Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Torvolk
‘Twas torture to watch her sleep.
I remembered her small mouth pressed to mine—I don’t think I’d ever be able to forget it—and the self-control it took not to crush her to me and take command of that “kiss.” I’d wanted to. Gods below, how I wanted to.
But it seemed so…intimate.
I snorted at my own idiocy.
A kiss was intimate, but what I’d just done wasn’t?
Shaking my head, I rolled away from Isadora, pulling my arm from under her as gently as possible to avoid waking her.
Tasting her had been…it had been the most remarkable experience. Once I’d started, once I had the scent of her arousal in my nose, I didn’t think I could stop. I wanted to bury my face in her cunny, I wanted to be surrounded by her scent and her taste and her… her .
My Kteer had gone a bit mad, but I couldn’t only blame that primitive side of me.
I—my heart and my mind—had wanted Isadora as well. Too much. Which is why I couldn’t allow myself to get any closer. If I was going to leave in a fortnight to continue my search for Kragorn, I couldn’t become any more obsessed with this female…more than I currently was.
Cursing myself for a fool, I carefully rolled out of bed.
We were both nude, and the cool air had dried us after our bath. I pulled a blanket from the chest to cover her, then gently tugged at the one she was lying half on, half off. Aye, ‘twas damp from our bodies, but…
I grimaced, holding it up.
When was the last time I’d spilled on my blankets in the middle of the night? Not since I was a lad, for certes.
And yes, this afternoon as I’d pressed against the mattress, my tongue and my hands and my entire being focused on bringing Isadora pleasure, the friction had been too much. I’d spilled my seed against the blanket like an untried youth as she’d come on my tongue.
Congratulations. Ye fooked a mattress.
Scowling, I tossed the blanket into the now-cooled bath water. Without bothering to dress, I knelt at the tub, picked up the soap, and began to scrub. But the movements were unconscious, which allowed my mind to wander.
This bar of soap…Isadora would have made it soon after her arrival here. She’d made herself a home not just in the village, but in this cottage. This was her space now; cozy and welcoming. I ought to leave it to her and stay with Nan when I needed a bed on my occasional returns to the village.
But…
But Nan’s cottage shared a garden with this one. ‘Twas why I’d built this home after my father’s death, so I could be near to her in case she needed aught. Mkaalad had lived with me for a time afore he took over our uncle’s cottage on the other side of the village.
As a Ranger, I only returned home occasionally. But when I was here, could I content myself to living with Nan? With being so close to Isadora? Mayhap I should abandon this side of the village altogether, or resign myself to staying in the bachelor barracks.
Because this home was now Isadora’s.
I lifted the herb-scented soap and stared at it.
But she’d made me welcome here. She’d made me feel comfortable.
This was her home now, aye, but she’d cooked me bread and readied a bath and fetched my favorite whisky. She’d washed my hair and kissed me.
She’d called me master , but even I could tell she no longer meant it.
Isadora had made this my home as well.
And I had no idea what that meant.
Scowling again, I wrung out the blanket and hung it over the privacy screen to slowly dry. Only then did I dress in a clean shirt and kilt.
Isadora sat up as I was finishing, and I froze. Not because I was guilty, but because she looked so fooking alluring, with her hair a wild cloud around her head and her eyes hazy with sleep. She clutched the blanket to her chest in a display of modesty that amused me, and her cheeks darkened with a blush.
“Torvolk?” Her voice, husky with sleep and desire, went right to my cock.
To distract myself, I lifted the tub with a grunt. ‘Twas a strain even for me.
“I’ll dump this and return Nan’s cauldron,” I managed.
“You will return, aye?”
‘Twas the worry in her voice that my Kteer reacted to, and I had to tamp down the urge to tell her I would protect her and keep her safe. Instead, I nodded brusquely, grunted an “Aye,” and shuffled out the door.
I will admit that once I propped the tub to dry in the garden and returned the cauldron to Nan, I stomped around the village looking for a distraction. I would spar, except I’d just bathed. And I was feeling strangely sated, my body still relaxed and a little tingly from the hot bath and the release, even if it had been embarrassing.
So I went to find Vartok and discuss options. Unfortunately, he was still with my brother, and the pair of them—and even my hugely pregnant sister-in-law—teased me for smelling like rosemary and mint.
My Kteer urged me to hit them with chairs. Well, Vartok and Mkaalad; Avaleen I would allow to tease me as much as she wanted, and not just because she carried my nephew. I managed to tamp down the violent urge, but that itchy, angry sensation was creeping back.
I liked the way I smelled, by the gods! It reminded me of Isadora.
Deciding no good would come of breaking my promise to her, I returned to the cottage as the sun was setting.
Seeing her smile immediately light her face made me feel like a fool for not returning sooner.
“Torvolk, you are just in time for the meal. Sit, sit!” she commanded, waving a spoon toward the table she’d set.
She reminded me of a little chief. Isadora might call me master , but she’d been demanding and certain in bed. She’d held my face against her cunny and gyrated on my tongue and fingers.
Just the reminder made my cock stiffen beneath my kilt, and I hurried to follow her instructions so she wouldn’t see.
The meal was hearty and filling; stewed root vegetables and roasted bkarn , with the same thick bread she’d served earlier. ‘Twas not warm, but she’d smothered it in rich butter, and I decided this was one of the best meals I’d ever eaten.
Throughout, she sat across from me and spoke. She spoke about the village and the women she’d met. She spoke about the skills she’d learned and what she’d been able to share. She spoke of the clan’s generosity and welcome…while I listened and occasionally grunted in agreement.
‘Twas rude, I knew. But what was I supposed to say? That she was welcome to stay as long as she liked? That the clan would love her?
Better to keep my mouth occupied with eating a third helping.
The food was delicious, and the entertainment even better. The itchy ball of hot anger I’d been carrying around in my chest was still there, but felt less warm when I was with her.
As she described how she’d soaked the herbs in oil to scent her soap, I found myself studying her.
Her eyes were bright with reflected firelight from the candles which sat between us, and she waved her hands animatedly as she spoke. I was struck with the difference between her conversation style now versus when I first met her. When I first bought her.
Her cheeks were flushed becomingly, and her hair… A frown tugged at my lips. She was wearing that kerchief again, a dull brown wool that did naught to set off her golden strands.
“May I ask a question?” I interrupted.
She blinked. “Aye, of course.”
“The kerchief. Why do ye wear it? Is it to keep yer head warm?”
I could see her surprise as she reached up to touch the scratchy material. “’Tis…” Her flush worked its way down her throat. “Nay, it only serves to keep my hair out of my face. Since I cannot pull it back anymore, and since ‘tis too ragged to wear without covering it.”
She thought her hair unattractive? That was why she wore the kerchief? But it also served a purpose.
I nodded in understanding.
“I am sorry I dominated the conversation,” she offered a little shyly, no longer full of animation as she prodded her vegetables with an eating knife. “You likely do not care to hear about soap-making.”
“On the contrary, I liked it verra much.” When she peeked up at me, I dropped my chin once to let her know I wasn’t lying. “When will ye make another batch? I’d like to watch.”
As she lifted her face, her lips formed the word, “ watch,” but no sound emerged. She cleared her throat. “I…have never had anyone interested in my craft.”
Nay, she’d spent her life sleeping on hearthstones and eating scraps. The least I could do was be interested in her skills. But I didn’t make the offer out of pity.
“I would like to learn, if ye’d allow it.”
“You want me to teach you to make soap?” she breathed in surprise.
Did I? I had only meant I wanted to learn about her . But I nodded again, then grunted, “Aye,” for good measure.
And her smile when she heard that? Her smile made me vow to make soap with her every damned day. And to bathe with her soap every day so she would need to make more …
After the meal, I helped her clean, which surprised her. Admittedly, I wasn’t quite certain how to scrub a baking tray, but she showed me what to do.
“I’ve never learned the ways of making bread,” I admitted as I scrubbed. After a lifetime of living alone, I knew how to roast meat, how to make a passable pottage, and how to clean up after…but bread had always been a mystery.
“I can teach you. ‘Tis not so difficult.”
“Ye mix plants together with water and get a loaf. ‘Tis sorcery.”
She giggled, and my Kteer crowed.
Gods below, it had been mere hours and already I was ready to devote my every waking hour to this female. I craved her smiles, her voice, her laughter. Her scent. Her taste .
Thinking of how she’d cared for me that afternoon, I reached for my cloak after we finished cleaning.
“Where are you going?” she blurted, and instinctively I reacted to the panic in her voice.
“Just to Nan’s,” I reassured her. “I need to borrow shears. If she doesnae have them, I will try Darnaal the shepherd.”
Isadora stood in the center of the cottage, wringing her pink hands, raw from hard work.
“You will return, aye?”
‘Tis what she asked me earlier. I nodded once, because aye…I was beginning to suspect I would always return.
I wanted Isadora.
I wanted to claim her. Not just taste her, not just feel her climax around me, but claim her .
Gods help me.
I returned with the shears and a lotion I knew Nan valued.
I could feel Isadora’s eyes on me—she sat in one of the straight-backed wooden chairs she’d dragged near the fire, mending ignored on her lap—as I crossed to the chest of discarded clothing. I pulled out an old plaid, one I often cut from when I needed scraps or patches, and used the shears to neatly cut a rectangle from one end.
This I spread over the table and, using my hand to measure, cut it into large squares. One of these I cut diagonally, and when I held them up to show her, she gasped in delight.
“Kerchiefs?” she asked in amazement. “You would cut your kilt to make me new kerchiefs?”
I shrugged a little awkwardly. I’d cut my kilt to fix her bodice, had I not?
“If they serve a purpose, I thought ye might like a bit more color.”
And the thought of her wearing my plaid, even if ‘twas not the traditional way over her heart, made my Kteer pleased.
I stacked the remaining squares. “Could ye use these? More kerchiefs?”
“Actually…” She was blushing as she set aside her mending and stood to cross to the table. “I was thinking I might make some cushions. For the chairs.” She glanced over her shoulder at the hard wooden seat. “I thought ‘twould be more comfortable, to sit in front of the fire on a winter’s evening if we had some cushions.”
We .
I swallowed, vowing to find her something even more comfortable.
“They’re so hard, when I sit in them I feel as if my arse is breaking,” I admitted.
“Well…” Her tone told me she was smiling, and aye, when I glanced up at her, there was a twinkle in those blue eyes. “Yer arse does have a crack in it.”
If I were the type of male to laugh, I would have. Instead, I ducked my head to hide my smile and thrust the material at her.
“Fine.”
As she folded the squares, I worked up the courage to make the other offer I’d intended.
“Yer hair.”
Isadora’s grin faded into wariness. “What about it?”
I opened and closed the shears a few times, shnick-shnick , in the obligatory motion. “Ye said ‘twas unruly—nay, ye called it ragged.”
Her hand rose to pull off her kerchief, as her eyes widened with disbelief. “You brought me shears to trim it? Oh, Torvolk, that is so very kind of you! But I cannot style my own hair, I cannot see it.”
Ah. I should have considered that.
Without thinking, I grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the hearth. I moved the candle to the mantel so I could see better, then I took her chin between my thumb and forefinger and tipped her head back.
I could lower my mouth to hers here. I could taste her. Kiss her.
Nay ye cannae. Because if ye do, ye’ll no’ be able to leave her in a fortnight .
And I had to leave.
So I forced myself to study her features and the way the hair fell about her cheeks and around her ears. When that bastard had lopped off her magnificent braid, he’d done so close to her neck, so ‘twas longer in the front, and ragged along the edges…
Frowning in concentration, I went to work.
It seemed as if the universe held its breath as I snipped and brushed. The only sound was the popping of the fire and the gentle shnick of the shears. When Isadora exhaled, I could feel it against my fingers and my cheeks.
And she never took her trusting gaze off me.
I realized I was stroking her jaw now, rather than holding it, and when I finished, I released her.
“There.” I blew out a breath. “I’m no’ saying ‘tis beautiful, but ‘twill do.”
She didn’t move, didn’t touch her hair, didn’t do aught besides smile up at me.
“’Tis perfect ,” she whispered, and her joy reached down my chest and wrapped itself around my heart.
And my cock, truth be told.
Clearing my throat, I shnick-shicked again. “I’ll get the broom?—”
“Nay, I can sweep the hair into the fire, if ye can stand the smell.” Isadora sprang into motion. “You have done so much for me already.”
Had I? “Then at least allow me to brush off yer gown outside. Take it off there, near the hearth.”
“Oh, ‘tis a smart plan.” Without hesitation, she reached for the ties of her gown.
And I stood there like a dobber, staring as she efficiently stripped. I mean, to be fair, I couldn’t look away if a herd of cattle had stampeded through the cottage, but I should have made an attempt.
Isadora was blushing when she—in her chemise and stockings—handed me the gown to take outside. As I opened the door, I called out, “Aye, I’ll be back,” so she didn’t have to ask a third time.
When I returned, she was sitting on the bed, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around herself. The fire was dying, and I blew out the candles after I tugged off my boots.
I wanted to strip down, but doubted ‘twas smart.
“Torvolk?” she whispered.
“Aye, lass?”
A pause. Then, in the near darkness: “You are not leaving tonight, are you?”
I hadn’t slept in this cottage in months. Even that first day I’d returned, I’d found someplace else to lay my head. Then I ran off for a fortnight, and returned to find this beguiling human had made herself at home.
“Nay, lass,” I confessed. “I’m no’ leaving.”
I heard her shifting on the bed and remembered the lotion I’d fetched from Nan. Best to put it on now, so ‘twould have the night to soak in. I crossed to the bed with the crock.
“Give me yer hand, lass,” I demanded as I sank down onto the mattress beside her.
‘Twas as if every sense of mine was attuned to her. Even in the poor light, I knew exactly where her hand was as she held it out. I could feel her breathing next to me. I could smell her curiosity.
When I rested her small hand in my palm and used the other set of fingers to rub in a glob of the lotion, she released a small moan of pleasure.
“What is this?”
Since she was whispering, I matched her tone, tipping my head toward hers.
“Goat’s butter for yer hands. Ye shouldnae work so hard, lass. Ye are worth more than just yer labor.”
“I have to work hard if I want to stay.” Another little moan of pleasure when I flipped her hand over and used the pads of my thumbs to work the lotion into her palm. “I…”
“Ye deserve to sit on a throne and be waited upon.”
I heard her smile.
“And who would wait upon me? Nay, Torvolk, I am happy to work hard. At least here…”
When she trailed off, I took her other hand.
“Here, what?”
She was quiet as I rubbed the lotion into her other hand, making sure the calluses on her fingertips were covered. Finally she sighed in what sounded like pleasure.
“At least here, I can work for myself.”
A month ago, she was slaving for a cruel mistress. Och, the smith and his wife might not have owned her, but they treated her like a slave. Then I bought her and brought her to a place where she never had to worry about such a thing, and of course she would be thrilled to finally work hard for herself.
“I’m glad, lass,” I confessed gruffly, unable to stop myself from lifting her hand to my mouth. “Verra glad.”
I brushed my lips over her palm, knowing ‘twas a poor substitute for what I wanted to taste.
Her breath caught, but she cleared her throat and said, a teasing lilt in her voice, “I meant, Master, that I am working hard for you . And myself. But mainly you.”
I couldn’t stop the chuckle which burst from my lips. “Ye dinnae give up on an idea once it gets in yer head, do ye?”
“Torvolk?” She shifted to press her free hand against my cheek. “Are ye well? Is aught amiss? You do not feel fevered. Should I light the candles? Call for a healer?”
I caught her hand. “For what?”
“You laughed . I have never heard you laugh before.”
Mayhap ‘twas the darkness which made it safe to reveal more of myself, but I found myself chuckling again as I caught both of her hands and pressed them against my chest. I fell against the pillows, taking her with me.
“Go to sleep, lass.”
“You will not leave me?”
Gods below, I couldn’t make such a vow! My laughter died, and in the silence I could hear her holding her breath.
“I’ll be here when ye wake.” ‘Twas the best I could promise, now. “Go to sleep, lass,” I commanded again.
And miracle of miracles, she did.