Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Isadora
When Torvolk wheeled his horse and trotted away, I felt strangely bereft…for all of a few seconds…until the wrinkled old woman reached for my hands.
“Och, lass, ‘tis so good to meet ye. Isadora, my Torvolk said?”
The woman was shorter than me, with the sort of stoop that comes from a life well-lived. Her smile was bright—although a few teeth were missing—and her cheeks plump. I stood there, my hands in her mittened ones, trying to search her face for similarities between her features and Torvolk’s.
I found none.
“I…” I shook my head. “Are you really his grandmother?”
“Oh dear.” She clicked her tongue, then turned to pull me toward a cottage. Not the one she’d just emerged from, but the one beside it, which shared a garden with hers.
“I always said Torvolk was a bit of an arse when it came to females—cannae see the sun shining directly on his cheeks.” She gave a bright grin and squeezed my hands. “I can see that dobber explained verra little to ye. Did he really buy ye? Using the clan coin, I suppose, which is likely a better use for it than bribery. Oh, Myra! We need ye!”
This last was yelled toward a pretty, dark-skinned human woman who was bundled against the cold. She changed direction toward us just as Torvolk’s grandmother tugged me inside the cold cottage.
“Forgive me, Isadora,” she demanded, bustling about, closing the shutters. “I hoped Torvolk would be home today, so I freshened up the place, laid the hearth, that sort of thing. He’s a strong—if stubborn—lad and can take care of himself, after all. But if I’d kenned ye’d be with him, I would’ve started the fire, so ye’d be nice and warm.”
She settled me on a straight-backed chair built to Torvolk’s proportions—the wooden seat was too hard to be truly comfortable—then knelt in front of the hearth to light the kindling which had indeed been laid. I had the vague thought that I should offer to do that for her, but I confess I was in too much shock to do aught more than stare.
The other woman—Myra?—let herself in.
“A newcomer, Nan? Is this Torvolk’s Mate?” She turned to me “I’m Myra,” she said.
“Isadora.” Thoughts a-whirl, I managed to remember my name.
Why were all these human women here? Torvolk said they weren’t slaves, but his own grandmother was…a human?
With a groan, Nan pushed herself to her feet. She smiled broadly and wiped her hands on her skirts as the fire caught.
“There, that’s nice and cozy. Myra, get some of those tapers lit. I’ll fetch some food from my cottage and we can get comfortable.”
“Wait,” I blurted as the newcomer began to light the candles set on the table and the older woman reached the door. “What—what is going on?”
“Och, dearie,” Nan clucked, turning back with her arms wide. “Ye’ve had a hell of an adventure, aye?” She wrapped me in her arms, a comforting embrace which made me long to relax into her hold. I’d never been hugged like this by another woman, much less one who reminded me of—well, not my grandmother, because I’d never had one. Well, presumably I must have had a grandmother at some point—unless there were some miracles in my family tree I didn’t know about—but I’d never known her.
You are beginning to blather .
‘Twas the panic, surely.
The old woman smiled gently. “Ye should call me Nan, because most of the village does at this point. Myra is a midwife; she came through the stones a few months back because her sister Avaleen is expecting my next great-grandson and insisted she be here to help. Since Avaleen is Mated to Torvolk’s twin brother Mkaalad, she calls me Nan as well.”
“She is right,” Myra said, expression serious as she focused on her task. “Everyone calls her Nan, because she’s related to half the village. You should as well.”
“But…you are human .” The panic was slowly giving way to confusion as the fire warmed me. “Your grandsons are orcs ?”
“Oh dear,” Nan sighed, straightening. “I see food will have to wait. I can explain while Myra examines ye.” She gestured the other woman closer. “Where are ye hurt, lassie?”
“I am—I am not hurt.” I looked between the two of them, wide-eyed. “Torvolk would not hurt me.” I didn’t understand how I knew that with such certainty, but ‘twas true.
“I know that,” Myra announced softly as she took my chin in her hand and tilted it toward the light. “But someone struck you.” Her touch was light on my split lip. “You seem to be healing. Hopefully you put some snow on it?”
“Ice,” I mumbled. “Last night, Torvolk…”
“He said he bought her at an auction, Myra,” Nan interrupted. She was placing a kettle on the fire, and I found myself hoping that meant tea was a possibility. “Ye ken what that means?”
The midwife hummed, still examining me, so I explained.
“It means I am his slave.”
Myra’s gaze darted to mine then away as Nan gasped.
“Orcs keep nae slaves, Isadora. If my grandson paid money?—”
“Twenty gold pieces,” I interrupted, willing them to understand the severity of the situation.
Strangely neither woman reacted to that outrageous amount. Myra was still focused on my bruises, while Nan just shrugged.
“Gold means less to orcs, lassie, and thus they— we have more of it. In the human world, ‘tis hoarded by a few rich men who use it to adorn themselves. We have the same resources here, but only use the gold to trade with the humans.”
We . She included herself in the orcs’ world?
“If you were being sold at auction, does that mean you were a slave?” Myra asked, her expression and tone carefully neutral. “Where was the auction?”
“’Twas in a tavern—a whorehouse.” I couldn’t stop my shudder. “And nay, I was not a slave…until my mistress sold me to be one. The men in that tavern, they wanted…” I swallowed, tipping my chin against my chest and wrapping my arms around myself, hating this resurgence of fear.
With a sympathetic noise, Myra dropped to a crouch beside me so she could gather my hands in hers. “Were you defiled, Isadora? Hurt by those men? You do not have to speak of it, but I am a midwife, and very good at it. I would ask that you allow me to examine you to ensure no lasting damage.”
I was surprised to find myself blinking back tears as I shook my head. Not just at this stranger’s kindness, but at the reminder of what might have been.
As the kettle finished boiling and Nan poured three mugs of what turned out to be fragrant tea in a flavor I’d never before tasted, I told the women my story. Of cruel Mistress Smith and her fears, and how the bandits had sold me to Alred, who cut off my hair and bared my body to so many men. I told them of how Torvolk had stood and offered for me, more money than any of us could comprehend. I told them of how scared I’d been, and how he fought the men in the tavern.
“Did he kill them?” Myra asked sharply. She’d sat across the small table from me, her expression skeptical as she listened. I could tell she wasn’t outgoing in the way of Verna—the whore at the tavern—or Nan. “That is the last thing the orcs need, another war with the humans.”
Another war? I wondered what she meant by that.
But Nan reached over and patted my hand, which was warming around my mug of tea. “Ye poor lassie. I’m sorry about yer hair.”
My finger rose to the strands which now hung around my ears. On the horse, when I was sitting upon his lap, Torvolk had touched me here. I remembered how he’d warmed me, and I felt my cheeks heating.
’Twas just hair. Aye, it had been my prettiest feature, but Torvolk had bought me even without it.
Myra sighed and pushed aside her tea. “You do not need me to check you for aught?”
I started to shake my head, then stopped. “I did—yesterday, when I was in the tavern, I twisted my ankle. Torvolk bound it last night, but…”
Nodding, she slid from her chair and went down on one knee beside me, already pushing aside my hem so she could study my foot. I remembered how Torvolk had asked before he’d touched me, and again I wondered what kind of male he was.
‘Twas as if his grandmother guessed the direction of my thoughts, because she patted me again.
“My grandson is a good lad, Isadora. He’s gruff, aye, and pretends he doesnae care for the company of others, and sometimes he’s grumpier than a box of rocks—although why someone would box rocks is beyond me—and he cannae carry a tune to save his life, but… What was I saying? Och, aye,” she announced, waggling her finger. “Torvolk is a good lad.”
“He…” Ignoring the way Myra was poking and prodding me, I peered down into my tea and realized these women had warmed me in a way the fire hadn’t. “I was being sold for sex. To satisfy a man. A slave.”
“You were no slave,” snapped Myra from down around my knee. “And you are not now.”
“She’s right, lassie.” Nan smiled softly, lifting her own mug. “Orcs dinnae keep slaves, and Torvolk isnae yer master. I heard ye call him that.”
“He paid twenty gold pieces,” I whisper. “I am his.”
“Aye, ye might be.” When I glanced up, there was a twinkle in Nan’s eye. “But no’ because of that. Has he told ye of orcish Mating?”
Mutely, I shook my head, then changed my mind. “He said…” I glanced down at Myra, then up at the old woman. “When I asked about the other women in the village, like Avaleen, he said they were honored Mates.”
Myra snorted without looking up. “They had best be. If I ever caught a hint that Mkaalad was not treating Avaleen well, I would cut off his cock myself.”
Across the table, Nan smiled indulgently. “Myra is verra protective, but she has nae reason to worry. My lads ken how lucky they are to have Mates, and Torvolk will soon too.”
When the midwife twisted my foot, I winced, then confessed, “I do not understand.”
“Orcs dinnae Mate the way humans do. To humans, marriage is supposed to be a sacred vow before God, but even then ‘tis often defiled.”
I thought of the way John the Tanner had considered buying me so his wife wouldn’t be burdened with his tupping her each night and shuddered my agreement.
“’Tis not very sacred.”
“But to orcs, Mating is…”
“A natural imperative,” Myra interrupted, re-wrapping my ankle, her attention—and voice—pointed downward. “’Tis part of who they are, something they know in the same way you might be able to tell when your flow is approaching, or when your gut is unhappy, or when you can feel a headache coming on.”
Nan was nodding along. “Myra hasnae experienced it, but she is right. An orc male is born with a Kteer , ‘tis almost like another sense, deep in his chest. ‘Tis the primitive part of him, the part which urges him to do things the auld ways.” She winked. “Sometimes it can be quite pleasant to let his Kteer have free reign.”
I merely gaped, not understanding.
“The Kteer is part of what determines the Mating bond. An orc male just kens the woman he is to spend his life with, and the longer he is with her, the more she can feel the same thing.”
“But…” I glanced down at the midwife. “Humans do not have this… kah-teer , do they?”
“Nay,” Myra announced, gently settling my foot back down. “I do not understand it either. Your ankle just needs rest. Torvolk bound it well.”
“I told ye he’d take care of ye,” Nan announced, patting my hand once more.
“But…” None of this was making sense. “When an orc marries?—”
“’Tis a Mating ,” Nan corrected. “And ‘tis a commitment made before the gods and the clan, aye, the same as a human ceremony. But once Mated, the couple is bound in a way no human couple could imagine. Neither will ever find another Mate, and only Mated pairs can produce kitlings. ‘Tis why our bairns are so precious to us.”
Myra arched, pressing her palms against her lower back. “All bairns are precious, but to the orcs, the life of the mother is more important, because her Mate cares for her above all else.”
The words were matter-of-fact, but her tone sounded skeptical.
“How long have you been here?” I asked Myra.
“Mkaalad brought Avaleen through the stones to fetch me before the first snows came,” she explained, settling back into her chair. She took a sip of the tea, then wrinkled her nose when she found it cold. “I am still getting used to the village and life with orcs.”
“Myra is fitting right in. ‘Tis just her nemesis she doesnae like.”
“Vartok is a gentleman,” Myra announced stiffly, clasping her mug in both hands. “Without the sense his grandmother has.”
Nan cackled gleefully and slapped the table. “Well said, lassie!” To me she confessed, “Vartok has a bit of a stubborn streak too.”
As if I had an inkling who this Vore-talk was.
“A bit?” muttered Myra. “He would not know good sense if it bit him in the arse.”
“See?” Nan asked triumphantly. “Myra is fitting right in and likes life here in the village better. All of us human females here feel the same way!”
Ah. We’d finally reached the part I was curious about. “And…you, Nan? You are human, aye?”
She chuckled, a sort of cackling laugh. “I am, lassie. I’ve been here over fifty years! My Bartolk came through the stones as part of a raiding party, took one look at me, and decided he had to have me. Took me a bit longer to come around, but ‘twas worth it.” She nodded proudly. “I gave birth to three strong sons and a lovely daughter, and am proud grandma to quite a few grandchildren.”
I stared, unable to fully comprehend what I was hearing. This wizened old woman sitting across from me had once been like myself? Disbelieving? But she seemed so happy and at ease now.
Myra cleared her throat, drawing my attention. Her expression turned a little sympathetic at my confusion, and I could see how this no-nonsense woman might make a good midwife.
“When a male child is born to a human female and an orc male, he is more likely to look like his father. When a female child is born, she is more likely to look like her mother. If she Mates a human, her children are virtually indistinguishable from normal humans.” She shrugged. “And if the son Mates with a female orc, their children will look just like full-blooded orcs.”
Nan took up the explanation. “There are a few females here in the village that might look human but have orc fathers. Likewise, quite a few of our males have human mothers or grandmothers.”
“Torvolk?” I whispered, wide-eyed.
“His parents were both orcs,” Nan told me, “but we’ve lost them both. My son, his father, drowned in the same storm that killed my Bartolk, and his mother died in childbirth a few years before. I raised him and his twin.”
Myra’s lips had pressed together until they were a white line, and I knew she was thinking about losing her own sister to childbirth.
“I-I am sorry for your losses,” I managed. “It must be difficult and wonderful, at once, to look around your village and see so many parts of your family.”
“This is my home,” Nan said simply. “So much more than my father’s croft had ever been. ‘Tis said that orcish blood requires human mixing in order to keep the species healthy. If they stopped Mating with humans, they would begin to die out, but nae one is stupid enough to try to cut off contact with the human world.”
“Aye,” drawled Myra with a sigh. “If we did, where else would we get books? Or soft soap for bathing?”
Nan snorted, even as she reached across the table to pull my mug from my hands. “Or more lasses to be Mates for our grandsons?”
As Myra rolled her eyes, I shyly offered, “I can make you soap; it’s my one talent. But…” I blew out a breath in confusion. “I am not certain I understand…why would a human female want …”
Torvolk’s grandmother had hobbled over to the kettle and now turned back to us, her grin wide. “ Pleasure , lassie. Orc males are better at giving pleasure than any human I’ve ever met!”
Myra rolled her eyes again. “She has been claiming this for months,” she muttered to me. “And aye, their tongues are impressive, but how could?—”
Just as I began to choke at the thought of a male using his tongue to bring pleasure, Nan plopped the kettle atop the table with a snort.
“Nae matter how inexperienced the lad is, he’s guaranteed to bring his Mate pleasure.” She was concentrating on pouring hot water into each of our cups. “’Tis another part of their—what did ye call it, Myra? Natural imperative? An orc’s cock is made to make his partner climax as soon as he enters her.”
I gasped, looking to Myra for confirmation, but she shrugged. “Avaleen claims this, but I cannot imagine why such a thing exists.”
“Because of how thick orc cocks are!” Nan cackled, seeming to enjoy my blush. “’Tis to ensure his partner is well-lubricated. Her pleasure matters to him, see? I’ll wager ye’ve never had a partner like that!”
From the way Myra’s cheeks were growing even darker, I wondered if she’d ever had a partner at all.
“It makes them arrogant, I know that ,” she muttered, pouring the hot water into my cup. “Think themselves God’s gift to women.”
Nan snorted. “Ye only say that because my grandson is driving ye mad!”
“He is !” Myra snapped with a scowl.
Confused, I shook my head. “I thought your sister was Mated to Nan’s grandson?”
“Avaleen is mated to Mkaalad, Torvolk’s twin,” Myra explained with a huff. “Their cousin is Kragorn, the clan’s missing chief, the one Torvolk has been looking for.”
“No’ just Kragorn,” Nan teased, nudging the other woman. “But his younger brother Vartok, our smith. The puir lad’s been put in charge of the clan, with nae experience.”
Myra snorted. “He is not a puir lad , he is a nuisance.”
As the two of them bickered, I dropped my gaze to the depths of my tea. Because as curious as I was about my new friends, I couldn’t seem to drag my attention away from what Nan had explained about Torvolk’s cock. Torvolk’s cock . His cock, which was designed to pleasure a female. What lurked beneath his kilt?
He’d bought me to be a sex slave, had he not?
Nay, orcs do not keep slaves. He bought you out of pity. ‘Tis why he dumped you with his grandmother .
I decided to ignore that bit of encouragement.
I wrapped my hands around my hot-once-more tea and lifted it to my lips, considering what Nan had told me. I couldn’t return home until the next full moon, and frankly, I had naught to return home to. But here, in this village, there were kind women who cared for me, and a male who…
A male who treated me kindly. A male to whom I belonged.
A male who can make ye climax with his cock.
I shifted on the wooden chair, suddenly thinking about the breathless sort of way I’d felt when I’d imagined him climbing atop me, or when I imagined him lifting his kilt and demanding I suck him.
I couldn’t deny that such thoughts…aroused me in some way. When he’d asked me about my sexual experience and spoken to me so causally about pleasure, I’d become a little breathless. And the way his touch warmed me, or his gaze made my stomach clench…
Did I want my master?
Well, why not? He said I was his, aye? Why shouldn’t I be?
I shifted on my chair once more. I was stuck here for another month, so why not make the best of it? A sort of experiment?
As if she could read my thoughts, Nan cleared her throat, her eyes twinkling. “How about I pop next door and bring over a meal, and together we can get this cottage stocked for ye.”
I glanced around at the cozy, spacious cottage. “For… me? ”
“Aye, lass,” the older woman said, pushing herself to her feet. “’Tis Torvolk’s home, and ye belong to him, as ye say. The Midwinter celebration is in a few sennights, and ‘twill be good to have this place warm and cozy before then, to start the new year on the best foot.”
“Aye,” drawled Myra with a carefully blank expression. “’Tis up to you to clean and cook and keep his home.”
Well…I could do that. ‘Twas naught more difficult than I’d done for Mistress Smith. “This is…his home?”
Nan reached for my hand and squeezed it. “Yer home now too, lass.”