by Merry Farmer
Once dry and dressed, Ruairí assured her it would be fine for her to come above deck. He warned it was windy and pulled a MacNeill plaid from the bed. Senga hesitated a moment before accepting it. She had only ever worn a MacLeod or Sorley plaid. She knew the statement it made if she wore Ruairí’s, but it seemed pointless to deny she was his mistress. In the back of her mind, the thought niggled that not even mistresses wore a man’s plaid in public. It was a claim of ownership to wear a man’s plaid.
“I’d like you to wear it, Senga. I saw your other ones, but I want to see you wear mine. Not the one of a clan that forsook you, nor another man’s.”
She could see the importance of her decision in his eyes, and she realized she wanted others to know she was his. The only thing she was unsure of was whether he was hers. She wrapped it around her as an arisaid and belted it in place. She turned to look at him and caught his look of awe.
“Did you think I didn’t know how to put on an arisaid?” She was confused.
He shook his head and swallowed.
“No woman has ever worn my plaid before.” He adjusted it to cover her shoulders. “I’ve never wanted one to. I don’t know that I ever want you to take it off.”
He spoke more to himself than to Senga.
“You don’t need the plaid to know I’m your mistress, Ruairí. Everyone on this ship knows that. If I go ashore with you, everyone will surely know it there. The plaid doesn’t matter.”
Something flashed in Ruairí’s eyes, and Senga regretted her words.
“It does matter. It matters a great deal to me. You know as well as I do what it means for a woman to wear a man’s plaid, especially a woman outside of the man’s clan. I am staking my claim to you, Senga. And by me giving this to you, I hope you understand the claim you have to me.”
There. He had said it. They both stood in shock at Ruairí’s profession.
“Do you mean that?” Senga’s voice cracked, and Ruairí nodded.
“I don’t know what the future holds for either of us. I don’t know if in a sennight you won’t be able to stand the sight of me. I don’t know if in a moon, I will regret trapping you aboard this pirate ship. I don’t know if in a year’s time, you will wish you never met me. But I know that right now and for the foreseeable future, I want no one else. I knew that last night when Agnes approached me. I know it now because my mind can’t fathom another woman. You have bewitched and enchanted me. You are my own selkie come ashore to woo me. I just pray you don’t disappear.”
“I’m not going to disappear, and I’m proud to wear your plaid.”
“No one has seen this plaid since I first boarded the merchant ship. Rowan and I practiced speaking to do away with our accents and hid our plaids to keep people from knowing which clan we ran from. Once this became my cabin, I was willing to lay it out. It was no longer a secret that I’m a MacNeill. But no one else has seen it. I like the idea that the first time it is worn again, it is worn by you.”
Senga strained to reach his jaw and gave him a quick kiss, unable to reach any higher.
“Then let us get some air and sunshine.”
Ruairí trailed after Senga, amazed how the sight of her wearing his plaid seemed as normal as the sun rising and the moon shining.
Chapter 6
They spent the afternoon together on deck. Ruairí introduced her to several deckhands, and it shocked him that they were on their best behavior. It stunned him to see the manners they could show when a woman other than a whore was nearby. Her easy smile and knowledge of sailing went a long way to make her welcome. She no longer was a mystery to the men, and most no longer found her a threat. They stood together at the prow as the mist sprayed onto their faces. He encircled her in his arms as one hand rested around her waist and the other braced them by holding onto the railing. They continued to talk about places Ruairí sailed and how far into the Mediterranean he had been. Senga expressed curiosity about the women she had heard of, those who wore veils and were owned by men for their pleasure. She knew someone could draw a comparison between these women’s circumstances and her own, but she did not feel like Ruairí’s possession even if he showed some possessiveness. It was just enough for her to feel cared for rather than oppressed.
They returned to the cabin for their evening meal, but he had to leave soon after they finished for his turn at watch. When he returned, he slid into bed next to Senga. She snuggled next to him.
“Cold,” she muttered in her sleep before draping herself over him as if to share her heat.
Ruairí woke her in the middle of the night with an aching need to join with her. Senga could not force her eyes open, but she fully knew the way Ruairí made her body demand their coupling. She found her release just before Ruairí could no longer hold on, pulling out to spill his seed onto the sheet. She was back asleep before Ruairí knew it. Her soft breathing lulled him back to sleep as he spooned her. When they woke in the morning, once again need overcame them. The sun was well above the horizon when Ruairí slipped from the cabin, leaving a slumbering Senga in their bed and a guard posted outside their door once more.
They developed a routine that followed their first day. They joined several times throughout the day and night. Ruairí would slip from the bed in the morning while Senga continued to sleep off the exhaustion from the night before. She marveled at how he needed so much less sleep than she did. Ruairí showed her a small library of books he kept hidden in a trunk. As the daughter and nephew of lairds, they were both taught to read. It was a rarity for someone to teach a daughter, but Senga explained that since she was their only surviving child, her parents prioritized her gaining an education. She spent most mornings reading. They ate their meals together and spent most of their afternoons together on deck. While Ruairí could not always stand looking into the distance with her, Senga stood with him when he was at the helm. He let her have a turn holding the wheel while he gave her instructions. It became obvious to Ruairí that even though she let him give her directions, she was already an experienced helmsman. He pointed out as much, but she only grinned.
They sailed south for a fortnight, skirting the coast of France until they reached Portugal. They anchored for a night, and Senga was barely aware they took on new cargo before setting sail for further down the coast. Ruairí came to bed so exhausted that neither of them stirred the rest of the night. It was the first time he did not wake her in the middle of the night, so she awoke refreshed while he snored. She climbed over him with care to look out the porthole. There was nothing to see but open water. It was still early, the last of the pink hues of dawn fading into the clear blue skies of daytime. Over the past fortnight, Ruairí had pointed out which men he trusted with her safety and those he still watched. Senga knew enough of the crew to feel comfortable around them without Ruairí at her side. She dressed in a pair of leggings the barrel man gave her. He was not a man, but a boy of about twelve summers who spent most of his time in the crow’s nest. They were a similar height, so the pants fit well on Senga. She looked back as she lifted the bar and unlocked the door. Ruairí did not move, and she had a moment of worry since he was the lightest sleeper she had ever met. She felt badly that he was so tired that his only movement was to breathe. She made her way above deck and found Tomas and Kyle speaking together near the rail. They smiled as she approached.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said.
“Not at all, lass,” Tomas replied. He was still the man who guarded the cabin door, and rather than be angry about the post, he took it as a position of honor. He was chuffed with himself that Ruairí trusted him with such responsibility.
Kyle looked around her but frowned. “Where’s the captain?”
“Still asleep. I almost feared he was unwell, but I think he’s just exhausted.”
Kyle still frowned but nodded.
“I take it he doesn’t know you’re up here.”
Senga bit the side of her bottom lip. “Not exactly.”
“Lass,�
�� Tomas warned as he too looked at the stairs leading to the captain’s cabin. Trepidation was written across his face.
“No, he doesn’t. Like I said, he’s asleep.”
“You better return sharpish,” Tomas cupped her elbow and tried to steer her back the way she came.
“Are you both occupied right now? Is there no one who can act as my nursemaid?”
“I know what you’re doing, Senga, and it won’t work. You can’t bait us into putting our necks on the chopping block with the captain,” Kyle responded.
Senga crossed her arms, but her eyes shifted to two figures circling one another. She recognized one as Braeden, the boy who lent her the leggings. The other was an older man she recognized as being approved by Ruairí, but she could not recall his name. She watched as the boy tried to pick up a sword that was much too long for him. He looked like a child trying to play with his father’s sword. She cringed as he struggled to lift it vertically as the older man circled him again. The older man thrust his sword forward and narrowly missed the boy as he leaped aside and inadvertently dropped his weapon. The surrounding men guffawed, and one ruffled the boy’s hair. Senga saw the boy’s embarrassment as he tried to stand taller. She remembered that feeling when she was his age and her father insisted she learn to protect herself, but she was far smaller than the lads her age, who trained with experienced warriors. Only one had been patient with her: her cousin Alfred, the son of the man who later orchestrated her parents’ deaths.
Senga spotted a large chest that sat open. Even from across the deck she could see it was filled with various swords and knives. She stepped around Kyle and Tomas, who still tried to convince her to return to the cabin. She made a beeline to the chest even though Kyle was close on her heels. Senga peered inside and spotted just what she wanted. She pulled a falchion sword that resembled a meat cleaver from the pile. It fitted her hand well, but she could see that the chips in the blade made it more dangerous for sparring than if someone sharpened it. She returned it and pulled a cusped falchion from the chest. It was just over three feet long and the right weight for her to manage. She eased several blades out of her way before finding another cusped falchion.
“Put those back, lass, before you harm yourself,” Kyle barked.
“You whittle like an old woman.”
Senga waved away Kyle, then the man who spared with Braeden. She handed Braeden one of the falchion swords.
“Let it rest in your hand. See if you can find the point where it will balance. Once you do, then grip the hilt. It’s slightly different for each person, depending on the size of your hand. It looks like ours are matching pairs, but my hand’s smaller than yours, so I must grip closer to the blade.”
Senga waited while Braeden copied her actions until the sword no longer wobbled in his palm.
“You have the sword in your right hand, but I can see you favor your left. That means despite having the weapon in your right hand, you are more likely to leave that side undefended. Square your feet off and then step back with the right.”
Senga demonstrated each direction she gave Braeden until she positioned him as she wanted him. She showed him different types of thrusts and parries as she explained how and when to use them. She explained scenarios where certain strikes would be most effective. As she walked him through each move, she told him what open spots on her body to look for and the hints her movements could not help giving away. By the time she performed every move and was satisfied Braeden could at least attempt them without someone hacking him to bits, the pair had drawn quite a crowd. Halfway through his training, Senga remembered the other man’s name was Snake Eye; at least that was how he was introduced to her.
“Snake Eye, help me show Braedon what these look like when sparring for real. Braeden, move far to my right. Try to copy my moves as I spar with Snake Eye.”
Her suggestions received several laughs until she pulled her knife from her boot and stepped forward. Senga watched for the moment Snake Eye raised his sword in anticipation and launched into a series of thrusts and swipes she knew Braeden could not hope to mimic, but it made the men aware she was not there to play or pretend. She slowed her movements as she shifted to her right, forcing Snake Eye to follow. Senga now stood where she could see Braedon without losing focus on her opponent.
Senga and Snake Eye went through several rounds of mock battle. All the while, she called out explanations to Braeden about both her actions and how she could anticipate Snake Eye’s coming movement. It amused the crowd that she was on the mark each time she predicted each of Snake Eye’s attempts to knock the sword from her hand. She counted herself lucky that he was a good sport, and she could tell he had trained several others before Braeden. He knew to keep the tempo of their match slow so the boy could follow and practice. Senga was enjoying herself until a roar of such rage swept across the deck, she nearly dropped both her sword and dirk.
Chapter 7
Ruairí awoke feeling refreshed as he stretched, but he soon noticed he was alone in bed. He had not awoken that way since Senga came onboard. He sat up and looked around, but she was not there. His gut clenched as he thought about her going above deck without him.
Ruairí pulled on leggings and boots but forewent his leine as he strapped his sword belt around his waist. He charged up the stairs as he took in the crowd that surrounded crew members he could not see. He scanned the deck but could not find Senga, but he spotted Tomas. Ruairí stalked toward the man until Tomas pointed toward the crowd and shook his head, looking defeated. It was only then he heard Senga’s voice as she explained how to fight, of all things, that he breathed again. He heard her call out various moves and defenses he was never aware she knew. He assumed she was commenting on two of his men sparring, but when the opponents shifted, so did the crowd. An opening showed Senga battling a man who was one of his most seasoned sailors. He knew Snake Eye would be careful with her, but as she twisted and swung, he was uncertain she would be careful with Snake Eye. He watched in horror as she waited until the last moment to dodge a strike of Snake Eye’s sword that could have cleaved her in half before she came up with her dirk below his chin.
A soul-deep roar traveled from his gut up his throat. He tore across the deck, men moving out of his path before he barreled through them. He heard a string of curses come from Senga that made many heads whip back around. Ruairí had not imagined she knew so many blue words. When he reached her, she had the grace to lower her weapons and point them to the deck, but the temerity to grin.
“Good morning, Captain,” she chirped. Her bright smile made the men scatter as Ruairí’s face turned a shade of red none of his crew had ever seen. She leaned forward and whispered, “Did you sleep well? You seemed tired.”
Ruairí growled as he lifted her off her feet and hefted her over his shoulder. Her braid swung around his knees.
“Ruairí, stop. Put me down.” She tried to reason with him. “I’m fine. You’re making a far bigger deal out of this than need be. You can see I’m hale. I was just teaching Braeden a few moves.”
When Ruairí ignored her, and they neared the stairs leading below deck, she reached down and pinched his backside as hard as she could. She suspected she would find a bruise later.
She felt as though she were flying as Ruairí dragged her back down to the deck.
“Don’t,” he warned.
“I could say the same to you. You humiliated me in front of your entire crew. I spent the last hour showing them I’m not some defenseless chit, and you undo that all by storming away with me like a barbarian.”
“You dare be angry with me?”
“Yes. I dare. I’m spitting mad now, so we’re quite the pair. I know what I’m doing, Ruairí. I know you found me and rescued me twice, but I’m not incapable of defending myself. You said as much when you found me outside the tavern. That was without a dirk in my hand because of the pails. I’d already stabbed one man when you arrived at my cottage. When you killed the man in front of me, I rolled
free, grabbed my dirk from my thigh, and killed one of the other two. I might have been at a disadvantage with three men and only dirks, but I can hold my own. You would know that if you hadn’t carried me away like a naughty wean.”
Ruairí watched the lightning streaks of green flash in her eyes as her temper flared with each word. She was magnificent, and he felt like an arse. Once more, he had panicked where her safety was concerned. As he looked down at her now, his mind cleared, and he recalled the explanations she offered to the moves she and her opponent made. She had not sounded fearful or breathless. She sounded in control. Not only that, Ruairí recognized her words to be right for each thrust and parry.
“Who taught you to fight?” he wondered aloud.
A cloud passed over Senga’s face as she remembered her time spent training with her father.
“Da,” she mouthed as she could not force any sound from her. Her chest ached, and she was tempted to rub the tightness from it.
“He did a good job.”
Ruairí took her hand and led her back to the place where she had been fighting only minutes ago. He handed her the falchion and dirk that lay on the deck. He drew his own two-handed broadsword. Ruairí knew she could never manage such a large weapon, as it was as long as she was tall, but he also knew he would insult her if he chose a smaller weapon.
“Wait,” she said before turning back to the chest. She dug deeper into the chest and brought out another cleaver falchion in good repair. She looked to Braeden who stared at her and Ruairí with saucers for eyes. “These are both falchions, but very different styles. You can see this one looks like a meat cleaver. You can use in a similar manner. Both are the right weapons for people of our build.”
Ruairí respected her choice of words as she avoided calling the boy small. He was the same height Ruairí had been at that age, but he was still smaller than most of the crew. He had not put on the bulk from training that Ruairí had when he was twelve.
