accuse me of being weak.”
“Then stop behaving like it. Time is wasting and there is no more tolerance for your idiocy, Rory. Do what you are told and do it immediately.”
She was out of his embrace, looking at him as he gazed impassively at her. Rory . He rarely, if ever, called her by her given name because he felt it didn’t suit her. He called her Libby, a nickname for her middle name, Elizabeth, because he liked it better. But he used her given name now and it sounded harsh from his lips. For the first time since she’d known the man, he was giving her a command. His knightly instincts were taking control and he was becoming what he had been trained for; hard, calculating, cold. He had become the warrior.
The fact that she’d been through a harrowing experience over the past hour had her emotions surging like a roller coaster; she didn’t like his tone or the expression on his face. It was hard, ungiving and completely unlike the man she loved.
Furious, sick, she snatched the clothing out of the old woman’s arms and charged into the room that Hut was indicating. She slammed the door in the old woman’s face when the little woman tried to follow her. Kieran heard her throw the bolt.
He sighed faintly as Hut and the old woman looked at him questioningly; he simply waved them away. After a moment’s pause lingering on the locked door, he went back into his chamber and collected his satchel and scattered possessions. There were dead men bleeding all over the floor but he stepped over them, not giving the carnage a second thought. Such was the norm of his world. One of the dead men still had the stolen coinage and Kieran collected his money from the man’s pockets. Securing his satchel, he went back out into the hall and set everything against the wall, waiting for Rory to emerge from the room.
He leaned against the wall, staring at his feet thoughtfully. He shouldn’t have been so harsh with her but she seemed to be lacking focus at what he was attempting to accomplish. Simon and his men were coming for him; that much he knew. Perhaps they were already on their way; he simply couldn’t gage the time well enough and that worried him. He was trying to get clear of the inn and Rory wasn’t helping the situation. He knew she was disoriented and frightened; God only knew, he realized that more than she probably did. But she needed to understand that he was trying to save both of their lives right now. He was in survival mode. He needed her cooperation and if he had to take a firm stance in order to achieve that, then so be it.
On the other side of the wall, Rory was in tears again as she laid out the garments she was given. Her biggest fear was that they were crawling with vermin; she was obsessed with it. But much to her relief, she couldn’t see any visible bugs in the rough linen surcoat. When she got over the fact that it was bug-less, she noticed that it was a lovely pale yellow shade. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a rag. There was a shift also, of a finer linen and unexpectedly soft.
Nothing was hemmed; the garments looked like they were simply basted together. She wondered if the stitching would hold. Throwing whatever reserve she had remaining to the wind, she pulled off her shirt and khaki jeans and pulled on the linen shift, acquainting herself with the feel of unprocessed material. It was raw and primitive, but it wasn’t too bad. She left her bra and panties on so she didn’t feel quite so exposed to the unfamiliar fabric. The surcoat went over her head and she was surprised at how well it fit; the sleeves were long and without much shape, but the neckline was a deep “V” and emphasized her full bosom beautifully. On the sides of the garment were strips of material and she tied them into small bows, which only further accentuated her shapely figure by tightening her waistline. All in all, she wasn’t too displeased with the fit or the look.
But that was until she
“Then stop behaving like it. Time is wasting and there is no more tolerance for your idiocy, Rory. Do what you are told and do it immediately.”
She was out of his embrace, looking at him as he gazed impassively at her. Rory . He rarely, if ever, called her by her given name because he felt it didn’t suit her. He called her Libby, a nickname for her middle name, Elizabeth, because he liked it better. But he used her given name now and it sounded harsh from his lips. For the first time since she’d known the man, he was giving her a command. His knightly instincts were taking control and he was becoming what he had been trained for; hard, calculating, cold. He had become the warrior.
The fact that she’d been through a harrowing experience over the past hour had her emotions surging like a roller coaster; she didn’t like his tone or the expression on his face. It was hard, ungiving and completely unlike the man she loved.
Furious, sick, she snatched the clothing out of the old woman’s arms and charged into the room that Hut was indicating. She slammed the door in the old woman’s face when the little woman tried to follow her. Kieran heard her throw the bolt.
He sighed faintly as Hut and the old woman looked at him questioningly; he simply waved them away. After a moment’s pause lingering on the locked door, he went back into his chamber and collected his satchel and scattered possessions. There were dead men bleeding all over the floor but he stepped over them, not giving the carnage a second thought. Such was the norm of his world. One of the dead men still had the stolen coinage and Kieran collected his money from the man’s pockets. Securing his satchel, he went back out into the hall and set everything against the wall, waiting for Rory to emerge from the room.
He leaned against the wall, staring at his feet thoughtfully. He shouldn’t have been so harsh with her but she seemed to be lacking focus at what he was attempting to accomplish. Simon and his men were coming for him; that much he knew. Perhaps they were already on their way; he simply couldn’t gage the time well enough and that worried him. He was trying to get clear of the inn and Rory wasn’t helping the situation. He knew she was disoriented and frightened; God only knew, he realized that more than she probably did. But she needed to understand that he was trying to save both of their lives right now. He was in survival mode. He needed her cooperation and if he had to take a firm stance in order to achieve that, then so be it.
On the other side of the wall, Rory was in tears again as she laid out the garments she was given. Her biggest fear was that they were crawling with vermin; she was obsessed with it. But much to her relief, she couldn’t see any visible bugs in the rough linen surcoat. When she got over the fact that it was bug-less, she noticed that it was a lovely pale yellow shade. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a rag. There was a shift also, of a finer linen and unexpectedly soft.
Nothing was hemmed; the garments looked like they were simply basted together. She wondered if the stitching would hold. Throwing whatever reserve she had remaining to the wind, she pulled off her shirt and khaki jeans and pulled on the linen shift, acquainting herself with the feel of unprocessed material. It was raw and primitive, but it wasn’t too bad. She left her bra and panties on so she didn’t feel quite so exposed to the unfamiliar fabric. The surcoat went over her head and she was surprised at how well it fit; the sleeves were long and without much shape, but the neckline was a deep “V” and emphasized her full bosom beautifully. On the sides of the garment were strips of material and she tied them into small bows, which only further accentuated her shapely figure by tightening her waistline. All in all, she wasn’t too displeased with the fit or the look.
But that was until she
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