Page 45 of Warlord's Mate
Everyone turned as one to where Darqu stood. He’d done nothing for days but prance around camp as if he was the warlord. He’d even sat himself on the warlords chair every evening and ordered food and drink be brought to him. He’d been playing king and enjoying every minute of it.
He wasn’t enjoying it now.
As one, every alien standing near Darqu started walking away from him. Darqu gave them all nervous looks before turning his attention back to the warlord.
The warlord let go of her and took three steps toward him. “Did you strike her?”
Darqu lifted his chin, his lips set in a hard, straight line. “She was running away, warlord. I found her alone in the forest. Like you, I do not tolerate insolence. S’anhi was there. He will tell you what he saw.”
The warlord glanced at the alien who had grabbed her in the forest, then looked at her, one eyebrow raised in question. “Were you in the forest alone?”
Fuck. If she said yes, would he punish her more for disobeying him? She saw a flash of green skin out of the corner of her eye. Jityria was slowly easing her way toward the other females. Marcy locked eyes on her and said, “I was collecting the berries Cayen needed for that drink he makes.”
“Did Darqu know this?”
She looked at Darqu but never said anything. If she did, she’d more or less order his execution. He was an asshole and even though she’d imagined his death multiple times over the past week, she didn’t really think he needed to die for it. Beat and left to wallow in his own waste for a week in the ground pits? Sure. But she wouldn’t be responsible for his death.
The warlord searched the crowd before saying, “String him up. I’ll deal with him later.”
Darqu’s outraged cries filled the clearing as Vikram and a few of the others advanced on him. The warlord crossed to where the other females were and her heart skipped a beat. Was he going after Jityria? As pale as Jityria was as he advanced on them, it was clear she thought he was.
He spoke to them briefly then headed back her way, the color coming back to Jityria’s face. She looked at her across the clearing with an unreadable expression. She’d like to think it was gratitude for not ratting her out but doubted that was it.
The warlord grabbed her arm when he reached her but this time, his hold was light. He led her back to his hut and let go of her after they were inside. She watched him head to the table in the back where odds and ends type things were stored. He picked up a few of the drying cloths and a couple of the smaller bits of cloth he used for bathing and a clean shirt.
A moment later, the leather covering over the doorway moved, Tezhila stepping inside. She carried a bowl and a water skin. “Warlord.” She lowered her head. “The things you asked for.”
“Put them on the table.”
Tezhila shuffled across the room and set the things in her hands down and glanced at her briefly. “Will there be anything else?”
“Brew apelemtea and bring it to me. Jityria knows where to find the bark used to make it.”
Tezhila nodded and left as quickly as she came. The warlord carried the things he’d collected to the table Tezhila laid the bowl and water skin on and set them down.
From here, she could barely see into the bowl but whatever lay inside it was purple. The warlord poured water into the bowl then turned to face her.
“Come here.”
He still looked mad as hell but his voice was softer than normal. Marcy crossed to where he was and stopped in front of him. He grabbed the clothes she was still clutching to her chest and tossed them aside, then grabbed the ruined shirt at the neck and pulled it off of her, tossing it to the floor when her arms were free of it.
She stood completely naked before him and to his credit, he never looked lower than her face. His hand on her shoulder and a slight nudge to the left was all it took for her to turn and put her back to him.
He moved her hair away, again draping it over one shoulder before she heard things shifting around on the table. Something cold was laid against her ruined flesh a moment later. She hissed out a breath, the cold water shocking, but she never moved, not even when it became apparent he was washing the dried blood from her back.
She hadn’t done much of anything for days other than sleep and steal bits of food late at night when Cayen wasn’t in the cooking pits. None of the other females had been allowed in to see her and she knew they’d come. She’d heard them on the other side of the leather door flap. She’d heard Jityria too, ordering them back to work.
The wounds had been sloppily cleaned. It hurt too much to move so bringing her arm around to wash the blood away had been nearly impossible. It was a miracle the open wounds hadn’t become infected and killed her and she’d finally come to the conclusion that those aliens who’d captured her did more than implant a translator into her head. She’d been unconscious for unknown amounts of time so maybe they’d given her something to prevent it. As far as she knew, none of the captured females were ever sick. She certainly hadn’t been. No one was that she’d seen, so it was the only explanation she could think of as to why the wounds had only crusted over with dried blood and hadn’t become infected.
Tezhila came back with a steaming cup of liquid, setting it on the table before leaving again without a word. The warlord took his time cleaning her back, his touch soft, and the longer he stood back there tending to her, the twinge of pain every swipe of the cloth made across her back made her think of the day it had happened, and the more she thought about that, the more miserable she felt.
The pain she’d felt that day had been nothing compared to the pain of having to endure it alone. She’d wanted nothing more than the simple comfort of someone there for her and his image had flashed in her head. She’d wanted him for no other reason than she knew he’d not let anyone else hurt her. Having him back in camp caused the tight pressure that had been in her chest since Darqu had whipped her to let go and relief so profound washed through her body that her eyes started to burn, her throat growing thick as tears filled her eyes. When the first one fell, she whimpered, forcing back the crying fit she knew was moments away.
Marcy raised her hand to wipe her face but the tears kept falling despite her trying to stop them. When they wouldn’t stop, she covered her mouth to keep him from knowing she was crying but knew it hadn’t worked when his hands stilled.
She wiped her eyes again as more tears fell, then covered her face with both hands and tried to swallow past the lump in her throat.
He moved behind her, his hand brushing her elbow before he pulled her hands from her face. She looked up at him when he hooked one finger under her chin and raised her head.