Authors Note: In this fic Ororo in the King/Lord of Scotland and Ororo in the Princess of Egypt. I chose Scotland as Logan's place of origin because during this time period Scotts were known to be "big" "burly" warriors (all characteristics that Logan posses). Almost all the characters have a Scottish accent.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the following story
Chapter 2:
The Captive
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“You swoon very well.”
Ororo awoke blearily.
“Have you been practicing?” Logan asked, and crossed the floor towards her.
She sat up with an effort, wincing as she did so. Her head was swimming and her throat ached as if it had been scrubbed with sea salt and left to dry, but her stomach had felt somewhat restored. One glance at Logan assured her he was rid of his soiled jacket. In fact he had changed his entire ensemble and now wore a simple tunic of soft brown. It was open at the neck. A glimpse of thick dark chest hair sprang out of its opening.
“Where am I?” she asked. Her voice sounded cool and aloof, befitting a queen.
He said nothing, but seated himself on the edge of her bed and poured wine from a bottle into a silver goblet. Yes, she was sitting on a bed. It was wide, huge really and draped in velvet curtains that boasted an intricate pattern of bright gold and deep green swirled in a background of burgundy. It was a large room decorated with an assortment of items. A huge textured globe stood on clawed feet. A Grecian statuette stood in feminine grace beside an immense cluttered desk. Draped over the ivory shoulders of the statuette was a silken scarf of sapphire blue, and scattered about the room were scores of other articles she could not even begin to identify.
She smelled the contents of the goblet and tasted the wine. She emptied the glass and handed it back.
Logan raised a brow, glanced into the goblet, and returned his attention to her. “Who is he to you?”
She turned slowly towards him, shifting her attention from the strangely organized clutter of the room. Her mind was clearer now, as was her eyesight, but still she could not believe her senses, for she would never have imagined the pirate lord to look like this. Nay, though she had made it a point to learn a great deal about him, she had never inquired about his physical attributes.
He was the Lord of Scotland, shrewd, cunning, and powerful enough to gain control of his country’s unruly people. She had assumed that his physical attributes would agree with his nature. He would surely not be young and….handsome-in an unruly sort of way.
She stared at him, suspicion growing in her mind. “Is this some sort of deception?”
His brows rose slightly. But it was his eyes that held her interest, for they were so cold and analyzing that it seemed beyond the realm of possibility. “Deception?” he asked.
The way he said the words raised her suspicions, for his tone seemed too happy, too even tempered and light-hearted to possible suit the horrid situation. And suddenly she was certain she was right. “Xavier coerced you into this.”
“I don’t know an Xavier.” He said
She ignored his words and glanced around the room, half-expecting the viscount to step out from behind some tapestry. “Is he here?”
Her captors smile faded a bit. But the fact did nothing to diminish his appeal. It was ridiculous, really, how handsome he was. His dark hair roguishly untamed. Xavier had planned this silly prank. Xavier, who had found the girl, Brigit, to take her place at the throne. Xavier who had believed she would never understand her people unless she lived like them for a time. Well this certainly would satisfy his desires wouldn’t it?
“Where is he?” she asked, anger burning through her.
He tilted his head, as if uncertain of her meaning, but amused just the same. “Maybe that’s not the question you should be asking me just now, Darlin’.”
“My name is not Darlin’!” she said pulling her knees up, prepared to swing her feet off the mattress, but at that precise instant she realized the truth. She was naked! Completely and utterly naked!
Snatching the blanked back up to her chest, she pursed her lips and caught her breath. “What have you done with my clothes?”
He smiled again, slowly and leisurely. “Ahh now there’s the question,” he said placing a palm upon the mattress, leaned back slightly and drew up his knee. This caused his slacks to draw tight against his hard muscled legs.
She scowled, her mind whirring. True, Xavier could be inappropriately capricious at times, but even he would not have gone as far as to put her in such a compromising position. Yes, he often said she was too stiff, to cool, too removed from the common man, but he had cared for her as few others did. Of this she was certain. Something had gone wrong here. “Who are you sir? Truly?”
“Very well, I shall play your game if you like. I am Logan Howlett, pirate lord, as you called me, and bastard son of the late laird of Scotland. And who are you?”
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