Chapter 4 #2
How could he know that? I stared at him, lips parted, dozens of angry retorts spinning through my mind. Father needed me! And I was grateful to be needed!
But another small part whispered, He’s right.
“Lillian,” he murmured, his gaze searching my face. “Ye are no’ least. Ye are kind and generous and brave and beautiful—”
“I am not,” I snapped, glad to finally have a direction for my anger as I scooped up more pottage and shoved it into his mouth. “You do not have to lie to me.”
My sisters were beautiful. I was…I was not. I was broken and mousey and quiet, and I accepted that. I didn’t need flowery compliments from my father’s enemy. I didn’t need lies.
Kragorn watched me as he ate, and I hated that I felt…laid bare. As if he saw something beneath my skin I couldn’t see. So, in an effort to distract myself, I found myself blathering again.
“I was four years old when I broke the bones in my ankle. I was being naughty—my father thought I was with my governess and sisters, and they thought I was practicing my stitches in the yard. I wanted to see my father practice with his warriors, so I climbed up onto the wall. When I fell off…”
I shuddered at the memory. When Kragorn’s mouth opened, I shoved more food into it, then forced myself to shrug as if the past no longer mattered.
“Since I was disobeying his order, Father locked me in my room as punishment. It was several days before the healer came to examine me, and by then the damage was done. The bones healed wrong.”
The growl I heard didn’t come from Kragorn’s mouth, but his chest. When he swallowed, his voice joined it.
“The bastard allowed ye to be maimed to learn a lesson? His own kitling?”
I didn’t know what that meant, but I had a lifetime’s experience justifying Father’s actions.
“I deserved the punishment for disobeying him. And it was not his fault my bones healed wrong—”
“Aye, ‘twas, Lillian,” he growled, swaying toward me, his face screwed into a rictus of rage. “He kenned what he was doing!”
Sometimes, in the dark of night, I wondered the same thing. Now, wanting to avoid an unpleasant truth, I shook my head in denial.
“He needs me,” I whispered, ducking my head to focus on scraping the bottom of the bowl. “He needs me.”
“And he made certain ye’d be with him always? That is stupid, Lillian. Any male would be lucky to have a Mate like ye; capable and brave—”
My gaze snapped up, and my tone matched my ire.
“I am here to heal you, orc. You do not need to flatter me with lies.”
Kragorn’s expression had gone impassive at that orc, and I told myself ‘twas for the best. I didn’t need to think of him as a male.
A huge, impressive, male, one whose features—though battered—had a certain…rugged handsomeness to them?
What are you doing? You think this beast handsome?
Nay! I turned away, groping for the tray. Nay, I didn’t!
Did I?
“My father died seven winters ago.”
Kragorn’s voice rang low at my back as I turned to fumble the empty bowl back to the platter.
“I have led my clan for seven years. Ye will grant that I understand what leadership is? What a chief kens he wants?”
I refused to answer…mainly because I didn’t know how to respond. I didn’t know what he wanted from me. I didn’t know what I wanted from me. Instead, I focused on cleaning my hands and forcing open the crock containing the poultice and salve.
“I have been trapped in all of the four hells this winter, Lillian.” His voice was gravelly, compelling, but I refused to turn. “Here, I am no’ a chief. I am just a male. One who, for a long while, thought he was dying. I am just a male, and ye are no’ the least of aught. Ye are a lady.”
“I am no one,” I whispered, smearing the poultice over a cloth with shaking hands. “And you should not say such things.”
“Why no’?” he rumbled.
Because when he said he was a male and I was a lady, it made me think of the illustrations of A Harlot’s Guide, the ones my sisters had showed me.
It made me aware of his strength and his size.
Had it only been the day before yesterday that I feared him dying?
Had it really only been two days since I faced my fear and entered the cell with him?
“I can smell ye.”
Kragorn’s confusing, whispered confession had me whirling back to face him, heart hammering in my chest, praying I’d misheard.
But his eyelid had lowered halfway, his jaw slack as he studied me.
“Orcish senses are far stronger than those of humans, lass. I ken what ye’re thinking about.”
Nay. ‘Twas impossible.
Forget shaking hands; now my entire body shook—fear, confusion, anger—and I struggled to hide it. I forced myself to step over to him, to lift the poultice. I would not respond to his ridiculous claim.
“Tip your head to one side so I can reach the wound on your shoulder.”
He obliged, and I had to untie the blanket to reach the spot. This was one of his minor wounds, the dirt and debris already turning his green skin a sickly pale color. I had to head off the infection before it brought back the fever.
Biting my lower lip, I bent closer…
And Kragon turned his head.
I froze as his nose brushed against my temple. Had it been an accident? Then he moved again—was he nuzzling me?—and his tusk caught my earlobe as his lips brushed my jaw.
“I am only a male, Lillian,” he breathed.
My eyes fluttered closed, and for the first time, I wasn’t shaking, I wasn’t shuddering, I wasn’t shivering. I wasn’t even breathing. I was frozen, all of my senses focused on Kragorn and the fact his lips were on my skin.
“I am only a male,” he repeated, his lips moving along my jaw. “And ye are the most desirable female I’ve ever seen.”
Lies.
‘Twas as if someone had dumped a handful of that snow in the corner atop my head. Sucking in a startled gasp, I slapped the poultice to his wound and jerked backward. His stiffening and grunt of pain were the only indications he felt the intrusion.
But at least it distracted him from such false flattery.
However, my voice was far from steady when I assured him, “You do not need to say such things, orc. I know my duty; I will heal you with or without your clever tongue.”
There was tightness around his eye and jaw when he lowered his chin to meet my gaze. His hands curled into fists, and I imagined his claws piercing his skin to contain his—what? Anger? Was that anger which blazed in his eye?
“Ye ken naught of my clever tongue, Lillian. But ye will.”
I wasn’t sure if ‘twas a threat or a promise. Either way, I found myself shivering as I turned to spread more of the healing herb on another cloth. I needed to focus on my duty to my father and finish this soon.
Hogmanay was only days away, and then Kragorn would be gone; gifted to someone Father was trying to impress. I just needed to keep him alive that long.
And force myself not to think of him, not to remember his words or the touch of his lips on my jaw.
I was afraid ‘twas a hopeless battle.