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CHAPTER THREE

Verna

I woke slowly, and I think was surprised to find myself waking at all.

The second surprise was that I was warm. Not hot, but the bone-deep, teeth-shaking cold was gone. This wasn’t snow that surrounded me. I was someplace…someplace else .

My stomach twisted in hunger, and it was only then that I noticed the smell. There was something delicious being cooked nearby, and I recognized the fur draped over me by the prickle against my legs.

My bare legs.

I’d been saved? But who…?

The orc .

I stiffened.

There’d been cold, and snow, and wind, and pain. So much pain. And then he had been there, threatening me, angry and huge. Had he taken me? Was he the male from the byre-cottage?

He’d said something about me running from him, so he must be. With his arcane habits and dangerous mien.

I swallowed down my whimper of fear.

You can escape. You did it before.

But…the wind howled outside. I could hear it. Was the snow still falling? If so, ‘twas a blizzard and I was lucky to be alive. There was food cooking and I was hungry.

Why was I saved?

What did he want from me?

I took a deep breath. Whatever ‘twas that he wanted, I would give it to him. God knew it wasn’t something I hadn’t already given up. I would stay safe. I would survive. Alred would not win.

Slowly, I opened one eye. Then, when all I could see was the inside of the fur which covered me, I opened the other and took stock with all of my senses. I was in a bed. The orc’s bed?

I was no stranger to beds.

Growing up, I’d slept in the same bed as my brothers, until Jer got too handsy…then I slept near the hearth with a stout stick. After I was sold to Alred, I got my own bed—with a hard mattress and a thin blanket—but I had to welcome men into it. Sometimes several in a night.

On those nights, I often slept on the floor to avoid the sour stench of the blankets.

But this? This bed?

‘Twas like naught I’d ever felt before. Large and squishy and comfortable, it swallowed me up. I was lying atop a quilt, and the furs were clearly another layer of warmth. He’d put me on the bed and covered me with furs…

And removed my shoes?

I wiggled my toes, then rotated my ankles. My feet were still cold, but I told myself ‘twas a good thing I could feel the prickles of pain running up my calves. It meant I would not lose any extremities to the black bite of the ice.

You cannot stay under here forever. Not with the scent of food so close.

Slowly—oh so slowly—I crept my fingers along the fur, inching it down until I could see over the top of it. Only my eyes moved, darting about the room.

From where I lay, curled on my side, I could see most of the room. But ‘twas empty. Where was my mysterious captor?

Not here. Take it as a blessed reprieve.

I inhaled deeply, my stomach cramping at the scent of—was that soup, simmering near the fire? This time I didn’t bother hiding my whimper. Could I climb out of the bed and feed myself?

Better to understand the landscape first. My father always said that, and it applied in many cases. Without moving, I spread my gaze around the room.

So this was an orc’s home, was it?

There were no piles of bones, or buckets of blood. It looked quite normal, truth be told: table, bed, trunk, pegs, screen for privacy… There were a few implements I didn’t recognize, which might have been for disemboweling naughty wenches, as my father always claimed…

The truly surprising difference between this cottage and any of the ones I’d seen in my village was the row of cubbyholes behind a large table which had been pushed beneath the window. In the summer, the sunshine would illuminate the desk…and the many scrolls tucked into the cubbies.

Scrolls!

My fingers scrambled at my chest, and I breathed a sigh of relief to feel the strap for the satchel I’d stolen. Would this male accept my scrolls as trade for his protection? Would he expect more? Lord knew I’d given more over the years.

As I was contemplating, I heard a sound at the door near the hearth. This would be the door to the animal byre, where I’d tried to eavesdrop…had it been last night? Had it only been last night I’d followed Isadora through the mist in the middle of the stones and found myself in the orc’s world?

When the door opened, I slammed my eyes shut like a coward.

The orc was in the room with me.

I could hear him moving around, occasionally muttering a curse under his breath. Then, quiet. And the sound of…water?

One of my traitorous eyes peeked open.

I didn’t scream, but ‘twas close.

Instead, I sucked in a loud gasp and resisted the urge to scuttle backward on the mattress, trying to wedge myself in the corner to escape him .

The male was an orc, aye. He would tower over anyone I’d met, well over seven feet tall, with shaggy dark hair. His eyes were dark pools, his skin the color of oak leaves in the late summer…

His shoulder was to me, and I could see him in profile as he lifted the rag to the back of his neck. His teeth curled from his lower jaw up past his lips. They were tusks, really, made for ripping into flesh, made for pain .

I swallowed.

The hand which held the wet rag had four fingers and a thumb, just like mine…but each was easily twice the size of one of mine, and each ended in a claw. A claw . I shuddered to think what damage he could do with those.

I found myself praying he wouldn’t consider me a threat. Wouldn’t see the need to rip into me with those horrible tusks and claws.

Look somewhere else, you idiot !

His back seemed like a good choice.

As I watched, he squeezed that rag, and water dribbled onto the taut skin of his shoulder. He rolled his head, stretched the neck muscles, and my gaze followed the rivulet of water that ran down his back.

When he groaned—a faint sound of pleasure—my eyes skipped back up to his face, which was lax in ease, and I watched him bend to soak the rag again.

Orcs did something as innocuous as bathing?

Actually… I watched him scrub sweat and dirt from his skin and wondered if any of the human males I knew bathed this meticulously. None of Alred’s patrons did, for certes.

The orc scrubbed and wiped, and I felt myself relaxing as I watched him care for himself. The water dripped off him, making my fingers itch to…what? To touch him?

Do not be ridiculous .

But…his back and shoulders were quite nice. Were he not so terrifying, I wouldn’t mind admiring his body for an hour or two. His muscles were defined, his shoulders wide, just as I preferred, and his arms…

The orc turned slightly, and I inhaled sharply.

He only had one arm.

The one holding the bathing rag, and the other…the other ended above his elbow. The stump was scarred, the injury old, and the skin a darker green and puckered.

But somehow, the sight made him slightly less terrifying.

I glanced back up at his face in time to see him staring right at me, a scowl marring his features.

I suppose he didn’t appreciate my perusal.

When he snarled and slapped the rag back into the basin, splashing water onto the table, I jumped in both surprise and fear. His lips curled back from those terrifying tusks, and I shrank back into the furs.

“I am sorry,” I blurted, although I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for.

“Aye, ye should be,” he growled, turning his back to me to clean up from his bathing. “Yer foolish actions nearly resulted in yer death.”

Because I’d looked at him? He would have killed me for that? I dropped my gaze to the quilt beneath me as I struggled to sit upright, my skirts tangling about my legs. My hair stuck to my cheeks and lips.

“I am sorry,” I whispered again, watching from the corner of my eyes as he jerked part of his plaid up and over his shoulder, partially hiding the missing arm. When he turned back to me, I slammed my gaze back to the floor.

His booted feet came closer. I tried to straighten, to meet my doom with pride, but the terror was too much. I hunched over, my arms around my middle, praying he would kill me quickly.

“Can ye get up?”

My throat was closed in fear. I couldn’t respond.

He reached down, his large hand closing around my upper arm. “Are ye well, lass?”

Mute, I nodded frantically, trying not to let my gaze rise above his knees.

He used his hold on my arm to lift me. It was far gentler than I expected, and when I swayed and tripped—my legs trapped in my chemise—he straightened me with a low mutter.

The result was that I stood upright beside the bed, my bare toes curling into the fur on the floor, my chin tucked against my chest.

He released me and planted his fist on his hip.

“What’s yer name?”

“Verna, milord,” I whispered.

He snorted, mayhap at the honorific I’d thrown in there.

“Why will ye no’ look at me, Verna? Ye looked yer fill already?”

My breath caught at the way he said my name, the R and the N rolling together. He… wanted me to look at him?

Slowly, I lifted my eyes, and when I saw the scowl he wore, I winced.

“Aye, I’m ugly,” he growled. “Get used to it.”

I opened my mouth, wanting to tell him he wasn’t ugly. But…he was like no male I’d seen before. He didn’t even look like Torvolk, his friend. This male’s hair was cut choppy around his head—although if he’d had to do it with one hand, that would make sense—and did little to hide his permanent scowl.

Still, he seemed to be waiting for me to say something, even if ‘twas to lie. So I took a deep breath.

“You are…The Keeper?”

“So ye were listening, eh?” He shook his head and blew out a little breath that sounded disappointed. “Ye came through the veil, ye snuck into my byre, ye eavesdropped…” His voice rose with each of my transgressions, until he roared, “and then instead of doing the sensible thing and making yerself known and asking for respite, ye followed a trotting horse off into a blizzard?”

Mayhap ‘twas the result of being raised with brothers, or spending the last years working off a debt to Alred in the worst way possible. Whatever ‘twas, I had gained a backbone, and my instinctive response to being yelled at was to yell right back.

“I did not know it was going to blizzard!” I stuck my hands on my hips and my chin out. “I heard him say he was taking Isadora to the village. That seemed…safer.”

He blinked. “Ye ken Torvolk’s Mate?”

“Mate? He just met her toni—last night.” Despicable Alred had been in the process of auctioning off her virginity when the huge orc had purchased her and ridden off toward the stones. “I followed them.”

“On foot,” he snorted.

“I set my horse loose at the top of the rise to try to fool Alred—my pursuer. I saw the mist and the footprints went into it…”

“And didnae come out,” the Keeper growled, shaking his head as he turned away. “Och, well, ye’re here now. The village would’ve been better for ye, if ye’d been polite enough to present yerself.”

My fingers curled into fists at my sides. I didn’t want to apologize again. “You said…Torvolk said you did not want company, and you had…strange habits.”

“Aye.”

He didn’t elaborate, but instead crossed over to the hearth.

I felt the conversation slipping away.

“Please,” I breathed, taking a shuffling step toward him, my feet hitting the cold stone of the floor and causing me to wince. “Do not…”

“Dinnae what?” he snapped, without looking up from whatever he was doing.

“Do not send me away.”

Somewhere out there Alred was waiting for me. And once he found me, he would punish me for running. I needed to find someplace safe, some one safe. Had I?

The Keeper turned an inscrutable gaze my way as he straightened, holding a steaming bowl.

“Did ye no’ hear me about the blizzard? Are ye truly daft?”

I swallowed, my attention caught between his scowl and the delicious smelling bowl he held. “I mean…after. Do not send me away. I—I can be useful.”

Something like rage flickered across his face, and I wondered how I’d offended him.

“Useful, how?” he growled, low and dangerously. “I might be an invalid, but I can take care of myself.”

Obviously. I glanced around the cottage once, knowing ‘twas the truth. If he lived here alone, he did so without help.

“I did not mean…” I took a deep breath, my hunger causing my brain to stutter. “You are no invalid, but I can offer…”

What could I offer?

My eyelids fluttered closed on a disheartening realization. The only thing you have been able to offer in the past .

“What, Verna?” He sounded closer, his words lower, the way he said my name reaching into my chest and caressing something I didn’t recognize. “What can ye offer that I cannae do myself?”

“My cunny,” I blurted as I opened my eyes, knowing it was what any male wanted.

I saw him rear back, splashing the soup against his plaid, surprise in his eyes.

“What?”

Desperate to make the bargain, I lifted my skirts and began to kneel. “My mouth then? I can use it well, and ye can?—”

“Malla the Beginner!” Disgust crossed his features as he turned away, causing me to pause. “Ye have a warped sense of purpose, lass.”

Sense of purpose? Nay. ‘Twas…just as things had always been?

Just as I was about to tell him that, he placed the soup on the table and gestured me toward the chair that faced the fire.

“Torvolk and his female finished the bread last night. I’ll make more tomorrow.”

It was…was it an offer of peace? For not having bread? I could not bring myself to care about the bread, or the strange interaction we’d just had, or the scowl on his face. Because food .

I could no longer control my hunger, and threw myself into the chair, curling around the bowl of soup and reaching for the hand-carved wooden spoon.

I am fairly certain I moaned as the first taste of the broth passed my lips. The vegetables were soft, the meat was tender… I practically inhaled it.

“Easy, lass.”

I heard something I hadn’t expected to hear in the orc’s voice: humor. I glanced up while chewing to see him watching me from where he stood by the mantel, his stump propped behind him. His dark eyes…weren’t as menacing as they had been.

I swallowed and carefully offered a quiet, “Thank you.”

He nodded and bent to lift the cauldron. “There’s more, but eat slower. Yer stomach will cramp.” He placed it on the table and ladled another large helping into the bowl.

Another helping? My gaze darted between my full bowl, the cauldron, and his face. I was allowed to eat my fill?

“Thank you, again.”

How unlike Alred’s tavern where he controlled supplies with a tight fist.

Another single nod, and I bent over the bowl again, trying to follow his advice and eat more slowly. Already I could feel the knot of fear in my chest and the hunger pains in my stomach easing.

Then a mug landed in front of me. I hesitantly picked it up and was surprised to find a weak tea. When I sipped, I couldn’t stop the pleased hum; ‘twas sweetened with honey, and I adored sweet things.

I glanced up to thank him for a third time, to see him sipping from another mug. Of sweetened tea? I wasn’t sure about thanking him yet again, so I offered him a little smile.

He froze and turned away, moving toward the desk beneath the window.

Slowly, I ate and watched him pull out a scroll from one of the cubbies, frown at it, and shove it into a different one. He did this a few times, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with his space, and I finally grew the courage to engage him in conversation. Or attempt to, at least.

“Are those—you read those scrolls?”

He paused, but didn’t turn. I continued. “I have always wondered what it must be like, to be able to read any— oh !” I gasped and plunked the mug down. “That is your arcane hobby! The one Torvolk teased you about!”

The Keeper turned back to me, scowl in place. “Where were you eavesdropping?”

“Um…” I fiddled with the spoon. “Inside the cow’s stall. The brown one’s.”

“And ye heard everything we said?”

“I heard your friend?—”

“He’s no’ my friend. Torvolk is the Ranger of the Bloodfire Clan. He comes through the stones frequently.”

Hmm . The Keeper had been quick to deny that friendship, but Torvolk had called him my friend and teased him about…

“You do read,” I breathed. “Torvolk called it mystical and arcane?—”

“Reading is a skill anyone can learn,” he snapped out, turning back to his scrolls. “And ye talk too much.”

I likely did, but if he was talking to me, he wasn’t threatening me. I scooped up another big bite of venison, and as I chewed, I fumbled to pull my satchel over my head.

Rising to my feet, I crossed to him, and as I swallowed, thrust the bag out to him.

“Here,” I blurted.

He twisted his head just far enough to glare at me, one brow raised in question.

I waggled the satchel. “When I escaped, I stole these scrolls. One is my contract, I think—at least, Alred was waving it around when he told me I would have to work another pair of years. The rest…” I shrugged. “I do not know. But mayhap you will.”

“Ye want me to store these with mine?” he asked slowly, reaching for the leather strap.

When he did, his fingers glanced over mine, and a shock ran up my arm so suddenly I almost gasped. Instead, I managed to get my response under control and dropped my gaze.

“I—I am offering them to you. Payment for allowing me to stay.”

They’d been Alred’s and I’d stolen them. I’d stolen to survive before, and gifting stolen goods in exchange for safety was simple logic.

The Keeper grunted and plopped the bag on the desk. He pulled out the scrolls and slotted them into the cubbies.

“Just until the blizzard is past.”

“What?” I asked distracted by the sure movements of his hand, the way the muscles bunched along his forearm…

“Ye can stay until the snow stops. Then ye’ll go to Bloodfire Village where ye belong.”

Bloodfire Village. Was that where Torvolk had taken Isadora? It must be. He was the Bloodfire Ranger, right?

“I will be able to see Isadora?”

“And the other women,” he grunted. “They’ll be glad to welcome ye and yer chattering.”

For some reason, his disgruntled tone tugged one corner of my lips upward into a smile. Unfortunately, he glanced up at me at that moment, his gaze landing on my mouth…and he scowled. Again.

“When will the snow be over?” I blurted. “Will you draw me a map so I do not get lost this time?”

The Keeper just shook his head and turned back to the scrolls. “Are ye no’ tired, lass? Surely yer voice must tire sometime.”

I pressed my lips together to keep from smirking. “I am weary.” I had no idea what time ‘twas. “Mayhap it is all the food…”

“Aye, and the tea. Go, eat yer fill,” he commanded without looking up. “There’s a piss bucket in the byre, and more furs in that chest.”

I glanced in the direction he’d jerked his thumb. Furs…

“To sleep? Where…”

I wasn’t sure how to ask where he would have me sleep. Judging from the look of disgust when I’d suggested pleasuring him, he wasn’t interested in me sexually, which was a remarkable change. Did he want me to share his bed?

“I dinnae care,” he bit out. “Just perform yer ablutions, go to sleep, and leave me in silence .”

Oh, so this was more about my talking? Well, fine then.

I ate the second bowl of soup, and then a third just because I could, while watching the way the muscles in his back moved and stretched as he poured over the scrolls I’d given him.

I wanted to ask him what they were…but I also didn’t want to raise his ire.

After I ate, I washed my bowl—and the one he’d used—in the basin, and left them on the mantel to dry. Then I ducked into the byre to relive myself, and said hello to the cow I’d hidden behind earlier. I grimaced at how my gown and bodice were still damp from my near-death adventure.

He does not care .

He said that.

I did not have to wrap myself in a fur and sleep in the byre or in front of the hearth. I did not have to sleep on the stone floor. There was a perfectly lovely bed in that room, and he did not care .

I marched back inside.

Setting my jaw, I set to work untying my bodice strings. ‘Twas difficult to wriggle out of without help, but the skirts were easier. I pulled both off and hung them from a peg I found behind the table.

When I turned back to the room, ‘twas to find the orc watching me. His brows were lowered and I couldn’t read his expression from here.

But I lifted my chin, marched to the bed, and pulled back the quilt.

I crawled toward the wall and curled up, facing the wattle-and-daub interior, my back to him.

And as I closed my eyes, I could still feel his gaze on me.

Watching.