Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

I grab Willow by the hand and yank her toward the thermal pools. “Come, you do look half frozen. I’m so sorry, I know the weather is awful for traveling this time of year.”

We sink into the mist, and a glance over my shoulder tells me we’re hidden from view—I can’t see Ozork anymore, which means he can’t see me either. Still, I pull the human woman farther into the chamber, past several empty pools, and I don’t stop until we reach the far wall.

“Here.” I motion at the calm water beside us. “This is far enough from everyone.”

Willow deposits her bathing sheet on a stone bench by the pool, then stands there, fidgeting with the sleeve of her dress. I strain my ears for any sounds coming from the entrance to the baths, but the mist has swallowed us completely, so we’re safe for now.

It’s then I realize the woman is waiting for something—and remember how strange humans are about propriety. With a sigh, I reach for the laces of my gown and tug, undoing the bows I tied early this morning.

“I wasn’t planning on taking a bath, but it never hurts.” I loosen my dress, then take several hairpins from a pocket and attach my braid to the top of my head. “And I promise to tell you if anyone gets too close for comfort. I have very good hearing.”

She still seems unsure, so I point to my ears and smile encouragingly. I don’t want her to pick up on my anxiety—especially if she really knows the captain.

It only just occurs to me that she never said the captain who arrived with her is the same one who delivered the letter to Gorvor all those weeks ago, and some of the tension in me releases. Maybe it’s another soldier altogether. The Duke of Ultrup must have many captains in his service, no?

I tell myself that’s a good thing as I remove my dress, then untie my underwear and let it slip down my legs. A stranger would be preferable to the man who saw me at my worst, then left.

That doesn’t explain the horrible sting of regret now radiating from the center of my chest.

Before I can indulge in some more self-pity, Willow sits on the edge of the pool, her pale skin stark against the dark stone. She sways and nearly stumbles into the water. I move forward to catch her, but she steadies herself in the middle of the pool.

But she’s not well—her face scrunches up in pain, and she lets out a low groan, then stares down at her trembling hands.

“Are you okay?” I ask softly, floating closer.

She swipes at her cheeks, and I realize it’s tears, not water, wetting her skin. She gives me a curt nod, her lip trembling, then draws in a big, shuddery inhale and bursts into tears.

Her shoulders shake as she covers her face with her hands, sobbing quietly.

My first thought is to get Ozork, because surely, he’s the right person to comfort her at a time like this.

He’s her mate after all, and even if she doesn’t know it yet, his presence alone would soothe her beyond anything. But she’s also human, so she might be too concerned with propriety to enjoy having him here. They only met a very short time ago—and while Ozork would have no problem with her nakedness, I’m almost certain she would consider it a betrayal if I called him here.

I gently tap Willow on the shoulder. When she looks up with her red-rimmed eyes, I know I’ll have to be the one to offer help. Whatever happened in the human lands to have her arrive to our Hill at such a late hour, half frozen to death, it can’t be good. She said she came here to act as the duke’s ambassador, but why would she be traveling like this, with no lady’s maid in sight? If she’s a noblewoman, she should have a whole slew of attendants with her, and yet she ended up alone with me.

I nudge her backward, and she stares at me, clearly confused, but she finds the underwater ledge I’ve been leading her toward and collapses on it with a sigh. I turn her away from me, then pull out all the pins she has stuck in her messy hair. It’s already damp and smelling strongly of horses, so I might as well offer her the comfort of washing it.

One of my earliest memories is of my mother washing my hair. She didn’t do it often, because she and Father never believed in coddling me, but for some reason, that instance has seared itself in my brain. It’s been years, yet I still remember the firm pressure of her fingers and the sweet scent of our homemade lavender soap.

The bar of soap resting on the lip of the pool is scented with honey, so the experience is different, but Willow relaxes, just as I’d intended.

I scoop up water in a pitcher to pour it over her head, then lather up her hair, massaging her scalp just as Mama did for me. Tears slip down Willow’s cheeks, mixing with water, but she’s not sobbing anymore, and by the time I’m done, she calms considerably, her breathing returning to normal. She may be older than me, but she’s in need of comfort, and if I can offer her that, I will.

“You’ll have to dip underwater to rinse out the suds,” I tell her, shifting back to let her move in the pool.

She closes her eyes and does as I ask, and when she emerges from the water, her color is better than before. Her cheeks are still pink, but the rest of her face is, too, and she no longer looks like she might keel over.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “I didn’t know I needed that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” I scrub a washcloth over the bar of soap and wash my arms, relishing the warmth of the pool.

Willow cocks her head to the side. “It?”

“Whatever had you sobbing like that.”

I don’t want to pry, and I know a little something about keeping my secrets close to my chest, but perhaps Willow is one of those people who likes to share. Besides, if she’s the Duke of Ultrup’s niece, Gorvor will want to know about her presence here. I want to help Willow, yes, but my loyalty is to my clan, and if she is similar to her uncle, her being here might signal trouble.

She studies me for long moments, her expression pensive. I watch her right back, waiting to see how she’ll react. She’s doesn’t seem to be one for quick chatter, or for spilling her secrets, and I have to respect her for it. She may have broken down earlier, but she has picked herself up remarkably fast.

“The orc who carried me here,” she says instead of answering my question. “Ozork. He seemed very concerned with my half-frozen state. Why was that?”

I press my lips together, wondering how much to tell her. I can’t just announce that I suspect she’s his mate. He should have the privilege of doing that—and besides, Willow might run right out into the cold again if she learns that the massive orc warrior, more than a decade her senior, will forever be devoted to her.

It’s a lot to process, and I don’t want to spook her. The last thing I want to do is jeopardize Ozork’s future happiness.

“Orcs can sometimes react with more force than strictly necessary,” I hedge, choosing my words carefully. “Especially when it comes to humans. You see, we’re quite a bit sturdier than you.”

I motion at her body, then mine. Though we’re both submerged to our chins, it’s clear she’s half a head shorter than me and of slighter stature.

“I suppose he saw your bluish lips and pale face and thought you were about to die,” I add.

I’m not certain she knows how bedraggled she looked earlier. It seems rude to point it out—and Ozork certainly didn’t care one bit.

She touches her fingers to her lips, pensive. “Ah. And is he a guard?”

I open my mouth to answer, but she widens her eyes, then adds quickly, “I mean, I’m only asking because he seemed older than the others at the door.”

I fight a smile. Oh, she’s interested in him, it’s clear as day, but human propriety doesn’t allow her to inquire about a strange man, I suppose.

It’s really quite late, but Ozork has been a good friend—more than that, he’s always been like an uncle to me, or perhaps an older cousin—and I’ll help him any way I can.

“Of course.” I keep my expression level. “Ozork is the one who leads most of the trading caravans to the human lands. He’s in charge of purchasing provisions for the clan, the items we cannot make or grow on our lands. You might have seen him in Ultrup, actually.”

If he saw her, he never gave any indication. He’s traveled to Ultrup so many times over the years, but he never spoke about meeting anyone special.

“I’d remember him.” Willow glances over her shoulder in the direction of the corridor.

I can’t stop myself from grinning. “I suppose you would.”

She frowns at me, then widens her eyes, clearly horrified. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean because of his scars!” She flutters her hands, splashing some water over the edge of the pool. “I wouldn’t—they don’t bother me. Not that it matters one way or another, it’s just…”

She snaps her mouth shut, and her face turns pink all over, the redness of her cheeks spreading everywhere. It’s fascinating to watch.

But Willow seems genuinely uncomfortable, so I take pity on her.

“Did you know he also plays the fiddle?” I ask calmly.

Willow goggles at me. “The fiddle?”

“Aye. You should ask him to play for you sometime.”

She should know that her mate is the kindest soul in the Hill, a true gentleman, even if he used to be a warrior in the old king’s Army. Ever since Gorvor offered him a better life, he’s been the most loyal, faithful subject and a dear friend.

Willow shrinks back, no doubt because her proper upbringing is surfacing from under her earlier shock. “I couldn’t do that. I barely know him.”

I’ve done all I can here. If I push her any more, she’ll think it strange, so I stand on the bench and shake off the water.

“Well, you’ll have all winter to make his acquaintance. I’m sure you’ll find the right moment.”

It hits me then that if the captain she mentioned is the same man I saw all those weeks ago, he, too, will be stuck in the Hill over the cold winter months. In a month or so, when the forest road is impassable and the land is buried under a layer of ice, it would be folly for them to leave. Already, Willow arrived half-frozen on our doorstep, so whatever plans she and her retinue have will need to be adjusted for the mountain weather.

I walk to the nearest shelf stacked with mist-dampened bathing sheets, wrap one around my body, and take the other to Willow, who has climbed out in the meantime and is drying herself with the sheet she brought. She accepts the second one gratefully and wraps it around her hair. I pick up my dress from the stone floor and march right back into the fog with Ozork’s new mate trailing behind me.

I’ll have to be quick and get out of the chamber before Willow’s captain—whether he’s him or not—catches up with us. We tarried here too long, but I couldn’t leave the poor woman to sob alone in the baths. She could have gotten turned around. I can’t imagine how strange this must be for her, but now it’s time for me to disappear. I’ll leave Willow in Ozork’s care and retire to my rooms as soon as possible.

As we close in on the corridor, I stop at a bench laden with more bath sheets and the very useful dressing gowns that are a more recent addition to the space. “Here.” I pass one of the soft bundles to Willow. “Poppy thought of these, and they’re brilliant. You can wear it to your room and change there, then bring it back the next time you come here.”

I put on one of the garments as well—there’s no use struggling into my dress and tying all the laces when I’m just going to undress myself again in my room.

“Come on,” I prompt Willow. “Ozork is waiting.”

I can hear him shuffling around nearby, still shrouded in the mist but definitely somewhere close. The voices of the human soldiers are nowhere to be heard, so I hope that means they’ve left in search of food and a place to rest for the night.

It doesn’t escape me that I should likely have been the one to welcome them to the Hill, but Willow needed my help first and foremost. I’m sure the guards at the door showed them to the guest quarters.

Ozork’s tall form materializes in front of us, and Willow slows her steps. I glance back to check on her—if she’s in distress, I won’t leave her alone with him, no matter how certain I am that he’ll treat her well. He’s a massive, scarred warrior, so I suppose she’s right to be wary…

“My lady.”

I stop, gasping. Another man was waiting with Ozork, a human who’d been seated on a bench right behind my friend, so I didn’t see him until now. He shoots to his feet and adjusts his collar, then straightens his broad shoulders.

It’s him, the captain I last saw weeks ago in the king’s parlor. I’ve never heard his voice before, though, and it reverberates through me, rooting my feet to the floor.

I’m far enough away that his scent is just a hint in the mist, the faintest whiff of anise and cedar. Unbidden, memories of our last meeting float to my mind, and embarrassment sends heat into my face. My throat burns, and I blink quickly, then check my hair—my braid, so haphazardly pinned on top of my head, is unraveling. I wish I’d taken a moment to compose myself, but I was in such a hurry to leave here. I’d hoped to avoid the man, not reenact our meeting.

But it makes perfect sense that he’s here—if Willow is his charge, if he’s to guard her while she’s acting as her uncle’s ambassador, then he must have made his way here from the front hall when he learned where she’d been taken.

The pull of him is so damned strong. I take a step forward before I even register my feet are moving, then stop myself, mortified.

If he was an orc, he’d be lunging for me, wrapping me in his arms, and I want it so much, it twists me up inside. Ozork picked up Willow and carried her to the baths, that’s how strongly he’d felt their bond. Instead, the captain just stands there, gawking at me, his cheeks turning pink.

Before I can do something stupid and embarrass myself further, I duck my head and hurry past him, past all of them, into the corridor and out of sight. When I’m certain I’ve come far enough to be rid of his delicious scent, I drag in a deep inhale. But it comes out as a sob instead, so I smack a palm over my mouth and march on, hoping I won’t meet any of my clansmen on the way to my room.

I’ve made a fool of myself once again, but it’s no matter. The Hill is large, and I know it better than anyone, except perhaps Ozork, so I’ll be able to avoid the captain until he inevitably leaves in the spring.

Already, I’m deep enough into the maze of corridors that the voices from the baths are dampened by the thick earthen walls. A snatch of laughter sounds from one of the side hallways, but I hurry past, stepping lightly so my boots don’t scuff on the packed earth floor.

It’s a pity my room is on the other side of the palace, and that the Heart of the Hill sits in my way, because that means I have to circle all the way around…

“My lady!”

A call comes from behind me, the voice clear and deep, less raspy than my fellow clansmen’s yet still undeniably male.

My heart thuds hard, once, twice, and for a brief second, I consider ignoring it.

But it’s him . And somehow, despite all my reservations, I cannot stay away.