Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Kragorn
I was angry.
At myself, at the gods, and at fooking Tarbert himself. My anger kept me warm that day after Lillian more-or-less slapped some poultices on me and hurried from my cell. I told myself ‘twas not a fever, not this time.
There was an itchiness under my skin, aye, something I couldn’t identify. A sense of doom, or close enough, I guess, and I was angry about it.
I shouldn’t have scared her away.
I shouldn’t have been captured in the first place.
If ye hadnae been captured, ye would have missed the opportunity to meet Lillian.
And now that I’d met her, tasted her scent, tasted her skin…I knew I couldn’t regret that. She was mine, in a way I couldn’t explain, even to myself.
All I knew was that I would not be dying here in his hellhole. Not anymore. She’d saved me, and I would get myself out of here…and take her with me.
With the fever gone, the hallucinations had stopped.
But that didn’t mean I couldn’t imagine Vartok’s smirk and teasing insults as I resolved to return home.
My brother was younger than me by only minutes, but had never had a desire for leadership.
From the time we were bairns, we knew I would be chief…
his role as the village’s blacksmith and resident charmer was more than enough for him.
For the first time since I woke in this dungeon, I began to allow myself to truly think of home.
Vartok would have led the clan in my absence, which he would have hated.
I wondered what had changed in the months I’d been locked up here—had my idiot twin gotten his head out of his arse and realized Myra the midwife was his Mate?
Or would they still be at each other’s throats when I returned home?
Home.
I closed my eye—I still couldn’t feel my right one and had to assume ‘twas lost to me—and inhaled slowly, pretending I could smell the communal fires and the fir boughs my people would have gathered for our celebration a sennight ago. The Midwinter’s Feast was a sacred beginning, and I vowed I would celebrate with them next year.
The full moon is only days away.
Whatever Tarbert had planned for me at tonight’s “Hogmanay” celebration, I planned to use it to my advantage.
Yesterday, Lillian had returned with more tea and to check my bandages.
But she hadn’t come alone, much to my irritation.
Instead of bribing the guards with food, this time she allowed them to step into the cell with her, to stand by as she hurried through her ministrations with her head down, her gaze locked on her hands.
I said nothing to her, made no effort to draw her into conversation…but I wondered if her performance was for the sake of the guards, or for herself. Had something happened after she’d left me the day before, or was this new fear because of what I’d said? Because I’d touched her?
Nay, ‘tis no’ fear ye scent.
That afternoon when I’d tasted her skin, I’d smelled her arousal. ‘Twas faint, but there, and I wondered if she was aware of it.
And after months of her presence in the dungeon, I was familiar with the smell of her fear.
But yesterday? That hadn’t been fear I’d scented. There’d been exhaustion, aye, and I was afraid she was working herself too hard for a bastard of a father who didn’t appreciate her. There was impatience and even wariness…but not fear.
My wee human, who was afraid of so much in this world, wasn’t afraid of me.
My Kteer had hummed in satisfaction at that, and mayhap Lillian heard it, because she’d sent me a sharp, concerned glance before dropping her gaze once more.
I hadn’t grinned, but ‘twas close.
The meal she’d brought me yesterday had been little more than old bread soaked in broth. Not unexpected fare in a dungeon, and one I’d become used to…but after several days of the meat and pottage she’d brought me, my stomach had hoped for better.
I hadn’t dared joke with her about it, though, knowing the guard was fingering his blade as he watched us.
When they left, he took the metal tray she’d propped up days ago to give me light. I saw Lillian frown at him when he picked it up, but she said naught.
I was much, much colder after she’d left.
‘Twas a good thing, I told myself. It meant the fever had left me for good. And aye, I could feel myself growing stronger. Despite being chained since my last escape attempt, I felt better than I had before. Lillian’s yarrow tea, good food, and poultices had—
Nay. ‘Twas her kindness which had healed me, I knew it.
And so, to keep the cold at bay, I spent the hours flexing and stretching.
I pushed myself from my haunches to my knees again and again until I could do it easily.
Then I challenged myself to rise to my feet.
The first time I did it, I fell on my arse, and ‘twas fooking difficult to rise again with my arms manacled above my head.
But I did it.
Then I did it again. And again.
Standing took the strain off my arms and wrists, and although I couldn’t lower them, thanks to the chains, I nearly groaned in relief at the sensation of not having my shoulders stretched so impossibly far.
I spent the afternoon leaning against the wall, panting with the effort of remaining upright, and when I could stand no longer, I knelt again, my knees easily holding me.
Soon. They’ll free ye soon, for whatever Tarbert has planned.
Whenever the guards weren’t looking, I stretched. My muscles in my arms had knotted in these positions, and my movements knocked most of Lillian’s bandages to the floor. My wounds—especially the one on my arm—looked nasty, but I could feel the skin knitting already.
I would be ready.
I had to be.
‘Twas well after dark when I heard the procession coming for me. The clink of chain mail and weapons, the call of boisterous voices. The guards had been celebrating already.
I told myself ‘twas a good thing; they’d be easier to overcome, when I was ready.
But six of them came into my cell, and they weren’t alone.
Lillian stood in their midst, chewing on her bottom lip, worrying her hands before her as she glanced between me—kneeling, my head lowered in what I hoped looked like weak submission—and the guards.
What was she doing here?
Malla the Beginner, she looked fine tonight! I told myself ‘twas not the time to notice such things, but I couldn’t help it. Her gown was a bright blue, a red shawl tied around her shoulders to keep her warm, and some kind of white cloth covering her hair, framing her face.
Tonight, she looked like a lady rather than a servant.
“Come on, lads,” one of the older guards said. “Let’s get this arsehole unchained and upstairs so the lord can show him off to his guest.”
The other men shifted their weight as if they didn’t want to get too close, and one of them called out, “Why does he think Battleborn even wants the poor bastard? They’re both orcs, aye?”
Battleborn?
I tried not to let my reaction to the name show, but ‘twas difficult. I strained my senses to pick up any more hints.
“Who knows when it comes to these beasts, eh?” the first guard replied. “Lord Tarbert says Battleborn is enemies with everyone except Bladesedge, so he wants to ally with them too. They’re fierce sea raiders, you know.”
“Aye,” another voice drawled, “and the Stormseeker must have a score to settle with our prisoner.”
Stormseeker.
Well…fook.
Vrogul Stormseeker was the chief of the Islay Battleborn sept, a name mothers whispered to scare their children into doing their chores. His men were feared up and down the west coast, even in the human’s world.
I hadn’t realized he wanted me dead, or even had reason to want to harm my clan…but I couldn’t allow it.
“Hop to it, lads,” the older man grunted again, and I didn’t have to look up to know he gestured toward me. “Unchain him.”
“You unchain him,” one muttered, shuffling toward me. “He’s dangerous.”
“Aye, ‘tis why you’re doing it. You two help.”
I saw their boots inching toward me and hid my smirk. They had no reason to think I was any stronger than I’d been a few days ago, and still they feared me. I heard the jangle of keys, then one of them leaned over me to reach for the loop over my head where the chains were attached.
This would be the moment to surge upward, to rip the chains from their hold, to use them as a weapon against them. Lillian was here—I could grab her and run.
But there were six of them and they gripped their swords tightly, expecting something like this from me. And no matter my recent improvements, my body was still fighting months’ worth of deprivation. ‘Twas better for me to pretend weakness.
Or, I learned when my arms were finally allowed to fall to my sides, not pretend.
I couldn’t hide my groan of relief as the chains were unhooked from the wall and I could finally twist my shoulders in another direction.
Fook, it had only been a sennight in this position, and I felt as stiff as a corpse.
“Careful!” cautioned the older guard, my only warning before I felt two sets of hands on my arms, preparing to lift me.
And then another, softer voice.
“Wait!” Lillian darted forward, hovering anxiously by as the guards lifted me. “He’s been chained for days, he cannot stand.”
Thanking her for the unintentional help with my ruse, I made a show of stumbling, falling back against the stone, wrapping my arms around my torso—grateful for the burn in my shoulders as I flexed. My chin dropped to my chest.
“Careful,” Lillian whispered. I could scent her worry, and I dared to hope she was worried for me. “Be gentle.”
“Gentle, milady?” one of the guards snorted. “He’s a murderous beast.”
A pause, during which I allowed my gaze to rest on the hem of her skirts.
“Mayhap,” she finally said, “but my father wants him to stand in the Great Hall, even if he has to be carried there.”
The sudden thought of having to be carried made me straighten slightly. Even that movement had the guards stepping back in alarm, their blades rising.
“I can walk,” I growled.