Chapter 22
For the rest of the afternoon, Raye felt faint and listless, with that sickly unease churning in her gut.
After her ill-fated apology to Kalfr, she’d snatched the lamp and rushed in to hide with Svein, who’d still been peacefully sleeping on Kalfr’s bed.
And though she’d braced herself to hear Kalfr and Gaelfr leaving together — or worse, to hear distinctive gasps and moans filtering through the door — there had only been silence.
Silence that had grown thicker with every breath, dark with misery and guilt.
She’d failed. She’d failed.
She couldn’t have said how long she stayed there, sitting on the edge of the bed beside Svein, staring at her folded hands in the lamplight. But at some point, Gaelfr’s bulky body materialized before her, frowning down at her with something not unlike concern.
“Ach, there is no need to scent thus, woman,” he said, his voice gruff. “You did well, to speak as you did. This has meant much to Kalfr, I ken.”
Raye blinked blearily up toward his face, and shook her head. “He hates me,” she countered, tight in her throat. “He’ll never forgive me. There’s naught I can ever, ever do.”
Gaelfr betrayed a wince, surely recognizing Kalfr’s words in her voice. “He is only hurt and angry, also,” he replied. “And I ken I… I misjudged this, with him, ach? This is… not right. There is more to this he is not yet speaking of. More we must learn.”
Raye could only keep blinking toward him, and he squared his shoulders, let out a heavy sigh. “We must take more care with him,” he continued. “We must treat him with patience and kindness, and seek to draw out his trust, and his truth. We must do all within our power to uphold him, and help him.”
But even the thought curdled more aching misery in Raye’s gut. Kalfr hadn’t wanted her help, had he? There is no need. Naught you could ever, ever do.
Perhaps Gaelfr had followed that, because he sighed again, and jerked his head toward the door. “Since last we spoke, he has been rushing about upstairs, cooking a grand meal for us,” he said. “You ought to wake Svein, and come and eat.”
Right. Raye had already let Svein sleep for far too long, so she forced herself to nod, and obey.
First gently shaking Svein awake, and then doing her best to chatter and smile with him, to share his obvious delight at finding himself still in Kalfr’s house.
Next, she followed Svein and Gaelfr back upstairs into the large main room, now filled with cozy firelight and the succulent scents of roasting herbs and meat.
Kalfr was indeed busily cooking over the kitchen fire, though upon seeing Raye and Svein, he turned and greeted them both, with a smile that was only slightly strained. And in return, Raye managed a nod, and even a polite smile back.
But once she was seated at the table, she couldn’t bear to look at Kalfr again, not even when he set a full plate of supper before her.
Instead, she forced all her limited remaining energy into taking a few careful bites of food, and responding to any cheerful comments Svein made toward her, before lapsing back into empty, dragging silence.
“You ought to eat, woman,” cut in Gaelfr’s low voice, perhaps halfway through the meal. “You need this.”
It took Raye an instant to focus her eyes on his face, and then down on her still-almost-full plate.
She couldn’t at all remember Kalfr caring about cooking before, but it was a lovely meal, between the roasted herbed vegetables — apparently from his garden — and the tender slices of salted venison from his stores.
And across the table, at least Svein was excitedly eating, shovelling food into his mouth.
“Yes, it’s yummy, Mama!” he told her, with an encouraging smile. “Don’t you think?”
Raye nodded and smiled back, and took a few more bites, too.
But she could scarcely taste it, and the strange slimy nausea kept simmering higher, together with a rising, alarming urge to run off and weep.
To get away from Kalfr, away from that too-strong awareness of his body, his eyes.
And even his smell, similar to Gaelfr’s but not quite, musky and rich in the air.
She twitched at the feel of Gaelfr’s foot, nudging hers under the table, and then she took another bite, and another.
But it only made her stomach roil harder, and suddenly, swarming vivid and unwelcome through her thoughts, were the visions of that woman.
That elegant, beautiful woman in the portrait, the one Kalfr had touched, and bedded, and wanted.
Had he loved her? Had he been as warm and generous with her as he’d been with Raye?
Had he arched up over her, howled his triumph to the sky? Naught you could ever, ever do…
Finally Raye had to shove back from the table, blinking down at her trembling hands. “M-my apologies,” she stammered, “but I need to rest for a while. I think I — I must be overset from our journey.”
If she’d had more presence of mind, she might have been surprised by the speed at which both Kalfr and Gaelfr leapt up — but it was Gaelfr’s strong hand gripping her elbow, guiding her to her feet.
“There is a bed in this back room,” he said, jerking his head toward the door across the room. “You can rest there, whilst we finish.”
Raye gratefully nodded, but then made the fatal mistake of glancing at Kalfr. His mouth was hard, his eyes glittering with feverish ferocity on hers, and he shook his head. “No,” he snapped, his voice rough. “She ought to go down below, where —”
Where I cannot see her, or scent her, he might well have said, and Raye blanched, staggered, while beside her, Gaelfr barked a decisive growl. “She will go here,” he countered, “where our son can yet scent her, and we can be sure she is well. She is” — his voice dropped — “yet your mate, Kalfr.”
Kalfr stopped arguing at that, thank the gods, and Raye couldn’t bear to look at him again as Gaelfr swiftly ushered her over into the room.
She hadn’t yet seen inside it, but she vaguely registered it as another bedroom, with more stone walls, and a large, sturdy bed.
And when Gaelfr guided her toward the bed, she gratefully sank down onto it, and — foolishly — gripped at his hand.
As if she wanted him to stay, and she didn’t, she didn’t…
“Are you sick, Mama?” came Svein’s small, anxious voice, and Raye’s eyes snapped to where he was hovering close beside Gaelfr, blinking worriedly down toward her. “You don’t… smell right.”
Raye forced her hand to release Gaelfr’s, in favour of stroking reassuringly at Svein’s shoulder.
“I’m sure I’m fine, love,” she said, as steadily as she could, and she mustered up what felt like a genuine smile.
“I just need a bit of rest. You’ll finish your supper, and then spend some time with your fathers, won’t you?
Perhaps you and Kalfr can read the book? ”
“Ooooh, the book!” Svein exclaimed, brightening. “Do you want to read it with me, Papa?”
That sounded like an affirmative from Kalfr’s low voice, followed by the sound of Svein dashing from the room, and Raye sagged onto her back on the bed, and sucked in deep breaths.
She only distantly registered that Gaelfr was still standing there, brushing his hand against her sweaty forehead.
“Are you well enough to be alone, woman?” he murmured. “Or do you wish me to stay?”
Raye could have sobbed at the question, and her cursed hand snapped back up, and clutched at Gaelfr’s fingers. To which he let out a heavy harrumph, and then carefully set down her hand, gave it a reassuring pat, and strode for the door.
“Son, I shall stay here to tend your mother for a spell,” he announced, toward the main room. “You and Kalfr shall enjoy your time together, I ken.”
He didn’t wait for an answer before he firmly shut the door, and clicked something that might have been a latch. And then his heavy body settled down onto the bed beside Raye, and drew her forward into his warm bare chest.
Raye shuddered all over and clung back against him, dragging in deep, shameful breaths of his rich musky scent. And it didn’t make sense, none of this made sense, why did she want to bury herself in him, to beg him, to weep?
“Be at peace, woman,” Gaelfr said, with a sigh, as his hand stroked up and down her back. “I ken this is only the bond, ach?”
The bond? Raye blinked up toward him, searching his face in the fading twilight through the window. “The bond?” she echoed. “What… what is that?”
Gaelfr blinked back at her, but then huffed a low, tired laugh.
“So you did not know that either, then,” he replied, and that sounded tired, too.
“When an orc mates with another at length, and deepens this with bites and blood and care and longing, it oft builds… a bond. A link between them, just as strong as blood.”
The words quivered oddly up Raye’s spine, and she fought to follow, to think. “So wait, you… you think I have this bond?” she asked, high-pitched. “With — Kalfr? Or — with you?”
She couldn’t read the look that passed across Gaelfr’s eyes, but he pursed his lips, and glanced away.
“You and Kalfr have a bond,” he said flatly.
“Just as I have a bond with him, also. It is said that bonds are especially strong between Bautul, and our kin have long upheld these bonds with vows, and with titles. You are Kalfr’s mate — his sálufélagi — and I am his bond-brother.
His ástvinur. Thus, we both will always feel this link toward him, and this…
draw. This need to be near, to touch, to drink, to mate.
To be at peace with our bondmate, and to be sure of his peace and pleasure, in return. ”
His voice had gone lower, rougher, and Raye fought the urge to lean in closer, to caress her hands against the warm, hair-dusted skin of his chest. “So you mean to say,” she managed, “that I’m feeling ill… because of this bond? With Kalfr?”