Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Torvolk
The female in my arms had long ago ceased shivering, and I wasn’t certain if ‘twas a good thing or a bad thing.
And I wasn’t sure why I cared.
With the second horse galloping behind, we made straight for the standing stone circle and I found myself checking the position of the moon every few minutes. That fight in the courtyard had taken more time than I expected, but I couldn’t afford for those men to follow too closely behind.
I glanced down at the female I carried. She hadn’t fought me when I’d pulled her into my lap, and I didn’t know if I was disappointed by that. My Kteer wasn’t; it had crowed at the realization this sweet-smelling female was dependent on me. I should be disgusted by the way that made me feel strong, but I wasn’t.
I wanted her. I wanted to take her.
Which is why I couldn’t. Couldn’t afford the distraction.
Her mouth was open, pressed against my plaid, her little pink tongue visible. I could feel her breath, warm against my chest, and decided she’d just fallen asleep. Fallen asleep with her arms wrapped around my middle.
Careful not to disturb her, I wrapped the reins of my stolen horse around my wrist and allowed one claw to scrape along her temple. She didn’t flinch, not in her sleep, and I tucked a wispy strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
I’d seen her struck, seen her sold. Something was wrong with one of her legs, and her lip was swollen. But ‘twas the mutilation of her hair which had hurt her the most, it seemed.
Should’ve killed that tavern keeper. Should’ve hacked off Alred’s head and hung it from a pike with the lass’s braid stuffed in his mouth .
Aye, but what good would that have done?
I’d already exposed myself to the humans, something I hated doing, and had never before tried in a crowd. And that fight? I’d been so fooking careful not to kill any of them, despite my rage.
Why?
Because if my chief was still alive, and if he was going to have any hope of surviving the human world, orcs couldn’t afford to anger these fragile, pale-skinned beings.
‘Twas bad enough the Bladesedge clan had made an alliance with the Tarberts last summer, Mating with the laird’s daughters. Combined with the Tarbert might, the Bladesedge could stand against us when we attacked.
That’s where Kragorn had gone missing.
By all the gods below, let him be alive .
He was a good chief, but more importantly, he was a good friend.
“Nay!”
The little whimper drew my attention back to the female in my arms.
“Nay!” she murmured again, shaking her head, burrowing deeper against me.
Feeling awkward, uncertain, I tried to pat her fur-covered back.
“Hush, lass,” I commanded gruffly. “Ye’re safe now.”
Was she? We were thundering toward the veil and far enough ahead that those men at the tavern wouldn’t be able to follow us through this cycle.
But she had nowhere to go. No one to protect her.
And now she’s a slave. Yer slave. To do with as ye wish.
Frowning, I tucked my cloak around her again, shifted the reins to my palm, and urged the horses even faster.
Because my Kteer knew exactly what I wanted to do with her.
The standing stones gleamed with reflected moonlight, and I confessed I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the shimmering silver mist in the center of the circle.
On the first day of the full moon, for an hour at midnight, the veil between our world and the humans’ weakens and we can pass through.
The horses thundered straight through the mist, and when we emerged on the other side of the circle, I knew I was home.
Yanking hard on the reins, I slowed both animals. The gelding I rode reared then pawed briefly at the ground as I tightened my hold on the lass in my lap. But as soon as the animals settled, I lifted my head to study my surroundings.
My people farmed less than the humans, because there were fewer of us, and thus much of our landscape was still forested, the way the humans’ had been centuries ago. The snow was shallower here because of the rowan trees…but I saw no footprints.
“Ho! Keeper!” I let out a piercing whistle.
“Why in the fook would ye do that?” came the grumble from behind me.
I pulled the horse about but saw no one. “Where are ye?”
“I’m hiding, ye daft arsehole. Some of us understand the meaning of quiet. And subtlety. And peace. And?—”
“I understand,” I interrupted his litany with a growl.
“Do ye?” The other male’s voice drifted among the stones, sounding amused. “Because ye thundered into my realm as if all the Christians’ demons were on yer heels.”
“Aye, mayhap they are.” I was peering about, trying to pinpoint the male’s location. “Has anyone else come through tonight?”
“Nae one.” I heard a sigh, and then he stepped out from behind one of the standing stones…one which was entirely too close and I would’ve thought too small to hide his bulk, the sneaky bastard.
“Nae one?” I repeated, hating the way disappointment stabbed at my chest. “Nae word from Kragorn?”
The other male, who’d taken this post soon after he’d lost his arm, shook his head and strode over to take the reins of the spare horse from me.
“Ye’re the first through, although there’s still half the veil left.”
And I knew, even once the mist passed and the veil closed, the Keeper would scour the area, looking for signs that any creatures had stepped through. ‘Twas his job to know such things.
“Still hope,” I muttered angrily, glancing down at the lass I’d bought, and uncertain why I’d done so. Why I hadn’t dropped her off somewhere along the way.
“Dinnae wager on it,” the Keeper warned. “Most come through at the beginning of the hour or risk being stranded.”
My lips twisted into a snarl, and I took a breath, ready to snap at him that Kragorn was still alive…but when I met his steady gaze, I bit down on the words.
This male was no older than I, but had chosen an existence as isolated as I had for the sake of the clan. He did not deserve my anger for stating the truth.
I glanced away and heard him make a noise which might’ve been approval.
“There is pottage on the hearth,” he offered quietly. “I always make a pot before the crossing, to welcome whoever returns. I was hoping ‘twould be ye with news, but…”
Beneath me, the horse sidestepped, and I was grateful for the distraction as I admitted painfully, “I spread around gold”— Too much gold —“but learned naught. I will report to Vartok and then head south. Mayhap one of the other clans has word.”
The other male nodded. “Well, the pottage is warm if yer female needs a meal to recover from yer adventures. There’s feed in the stalls for yer mounts.”
“She’s no’ my female.”
The denial was instinctual, but I’ll not deny the way my Kteer had crowed with glee at the suggestion she was .
Hells, I didn’t even know her name!
The Keeper merely hummed, handed me back the reins of the spare horse, and tipped his head toward the cottage up the hill.
“My bed is as warm as the pottage if she is looking for someplace to hide.”
My bed .
I bristled, and this time I couldn’t blame it entirely on my Kteer , that primal, essential part of me. Nay, this was me bristling at the suggestion of putting my female, my slave, in his bed.
A moment ago, ye said she wasnae yer female .
But I did trade gold for her. She was mine.
Mine .
With a growl, I wrenched the horses toward the cottage and kicked them into motion.
I couldn’t be certain, but I think I saw the Keeper’s lips curl wryly before I left.
The lass whimpered in her sleep as I swung from the saddle with her in my arms. Her brow pinched and her arms tightened around me. I told my Kteer to calm the fook down, it meant naught that she was turning to me in her distress.
I don’t think it worked.
In the Keeper’s modest croft, I was irritated to see the only logical place I could set her down was the bed, which was piled high with warm furs. Yet, even knowing the horses needed me, I stood there with the lass in my arms, unable to make myself release her.
This is daft. Ye’re being daft. Drop her off and see to the horses who’ve carried ye to safety and deserve yer thanks. What has she done, other than cause ye more trouble?
Scowling, I dropped her none-too-gently atop the Keeper’s bed and would have turned to stomp from the room…had I not seen her roll to her side, gathering my cloak about her as if in protection.
I paused, staring down at the ragged ends of her shorn hair, frowning in contemplation.
What had happened to her? Who were her people?
Blowing out a frustrated breath, I went to see to the horses.
I’ll admit I took my time, half-hoping the problem of the lass—and the strange way she made my chest feel—would be gone when I returned. Either because the Keeper had claimed her as his own, she’d run away, or because she’d died.
But as soon as I’d had that thought, my stomach clenched and I’d shoveled the last of the hay the animals required, then stomped my way through the connecting passage to the croft.
She still breathed, although quickly enough now I doubted she slept. Nay, she faced the wall, her back to me with my cloak clutched around her…and she breathed too quickly.
I wanted to speak to her, to calm her. The need was…well, ‘twas a need to comfort her, and that realization had me scowling and turning toward the hearth.
The Keeper lived alone for twenty-seven days of the moon’s cycle, but kept enough earthenware to feed a band of warriors who might pass through. I lifted down a bowl and filled it from the pot dangling from the crane’s hook.
Smelled like venison and wild onions, one of my favorites, especially when served with Nan’s brown bread.
I stared down at the bubbling stew, frowning.
When had I last thought of my grandmother? Or anyone in my village? Och, I knew; two months back, when I’d stopped in long enough to report to the chief’s brother, Vartok, before heading south. I’d seen Nan then, kissed her forehead.
Did I miss her? Miss them?
Dinnae be stupid. Ye are a ranger. Ye have nae home.
Cradling the bowl in my hands, I glanced around the cozy little croft. The Keeper might live alone, but he lived comfortably. I had a weapon, a cloak, and the trust of my clan.
That was enough, wasn’t it?
Scowling now, I scooped up a spoon, but the pottage didn’t taste nearly as good as it had smelled. Or mayhap my tongue was poisoned by my thoughts.
Across the room, the lass on the bed slowly rolled over. I watched her, and when her gaze met mine, she froze. The surprise in her expression was enough to almost make me smile. What? She’d expected me to be elsewhere?
“Are ye hungry?” I asked.
She laid there, eyes wide.
“Female,” I barked, holding out the bowl and the spoon. “Are ye hungry?”
“I have a name.”
Her voice was soft but I remembered how she’d stood up to my anger in the stables near the tavern.
My brow twitched. “ Female. Are ye hungry?”
She narrowed her eyes and frowned slightly—which shouldn’t be as adorable as ‘twas—then began to struggle upright, caught in my too-large cloak. I crossed to her, but when I reached for the clasp to untangle her, she jerked away.
“Nay, I—” She bit off the rest of her words, then exhaled. “I am sorry. You likely want your cloak back.” She pushed away my hand then struggled with the large clasp. “Thank you for the loan. I thought…”
She peeled the fur from her shoulders, although she was still sitting on it atop the bed and thus couldn’t hand it to me.
“What did ye think?” I prompted blandly.
Blue eyes peeked at me from under her lashes. “I thought I would never be warm again. Thank you.”
Damn my Kteer for preening at that.
“Food,” I managed gruffly, shoving the bowl at her. “Eat. Ye’ll waste away and die otherwise.”
She took the pottage from me and as I turned away, I heard her mutter, “’Twould be a shame to lose your investment like that.”
A slave. She was my slave now, was she not?
Except orcs kept no slaves.
I scooped some more pottage for myself.
We ate in silence and I had to force myself not to watch her. Instead, I focused on the small onion bulbs in my bowl and pretended they were fascinating.
There’s quite a lot of things that wild onions are: nutritious, tasty, easy to dig. But no one, not even the most devoted foragers, would call them fascinating.
“Thank you.”
Her voice jerked me from my perusement of the translucent bulbs, and my gaze found hers unerringly. She was sitting cross-legged on my cloak, the bowl between her thighs, her attention on the broken strings of her bodice as she tried to feed them through the holes and close her gown again.
I couldn’t help but watch her movements, watch those small, delicate hands hovering so near her tits. By Malla the Beginner, she had nice tits; round and heavy, the kind I wanted to see again.
The kind I wanted to taste .
Beneath my kilt, my cock stirred, and I scowled.
Ye dinnae need this kind of complication.
So to distract myself, I asked, “Do ye want more? Of the food?”
Her head jerked up, her eyes wide with surprise and her lips parted. I’d heard humans tasted one another’s mouths, and in that moment, I very, very much wanted to claim those lips with my own.
She blinked. “You would…allow me more?”
I frowned. “Aye, of course. The Keeper made a large pot, and we’re no’ even halfway through. Are ye still hungry?”
“Nay,” she whispered. I saw a flash of blue from beneath her lashes. “I am sufficed. But thank you.”
She’d been thanking me often since she woke. But for this? For a second helping of food? She had been surprised by that.
I wondered what her life had been like before tonight.
As she attempted once more to fix her gown, I finished my meal. This time I didn’t pretend not to watch her, and she must have known, because her cheeks grew pinker and pinker as my gaze drifted over her.
I drew my plaid from over my shoulder and pulled my small dagger from my belt. With a quick prick, I started a rip which allowed me to tear a long, thin strip from the woolen material.
I slid the dagger into its hidden sheath and wrapped the cord—because that’s what ‘twas—around my palm as I crossed the room.
I stopped in front of her, in front of where she sat on the bed. She didn’t look up. Instead, her gaze was locked on my kilt, her cheeks deepening to red.
When my Kteer realized she was staring at the outline of my cock, the damned thing grew harder.
“Here,” I grunted, thrusting my hand toward her. “For yer gown.”
She hesitated, then took the cord with two fingers, being careful not to touch my skin.
“Thank you. Again.”
I cleared my throat and turned away, and she suddenly asked, “What is this place? Is this your home?”
“Nay.” I picked up her dish and crossed back to the hearth where I knew the Keeper kept washing water. “This is the Keeper’s home. He watches the stones; ‘tis his job to patrol and control the pathway.”
“Pathway?”
“The route between our worlds. I imagine the job is boring as shite for most of the month.”
“ Our worlds ?” Her voice was higher pitched than usual, almost panicky, as her wide blue eyes darted to mine.
I turned away from the washing and propped a shoulder against the mantel.
“Yer world, and the orcs’ homeworld.” Holding up two fists, I butted them up against each other. “But once a month, at the full moon, for only a short amount of time…” I flattened my hands, palm to palm. “’Tis possible to cross from one to the other.”
Her eyes were wide, her hands frozen in the process of threading the cord through her bodice.
“The stones,” she whispered. “I remember legends…”
“Aye, they’re true.” I turned back to my washing. “My people have been raiding through the stones for generations, bringing back cattle and prizes.”
“And women?”
I lifted my head to stare at the stones supporting the mantal, but I wasn’t really seeing them.
“Aye. And females.”
“And I am in your world now.” She blew out a breath. “What is your name?”
I shouldn’t tell her.
I couldn’t tell her, not if I wanted to be rid of her. Not if I wanted to leave her with the Keeper, or worst case, deposit her with Nan and Vartok and the others in the village. She didn’t need to know my name.
I told her anyway.
“Torvolk,” I said gruffly to the wall. “I am Torvolk, Ranger for the Bloodfire Clan.”
“Torvolk,” she repeated in that soft tone of hers. “Torvolk.”
And my Kteer and my cock were in complete agreement about how perfectly my name on her lips sounded.
Dinnae ask her name. Dinnae ask her name. Ye cannae afford to ken it. She’s no’ important. She’s nae one.
“I am Isadora, Torvolk.”
Isadora .
The name was as perfectly delicate as she was.
I closed my eyes in defeat.
Isadora.
Mine.