Page 44 of Warlord's Mate
Her silence was unnerving. She didn’t speak to him often, but she’d never ignored his presence before. Her doing so now seemed—odd. So was the reaction of everyone in camp. Something had happened while he was gone. Something his gut told him he wasn’t going to like.
Of all the rotten, stinking luck. Why did he have to come back now?
Marcy ground her teeth. She’d spent the past two days hoarding food and had planned on cutting out once the sun went down. The warlord had enough weapons to supply a small army, and she’d picked a few of the smaller knives and a long blade to take with her when she left. Now, he was back and her plans to leave this miserable place were ruined. Or maybe not. He said he wanted her to leave. Did that mean his hut or his camp?
“You’ll be staying with the other females from now on.”
Well, that answered that question. Marcy kept her back to him but nodded her head. She didn’t have much in the way of possessions. A few articles of clothing and the leather hides she used to cover her feet.
“I need clean clothes and a drying cloth. When I get back from bathing, I expect you to not be here.”
For reasons she didn’t want to examine, his words—stung. Days ago, she’d thought things between them had changed and now she realized, the only thing that changed was, he got what he’d wanted and now wanted her gone. Typical man. She should have seen it coming but as always, she picked the wrong man to get a crush on.
She nodded again and reached across the table where his clothes were folded and winced as something in her back pulled. She was slow about gathering what he wanted but laid them on the edge of the table a few moments later.
He didn’t reach for them and she glanced over her shoulder but kept her eyes down. “Is there something else you need, warlord?”
He leaned his hip against the side of the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you trying not to look at me?”
Her heart thumped in her chest. “I wasn’t aware you wanted me to.” He said nothing so she grabbed her things and tucked them against her chest. When she turned and headed across the room, he grabbed her arm to stop her.
She liked wearing his shirts and told herself repeatedly it had nothing to do with the fact they smelled like him, but the only drawback there was to wearing them was, they were just too damn big. They always fell off one shoulder if she wasn’t careful and today was no exception, only now, it had fallen and exposed her back. The length of her hair had been pulled up and tied with a strip of cloth she’d found so the strands didn’t brush the broken skin from the whip and she knew most of her back was exposed. His sharp intake of breath a moment later told her he’d seen the cuts.
His hold on her arm tightened before he pulled her to him, the move enough to make every inch of the skin on her back feel as if it was suddenly lit by fire. The cuts still weren’t healed. Tezhila said there was a leaf in the forest that would help the healing but Jityria had refused to let any of them go retrieve it for her.
The warlord released her arm and grabbed the back of the shirt, pulling the material with enough force it split down the middle. He pushed her hair away, his large hand cupping the side of her neck, and he said nothing for long minutes, but his breath was released harshly enough she could actually hear him breathing.
“Who did this?”
The words were said in such a low tone, it almost sounded as if he’d growled them instead of spoke them.
He took a step to the side and grabbed her chin, lifting her head. His eyes roamed her face, and she knew exactly what he saw. The disk she used for a mirror wasn’t much but it showed how haggard she looked, the dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep making her pale skin even more stark. His grip on her chin tightened briefly before the pressure was gone.
“Who did this to you?”
She wanted to scream Jityria did it. That she’d tricked her and Darqu had punished her for it, but didn’t dare. She knew what would happen if she did. The look on his face was proof enough of that. He’d killed the snake-man alien for doing nothing more than knocking her down. For this? She didn’t even want to imagine what he’d do, and she wasn’t going to be responsible for anyone’s death even if she’d wished it on both of them a dozen times each since the day they’d whipped her.
The silence stretched for long minutes, the warlord stepping around her again to look at her back once more. He still had one hand cupped over the side of her neck and his fingers tightened before she felt his thumb brush over her skin.
A noise that sounded like a growl started low and grew in volume. She realized he was making the noise just as the pressure on her neck increased and he gave her a slight shove, marching her across the room and leading her outside.
She sucked in a breath as he forced her to walk to the central fire pit and she gripped the things in her hand tighter. She was glad he’d just ripped the back of the shirt she wore so she was still covered except for her backside. When he stopped walking, he turned her and bellowed, “Who struck her?”
The warlord’s camp was busy from sun up to sun down and one heard a variety of noises throughout the day but now—the old cliche, “you could have heard a pin drop,” was true and the silence was eerie.
Marcy looked at the other females. For once, they didn’t have their heads down. They were watching her, the anger she’d felt over the last week evident on their faces now. It made the pain less intense knowing they were outraged on her behalf.
The warlord cupped her chin between his fingers and lifted her face. “Who did this?” Again, she didn’t answer. His hold on her chin tightened. “I will not ask you again.” When she said nothing, he let go of her and looked to the sea of bodies in camp. “I will kill you all, one at a time until the person responsible for this is named.”
Several gasps were heard. Marcy looked at the faces staring back at her and her stomach rolled. Would he really kill all his men to find out the name of one?
She glanced up at him. Judging the look on his face—yes. Yes, he would.
The alien Krista said followed her around, the one with white skin and black around his eyes, stepped forward.
The warlord turned to face him. “Kyre? Do you know?”
He nodded. “I tried to tell you the moment I realized you were back in camp.” Kyre looked at her, the sympathy on his face evident across the clearing. He looked away and nodded to the left. “Darqu is the one who struck her. Why the wounds were not cleaned and tended to, I do not know. Had I known they’d been left untreated, I would have seen to them myself.”