Chapter 7

Roxanna

He left me.

He left me.

After two more days of hard riding, of not touching me more than he had to, of sullen silences, Varkaan rode into his village, reined in before the cutest little cottage, and said, "This is Lady Roxanna Tarbert" to the old female who met us.

Then he turned around and rode out again.

I stared after him, flabbergasted by his rudeness, but too angry to do aught besides plant my fists on my hips and glare after him.

At both horses' backsides: the one belonging to our faithful steed, and the other the idiot riding him .

Beside me, the wizened orc clucked her tongue. "What an arse."

That surprised a laugh from me and I swung around to stare incredulously at this female who could read my mind.

She grinned and offered her hand. "I am Gelma, Varkaan's grandmother."

I was not sure what she expected. Did orcs shake hands? I reached out and clasped the spindly fingers, surprised by how much they reminded me of my own grandmother, long gone.

"Roxanna," I said quietly.

"Aye, so he said." She bobbed her head, and I decided this grandmother of his was quite sweet. "Come sit in my garden and have some tea, my dear."

Again surprised, I followed. The woman was so bent she was no taller than me, with her shoulders covered in a wrap of colorful embroidery and her throat and neck adorned with beads which jangled cheerfully. Since her hands looked too wizened for such endeavors, I decided she was likely adorned with gifts. Had Varkaan not said she was a holy woman for his clan?

Bah. We are not thinking of him right now .

Nodding firmly, I pushed thoughts of Varkaan aside and rushed to help carry the tray of simple mugs and sweet-smelling liquid through the house and out the backdoor to the well-tended herb garden.

And thus began my tenure at Bladesedge village.

I slept in Gelma's cottage on a neat cot hidden behind a quilt for privacy. I took my meals with her at the scarred table or out in the garden beneath the spreading yew tree. I helped prepare those meals at her hearth, or gratefully accepted the gifts of meat and bread and cheese from the villagers.

And I helped her.

We traveled among the people, me carrying her bag of holy totems, and I watched her set broken bones and whisper encouraging words and tell stories of her gods, which didn't sound too different from the stories Father Andrew used to tell in the Tarbert chapel. I recognized the unlikelihood of a female priest, but Gelma's gods did not seem to mind her keeping their names alive, and I could appreciate that.

Here in the village, and among the outlying crofts and farmers, the orcs treated their women as equals. Females were revered, and more than once I saw the respectful nods and pleased smiles sent to pregnant orcs, or those nursing bairns.

In my world, a woman's ability to bear sons was her only worth. Here, ‘twas seen as an additional blessing, because her skills and knowledge were valued first and foremost .

Here in the village, the Bladesedge orcs helped one another, ensuring that every member of the clan was well fed and safe. It mattered not if ‘twas the alewife's orphaned twins or the blacksmith's widowed mother…even if they could contribute naught to the clan, they were honored and cared for.

In my world, gold ruled, and if a man could not work or a woman grew too old, they relied on charity and prayed the church would grant them a crust of bread.

The Bladesedge clan might be orcs, but they were better, more compassionate beings than the ones who raised me.

Aye, as the days passed, I came to realize something. I liked it here.

I did not understand all of their language—although Gelma helped, and most of them spoke mine, thanks to the raiding—and I did not understand their customs.

But I wanted to learn.

Despite the lack of guards, I no longer wanted to run. I could be content here, if Sorcha and Effie ever arrived…but for one thing.

‘Twas almost the new moon when Gelma assured me my sister would come, but Varkaan still stayed away.

"He is a hunter," the orcs assured me. "He often disappears for weeks at a time and returns with bounty."

I didn't want his bounty or his meat. I wanted him .

Well, to be fair, you do want his flesh. Just not the dead animals.

Oh Lord help me, my mind was making cock jokes. I flushed and bent over the bread dough I was pounding, hoping my blush would not be noticed.

I should have known better.

"Ye ken, that idiot grandson of mine will return by tomorrow."

I did not ask how she knew his schedule, and I did not ask how she knew I was thinking of him. In the last days, I had discovered exactly how good an orc's sense of smell was. Gelma, from her spot by the open door, where she was sorting herbs, had likely smelled my arousal.

Because in the days I had been here, it seemed as if I couldn't escape Varkaan either. Everywhere we went, someone would speak of him.

Och, this wool? Dyed with the woad Varkaan traded for in the south. This venison? Varkaan brought it down after a two-day track. This spice? Purchased after a month-long journey east by—I should have guessed it— Varkaan .

And at night, ‘twas as if I couldn't keep the thoughts of Varkaan at bay.

Gelma was likely used to scenting my arousal.

Deciding I could not be any more embarrassed, I pounded the dough harder than necessary. "I do not care if he returns."

Gelma snorted. "Ye ought to. ‘Twill take some time to work it out in his head, but he will."

"Och, aye?" My fist slammed down. "And then what? He will strut around the village, flirting with all the females and charming all the traders, ignoring me until he leaves again?"

The old woman did not respond to my outburst. Instead, she hummed and continued sorting, her attention on the herbs spread before her. Finally, she spoke, a hint of amusement in her tone.

"By now, child, ye ought to ken that we orcs view desire differently than yer people. ‘Tis no' something to be ashamed of, but something to celebrate between two willing adults, sometimes more."

When I jerked my gaze up, the wizened face crinkled into a smile, and she winked. "I was young once too, long ago. Why, I could write a book on the adventures and positions I'd seen and experienced."

My lips parted, but no sound emerged.

A book?

Like A Harlot's Guide to the Forbidden and Delightful Arts ?

In the days I had been in the Bladesedge Village, I had seen that of which Gelma spoke. Here, passion wasn't something shameful or hidden away.

The first time I had come across a couple rutting in the stables—in the Auld Furry Weasel position—I had slammed my hands over my ears and backed away, embarrassed to intrude on them.

The next time I had seen a similar sight—a Mated couple, her sitting astride his cock in The Clinging Vine as he lay beneath a tree near the river—I had hidden to watch, intrigued.

And when I saw a woman leaning against the wall of one of the cottages, a male's head under her skirt while her head was thrown back in ecstasy as he performed The Invasion of Brussels , I had not even bothered to hide my interest.

Aye, here among the orcs, passion wasn't something to be hidden away and ashamed of.

As my fingers dug into the dough, I wondered if the author of the Harlot's Guide might have been part orc.

The thought made me smile as I arranged the dough on a warmed tray to be taken to the baker's oven .

"Yer sister arrives."

I glanced at Gelma, surprised, but she was looking out the door, over the hill.

I began to run and didn't stop until Sorcha was in my arms.

Was there ever a more joyful reunion? I thought mayhap, once Effie was here with us, we might be complete. But first, I had to hear what was planned for Sorcha.

"He is going to do what ?" I gasped that afternoon, as I helped her into the bath. "And you will just allow it?"

She shrugged, more at ease than I could remember. "I am to be Drakolt's Mate. His partner. ‘Tis important his people see me as such."

I had spent more than a sennight living among those people, and I knew for a fact that what was planned would be considered normal. Still, I shook my head and clucked my tongue.

"Och, he will claim you as his Mate in front of all of them and your joining will definitely be solidified in their mind."

Mayhap not in Father's, but that was Sorcha's problem as the oldest sister.

"And a son, you say?"

Sorcha nodded, closing her eyes as she tipped back into the tub. "Gelma has seen it. My son will unite our people."

"A nephew," I mused. I was not surprised; if Sorcha and Drakolt had been up to half the things the orcs got up to, she would absolutely be impregnated tonight as the holy woman foretold.

"Now," Sorcha commanded, reaching for the sweet-smelling soap similar to the ones I had helped mold. "Tell me about your journey with that handsome charmer."

Our conversation took us past sundown, with my older sister suitably outraged and understandably embarrassed about what Varkaan had done to me. What I had enjoyed Varkaan doing.

But soon enough, ‘twas time for her future to begin.

"Promise you will not watch tonight," she demanded, holding my hands.

I hid my shudder. ‘Twas one thing to spy on orc couples consummating their love…another thing to watch my sister publicly fooked by the chief.

"I swear."

When Gelma joined us, her words seemed to comfort Sorcha. She spoke of pleasure and joy and the future, which sounded so different from the speech on duty we had received when we had been bundled off to fulfill one of Father's betrothal contracts.

The way the old woman spoke of the future here among the Bladesedge people, I could tell comforted my sister. Sorcha wanted that future.

You want that future .

I gasped in realization.

I did want that future. Here in this village with my sister and Effie…

And Varkaan.

They had turned to me, and I needed a way to ask what I was afraid to hear.

"Gelma, what does it mean when a male—I mean, when Drakolt's eyes glow green?" When Gelma raised her brow with a knowing smirk, I hastened to explain away the question, "Sorcha told me Drakolt's eyes sometimes glow green."

As if Varkaan's had not done the same.

"Ahh, ‘tis the Mating thrall." She explained to Sorcha, then turned to me. "A male can fight it, my daughter, but once the goddess has chosen his Mate, there is naught he can do but accept it."

"A Mate," I whispered, remembering what Varkaan had told me.

Gelma nodded. "It is no' just a partnership, but a knowing ." She brought her fist to her stomach. "Here." She moved it to her chest, then her forehead. "Here. And here. Your body, mind, and heart recognize yer Mate, even if you dinnae want to."

Recognize yer Mate .

Varkaan's eyes had glowed green when he fooked me with his tongue. When he had held me so tenderly after.

Was that what this spark between us was?

Was I his Mate?

Long after Gelma had taken Sorcha away, and I heard the cheers of the gathered clan, I sat on the edge of my cot and stared down at my hands.

Mate .

If I was Varkaan's Mate, then he was mine.

And I had always fought for what I believed was right. What I believed was owed me.

Aye, he was an arse to leave me here alone, but he had treated me beautifully when we were alone. He accepted me as I was, and returned my knife to me, instead of thinking me weak or incompetent .

And I liked his easy smile and ready wit, even if I scoffed and vowed to run from him .

But now…now I knew I wanted to stay here .

And if I was going to stay here , then there was only one male I wanted to be with. My Mate.

Slowly, I lifted my head, a plan forming in my mind.

I vowed to stay, but there was one way to ensure I would get what I wanted.

I had to run.