Ashore: The Landlubber

[Iron Bess]

COPYRIGHTS:

All characters here and mentioned in future are copyrighted and are used with the express permission only of RANDOMHOUSE Publishing.

Welcome mates to a litle tale of a fish out of water.

This particular story will fall on yer ears in a few episodes, not quite sure how many as if yet but just how worth it ye find it to spend your time with this assortmant of ner'do wells will surely have a hand in it.

Now, to be fair I have to admit that I m'self find this first chapter a bit (yawn) slow but it's been awhile since I put ink to paper so (chuckle) I promise the pace will quicken. Oh and feel free to comment if you like... it will give me the notion as to I should continue it or not.

Oh and by the way... it's more about Revenge than Romance :angry:

ASHORE: The Landlubber

Feast of Fools

“That seafaring bastard!” he thought.

As a rule, Ronan was mildly contented that thus far the time he’d spent in this wide ranging world had gifted him with some rather well honed common sense. Now he wondered if he had completely taken a leave from his usually astute judgment. And under his muttering he cursed Egan aloud for leaving him to this dreaded commitment all on his own.

The Bastard.

A friend from childhood, Egan had only been abroad in Connaught for less then three full months and already he was making the life within it rife with upheaval unending. The two of them had been invited, nay, begged to attend the yearly feast and gathering on Clew Bay. Egan had characteristically overflowed with his natural enthusiasms… and accepted happily for them both. Then on the actual day of the Feast he had a change of heart. Ronan suspected in his gut that some new wench was doing more to Egan’s belly then the finest food and wines on the island could provide. So he found without a warning that he was now condemned as proxy, to attend all alone.

That Norse Bastard!

He dismounted from his horse after a tedious ride and felt his apprehensions burn a familiar path through his shoulder muscles to the base of his neck. As he lighted down, his booted foot caused small dust clouds to swirl about where his weight disturbed the dry earth beneath him. The fleeting thought came and went as he removed his companion’s headstall and reigns that the seeming lack of dampness here so close to the sea was unusual yet, would no doubt be appreciated as those attending, dressed in all their finery made their arrivals. He snorted to himself and shook his head. He never had understood the penchant some people held for luxurious garb.

As he backed away he watched with something akin to a parent’s prideful pleasure as his impressive beast, finding himself free from the burden of his rider and the restraint of his leather harness kicked up his hind end and trotted freely out into the side yard. It was a rest that had been well earned. His master regarded him proudly and mused that he would much rather possess a warhorse of quality then the regiments of any rich man.

Now he could feel his own belly swell as he sighed. He absently wondered if the price he would pay for responding to the Praid’s invitation would be a costly one. There was very little that he disliked less then mingling in gatherings of people that he was unfamiliar with, yet in spite of Egan’s withdrawal, his own respect for the Master of this seaside Fortress and oh so important ports had required that he accept. And Ronan’s own growing reputation, much to his dismay, was making him a sought after attendant at local gatherings. The Souls that peopled this island were leaning that his name was to be treaded about carefully. They had as yet not completely grasped what he was capable of… his finer talents. There were only the fireside rumors and the tales carried from the battlefields by maimed survivors who cried out his name from horrid places in their dreams. Many wished to entrench themselves in his good esteem rather then find out what his wrath could bring down around their heads in a more costly manner. And he knew it. He was aware also that they, for all their friendly posturing, were already afraid of him.

With a mindless touch to the hilt of his side dagger, he made his way to the torch-lit entrance and the uncertain events that always seemed to follow a man of his varied profession.

That whelp Bastard! He said a final time aloud as if to punctuate the sentiment.

It had never occurred to him to expect anything less then the usual palatial trappings that always marked Praid’s home celebrations and the such like. An abundant number of iron housed torches blazed hotly out from their anchors that were affixed along the stone-hewn walls. They encircled a Great Hall, causing it to be bathed in the familiar and uneven glow of the illumination that is born of fire. Mysterious and sensual. Deceptive and foreboding. It was the finest camouflage for both treachery and the games of lovers.

He was a salmon out of its home waters and well he knew it. He silently entreated the Gods to cause his Egan to be completely devoid of any sexual prowess for at least the coming fortnight! Ronan reasoned with a wry smile that any longer… could do his little whelp pup real damage. Imagined or not.

As he approached he listened to the soft ramblings of the many voices that filtered through the hollowness of the vaulted ceiling chamber just below him. He saw the people that were gathered in tight groups as they whispered and laughed to one another of things that he could not hear. Others in attendance, richly dressed and appointed, meandered from group to group, pausing only long enough to greet and be greeted before they moved on.

There were the four large fireplaces, each one kept hotly ablaze by the man who stood in attendance to it. And he took notice of the bright light that was thrown out from the hearths as it cast eerie shadows onto the walls of the people that milled about.

They appeared tall and disembodied with their limbs seemingly grotesque and elongated as they moved. Were these the harbingers and the reflections of their inner secrets and souls? He almost smiled to himself. He was so used to seeing the harshness of the world in which he himself existed.

He shook his head. He would have to make a harder effort… out of respect for his host, to find some sense of relaxation while he was abroad within the Praid Fortress. Insofar as he knew, there was little enough threat to be faced while he was here. Old Praid saw to it that his lands, that ran so rich with abundant fields, cattle of all descriptions and the wondrously camouflaged seacoast harbors… were run well. Still, it was in his nature to be cautious.

He barely noticed the growing silence as it slowly began to overtake the chamber. It made its way across the crowd that was gathered within like a gentle, incoming wave and there were no more the sounds of the chattering conversations nor the treading of footsteps upon the stone floors. Even the hounds that wandered so freely about the hall had dropped low and gone down onto their bellies as if propelled by the instinct that only an animal can possess. The room was devoid of any noise and the impromptu quiet fell as loudly as any roaring thunderclap.

The only noise within his earshot… was a barely audible gasp and chuckle from within the well-cushioned depths of the Praid’s oversized chair.

The upper stairway landing framed the man that stood himself, silent and powerful on its threshold. He was a head and shoulders taller then the guards who flanked him and no one who had glanced up at the doorway suspected for a moment that they would attempt to question if an invitation had been issued. He was adress in the dark leathers and blue-green tartan feiladh mor, or great kilt, of the Northern country. He wore simple, heavy boots and utilitarian gauntlets. He was not attired in the fine clothes expected for such a long awaited night of revelry.

His was the vestment that reflected what he was. A man used to the conditions of labor and of war.

Here stood a soul as true to himself as he was with both friends and enemies alike. He presented no pretence and extolled no grandeur. He had no need of it. He was well aware of who he was and how his reputation dictated that others see him. Those that were unaware… acquired the knowledge quickly.

He beheld the scene below him quietly and without moving, his feet slightly apart for balance and his arms resting with almost an animal’s grace at his sides. There was a gentle rise and fall of his shoulders as they mirrored his deep breathing and it gave the onlookers their only reassurance that this otherworldly behemoth that had suddenly appeared before them was indeed flesh and blood and not some unholy banshee sent to do them ill. He was an unfamiliar sight to most of those who stood below him and if not for the mere presence of their protective host, some might have even fled for the relative safety of their chambers and thrown their bolts.

Without a hesitation he began to move down the broad steps of the inner entranceway. He did not linger at the bottom level with the expected pause for respect or wait to hear his name announced. He already knew his name and had no need to hear it proclaimed as if his arrival anointed him some kind of gaming trophy. With a stride that was long and powerful he walked to close the space between himself and the Westward end of the great room. His steps seemed to fall noiselessly onto the hard stone, a sign of the practiced stealth that had saved his life on more then one occasion.

He’d found it a useful skill irregardless of where he found himself to be or the company he was surround by. Trust was not a word he took for granted.

Almost with a caution, many of those in the hall did not look at him as he had passed although it did not go unnoticed by a number of the Lords that several women, those who had dared, waited until he was well away before they slowly turned their gaze to let their eyes follow after this intriguing, predatory creature.

The Celt’s eyes looked only ahead of him and paid those very few who tried to catch his eye no heed. He was uninterested in what he considered to be the excess and ornamentation of courtly workings. He did not have the well-mannered sensibilities that those in whose company he now found himself to be, possessed in abundance. He didn’t care how they regarded him. As long as, if the situation should ever call for it, both man and woman obeyed him without question.

His face, which was heavily scarred from the ravages of war and personal torment held an unreadable expression. And those in attendance, who had a previous knowledge of him, knew that in their well-protected world of predictability, such a man was dangerous beyond expectation.

The expanse of the room had been crossed. Standing at an ease he remained before the ornate and dark clothed chair that was positioned on the dais. With a dignity that is nurtured with inner strength, the Ronan slowly bowed his head low into his chest. For this single moment longer he was silent, then he spoke for the first time in his deep, resonant voice that could raise the hackles on the necks of the most battle-hardened soldiers.

“Praid...” he said. “As always it is good to see you looking so well fed.”

With a robust and honest laugh the older man rose up from his chair and embraced his guest’s forearm with both his hands and clung to it with a hearty grip. “Well… well if we are having the truth between us I was in fear that you’d run afoul of my invitation and go you off to some far corner and send word that you could not come!” he said with almost a delight. “It’s been too long Ronan, to long a time since you were last here!”

“The memory lingers.” Ronan said simply, watching as Praid’s face fought back a grin that would have been… impolite at best.

“You remember my Lady Rua of course.” Praid said as he reached for her extended hand as she drifted up to stand between them.

“Yes, of course. Lady.” Ronin said as he bowed slightly from the waist. “To you goes all good credit for the Praid’s excellent health I suspect?” he stated it as if a response from her had no need to be forthcoming.

“Ronan.” The Lady Rua purred sweetly. “My Lord is quite right. It has been far too long.” She gazed up at the elder Praid and then back towards Ronan himself. ”Through… no fault of your own we of course realize.” Her sparkling eyes darted to the side and then to the front again, smiling up at Ronan as she finished her thoughts. “We are never in want of excitement when you are here to provide us with your good company and the news of the outside worlds. I hope your stay will be a longer one this year.”

And she was not expectant of a reply. Ronan was not known for his tendency to indulge in conversational banter. He spoke when he had something to say and seldom otherwise so she negotiated the following silence with her usual grace. Patting Praid’s arm she suggested “See to it that your great friend is made comfortable while I see to the others?

“I am so very glad you’ve come Ronan; you bestow on us such an honor to be your hosts. Excuse me please?” And she melted back into the gathering as if she had been made of a cool night’s vapors.

The Praid followed his Lady with an admiring glance and then turning back suggested; “Come and let me fill you a glass after such a long ride. How is that magnificent horse of yours?” With a boisterous chuckle he slapped Ronan upon his shoulder and led him towards one of the richly laden tables along the near wall. Taking up a pitcher he quickly filled two glasses and handed one over to Ronan with an enthusiasm that could only have been matched by a child’s waking on the morning of the Samhain celebrations. “To men of courage!” Praid toasted as he lifted his glass to honor his companion. But Ronan did not seem to hear him. His profoundly blue-colored eyes were looking past where his host stood with an startled intensity that left nothing to the Praid’s imagination. Woefully, he’d seen that particular look on Ronan’s face before.

With a swift glance over his shoulder, Praid saw her standing just behind him with her back against the wall as she regarded them in silence. She was still beside the chair where he had himself only moments before been seated.

She was gowned in what was for her uncommon finery. The ruffled chemise that she wore beneath it defined the softly draped bodice that hugged and fittingly displayed her figure. Her voluminous skirts were a mix of wine colored brocade and pale Rose linen.

Yet still were the lovely clothes hiked up at the sides and tucked neatly under the band of her sword belt that even for a night of merriment she would not surrender. She may have relented to the Lady Rua’s pestering that she dress more appropriately for the gathering… but she refused to hinder her movements with the burden of long, frilly skirting should the need arise for her to be at some task with her blade.

With her slender cutlass at her side she was a mix of bedevilment and delight. And Praid knew that even though the night was still in its infancy, he already had the possibility of trouble abrewing.

With a soft smile tingeing his expression as he looked between first one and then the other, the Praid said: “You of course remember our Etain.” Indicating where she stood with his open hand. “Come ashore to do us honor for the evenings gaiety she has.”

“Etain. Yes, well enough I remember.” Ronan responded as he stepped past his host and up to within small distance of where she was apparently rooted to the stone floor.

“Etain?” the Praid chided her. “Offer the man your hand at least in greeting woman.” He already knew she would do no such a thing.

“Ronan.” Etain spoke his name with a breathy, exhaled tone of distaste that was mixed with an air of total disinterest. “Still alive?” she queried with a toss back of her hair.

With unexpected good-nature, Ronan leaned closer and whispered so that only the three of them might hear “Not from want of trying, girl.” He told her.

She eyed him up and down. “Ooh, well then…” she murmured just as softly. “…You will have to try all the harder. If only for my sake”

With a nod in deference to Praid she swept past Ronan and began to search out a place that felt much less cramped.

“Now, now… you will sit near with us Etain.” The Praid beckoned before she was even an arrow’s shot away.

“What say?” Etain whispered under her breath with a lurching turn about that would have snapped the neck on a lesser body. “ Praid…”

“I request it. “ The Praid answered her mildly.

“I would far rather…”

“I request it.” He repeated, as she stood awash in that silent seething that only he could really recognize.

He indicated for Ronan to stroll ahead of him. “We’ve a fine meal in store… Etain, I think that Rua would have you to sit on her left.” His lack of a gesture and the single raised eyebrow in her direction was a sure sign that he envisioned it as more then a simple request. It would test her good manners… “Now then, Ronan let me introduce you to a few of those whom you have not known in the past. Captain Twigg and…”

TO CONTINUE...

[Iron Bess]

Part Two...

ASHORE: Landlubber

BEGUILED

When all was well in her world, to be in Etain’s vicinity was to be aware of life, of mirth and of the merriment that could bubble up to her so very closely guarded surface. When her eyes danced and her soft chuckle broke into a hearty laughter, she could become the center of any group, warming all that drew near to her with as much intensity as a well-stoked balefire.

However this night found the Lady pirates’ mood was sullen as she sat next to her honored host's Lady, leaning on her elbow and toying with her food and contributing very little in the way of conversation.

She felt besieged and betrayed. Cornered. Her mind mulled over empty thoughts as she listened to the men about her roar with their pleasures and tall tales and to the woman... murmuring softly and sedately behind their knowing and beguiling smiles. She shook her head with the bewilderment of it all, allowing her own eyes to drift on the off occasion over to where the scoundrel was seated.

Ronan was lean, flat-bellied and befitted with muscles that were sharply defined. He was young and strong and supple under taut, fair skin. Such a man would be considered a treasured catch for any woman with whom he might favor to pass the chilly night with a voyage through carnal seas. She had ignored his glances and the singular attempt that he had made to jar her from her musings with ridiculous conversations about what was expected for the weather on the morrow. She had remained impersonal and silent, grateful that the moment had somehow slipped past Praid’s notice and he had not so much as raised another eyebrow at her.

Her good friend Praid’s definition of “disrespect” as far as this visiting landlubber was concerned, and hers, varied a great deal.

Perhaps the Gods of this civilized, verbal warring were watching over her after all. Yet in her heart she knew that this peace was not only a fragile one but that it could somehow... be of a design that was of the Lord of Dun Connacht's own making. And such a revelation set her at a dis-ease. The turning that was in her belly told her that Ronan, this rouge and rascal, perhaps was laying something of a claim as to further retribution against her and seemed to not only have the Praid’s beneficial help, but his consent into the bargain as well.

Perhaps it was that he thought there was still revenge that was his right for what had transpired that last time they had... spent time in one another's company. As her thoughts drifted back she recalled that on that somewhat ill fated occasion she had wounded much more then just his pride. Something, which Praid had taken pains to mention to her from time to time when Ronan had dismissed an invitation that the Castle Lord had been eager for him to accept and had sent word back round that he was "unable to honor the most generous summons." The Praid had intoned that his great friend was simply avoiding the place so as not to have to kill her on the Praid’s own sandy beaches.

Etain sighed into her plate and thought of escaping the rest of the evening’s celebrations. It would simplify things all around if she could simply split Ronan’s skull open with an axe. She glanced up at Praid ... and she knew such an undertaking would sour his happy and festive mood and most likely the appetites of those present at the dinner table.

The harpers in the hall had played sweetly. When the meal found its completion, Praid had a plan set for a more rollicking set of tunes and had secured for his guests frolic the most talented of pipers who would in turn be joined by the Bodhran and pennywhistle. “Music fit to dance too!” he had bellowed that afternoon. And Rua... standing at his arm with that simpy grin upon her face... agreeing with every utterance the man made.

Disgusting.

Etain absently let her eyes wander down the table, thinking of nothing. And right up and into the intensity of Ronan’s gaze. With an unaccustomed ease he suddenly surprised them all -himself included- by allowing him self an open chuckle. He did not mean to mock; he had simply found the moment of catching her off her guard a delight and took a combatant's joy in it.

Rising so swiftly as to knock her chair backward and onto the floor, the Lady pirate leaped to her feet, awash in a feeling of insult and embarrassment and swung wide her battle arm, holding up her hand as if she would draw down the Gods own lighting into her fingertips.

...And at precisely the same instant, Praid roared up onto his feet in a fit of his own merriment that shook the room from its roots and echoed off the stone walls. The dogs scattered in all directions and it was a fractured moment before Etain realized that his eruption was not one of anger at her outburst.... but had everything to do with his need for a dance!

More giggling was taken up as a group effort from those that surrounded her and as she looked about she took stock of the number of people exiting their chairs and moving away from the tables for more room while still clutching chalices of water, ale and rums.

It seemed that a joyful pandemonium was now afoot... and the commotion had had nothing what so ever to do with her fit of rage. Fact was, the Praid had not even seemed to take notice.

"Come you here my Lady Wench!" Praid bellowed in his woman's direction as he extended his hand out for her to take into her own.

Rua, the Scarlet Woman so dear to his heart chuckled aloud and his offer was taken up without a hesitation. Etain watched as did the rest of the gathering as the Great Praid lunged past her with his Lady, now hoisted up into his arms and lost from view amid the swirls of her dress and rambled out onto the great dining hall flooring.

With the first rattle of the hornpipe, Etain’s senses were suddenly back on her own welfare, knowing the broken moments of concentration could have been costly... but when she looked over to where she no longer expected her enemy to be... there Ronan stood, drinking at his leisure from his tankard and watching her with mirth as well as intensity over the gem bedecked rim of his cup.

Ronan felt his battle strategies beginning to flood his brain as he sipped from his ale and watched her. He could see she was making ready to bolt so he would have to come to a final choice about her much sooner then he had hoped. It would be a simple enough task to spur her rage past all their polite posturing that the evening had been witness too and bring her inner anger towards him to the eruption he wanted to see. His dilemma however was whether or not old Praid would approve of his timing. To re-open old wounds was always a time tested means to heal deep infections - even if they were of an emotional kind. But to bait her here, in the midst of his friends great yearly gathering... He had arrived with no plan intact as he had not known she would be among those come ashore to participate.

With her endurance of his non-ending glare at an end, the pirate wench fought back the urge to hurl her dagger at his left eye and pressed her palm instead onto her swords hilt out of pure, unadulterated frustration. As the music then began to rattle the rafters she started towards the sturdy side door that led out towards the path that wound its way around and beyond the stable yards.

Ronan inwardly chuckled at his own insight and matching her speed step for step, swept up to block the way of her chosen retreat with his own immense body by reaching it casually across the doorway. Her head snapped up and she looked at him directly for the first time that evening. "Have you out of my way little man." she advised him slowly and methodically as she took a single step back to gift herself with even more distance between them.

"Would you take a dance with me then girl?" Ronan asked as serenely as if he has just been introduced to her at a spring festival.

"Get out of m'way." he was answered with venom that would have shriveled a standing stone down to loose gravel.

"Ahhh..." they heard Praid’s familiar voice call from the center of the melee on the dancing floor.”Speaking together at last? Good! Good! What better way to make a peace between you?" he chuckled. "'Tis proud of you I am girl, a fling be the very tonic to lift your spirits and show you that our lad here is not the unreasonable tyrant you seem to think he is." He had stopped his own dance in mid-step and clinging to his Lady Rua, regarded the Etain with a kind smile. "Well? Take her up then lad. If you hesitate she may yet change her mind! Or… kill you." he added under his breath with a bedeviled smile that made Rua chuckle.

As Praid turned his attentions back to the pulse of his own ritual delights, Etain hissed a warning as Ronan turned back to face her. "Touch me at your own peril!" she advised him.

"Oh come girl," Ronan said under his breath "As the Praid says, a dance will be a balm for the hate you embrace me with." And he smiled with a petulant, sour sweetness down into her anger filled eyes.

The next thing anyone knew, amid flying debris and various assorted food stuffs, the enormous guest whose presence had so delighted the Praid lay sprawled in a heap across what remained of a now collapsed small side table that had been laden with cups, bowls of finger foods and clean plates.

And no one was more astonished then the Lady pirate.

The shove she had delivered was not intended to hurl him over and onto the floor. However, in leaning over her in his taunt, he was off his balance and it would have taken even far less of an effort on her part to send him flying. And she had. Right there in front of everyone. Smack down on his back. With his head now swimming it occurred to Ronin that he should perhaps hope that no one herein knew anyone from his home county. This ill-timed event would indeed be a happy weapon for some of his cronies, which they would cheerfully use to have his pride undone. After all, he did have something of a vile reputation to maintain.

"Gods teeth!!" they heard Praid roar as the pounding of his footstep’s drowned out the music that had as yet not caught up with the events of the moment and gone silent. "Am I to be humiliated in my own house?! I'll not endure it do you hear! These people are my guests!"

Etain stood before him from behind a chuck of her chin and said nothing. What excuse was hers to give? None that he would hear from her at the moment that was a certainty.

"The fault was mine." the voice came up from the floor as it was accompanied by the tinkling of scattered pewter. Ronan rose up with a powerful mans grace and removed a small leafy item from his shoulder. With a smile that was too broad and forgiving he concluded; "No harm done."

Praid turned to back to his Lady Pirate and saw the signs of danger in her eyes. And he had had more then enough.

"I am the one that is the judge of harm done within my house." He eyed her with intensity she had not seen in some time. "You do not walk your own decks this evening Etain, you stroll within my walls. Dance with him girl." he said flatly. "I wish it."

"No." she answered, never taking her eyes off the bane of her current existence.

"I said.... I wish you to dance with this man. You will help bring peace to this gathering or by the Gods I swear I will..."

"Let me do the coaxing." Ronan interrupted, "perhaps I can win at least one kind word before the night is ended? Such a victory would be something I would... revel in." he finished with a condescending turn of the lip.

Etain let her eyes sweep from one angry face and back to the other that was still adorned with a grin she could not bear. "I am an ally,” she said to the house master. “I sail to your waters and come to your aid and hearth at most every request Praid... In war and in peace and in the turmoil that finds its way to within your Fortress walls. I have stood with you! But even you cannot tell me.... with whom I will dance!" And turning with the speed of the lithe fighter that she was she walked swiftly away, the Praid’s voice raging against her back as she pressed past the startled Lady Rua and took her way stoically towards the mammoth stairway.

“Etain!" his voice rang into the crevices of the walls that surrounded them. Praid’s hands balled into fists as he took a long step towards the stairwell when a hand to his arm caused him to pause.

"Friend," Ronan entreated him with a strategist’s expression that one warrior would well understand on the face of another. "I ask your consent to let me finish this. I am within your Fortress and will do as you think best however... I ask your indulgence.

"Ronan..." the Praid turned on him sternly, "...any method for route that might be of your planning for my Etain is not an option I would give you freely!" He was startled by his own sudden, verbal defense of the girl. Be she the cause of this ruckus or no, the truth was she had always been loyal to him above any other save for his own Lady. He would not turn her fate over to someone else on a whim or even in his anger. No. Unthinkable. Yet… this was between the two of them and it was a maze that they would have to negotiate with the cooperation of one another. And no one… saw him smile slightly behind his lowered gaze as he watched Etain retreat up the further most staircases.

"Ronan?" The soft, almost inaudible voice of the Lady Rua drifted into the surrounding calamity. She peered out at Ronan from her safe place behind the Praid’s broad back and cocked her finger to beckon him a little closer. "I think.... I know where you might find her."

TO CONTINUE.....

[Iron Bess]

Part Three:

ASHORE; Landlubber

THE GATES OF HELL

The searing flash that blinded him was so abrupt, powerful and horrific that Ronan was momentarily taken aback. Upon entering the upper floor room he was unsure if it was truly the strike of a lightning bolt from without the castle casement or if it had really lashed out at him from behind the sudden anger that he had just seen come into her eyes.

And it was not until the shudder of an echoing thunder washed over the dusty stone of the walls around him that he was certain it had indeed been an act of nature... and not called up from the un-holiest of depths by pure, female rage.

"It's too bold you are." she whispered lowly, lowering her head and fixing her gaze on him as a wolf might have done before it sprang to tear out his throat. "You've humiliated me, mocked me since you arrived here with all your subtle fan fare. In front of people I respect...and now, when you've challenged my good graces with the Praid before the whole off the feast... you would come here and stroke me as if I were some... un-weaned foal? Woo me with manipulative words onto a dance floor and... and..." He watched her draw in a long, deep breath. He readily recognized the signs of an inward struggle for control.

He suddenly felt the familiar ache across the top of his shoulders as his body tensed instinctively when he smelled a threat in the air.

For the first time since he had been subdued by her and then taken a sweet revenge in return on what he had seen as a friendly lark all that long time ago on the village lawns... his perspective was forced to change. He looked down from his tall height at the seething and truly dangerous woman who stood in front of him. His mind registered her suddenly as what it was that she had made of herself despite his best efforts.

A serious threat to his life.

His mind was compiling his options when the first heavy wail of the winds began to batter at the world outside.

An angry wind and that was right appropriate he mused to himself.

He had shown a tolerance with this sea worthy wench that he himself did not know that he possessed. In truth, he had always viewed woman as troublesome creatures and any man who became smitten with one was to find himself relegated to disaster unending. Ronan inwardly shook himself and called up the sound advice he had formed as an even younger man. His old friend and teacher, Tain and readily said that one wench was as any other and were of use only to take a mans pleasure with and breed his sons on. And here before him in flesh and blood was his proof that they were not worth the trouble they could inflict!

Still... the image of her standing there, so petulant, so insolent in her power...

This time, the shake he gave himself was a physical one.

Time enough then. He had shown restraint with her beyond protocol. He doubted that even Praid could find him at fault for that reasoning. The time was ripe to have all settled once and for all.

"Humiliated you girl" he repeated, savoring the word as he knew it would enrage her further. "With this... inability of yours to release anger that burdens you? Why...you humiliate yourself lass."

It had been a masterful prod.

With as smooth a grace as he had ever witnessed, she swept up in front of him and without a seeming thought for any consequence, she slapped him full across the left side of his face with every once of strength that was hers to summon.

Before Ronan even righted his face back towards the front again his hand had snapped up and captured her wrist before her strike had even taken its full length of reach. He held onto her, keeping her arm upraised to his own eye level and regarded her quietly as he felt his cheek begin to burn.

"Now then bastard..." she said with a bitter rasp to her voice, "the challenge is mine to make! And I say an event is avoided no longer!"

She would have reached for her weapon then and there if she'd had the means he was sure of it. Such a temperament! He absently wondered if the same energy and unyielding focus were true for the rest of the passions that were housed with that tempting, robust body. Ronan stared down at her and shrugged with feigned indifference. "As a guest within your harbor masters walls is it not your duty to see to my safekeeping? After all... Praid's reputation for hospitality is at stake." He could see her jaw tighten and for the first time she tried to yank her arm from his hold.

Unsuccessfully.

As she opened her mouth to hurl a retort Ronan flawlessly interrupted. "Of course I would not sully the reputation of a good man for the misdeeds of one of his salt encrusted minions, so..." (he thought perhaps she was going to burst from the surge of fury he saw tremble through her breast) "...I will put to you a fair proposition."

With eyes that radiated her hate, she stood taut with a fighters tension as she listened to him speak in a low and carefully measured tone of voice. "You seem to be determined that we do battle irregardless of the efforts I've made to dissuade you otherwise." his head nodded. "So be it. But of what use to you is a victory if all that is won is... a loss of some small amount of my blood?"

"Small?" she sneered up at him, "You are so very certain of that?"

"What I propose... is a wager girl. Something to sweeten the victors use of their skill?"

"Take care..." she said threateningly, "The price you pay for the discord you leave in your wake will be high enough without you're..."

"Fearful then are you?" he questioned from behind a slight smile.

With a yank she was free of him and stepped back to look him up and down with an antagonist’s eye.

"Of you? Not in the least." she countered easily enough.

"What say you then girl?" he almost purred, "A wager of choice for the victor? Would not the enticement of taking my head if you so chose not embolden your sword and the effort you put behind it?" And the grin he gave to her bespoke of his own self-assurance that he would be safe enough behind the blade of his own wielding. "Anything... anything of your choosing girl. Something… to satisfy your need to see me undone." And he gestured with his arms opening wide to indicate that anything would be possible.

He watched her bosom swell and then retreat as she breathed. "Anything that is of my choosing?" she parroted.

"Yes, anything." he answered with a gracious nod... and waited.

Etain regarded him a moment then let her eyes take a lingering glance out of the huge window that was centered on the Eastern wall. "Your horse." she said without hesitation.

Ronan felt his breath falter. "Abrohn? With my life a sword strike away you... would choose to take my horse?" He would never admit to it but she had suddenly and completely baffled him.

"It will be a wondrous tale." she almost murmured. "A story that can be crafted, told and retold by the Bards before the hearth-sides and taverns of how the great and terrible Ronan of Connacht was made to walk afoot back to his lands and Fortress...with a *girl* that had bested him, riding behind the entire way."

He could almost see her reflecting on the vision in her minds eye as she looked up at him. And it took all the inner strength he could muster not to chuckle himself. Well, well... She didn't want him dead after all. It was revenge she was after, pure and uncomplicated.

Perhaps a woman's soul laid claim to the warrior-pirate within her in spite of all her bravado. He had humiliated her once and she wanted nothing more then to evenly settle the score. What fault could he rightly find with that?

She had managed to reinstate the respect for her that he had begun to question.

"Done!" he bellowed with such an eruption so as to make her start. "The price if I am bested will be my Abrohn." he allowed her to savor her moment before he concluded his thoughts. "And as for my choice girl... would you like to be aware of my intentions? Or shall we keep it an intrigue?"

She smirked at him with all the loathing she could project. "What else does a man of power demand of a woman that he conquers?" she voiced with contempt. "You are no different than any other I would imagine. Yet I am not concerned for there is no chance of your being the victor here and seizing what you would see as a hard won prize."

Ronan cocked his head slightly and regarded her almost kindly. "Take girl?" he said, now shaking his head and taking a step towards her that she did not try to avoid by stepping away. "When I champion the event I will have no desire to *take* anything from you. On the contrary... I fully intend to give you something." He saw her eyes narrow only slightly as her mind unraveled what she thought was behind his meaning and she could not contain a sarcastic snort. "What is it that causes men to see the value of their sexual prowess as a gift to all of womankind?" she asked as she looked up... high up and into his cornflower blue eyes.

Ronan, for the first time chuckled aloud. "You flatter yourself girl." he informed her, daring to take another step closer towards his fate. "I intend to give you something make no mistake of it but it is not the prize you seem to be coveting. No, ah, no indeed...." he said as his voice dropped and he began to stalk slowly towards her in earnest. "What I intend to give you my dusty pirate is something you seem to be in great need of to cool your heels." He saw her hand flow lightly down to embrace the pommel of her sword.

"And what...would that be now?" she asked with a tone as course as she could manage as she swallowed back what seemed to be her first glint of inner apprehension.

Ronan shrugged good-naturedly and smiled. "A bath." he told her simply.

It was a sweet subjugation and make no mistake of it.

"WHAT!" she shrieked. "Wha... you!"

It was really the first time he'd ever heard her stammer. "Well look at yourself!" he said reaching over to casually swipe a tousseled length of her hair back and down onto her back once more. "Hair all a mess from fleeing here and there. Upstairs and down. Your sweat streaked, dusty. You've a good deal of dirt on your cheek." he informed her, feeling the need to point his gloved finger in her direction. "Think you that Praid would not be shamed from the sight of you? A woman he so very highly regards appearing so... unkempt? Disheveled?" He shook his head in a motion that reflected deep regret. "I feel it the very least that I owe to him for the years of friendship that he has shown me. I... am going to clean you up my girl." And he smiled at her the most beguiling smile that he could manage. "Body... and soul."

It took her a moment to recover but when she had.... the gates of all Hell had been left ajar.

With a resounding scream that laid a great deal of doubt as to his legal parentage, Etain reached back and flung a heavy bronze icon that was within her reach straight at his head. And with an skilled aim as fine as hers... he had to duck.

He heard the rustle of her skirts and when he was again upright he caught the final glimpse of her as she whirled about and stormed out of the doorway. Her emboldened steps resounded as she descended the curving staircase and into the rooms below them, cursing his name and the powers that had ever brought him into existence at the same time as she in the first place.

"WOMAN!" he shouted so as to reach her hearing before she was truly out of range, "I WILL BE WAITING IN THE ANTI-ROOM BELOW IN A SINGLE HOUR!"

"AYE!!!" was all she hurled back at him as her steps faded away with the ringing in his ears.

As an after thought he touched his fingertips to his cheek where she had struck him and as he listened to the blustery winds that he could clearly hear now that the room was quiet and held nothing but he sounds of the waves breaking off the cliff side of the great sea.

She was indeed skilled. He had watched her in battle on the fields of Dunlow. She was a Warrior. She was a Celt and a warrior. Worse, she was now a Pirate. She could very well win the day over him if the Gods took favor with her.

His sigh was weighted with an emotion that he could not explain. "So be it... little sea bitch." he murmured to himself as he followed after her in the dusty cloud that was her wake.

TO CONTINUE...

[Iron Bess]

ASHORE: The Landlubber

THE KEENING

Ronan watched her with a wary eye as she stood with a deceptive calm just a short distance away from him on the bottom most stair.

He was also finding it difficult to keep his mind on the forthcoming matter at hand.

Etain had descended the winding staircase at the appointed time and had not kept him waiting. A simple fact that yet again, confirmed from his personal experience, that she was most unusual for a woman. However what he had most expected to be confronted with was alarmingly absent. She had presented herself before him a good minute or so beforehand and had as yet not launched one barb nor cutting remark in his direction. She was at clam.

He was on his guard now more then ever but... the way she looked.

Her hair was newly brushed and still hung in loose waves that flowed downward like a heavy rain onto her hips. Her face (and most especially her cheeks he noticed) blushed a warm rose from a fresh washing and peeking out just above the ruffled chemise that was so elegantly and jealously embraced by her bodice was a bosom as pale and fair as a swan. It mounded broad and full and Ronan shuddered with the thought that no healthy man could help but want to bury his face between those magnificent and oh so feminine breasts.

The knowing smile that played across the Lady's eyes was not reflected upon her lips for him to see. Her delight was an inward one. And she was rather pleased. Her weapons were not all... of a pirate’s hardened steel.

"M’Lord Landlubber." she addressed him too politely for his own ease.

"My...Lady Pirate." he responded, gazing up without embarrassment from his admiration of her body to look into her eyes. Eyes... now viewed for the first time in a state of calm that were the colour of Ireland itself. Deep and green and haunted.

"Please remember that I am not your anything... let alone your Lady." she said as she advanced toward him with her newly tidied skirts a drifting and looking still insolent with the power she knew was hers to wield as she chose. She took a step closer to him then any other woman might have dared, allowing him to discern that the natural fragrance of her flesh, even in the cool of the evening air, was not unlike flowers that were warmed by an afternoon sun.

The mighty Ronan seemed to have acquired an obstruction in his throat.

"I accept your challenge of a wager Celt," she told him in a voice without a hint of malice. "I have met you at the appointed time... and we will see what the Gods have in store for the likes of us."

She turned away and glided toward the center of the rounded stone room, leaving the space in which she had stood so close before him feeling now cold, impersonal and empty.

"And... as a courtesy," Etain spoke in a still softened voice and turning slightly back to face him, " I would like you to be very clear.... on what it is that you feel you can rightly claim should a victory fall to you."

How very regal and unattainable she looked standing there.

"Be certain Landlubber," she seemed to council him.... "In the unlikely event you should be victorious you will take no liberty with me that has not been charted before hand. I will not be treated as your chattel, nor a bondswoman, nor any other thing you are at liberty to hold sway over. You will claim nothing that has not been set by treaty between us."

She seemed to look out on him from behind very different, more sobering eyes.

"Know this Ronan..." she instructed, taking a step back in his direction, "I... do not submit. I am not like so many of the others here ashore. I choose. I am the one to make the choices that concern my own welfare. And surrender on my part, has always come with a very high price for the man who has attempted to win it." She tossed her head and her hair swayed and her eyes were suddenly no longer veiled with any kind of a pretense

"Weigh my worth carefully Ronan." she told him with a whispered voice as taunting as her come-hither smile. "Be certain... very certain that any prize you hope to gain.... will be well worth your effort... and well worth a sacrifice."

Without a trace of his inner thought reflected on his face, Ronan felt his belly cringe.

Suddenly he no longer wanted to do battle with her. He wanted to rape her. This was a woman that had been crafted by his Gods to be conquered. Won and taken and savored. And by a man that was worthy of the fight that she would give him! At that moment she aroused in him such contradictory emotions that he was at a loss to know whether to breathe in or out.

"Nothing more then what I have already told to you." He managed to say with the pitiful amount of air he found remained in his lungs. "A bath, girl. Nothing more. You have my word."

"Then we understand one another." she said as she floated a bit closer. "I will not be forced into the amorous intentioned arms of a man that I loathe... and for whom I hold no respect... let alone affections."

Somewhat affronted, Ronan wrinkled his nose and chuckled at her half heartedly, "Oh come now... is that what you think? That I have to force myself on a woman unwilling?" He shook his head as he chuckled again at the absurdity. "Be completely at your ease girl," he told her with an easy manner, "I am not now nor have I ever wanted for *willing* company to share my body and bed."

He fleetingly felt the pang of chastisement as his conscience thumped the back of his brain and whispered into his ear, "Liar."

But he held to his story as she locked eyes with him. "Well, I am quite sure that the livestock to whom you so freely give your affections will be gratified to know that you hold them in such high regard." she said simply, finishing off her comment with a batting of her eyes that could have been heard over the music in the Great hall

With a measure of deep satisfaction she witnessed him start, almost physically fumble to hold to his place and choke on the sudden intake of air that was swept up into his slightly agape mouth

"Wha..?... Why you little...!"

A rustle of fabrics, an upswept arc of her arm and she drew from within the folds of her voluminous skirt a slender-bladed broadsword whose bronze rose draped quillions gleamed in the torchlight. Now she slowly circled her body upright and well balanced and her eyes keen and focused as she grinned at him with some hidden fulfillment.

Ronan watched her carefully as she drifted around him. She was a sidhe of the worst kind! A P’uca! A Banshee! Not only had he allowed her to taint his concentration... but she had sullied his honor into the bargain as well! Oh, she was an evil of the fairy realms incarnate into flesh!

He fleetingly wondered as he drew his own weapon from its scabbard, if Praid would believe him if he brought back a tale of her accidentally drowning within her tub?

He sighed almost audibly.

Most likely not.

He sized her up as she moved. He remembered from their last tussle that she was loath to strike the first blow but he could take nothing of her wiles for granted. He could not afford too. He watched as she hefted her sword lightly, her wrist turning the blades end in small, delicate circles in front of him as she looked up at him with large beckoning eyes that tugged at his... ability to think.

A sorceress, that’s what he was confronting. A sea witch!

He watched her fingers as they gently embraced the length of the leathered grip, with both hands functioning as one as she adjusted her shoulders and crouched slightly. She let her face tilt ever so charmingly to the right and she smiled… then spun with the speed of a startled elk and brought her blades edge astonishingly close to his upper arm.

It was instinct and body memory alone that kept him from serious hurt. In a twinkling he had brought his sword up and blocked her strike in spite of his being taken unawares.

It was time for him to no longer think.

Now Ronan was at an equal readiness and he took a battle stance that had very often been the last thing his opponent in war had ever been witness too. Alert and wary he mirrored her every movement as she continued to circle. He knew that with his strength alone he could overpower her. But then again… he’d have to catch her first. Catch her off her guard and balance and that was a happenstance he knew was most unlikely to favor him.

She suddenly let go a cry of spirit or anger or both and swung again towards his upper body. She roared forward and swung her broadsword with the full measure of her strength, dipping the blade tip first to draw his sword downward for a defense. With a remarkable flexibility, she then circled the sword length back upright, swatting Ronan with the flat of the blade against his left shoulder and sending him stumbling, fighting for his balance and then falling headlong onto the ornate oval carpet that was beneath their feet.

Somewhat stunned but relying on his warrior reflex, Ronan had taken the blow and rolled, settling upright on his knees and regaining his balance in a heartbeat. He watched as she spun her blade, allowing it to gain speed and function as she swirled it first in front of her, then the one fluid movement moving on to encircle behind her head and her back before it’s blade was to the front again and lunging right at him. He could only brace himself to receive it and this time as it caught him across the same shoulder he was knocked flat.

With his own sword now swung back and positioned to block any following blow… nothing came. Settled back with readiness on his haunches, Ronan saw her standing recoiled and ready just a short distance away. Now Ronan rose up slowly again to his feet and just behind the slight body pain from the effort of doing so, he felt the first unmistakable spark of something else. Uncertainty. Had she read his mind? Wasn’t it his very thought that to tumble her off her balance was the wisest course to win the day and not cause her a serious injury? His previous thoughts as to her real origins had been only trite musing but… was she indeed some offspring of the Otherworlds?

“You are lost, landlubber.” Her honeyed voice broke into this head.

Ronin felt an un-named emotion flood his body as he sprang at her.

The pirate wench moved into a position of defense and countered his every blow as it was delivered, deflecting them off and away from her own body. She held a near mastery of her sword.

The tearing echo of clashing weaponry rang through the chamber and the adjacent hallways, mixing with the distant sounds of the music that played in the great gathering hall. And one upon one, as the resonance grew stronger Ronin became aware of something within himself that had begun to surge and increase along with the sounds of the swords ringing as they battled. An ember that had started to burn inside his belly had found in her cunning and defiance of him, a spark. A spark, that had now moved past smoldering and had burst into an open flame. And with a sudden realization of what it was, Ronan warmed himself at this new and empowering fire. It fed his amazing realization. She may be Mythical in her ability to taunt and confound his reason… but make no mistake, she was a woman. Simply a human woman. Tender of flesh and potent with sexuality enough to make his blood surge a violent course though his veins. An extraordinary woman… and it was Praid… The Praid? It was Praid that adored and protected her while she was ashore.

It was almost too simple.

It came into very clear focus that Praid would never have allowed her to engage him in swordplay if he had held a single thought that Ronan would really do her any harm. As crafty as any old wolfhound, the Praid had connived and manipulated the event that Ronan was now undertaking… but, to what purpose?

The Lady’s fine swordsmanship was no match for Ronan’s brutal, warrior skills and strengths. Etain had to be aware of it and she was certainly clever enough to know that Ronan knew it too. As much a part of his legend that told of his ruthlessness, were the tales of Ronan’s mastery with his sword. Yet it hadn’t fazed her in the least. Was she that prideful? Stubborn? Yes, most likely it was stubborn he thought as he parried a blow and returned it with equal measure.

What was it Praid was trying to achieve? What could he gain? What could he… or was it she? Was it something that Praid was trying to make clear to his rebellious little pirate ally?

And… had he made Ronan an unsuspecting ally of his intentions?

He paid for his careless attentions to his speculations with an abruptly painful slice into his forearm.

Etain then backed away and looked as if she were making ready to pounce. Ronan touched his fingers to his wound, examined the small tainting of blood on his hand and took a deep, substantial breath.

Well, he couldn’t kill her. Praid respected this wench and made it his business to see to her well being.

Her… well being?

Ronin had to catch himself from chuckling out loud.

How long ago had he not had that very conversation with Praid? Awash in his rage and concern over this Lady pirate when last she and Ronin had warred with one another just outside the sea harbor gate, the Fort Master had confessed that he was at a loss to understand her inner rages and the inability to take an interest in her own well being. Praid had told Ronan, over several ale’s, that he had felt the job had fallen on his shoulders to see to it that her temper didn’t get her killed when she came ashore and it was his own well focused opinion… that it was all the result of her having forgotten one simple fact. That she was after all, still a woman. For all the time that he had known her, all she had done was find war with men. Distrust them. He had never known her to love one. To take the pleasure of an embrace from one. The Praid had lamented that he knew of no man upon this wide-ranging earth and seas that could handle her or was foolish enough to step into the arena of her dangerous nature to even try.

Then, he had suddenly fallen silent and smiled oddly at Ronan, as he’d looked him up and down. At the time, Ronan had dismissed it as a friendly acknowledgement of his company. Now the grin that he himself repressed saw the deeper meaning all too clearly.

“Alright then Praid.” Ronan said aloud even though he was speaking only to himself. “Have it your way, you old beached whale.”

“What!?” she questioned as she backed away a step and resettled her stance.

Ronan simply smiled down at her. His eyes gleamed with an open warning that the gaming was at an end and his lips pressed together with the obvious sign of trying not to grin to widely.

“Ahhh girl,” He said softly, Her brow knitted and he could see her mind race to foresee what trickery he was up too. “I am going to enjoy the rest of this unexpected evening. Very, very much.” Ronan told her gently as he allowed his weapon to drop from readiness and let it hang somewhat loosely at his side.

“Wha…?”

From behind the most disarming smile that he could produce, he stepped to within an arms reach, offering up a momentary pause that bespoke of surrender… and then lunged forward.

With a sudden, solid push of his shoulder striking squarely above her breastbone he sent her tumbling.

He then maneuvered as fast as a darting trout and grasped her about the waist to keep her from hitting the floor from a dreadful fall. What he had not counted on was knocking the breath out of her body to the point that she almost swooned. For the moment she was limp and trance like as she rested in the support of his arm, looking up at him with eyes that were unfocused and bewildered.

With as little an effort as if he had taking a rag doll from a sleepy child, he reached across and relieved her of her sword, her hand calling up no strength to retain its custody. Ronan glanced towards the cushioned bench onto which he tossed both their weapons and then back down into her face to see if she had as yet drawn in a breath. She hadn’t it seemed. He shook her with a brief but strong effort.

“Take in a breath girl!” he instructed as he held onto her. He cupped his hand under her chin and jostled her face. “I said breathe!”

It wasn’t a comment that bore repeating.

He felt her legs pull up from the floor and then a sharp, almost excruciating pain enveloped the top of his right foot as she stomped the significantly well made heels of her cuffed high boots down to make her displeasure with him unquestionably clear.

Ronan fumbled with his balance if only to keep from dropping the she-demon on her skull.

“Bastard! Landlubber!!” she bellowed as she brought her herself onto her feet and stood aright.

“Now, now…” Ronan intoned as he captured first one wrist and then the other within his own immense hand. “When ever was it that you said it was a battle that had to be won with only the sword? I have no recollection of that rule being set down and I have played by all your rules. To win is to win girl… and I have won.” All right, perhaps his smile was a little too broad to be considered gracious.

“Ahh!!” She shrieked, “You claim this as a coward’s victory?” She twisted and pulled (and the view he thought was delightful) and tried to kick him yet again.

Having pulled her against his own waist to help support her, Ronan now easily bounced her up and let her flop back hard, down and over his extended knee. As delightful a sight as it was to see her so thunderstruck, he could barely hear his own, self-congratulatory thoughts as they were drowned out by her shrieks of rage.

“Ronan!” she cried out at him, “Whoreson!”

With that, he abruptly withdrew his knee and sent her sprawling onto the carpet underfoot.

She set herself aright quickly, most likely out of self-preservation he thought, all a tangle within her skirts and supporting herself on her arms as Ronan slowly squatted down in front of her. “I suspect I will have no end of trouble finding a tub that is large enough to fit both you and your ego.” He said with almost genuine warmth.

If looks could have owned the power to indeed kill, old Praid would be readying his burial mound and planning his funeral for the morrow.

“Take some comfort in it girl, that you never had any chance.” Ronan said with what he felt was an actual feeling of kinship. “I am taller in height, stronger by far and like it or not, more experienced.” He extended his hand in offering to help her onto her feet and was not surprised when it was refused. “Fume as you will, you know I’m right.” he finished as he rose up to his feet again and stood looking down at her.

“I am not a man to be kept waiting, Etain.” He informed her in his voice that carried within it the richest sound of his authority. “I will let you retire to your own rooms for now… but when I send for you I expect you to come when bidden.” He waited for her to hurl another argument at him but she was… remaining uncomfortably silent. “You… may wish to bind up your hair.” He offered with an indication of his finger. “Should you not wish to have it dampened?”

“Keep your suggestions for your own council! I think I know what is best for my hair!” she spat.

Ronan smiled charmingly. “Not until morning.”

With wide, angry eyes she looked him up and down and then managed to get to her feet without mishap. She brushed at her skirts and pushed the mass of her hair that had come flailing over her shoulder back to its place behind her and then beheld him with a look of utter pride and defiance.

“I keep to my bargains, you poxied scoundrel.” She informed him, pausing as if his stupidity would take him a moment to understand her meaning.

“Then you’re dismissed.” He said with a tone of disinterest and a wave of his hand. “And when I send for you, you need bring nothing save… for yourself.” He turned and looked at her slightly aside. “I will have made all arrangements that need be made for your…comfort girl.”

“Dismiss..!” she started to exclaim in utter insult, catching the words before they flew into his face. With a swirl of her clothes she turned and walked towards the side stairway from where she had arrived until his voice beckoned at her a final time.

“Uh, pirate?” he said with little intonation. “I would like to at least hear a tone of respect in your voice for the remainder of our evening together.”

“That…!” she replied in as haughty and superior a tone as he had ever heard in his life, “…was NOT something that YOU had set a bargain for!” And amid the whirl of her hair and temper, she was gone.

Ronan stood for a moment in the silence and wondered what had just happened to him.

Then he bent down in the midst of his sudden privacy and took a hold of his aching foot and rubbed it, almost stumbling himself, back down onto the carpet. By all the Gods, Celt and Viking, what had he let himself in for?

And the third player could be heard to exhale as he immerged from the camouflaging shadows of the sidewall as his own sword slipped silently back into the scabbard that was affixed to his belt and baldric. Connor was as ever, the soul of discretion.

Ronan looked him over with a wary eye.

“The Praid knows she can be difficult”. Connor said. “Knowledge that nurtured the need for some assurance that should she have found a rupture in that well storied restraint of yours, that no real harm still would have come to her.” Connor simply exchanged underlying glances with the man across from him. “He needed to be certain that the outcome would be an amicable one... for you both.”

“And that task fell to you.” Ronan stated simply, briefly eyeing the now sheathed cutlass.

“It did.”

“Tell me then Connor,” Ronan asked, allowing his tensions to begin a slow escape, “What think you then of the outcome?”

Connor pondered over his thoughts for a moment and then spoke honestly as he knew of no other way. “I think that the two of you knew before you started how it would all end.”

Ronan shook his head as if to clear it. “Well… possibly.” He answered. “And what I need to …”

“Everything you require is already stocked with abundance in your tower quest quarters.” Connor informed him in his professional, soldier like-manner. “Water has been warming for most of those hours that the two of you have been sparring after bolting from the Grand Hall and your wagers agreed upon. Yes, Praid hears everything. You’ll also find that several other heated stones are piled within the coals and are within reach of the hearthside tub. A substantial fire has been warming the room as well. Those casements are as of yet un-shuttered but you should take no chill from the sea breezes.”

Ronan expression was quizzical. “So sure was Praid then?” he asked as he repressed a tired smile.

Connor shrugged. “I know not. I was here to keep the girl safe should she find herself not so. If you would know it, yes, I would have killed you to see to her survival in this game you have been playing.”

“You would have tried.” Ronan said with no anger. “You…disapprove of all this Connor?” he asked, “The tone within your voice tells me you find in it some sort of folly?”

“What I find as folly is that so many men within these lands deem it a choice to burden themselves with and chase after a single woman. Being smitten with only one female… is a danger many do not foresee.”

Ronan nodded his assent almost without noticing. Sound and familiar advice he fleetingly thought. An older and more experienced warrior’s advice. His eyes then searched over the high ceiling and he sighed. “Well then Connor, you can return to your Praid and tell him he has his way at last.” He thought for one moment he saw Connor repress a small, secret smile. Ronan touched his hand again to his wounded arm and pursed his lips. “Indeed, return to your haughty Sea God and inform him that I accept his gift of his pirate woman’s good company. Tell the rascal that while his intrigues may have been found out, I hold him no grudge though it has cost me life’s blood.”

Connor rested his fist upon the pommel of his blade and nodded, tuning as he did so and made way towards the doorway.

“And Connor,” Ronan called after him, causing him to pause and turn round a last moment more.

“Also tell him that my gift to him in return… will be one, very clean girl. Body… and soul.”

As tremendously unusual as it was to hear, Connor let go a gentle chuckle. “Indeed then my Lord,” he responded to what he saw as a somewhat over confident boast as he looked Ronan over with a discerning eye. “You must be in possession of one of the worlds most daring… or foolhardy hearts.”

Ronan squinted and let his eyes drift back over to the stair flight where she had disappeared from their view. “Oh…” he sighed in a casual manner as he slapped together his hands and sent the dust that clung to them flying, “…this will not require a strong and noble heart my friend. It will however, require another part of my body, just as vital.” He glanced back at Connor and grinned, “And I have those.”

TO CONTINUE...

[Iron Bess]

ASHORE: Landlubber

BODY AND SOUL

“Best move your toes, girl.” he suggested with a deep, throaty voice that was rich with his own exhaustion.

Without a conscious thought she felt her knees draw to the side, bumping softly against the warm tub-wall and her toes curl under as if with an effort that was other then her own. And she felt herself sigh with utter contentment.

He jostled her gently, causing the water to wave faintly as he reached out from the side of the tub, retrieved another scalding hot stone from the hearth pit with an iron tool and then set it down in the furthermost end of the enormous basin in which they sat. It sizzled, erupted and spat plumes of water in all directions as it made its contact and then fell silent as it disappeared beneath the surface.

She could feel the immediate heat that radiated outward from that single, fiery rock. The water would begin to warm again and that meant a longer time to linger in the pleasing confines of her newly found peace of mind.

And the length of him after all, was a very comfortable object upon which to be seated.

The water billowed and washed back over them anew as he deftly resettled her onto his lap. She felt his fingers begin to rub with an exquisite pressure at her temples. In time, his thumbs then drifted downward and pressed erotically along the lines of her jawbone until they met at the junction of her chin and her head lolled slightly to the side as his arms crossed over themselves and embraced her shoulders, allowing his hands to caress her shoulders as he chose.

“Mmmmmmm…” It escaped her without even a hint of cognizant meaning… and it gave Ronan a chuckle.

“Well said, girl.” He murmured into her hair as he lifted a cupped hand filled with water and drained it delicately over her shoulder.

With a casual glance, Ronan took another inventory of her scattered, wringing wet clothes that lay in a heap so near the tub side. Now, with things going more calmly between them he was almost sorry that he had had to toss her into the tub fully dressed. His consolation was of course that she’d left him with no other alternative. He could distantly feel the bite of her nails as she’d dug them into his arm and shoulder and had wondered at his own restraint in that he’d not throttled her. Well, he had to admit to admiring her bravery.

Most men on this island were loath to confront him in their bravest moment and here she was, this spit of a woman just daring him to lay a hand to her. And he had found the room precisely as Connor has foretold it, well appointed, well warmed and overflowing with an array of useful “weaponry” for dealing with the unfamiliar battlefield that was to be a bathing tub.

Curiously, when allowed to mix within the currents of tepid waters, the oil of soft scented flowers and herbs made for a heady fragrance that not only soothed the tensions but the soul.

And he knew her temperament would, after her somewhat indelicate introduction to the water, have had a great need for such soothing. The sweet smells rose off the water and bathed over the entire room as well as its occupants that were growing drowsy from its powerful essence.

Oh, and she was certainly drifting. All the angry, ugly thoughts that had fought their way into her brain had been silenced. She leaned against her comfortable yet pliable support and let her aching mind think of nothing.

“I… don’t hear the music any longer.” She said as almost an aside while she traced with her fingers along his hands. She could feel him turn slightly to glance back at the South window that was almost directly behind them. “Well,” he said as he exhaled. “…There is as yet no light but it is almost dawn. The tide has turned. I should suspect they would be close to an end of their reveries by now.” He could not see the slightly perplexed look that covered her face but he could hear it in her voice.

“And what does a landlubber know of the ways that tides effect the light of a morning, warrior?” she queried sleepily. Ronan released his hold about her shoulders and ran his hands downward along her arms and further still over the gentle rise of her delicious hips, up onto the firm, smoothness of her thighs and embraced her knees, one with each enormous hand. “Because girl,” he intoned right matter of factly as he drew her closer against himself, “As the tide is now going out, it means the day is almost here. And before you ask it, it’s because I can hear that the sounds of the waves against the coast cliff are less frequent. So many questions you ask. I am not in the habit of answering to people.”

“It's glad I am of it then if questions are an annoyance to you.” She purred, turning her head slightly to look back at him. It was an open invitation that he could not ignore and he once again pressed his lips to her cheek and kissed it with a sincere effort.

Grabbing the chance to escape the bondage of being wedged between their two bodies as she turned, the dark lengths of her hair spilled out and around her. Now freely exposed, it drifted away, floating along the top of the water until it smothered over it like a blanket of night colored mists.

“You owe me a dance girl.” Ronan said matter-of-factly as he drew back the wayward locks and smoothed them over her shoulder.

“I owe you nothing scoundrel. All negotiated debts have been paid in full.” She said softly.

Etain let her fingers wander beneath the surface and clutch at his left wrist, drawing it up and out of the water. With a careful eye she studied his palm and fingertips as she ran her own, so much smaller ones along its length. “Mighty Warrior indeed.” She muttered absently. “Look at you, just as wrinkled as I am. Here. See for yourself!” and she lifted his hand up and closer to his face so as to give him a better view.

“Never mind.” He scolded softly; using her turned body to his advantage and coaxing her into a complete turnabout so that now she sat forward and faced him directly. “The flesh is fragile girl, whether it be of man or woman.” He muttered as if to impart some sort of instruction. “There is a point at which…” he stopped himself and studied her attentive face. “Never mind.” he concluded, catching himself before he presented her with his well-honed, first hand knowledge of human frailties that could well have an even more damaging effect on her overall opinions of him. If that was possible.

His evasion seemed insignificant and she glanced up at him coyly, slowly drawing her hands across his belly and lingering only long enough (and low enough) to cause him a start. Repressing a chuckle she then moved her hands with a practiced skill enticingly up his chest, along his heavy shoulders and smiled softly as her arms found rest in a subtle embrace of his neck. “Who are you Ronan?” she questioned in the most sincere tone of voice he had ever heard her use.

“The man who has this night washed your face.” He said with a momentary, genuine affection.

He could feel the cascade of water that ran sweetly from her body and plopped down rhythmically onto his own. Her breasts teased against him with an intoxicating and spicy tremor and for a time, all he could manage was to simply look down and into her…arousing eyes.

Ah, to think of it. He had at one time that evening even considered drowning her.

The whole truth of him? It was not for her to know he mused. If ever at all, certainly not now. Not here. And he looked her over thoughtfully in return as she watched him. He then quietly reached up and held her face between his hands, resting her chin within their shelter.

“Come back to Connacht with me for a time girl.” he ventured, dropping one arm to hover just above the water then reach out to claim her waist and press her against him with an unyielding hold. Her nakedness was tempting by the firelight as she peered at him through the flickering darkness and without forethought gently eased herself up onto her knees so as to have a better reach. She laid her hand along the scarred side of his face and he felt her fingers move down its ragged line.

“No.” she answered him softly. Then she kissed him. With her warm, glistening body now happily aligned with his own she leaned up and kissed him hotly with tasteful, damp lips. Now his own mouth parted with a hungry willingness as she moved her tongue slickly along the roof of his mouth.

He was mesmerized. This sea witch seemed to have looked past the ominous histories of his growing reputation as well as his marred appearance. Hmm… could it be so? Something within his still inexperienced “with-the-mind-of-a-woman’s reasoning” wanted to hope.

Why, he wondered.

He drew back slightly at last and pressed his mouth to her forehead and then down onto her nose and chin. Then he studied her. “What are you about pirate?” he questioned, allowing his eyes to go the least bit narrow. “I find such sudden forgiveness from you un-settling, down into my very gut. What sea-wenches scheming are you up to? Another… wager?”

There was not even a second in between for him to think. She flung her arms about him and resumed her attentions with an urgency that made him shudder. Her tongue was right proficient and he tossed aside his curiosities and allowed her the command of this moment in his life!

He would worry about her intentions tomorrow.

The water fled in all directions from over the lip of the tub as his hands and mouth caressed her. He kissed her face, her fingertips, her glorious eyes and her breasts, each in their turn. For the second time that night she yielded to him, closing her eyes softly and releasing herself over to his care without will or question. She mused that this youngster’s knowledge of a woman’s body was well honed… and he had seemingly schooled himself in any question that may have filtered in past his warrior’s persona… as to how best entice a woman. Pirate or otherwise!

Ronin pulled back from her and he saw her eyes shine with the realization that the evening’s true conquest was now in it's reality hers and hers alone.

She silently beheld him from behind half-lidded eyes, however, her smile was warm and she leaned down to kiss him softly a last time with no shame or hesitation. Etain now surrendered to an unaccustomed, girlish shyness and buried her eyes into Ronan’s chest with a soft laugh as she cuddled up beside him, dipping her shoulders just beneath the water like a cloak for its warmth.

Ronin silently thanked his Gods in their heavens and his conniving host below them in the great hall.

Given the time it took him to calm his racing heart, Ronan then noticed that the first dusty-pink ray of morning light was seeping across the window casement of the Southern wall. His movement had disturbed her slightly and now he felt her sigh softly and resettle herself, gifting his shoulder with an endearing rub of her cheek as she settled yet again so comfortably against his body. He shook his head at the wonderment of it all.

Such was his life it seemed.

He would have to retain this hard won knowledge that with women…some battles could be more easily won then others.

THIS TALE... IS AT AN END....

[Black Syren]

Umm..more please...I like Ronan *Grins*