Page 7 of His Orc Lady

“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 andcarriedher 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’shim. And somehow, despite all my reservations, I cannot stay away.

Chapter

Three

The captain catches up to me with long strides, his damp brown cloak hanging limp around his shoulders, his hair mussed, his skin reddened from the cold. He should be wholly unattractive to me, a smelly, road-weary mess of a man, yet I’m drawn closer, my feet carrying me to meet him halfway.

“I’m sorry.” He stops in front of me and pushes a hand through his hair, then seems to remember he’s pulled it back in a bun and he’s only making it worse.

I look up at him—he’s only three inches or so taller than me, which makes him shorter than most orcs, even though he’s tall for a human.

“What for?” I ask, searching his expression for any hint of what he’s thinking.

His throat bobs as he swallows, and he seems at a loss for words. Perhaps he’s so tired from his travels, or affected by the cold like Willow. He doesn’t seem to be on the edge of exhaustion, though—he merely stares at me as if he’s never seen an orc before. His gaze travels from my hair to my eyes, to my lips and tusks, and jerks back abruptly before he has a chance to glance down at my body.

His cheeks turn a deeper shade of red, and I have to smother a smile at his embarrassment.

Oh, right. I’m only wearing a dressing gown. To a human, this must be terribly inappropriate. I should cover up, draw the dress I’m holding over my chest to make myself more presentable. But in a perverse way, it pleases me to see him out of sorts, even if he’s hiding it well behind his stoic soldier’s demeanor. He’s caused me enough grief over the past weeks, so perhaps he’s due some suffering of his own.

Finally, he clears his throat. “Forgive me, but this is twice you’ve run away from me now, and I can’t help but think I’ve done something to offend you. So I would like to clear the air, my lady, and introduce myself to you, at least.” He takes a step back and offers me a quick bow. “If you’ll allow it, of course.”

It’s my turn to be flustered again. He talks to me as if I’m a courtier, a highborn lady of a rank much higher than his. I haven’t met many humans apart from the women who’ve come to live here and some farmers from our lands who visit for the harvest festival every fall, but surely, that’s not how humans address their equals?

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