Timeless

Chapter Twelve

Chapter 12

"Hae a seat, Lass," Fergus gestured across the desk to the chair in front of Ri. She ignored it. After Shaw and his men had pushed off from the ship, Fergus and Captain Angus had lead her below to the Captain's chambers. Angus closed the door behind them with a snap, standing in front of it and leering at her. Ri fought the urge to rip those leering eyes right out of his skull. "Cheese? Wine?" Fergus gestured to a tray at the corner of the desk. "Apple?" He picked one up and bit into it with a crunch, all while thoroughly examining Ri's apples.

"No," Ri rolled her eyes, not bothering to be polite. "What exactly is it that you want, Mr. Fraser? I mean, obviously you want to hurt your nieces son, take his woman, hurt her, make him sweat. But aside from that, what exactly is it that you hope to accomplish? Because you know he won't let any of this stand, not for a minutia of a second and certainly not for you."

"Och," Fergus placed the hand not holding the apple over his heart. "Careful lass! I could whip ye for such insults."

"Answer the question, and I'll answer yours'."

"What makes ye think I've questions for ye?"

"Because otherwise you'd've tossed me to your men already," Ri arched a brow. Fergus smiled stiffly, obviously unhappy that she wasn't frightened of him or what he might do to her. So he switched tactics.

"I should do just that," he snarled, dropping his appe onto the desk. "That would teach ye not tae speak out of turn. Where e'er yer from, they must teach verra bad manners. So allow me tae educate ye. Ye willna speak unless spoken tae. Ye'll answer any questions immediately and simply as possible. And in all other circumstances, ye will hold yer tongue."

"Bite me," Ri scoffed, remembering how often Fiona had pissed off "authority figures" with that one little phrase. And she needed Fergus angry and off balance if she was going to get him to betray any information to her. She wasn't convinced that the traitor threatening Shaw was working for the Frasers; that would be far too easy. But that didn't mean that Fergus didn't know something else that may be helpful.

It worked. Fergus' face twisted in real anger just before he purposefully snarled in exaggerated rage. His arm whipped in front of Ri, the palm of his hand clapping against Ri's cheek in a resounding slap. Her face snapped to her left, her lip split, filling her mouth with blood, her cheek burned, ear rung, and her right eye felt as if it was about to explode out of its' socket.

She could've stopped it, or even held her face in place as he followed through, but, again, she didn't want to tip her hand just yet (well, any more than Angus' description of how she pounded his men had already done that), to let him know that she was more than what he expected of her. Instead, she immediately swung back around and spat her mouthful of blood at him. And it was so satisfying to see the glob of red draped across his eye and sallow cheek, over his thin nose and pale, chapped lips, and dripping down onto his weak excuse of a chin.

"Bitch!" Fergus snapped, his caricature of rage transforming into true fury. He wound his arm back again, this time clenching his fist. Ri raised her chin in defiance, preparing for the impact. Her jaw popped loudly, her head swam, and for a second she couldn't help but to stagger sideways. The Fraser Laird looked small and thin, but he was stronger than he looked, his wiry frame and slightly distended, loose belly hiding a generous layer of corded muscle. She'd underestimated him.

"Not bad," Ri coughed, working her jaw to make sure it wasn't seriously damaged. "But next time, put your back into it. You hit like my grandmother."