Disclaimer: the usual

Notes:

Sèitheach is pronounced "Shay uch" and it is Gaelic for wolf

Chapter 2: Awakening

It had been over a week's passing since this stranger washed ashore on the banks near their cottage. Nearly a week and he drifted in and out of consciousness. His wounds were healing well enough; the knot on the side of his head had gone down considerably. He moaned, he mumbled but still he had not woken, and she wished he would. If she were being truthful, it was more a desire than a wish. She desired he would wake and leave them in peace. It was dangerous having him here.

If Sèitheach and his clan came looking for him, she would pay dearly for helping him, whoever he was. Sèitheach was a great warrior chieftain who led fierce raids against the Romans. He had even joined forces once with Merlin who was said to be a dark wizard. He was not a man to reckon with. He was tall, broad shouldered and with strong large hands. She had seen him crush the very neck of a man once with one hand. Sèitheach's hair was near to his waist, black as the night sky. His eyes were dark and unforgiving. His face bore a long scar across his left cheek from an encounter with a Sarmatian knight when he was but eighteen seasons.

He was the one man who never feared her so called witchcraft. More than likely it intrigued him, seemingly giving him power when he took her. And he would take her when the mood struck him, even when Rowan was about. When she sensed him coming or heard the powerful thunder of the horse hooves she would make her daughter hide in the herb storage, which was located beneath the floor boards near the hearth. Fiona dug the pit herself to protect and hide her daughter more than for storage of the herbs. She would tell Rowan to hide, cover her ears, close her eyes tight, and to hum the song of the sea in her mind loudly until her mother came for her. She would obey for she feared Sèitheach and his kind.

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The warm soapy water felt good to her hands. She dipped the rag in the bucket again and began washing his left arm. He was fit that was for sure she thought making circular movements around his forearm down to his wrist. He hand nice hands, strong hands, long fingers…she lingered too long washing them

Who was this man, this stranger who occupied space on her floor, commanding her attention both day and night? Where did he come from? This question plagued her mind as she sat next to him on the pallet. He was not from here, Britain, of that she was certain. She closed her eyes tightly hoping her thoughts that he was a knight from the great wall were wrong. Even though she knew he probably was. He was dangerous to have here and must leave.

Kneeling at his ankles she poured oil in the palm of her hand as she slowly rubbed them together, ensuring that the friction heated the oils. Fiona began at his feet, rubbing the essential healing oils she made her way over his body. She knew the importance of the massage when a person lay for a long time. The body would naturally begin to shut down, massaging kept the senses and muscles stimulated and strengthened. His body was beautiful even with all the scars that covered it. Focus -she told herself over and over as her hand glided over his muscular physique. He is dangerous; keep your distance, she reminded herself.

Keeping her mind on the task set before her she once again resumed control over herself.

It had been a long time since she lay with a man of her choosing, of her own desire. It had not been so of those who took what they willed. Having the notoriety of being a witch had helped since coming to these parts. She was left alone for the most part out of fear of placing a curse on the clans. But it was not so for Sèitheach. He had come for her, to take her at his will. She loathed him wished that she truly were a witch to cast some evil spell upon him.

Coming out of her thoughts of Sèitheach her face bore a slight smile. She allowed her eyes to slowly cast themselves down along the length of his entire naked body. Her finger tips barely touching his skin as they trailed from his shoulder down the length of his arm. She felt a warm flush cross her cheeks as she saw his reaction to her touch as her hands massaged his body. It was involuntary indeed on his part, but she marveled at his reaction still the same. Shaking the thoughts from her head, she wondered if he had a woman he pleasured back where ever he came from. Thinking she must be a very lucky woman to have a man with such a... Focus woman, she scolded herself. Finishing her task, she carefully covered him with a blanket.

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The fire crackled and popped as Rowan sat near the hearth playing with Cu and singing away a tune Fiona had taught her from her home, an island off the coast of the north eastern corner of Britain. A song sung by the women when their men were away at sea fishing. It was a song meant to bring their fishermen home safely.

Fiona sat on a stool just at the edge of the hearth with a bowl of lavender in her lap. She was busy tying off bits of the plant with ribbons so that she might hang them for drying. She hummed along softly to the tune her daughter sang, tapping her foot to keep tempo. Every so often she would glance over to the stranger with a watchful eye in case he began to stir. No movement did he make, she let out a sigh of relief.

"Màthair" the child said as she reflected on her thoughts.

"Aye child, what is it you are in such deep thoughts within your head about this night?" she responded with a smile after a few moments of waiting.

"I think he is sad." Rowan said with great reflection in her voice.

"Sad…why think you this Rowan?" replied Fiona puzzled.

"I think he is sad… I do…sad like you… because he is so far away from the sea…and away from his selchie skin. That is why he does not wake. He is dreaming of the sea….and of being home in the water." she cautiously spoke as she knew her mother's dislike for the talk of the selchie folklore.

"Rowan, he is not a selchie man…. he is a warrior and the only thing he is far from is his homeland." She said quietly after a brief pause "And I am not sad."

"You are màthair… I know you are…I hear you at night…when you think I am asleep." Looking at her mother "I hear you weep...you long for your home in the sea too."

Standing up Fiona made her way across the room to hang the lavender to dry.

"I do not cry." She said firmly with her back to the child.

Fiona bent down next to the stranger gazing into his face. He did look sad.

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Fiona woke to the sun's sharp rays filtering in through the cracks in the twigged laced walls. Rolling herself over she searched to find Rowan. The small child sat by the stranger, peering at his tribal markings. Fiona smiled, briefly closed her eyes and shook her head at her daughter's unwavering interest in this man.

Crawling out of bed her feet hit the floor, but she remained seated. Stretching before she stood to begin her day. Reaching for the brush that lay on the table next to her bed she loosened her long braid and began brushing her hair. Once finished she took a black ribbon and tied a tight knot then bow at that base of her neck. Making her way to her daughter she knelt down next to the man on the opposite side.

"Fetch me some water please" she smiled softly.

Without a word the child did as she was told. Slowly Fiona pulled the blanket down to his waist. She began removing the dressings on his wounds. Removing the bandage on his left side first as this was the worst of his injuries. Tenderly she examined the stitching, making sure no infection was setting in.

A sudden heat intensified around her neck as his long fingers tightened their grip, the palm of his hand indenting on her throat cutting off her breath. Slowly her eyes cast to the side to catch him in a gaze. His eyes wide open. They were dark as death with an amber glow around the edges, his lips pressed together as his grip tightened even more. Casting her eyes in the other direction she looked upon the frightened face of her daughter standing with the bowl of water in her hand, unable to move.

His dark eyes followed the woman's, seeing the fear that consumed the child's face, her eyes welled with tears, her lower lip quivered slightly. His chokehold on Fiona's neck was released, his hand slowly dropping back down to his side resting on his uncovered wound.

"Rowan go outside" she whispered calmly.

The child stood unable to move, her eyes never leaving the stranger who now was locked in a gaze with the child.

"Child mind me" her mother's voice more forceful this time.

Fiona stood up and quickly grabbed her daughter spilling the bowl of water as she took Rowan by the waist. Opening the door to the cottage she placed the child outside. Taking her small face in her hands Fiona kissed her lips.

"Stay out here… he will not harm me… he is still weak and wounded… he was only startled." she said trying to reassure her daughter.

Closing the door Fiona slowly turned to face her patient who was now attempting to sit up. The scout was bent on his right elbow too weak to push himself up any farther. Grabbing some needed herbs, oils, salves and bandages Fiona made her way back, kneeling next to the man. With her hand she pushed his left shoulder forcing him to lie back down.

"You are still weak, rest before you open your stitches" she commanded.

She was right, he was too weak to argue, he thought as he lay back down. Too weak and too sore to fight, he thought as he closed his eyes. He let out a heavy sigh.

Fiona tended to his wounds as quickly as she could replace the bandages. He had opened his eyes again, watching her intently without a sound as though he was waiting for her to make one move that displeased him. His eyes glanced on her neck where the red marks of his fingers lay across her skin. She in turn kept a watchful eye on him. The distrust between the pair was both obvious and intense.

She sat with her hands now folded in her lap as they stared at one another.

"You must be hungry I will fetch you some broth" she rose and walked to the fire she did not wait for a response nor did she want one.

Her back was towards him yet she felt his eyes burning her. She felt his uneasiness and his disorientation.

"If you think of harming my child I will slit your throat from ear to ear and watch while you bleed to death…be not mistaken about this" her tone cold and fierce.

She returned with a bowl of broth which had been simmering during the night. The smell warmed his senses, his stomach growled. Kneeling down near the pallet she placed the bowl on the floor to help him brace himself on his elbow again. Placing her hand on his shoulder she helped him as he came up slightly.

She offered a spoon of broth to his mouth. He parted his lips, the spoon slipped in and he swallowed. The warmth of the broth felt good going down his throat. Taking a rag she wiped his beard from the bit of broth that dribbled. She continued to feed him spoons full of broth. Their eyes catching each other in a untrusting gaze every so often.

He was studying her features and it made her uncomfortable.

"What are you called?" she asked finally.

His eyes moved from side to side his face contorted slightly, but he did not answer her. He laid his head back down on the pillows; his eyes stared at the thatched ceiling of the cottage. After a few moments of silence Fiona rose and headed for the door.

"Where is this place?" he finally spoke, his accent deep, sultery and most definitely not from around these parts.

"I see that you have found your voice" she said as she continued out the door.

Slowly he placed his right arm behind his head, his hand rested on the left wound just above his hip.

My name, he thought as his eyes shifted from side to side. The more he thought the more his brows cinched together.

'My name is…..' his lips opened and closed as though his mouth would spit out the information he searched for

To be continued…