The Draig's Woman by Lisa Dawn Wadler Page B

stew, bread, and a piece of cheese, not much, but it would suffice. A clay pitcher that held the wine, with two somewhat grungy pottery cups, completed the offering.
    Ian moved the other stool to sit at her side, keeping Claire on his right; he offered her the first bowl. Noticing her stare, he wiped the cups with his worn linen, poured some wine, and then offered her the first cup. Ian broke off some bread and, using his dagger, gave her half the cheese. He started on his meal, and the silence continued. With the meal finished, there was still no conversation. Concerned that the joke about paying for a woman had caused the silence, he said, “I am nay the type of man who would pay for companionship, Claire. ‘Twas meant to add humor.”
    “What? Oh that? Of course not, why would you?” Claire didn’t care for her tone. The casual note she had intended had gotten lost. Looking at Ian from the corner of her eye, she doubted a man like him ever had to do anything less than smile at a woman. He was simply beautiful; he had big green eyes, dark lashes, thick midnight hair falling to his shoulders, and an incredible muscular build. She hated beards, but even his long stubble looked good. The previously broken nose had healed a little crooked. Imperfection leading to perfection. Broad shoulders, a muscular chest lightly covered with the same dark hair. That is no six pack. It has to be at least an eight or ten pack. How is that even possible? Ian probably had women offering themselves constantly, and who could blame them?
    And I’m sitting here, in this place, eating with him, wearing only his shirt while he wears a sheet.
    She shuddered, hoping it was from the cold.
    Noticing her discomfort, Ian walked to the bed and brought back the blanket that had been left for them and draped it over her shoulders. “Lass, move your stool closer to the fire. You must still have a chill.”
    Stunned and willing herself into action, Claire stood up. “First, we need to get our things dry. Lying on the floor will not help.” She moved the tray off the table and set it in the corner. Turning the table on its side, the legs now served as a drying rack. Ian handed her his clothes, and hanging them, she started chuckling, feeling the wet leather of his pants. She now knew what was worse than a wet thong.
    “My wet trews amuse you?” Ian asked.
    “Not really, just getting tired.” No way am I was sharing that thought.
    Ian added softly, “Forgive me. There should have been no need for you to provide for us this night. While my clan is nay wealthy, I will see your jewelry replaced.”
    Smiling at the offer, Claire replied, “I meant what I said downstairs. There is very little I wouldn’t have traded for some warmth.”
    Ian surprised her. “It had great value to you.”
    Claire sighed as she replied, “My mother gave it to me when I graduated high school. Her mother, my grandmother, had given it to her for the same reason years ago. I have no idea if it was real silver or just pretty. But it was going to be the start of a tradition.” She paused to look at Ian as she spoke. “I appreciate you wanting to replace it, but you can’t. Let’s just call it done.”
    “‘Tis nay finished. I see only pain in your eyes at the loss of something so dear to your heart.” He picked up his dagger and held it out for Claire to see. “‘Tis the way of my people to pass items through the generations, too. This dagger was carried by the first man to call himself the Draig Laird.” He showed Claire the dragon wrapping around the handle, a head on the top and the bottom of the beast. “This came to me from my mother’s hands. The tales say that every Draig laird has given this dagger to the woman who captured his heart. Someday I hope to see it placed in the hand of my son to give to the woman who captures his heart.” Wrapping his hand around hers, Ian continued, “I can feel your loss this night. You had hoped to do the same for your