Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Rowena
“Well, D’malk?”
Vrogul smirked as he stacked his hands behind his head, teasing me with the chief honorific. “Are ye going to allow me out of bed today?”
I scowled as I turned back to the porridge I was stirring in the small cauldron hanging near the fire.
“You know good and well ‘twas Matthias who ordered you abed all yesterday. You feel better, do you not?”
“I feel much better.”
I wasn’t looking at him, but I could hear the wink in those words.
“‘Tis amazing what three days abed with a beautiful woman will do for a male.”
Since I knew he only said such things to get a reaction from me, I hid my snort and pretended great interest in scooping out the breakfast mash into a pair of wooden bowls.
Aye, I knew his dry sense of humor now, and knew when to tease him in response. I knew he liked honey and nuts in his porridge, and I knew he snored if he slept on his left side.
‘Twas uncanny to have such knowledge of a male who was my enemy.
The last few days had been…interesting.
That first evening, Vrogul had returned home as commanded, eaten a triple serving of the pottage and bread I’d made, and crawled into the bed while the sun was still setting.
I’d puttered about, cleaning, and eventually settled at the table with a shawl wrapped around my shoulders to protect me from the cold breeze coming through the western window.
By the light of the flickering candle, I’d fixed a hole in one of my stockings.
Until I’d heard him awaken behind me.
“Rowena?”
And I had been helpless to resist that husky, sleep-rough murmur.
“Aye?”
“Come to bed.”
My hand curled into a fist around the needle and thread. I’d been dreading this since that morning when I’d woken cuddled against him.
“I am busy.”
I couldn’t trust myself to resist the lure of his warmth.
But he made a sound which might’ve been a drowsy laugh.
“We had an agreement. Come to bed. I promise no’ to bite.”
We did have an agreement, and I wanted to spar with him. And I was cold.
So I didn’t object further, but hurried through the rest of my ablutions and pulled back the blankets to take the side of the bed I preferred—
Only to let out a surprised little yelp when he wrapped his arm around me and tugged me up against his side, curling around me. Warming me.
The last time he’d grabbed me like this, I’d held a knife to his throat.
He’d returned it.
With his arm around me, Vrogul let out a sleepy little sound of pleasure, ruffling strands of my long hair which was pinned beneath me. I held still until he fell back asleep, then gently extricated the inconvenient braid to lay it over my shoulder.
Then I allowed myself to fall asleep, which was easier in my enemy’s arms than I thought ‘twould be.
Vrogul slept late the following day, and Matthias brought over a warm draught, which caused him to sleep most of the daylight hours and into the night, only awakening occasionally to call for me.
I’d checked for fever and changed his poultice, and when he grew agitated, stroked his skin and whispered promises he couldn’t hear. I told myself ‘twas just because I felt guilty.
I almost believed the lie.
On the second day, he’d been much improved, and teased me about keeping him abed, much as he did this morning. After the fear of the previous days, though, I bullied him into resting by cooking for him. ‘Twas a surprisingly nice day, full of banter and teasing.
On that day, I learned more about the male I was beginning to suspect wasn’t my captor or my enemy. I learned he cared for his people, had sacrificed much for them, and wanted naught more than their safety and happiness.
I could admire that.
And the fact I was growing to admire him was…concerning.
“Here.”
I kept a scowl on my face as I thrust the porridge at him.
“Eat up, then you can go lairding for the day.”
“Aye, lass, I have much to do, for certes.”
His expression was serious—teasingly so—as he scooted higher in the bed to facilitate breaking his fast.
“But dinnae forget what ye promised me.”
My spoon froze halfway to my lips as I frantically tried to recall promises I’d made. There’d been so many I’d breathed—to him, to his gods, to mine, offerings to help him get well—but how many had he heard?
The way he was watching me made me wonder what he saw on my face. While he’d been ill, that spark of green in the center of his eyes had grown until ‘twas more noticeable now.
I bent over my porridge.
“What did I promise you?”
I pretended nonchalance.
“That if I shared yer bed, ye’d spar with me.”
My head jerked up.
“I did n— You—you!”
I sputtered, dropping my spoon into the bowl and turning to stomp toward the table.
“You did not share my bed.”
“Then ye shared mine,” he said too cheerfully. “Whatever we need to tell the clan to justify—”
“You are well enough to leave!”
I shouted over whatever outrageousness he was going to say, whirling to point to the door.
“Go away!”
Chuckling, Vrogul swung out of bed, and I averted my gaze from the sight of his broad chest. He’d slept in his kilt these last days, and I had merely loosened the ties on my gown—not wanting to give him the wrong impression—but ‘twas difficult to ignore how my body responded to his nearness.
Damn me.
“Thank ye for breakfast, Rowena.”
He bent near me, the bowl before him.
“And for caring for me these last days. Can I kiss ye?”
As always, the casual way he asked—as if my opinion mattered—made my throat tighten. He’d returned my dagger, he’d made certain I could stop him if I wanted. And now he asked.
“Nay,” I rasped, pulling the bowl from his hands and turning away. “You said you—”
“Would wait until ye beg for it, aye,” he sighed too forlornly to be believed, then stooped to pick up his boots. “I’ll see ye on the training field this afternoon?”
When I risked a peek at him, he nodded.
“Yer promise. Sparring with me.”
With that, he turned and padded barefoot from the cottage, and I found myself slumping against the table. Sparring! I’d forgotten ‘twas the point behind the last few days!
‘Twill be what you need, to tire yourself out.
Aye, I couldn’t afford another night lying next to him, feeling his warmth, his comfort, and not giving in to temptation.
He is your enemy. Let that count for something.
I could find him attractive, and mayhap even admirable, but I had to cease lusting after him! This inconvenient way my core throbbed and my nipples hardened at the thought of him touching me…
“Shite,” I muttered, turning to drop the bowls in the basin. I had enough to do to occupy me.
Until this afternoon.
Unfortunately, by that afternoon, I was a bundle of nerves. I’d spent the day alternating between a strange arousal, a dread about that arousal, and—as the hour drew closer—excitement.
‘Twould feel good to have a blade in my hand again.
These last few years, my opportunities to spar had been few and far between.
The men of the village hadn’t trusted a female who could fight.
Since I was already seen as an outsider, my superior fighting skills didn’t help win them over.
When I became antsy, or missed my father too much, I would wait until the evening and go through my forms out in the back garden where no one could see me.
But Battleborn Village…they’d accepted me thus far. They seemed to think it amusing I’d bloodied their chief in combat and didn’t mind that I wore trews as easily as gowns. And Vrogul had invited me to spar—nay, ordered me to spar with him. What would they think, to see us fighting?
Aye, nervous was an understatement, which is why I was so damned relieved when I approached the sparring grounds to discover Vrogul alone. He smiled slightly to see me then jerked his head, indicating I should follow him.
“My warriors are performing their afternoon duties. I hope ye dinnae mind that I wanted ye alone?”
Relief coursed through me; relief that I wouldn’t be on display. Still, I had to pretend cockiness. That’s what sparring was about.
“Because you do not want your clan to see you lose to a woman?”
He grinned over his shoulder at me.
“Aye, that’s why, dkaar.”
In one easy movement, he pulled my father’s sword from his belt and turned to present it to me.
“Does this area meet yer requirements?”
I barely glanced around at the training ground—a well-worn dirt circle beneath a towering ancient oak—because my attention was on my blade.
“Aye,” I whispered reverently, reaching for the hilt. A shudder of joy went through me as my fingers curled around the familiar leather, and when I finally looked up, ‘twas to see Vrogul gazing down at me, something in his expression I couldn’t identify.
So, I stepped back and took a ready position.
“Will you fight with a blade, or your ax?”
He unsheathed his grandfather’s sword and flexed his knees.
“I willnae allow ye to claim I had an advantage with an ax and shield, wildcat.”
I scoffed.
“You bear a wound from the last time you fought me with an ax and shield. Are you any better with a sword?”
I didn’t give him time to answer before I darted forward.
My attack was a flurry of movement, designed to test him. And as I suspected, Vrogul allowed it, moving his blade only to defend. He met every strike with unhurried precision, his blade rising and falling like he had all the time in the world.
His arrogance should have irritated me, but instead I felt a fierce sort of joy rising in my chest as I exalted in this match.
More certain of my opponent now, I shifted my weight and changed my angle, driving at his right side—his weaker side, I’d learned—and he pivoted with more grace than a male his size had any right to possess, turning my blade aside with a sharp ring of steel.
The impact shivered up my arm to the shoulder, and my burst of laughter surprised us both.
He grinned in response as I backed off, circling. He turned with me, patient as a stone.
“Yer father taught ye well, Rowena.”
His low compliment sent a shiver of awareness through me.