stool closer to the fire. You must still have a chill.”
Stunned and willing herself into action, Claire stood up. “First, we need to get our things dry. Lying on the floor will not help.” She moved the tray off the table and set it in the corner. Turning the table on its side, the legs now served as a drying rack. Ian handed her his clothes, and hanging them, she started chuckling, feeling the wet leather of his pants. She now knew what was worse than a wet thong.
“My wet trews amuse you?” Ian asked.
“Not really, just getting tired.”
No way am I was sharing that thought.
Ian added softly, “Forgive me. There should have been no need for you to provide for us this night. While my clan is nay wealthy, I will see your jewelry replaced.”
Smiling at the offer, Claire replied, “I meant what I said downstairs. There is very little I wouldn’t have traded for some warmth.”
Ian surprised her. “It had great value to you.”
Claire sighed as she replied, “My mother gave it to me when I graduated high school. Her mother, my grandmother, had given it to her for the same reason years ago. I have no idea if it was real silver or just pretty. But it was going to be the start of a tradition.” She paused to look at Ian as she spoke. “I appreciate you wanting to replace it, but you can’t. Let’s just call it done.”
“‘Tis nay finished. I see only pain in your eyes at the loss of something so dear to your heart.” He picked up his dagger and held it out for Claire to see. “‘Tis the way of my people to pass items through the generations, too. This dagger was carried by the first man to call himself the Draig Laird.” He showed Claire the dragon wrapping around the handle, a head on the top and the bottom of the beast. “This came to me from my mother’s hands. The tales say that every Draig laird has given this dagger to the woman who captured his heart. Someday I hope to see it placed in the hand of my son to give to the woman who captures his heart.” Wrapping his hand around hers, Ian continued, “I can feel your loss this night. You had hoped to do the same for your daughter, to give her a piece of your life. ‘Tis a fine thing to ken your cherished items will be cherished by those who come after you.” His green gaze bore into hers. “I swear this now, you will have your jewelry back.”
Stunned by the sincerity in his tone and how much Ian had just shared, Claire covered their joined hands with her other hand. “Thank you, Ian.” Sitting next to him in front of the fire, she felt her body relax despite their location. She enjoyed the warmth of his hand until grunts and groans from the next room broke their comfortable silence.
Shifting uncomfortably, she was again aware of how little they wore and was very grateful for the blanket she now wrapped a little tighter around herself.
Ian interrupted the awkward moment. “I am surprised you told me of your money problems. ‘Tis nay something many would speak of to anyone.”