Page 28 of Bound to the Orc Warlord

Before I can stop myself, I say, “What are they called?”

“What are what called?”

I brush the fingers of my good hand over her cheek in the lightest of touches. “These little dots.”

“Oh!” Her pretty green eyes meet mine, her cheeks staining a faint pink. “Freckles. They’re called freckles.”

“And you have them everywhere?” My eyes trace down her throat to the neckline of my borrowed shirt, imagining her bared to me.

“Yes,” it comes out as a soft puff of breath. Then she hurriedly turns back to my shoulder.

Leaving me to dream of freckles scattered across an expanse of pale pink skin.

She remains careful and gentle, and it takes another half hour to clean the wounds.

“What do you call the weapon that did this?” she asks as she dabs soft pats of salve onto one of the circular holes.

“A mace,” I say. “It’s one of the ogres’ favorites. It requires little skill.”

“Unlike a sword, right?” She meets my eyes, hers filled with enthusiasm. “’Cause you were A. Maz. Ing!”

Pride suffuses me. I’m warlord because my clan and my king respect my fighting abilities, but somehow hearing my bride recognize my prowess with a blade is even better.

Finally, she wraps bandages across the area and sits back, still held between my knees.

The sun continued to fall while she worked, and here under the trees, it’s growing dark.

“Come,” I say. “We need to make camp before true night falls.”

“And find more water.” She shakes the waterskin, and it sloshes loudly because it’s almost empty. “I used alotcleaning the wounds.”

“Drink what there is. It’s been a long day.”

“No.” She shoves it into my hands. “Youfinish it. You’re the one who did all the fighting.”

“But—”

“No buts!” She grins as she turns my earlier words against me. “You lost a lot of blood. It’s more important to rehydrate you.”

“Let’s make sure we find more first.” After untying the rope from the saddle, I refasten it around my waist. Then I stand, holding on to her tether right where it meets her body, the back of my knuckles brushing her side. I close my eyes and really listen. The wind in the trees, the soft scurry of small animals hurrying to their burrows for the night, the last sleepy call of birds settling into nests… and the splash of water over rock.

“There’s a creek.” I take off in the correct direction.

“Uhhh…”

“What?”

The low light steals the exact color from them, but her cheeks darken. “You’re not wearing a shirt.”

“I don’t have another one.”

“Then you should wear this one!” She plucks at the fabric stretched over her plump breasts. “I can use my dress as a top.”

I imagine her once again in her green dress, practicing her flying lessons all day tomorrow, while that bright-pink fabric hides everything I most want to see.

“We’ll discuss it in the morning.” My voice comes out rough with desire.

“But it’ll be cold tonight.”

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