Page 4 of The Orc Chief’s Baker (Orc Mates Of Faeda #4)

Chapter

Four

brOVDIR

W inter wreck him, he was in huge trouble.

“Thank you for walking me back. I really appreciate it.”

He looked down at her as disbelief swelled in his chest. She was walking next to him without hesitation, keeping an easy pace, unaffected when he drew near enough to reach out and touch her. Though he was very careful not to do so.

“These woods are usually safe. I take walks in them all the time, and I’ve never seen a blighted animal like that cat around here before. Thank you again for saving me.”

He mentally counted how many times he’d walked women through the forest back to their homes like this, keeping close watch for predators, ensuring they didn’t lose their way...

“And about the trade tomorrow, it’s fairly simple and organized. Like I said, we trade every half-moon, so it’s very routine. There’s an open-air structure, and the humans use tables.”

Twenty-seven. He’d walked twenty-seven women back to their families like this.

“My table is always set up to the very far right when you’re facing it from the orc side. I primarily trade bread and baked goods. I’ll bring a good selection tomorrow, but if there’s something you want that I don’t have, do let me know.”

And not one of them had ever genuinely thanked him for the task the way this woman had. In fact, most of the time he was attacked for his efforts. A thick swallow caused his throat to burn and throb.

“I’ll bring paper as well, so you can write things down, er—” She glanced up at him through her thick, dark lashes, and it took every scrap of his willpower not to gaze at her cleavage. “You can write, can’t you? I realize I never actually asked.”

He nodded, resisting the urge to gulp. She smelled so good , warm and rich. Just like the cookies she’d given him. Endlessly sweet and comforting...

Vanilla. She’d called them vanilla cookies.

“Great.” She cast an easy smile that made his heart thunder rapidly in his chest.

Blast, this woman was so nice . Far too nice. It was giving him hope.

“You should stop here,” she said, and he blinked in surprise that the walk had taken so little time. A quick draw into his lungs revealed the scent of humans was strong. “Orcs are welcome in town, but only with an invitation from the headman.”

He’d never heard of an orc being welcomed in a human town under any circumstances. Outside these woods, there were some human settlements that were so small they’d been overlooked by the Waking Order. Those very few sometimes allowed trade with orcs, but his kind certainly wasn’t welcome .

She grinned at him, and it made his heart squeeze. “Don’t worry. You won’t get in trouble for lingering about. Like I said, we’re friendly with orcs.”

A tension in his chest eased. How is it that this little human he’d only just met could read his expressions so easily?

“I’ll draw up some sketches of the things I want made as well. It’s all fairly basic. I’m certain you can accomplish it.”

He nodded slowly, especially because she sounded so chipper . So easygoing. As if trading with an orc was commonplace. He supposed in these woods it was. He wondered, after he and the warriors left the Rove Woods, how long he would look back on these few moments with awe.

Probably forever.

“Are you all right?”

He snapped his gaze to the woman and found her brows pinched together in mild concern. Concern for him . His stomach flipped over, and pleasure zinged through his veins.

Fuck, he was lost. One kind look from her was all it took for him to lose his head.

“You’re a little pale. You aren’t getting sick, are you? I hope you don’t become unwell before the trade.”

He could be on his deathbed, and he’d still find a way to drag himself to the trade. He held up his hands and adamantly shook his head.

“Good. Well... then...” She took a deep breath and then held out her hand to him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He looked down at her hand in surprise for long enough that she laughed and grabbed him of her own accord.

Now he was really stunned. He could do nothing but freeze in place as she gave his clawed, calloused, and scarred hand a gentle squeeze. She let him go far too soon and his hand tingled at the loss.

With that, she turned away from him and was... well not gone , but going. It felt like the sun was setting on him again and it was barely past midday.

Looking beyond her, he was suddenly struck by the sight of a long line of oaks so tightly compacted they created an intricately woven barrier. It was at least five times his height and so large that he could not see the end of either side.

He was no stranger to barriers around human settlements. The Waking Order liked to build the monstrous structures of brick and mortar around their larger towns. They often had walkways and turrets on which soldiers could shoot their arrows, allowing them to easily cut down any who approached.

But . . . a wall made entirely of trees ?

It must have been made with magic. Orc magic. By the conjurers of the Rove Wood Clan. Males who were distinct among his kind. Their regal and poised demeanor contrasted his gruff, muscular exterior in every way.

That was the kind of orc this woman was accustomed to. And yet she still had not flinched away from him.

Fades blast him back to the depths. How was he going to convince his brother to let him attend the trade with Oakwall? Karthoc had ordered him to stay as far away from Oakwall Village as possible. To not even breathe its name.

Trinia paused at the wooden plank gates of the village and turned back. Her rich brown eyes scanned for him, beautiful dark hair caught in a breeze. Her cheeks were flushed deep red, and her lips matched.

She met his eyes, and he could not look away. His fingers twitched with the want to touch her. To trace his hand over the curve of her hip, the roundness of her stomach, her full breasts...

A smile touched her lips, and she gave a final wave.

And then she was gone.

He turned on his heel and journeyed back through the woods under a canopy of gold and red leaves that glowed in the afternoon sunlight. The crisp scent in the air was so perfect it almost stung his nose. The whistling of the wind kept him cool as he walked.

This place was so pure and whole. He’d never seen anything like it in all his days.

He wondered how he would convince himself to leave when Karthoc finally gave the order to move out and return to Baelrok Forge.

He was already dreading the half-moon of travel through dangerous war-torn lands only to return to a fortress that was overcrowded and on the verge of crumbling.

His hand clenched hard around the baked treats, mind working as he returned to the warrior camp on the western side of Rove Wood Clan. The agony of his throat was all but forgotten as he made a plan.

A stupid, foolhardy plan.

And he’d carry it out regardless.

His absence had not been noticed but his return certainly was.

Most of the orcs were seated around the main bonfire for the midday meal.

It was stoked high, because there was no threat of attack here.

They’d carried in large logs for seating though a few relaxed on the moss and leaf covered ground instead.

They chatted amicably, chewed messily, threw large branches over the blaze and let the embers dance upward and disappear against the bright blue sky.

Ogvick, the youngest male in their band, sniffed the air just as Brovdir got within earshot. His eyes snapped to the bag in Brovdir’s hand.

Brovdir knew this was a very dangerous game he was about to play, that it could backfire, but he had to take the risk.

He’d thought through every course he could take, and this was truly the only option with any real chance of success.

The Rove Wood orcs would stop him if he tried to go to the trade without their permission.

They’d catch him using their keen sense of smell and magic if he tried to sneak over.

But they couldn’t stop fifty orc warriors all at once.

With that in mind, he unwrapped the cookies and let the full force of the delectable scent waft toward the orcs seated at the fire. They all turned in an instant.

Ogvick got to his feet first. “Brovdir, what is that?”

“Where did you get that?” Caivid was next to reach him. The bright green male was one of his closest friends and did not hide his confusion.

Brovdir swallowed hard, tensed. His throat felt like it was being stabbed by a thousand poison-soaked knives, but he worked out the words. “Woman. Oakwall Village.”

“From a woman? What is Oakwall?”

Brovdir hesitated only slightly before he waved his brethren to follow him, tying the bag of treats to his empty knife sheath as he went.

He led them to his brother, Warlord Karthoc, a male who was as powerful as his temper was fiery. Brovdir would be lucky if Karthoc didn’t string him up and lash him for this.

But it would be worth it to see the woman again.

The woods concealed the camp well. Rough leather tents blended with the foliage.

Each structure was only large enough for an orc to sleep and crouch and was held up using branches they found on sight.

The flaps were worn, and some even had holes where arrows had pierced or were stitched up from blades.

Every one of them had seen battle or attack by soldiers.

They were as tattered and tired as the orcs who lived in them.

As they passed, any orc who’d been relaxing within their tent came out to follow the crowd, curiosity pulling them from their privacy.

The clamoring of orcs as the word spread of this mysterious “Oakwall Village” surrounded Brovdir, and in an instant, nearly all fifty of the warriors who lived within these woods were in tow.