Page 30 of His Orc Lady

I count the soldiers returning from the cold—all men I’ve seen before in the past couple of days. One of them is leading two horses, his own and a smaller one that Willow must have ridden. It looks so dainty next to the big war horse that could only have been Ozork’s ride, it’s almost comical.

Still, there’s no sign of Owen. I scan the soldiers’ faces for any sign of distress. Surely they’d be more concerned if their captain had gotten hurt?

Another horse walks into the stables, and I recognize his handler immediately. Owen’s golden hair gives him away, even from a distance.

Something unlocks in my chest, a release of tension so powerful, I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle a sob.

He’s safe.

He went out and returned, just as he’d said.

A low groan escapes me, and I lean against an empty stall, my legs too wobbly to hold me up. At my movement, Owen glances up sharply. His gaze meets mine, and his blue eyes widen insurprise. Without pause, he brings his horse closer to me and stops several feet away.

“Hello, Mara.” He smiles then, his face lighting up. “What are you doing here?”

I take a deep breath to compose myself. “Would you believe me if I said I had urgent steward business at the stables?”

His clean scent invades my senses, and I move a step closer, heedless of the orcs and human soldiers milling nearby. They’re all busy with stabling the horses anyway, brushing them and drying their coats after the ride in the snow.

“I’d believe just about anything you say,” Owen murmurs, his smile turning wry. “But is it true?”

I press my lips together, fighting a grin, and shake my head. It’s enough of a confession, and Owen understands.

His gaze slips to my dress, running the length of my body, and all my senses wake up, my need for him flaring to life. The memory of last night’s kiss is so vivid, so colorful, I can’t push it down any longer. I’ve worked so hard to stay away from him that I thought I’d killed off this attraction, but perhaps it was merely dormant, lying in wait for the right moment. Now it burns, an impulse so strong, I sway on my feet, leaning toward him.

Owen’s lips part. He glances over his shoulder and tugs lightly on his horse’s reins to get the animal to step forward, obscuring us from view. Then he’s kissing me, a rough, carnal kiss that melts my defenses and has me clutching the front of his cloak, breathless and desperate for more. My tongue slides against his in a sensual caress that has him groaning softly. He brings his hand up to cup my cheek, and my heart melts a little more—he’s holding me so gently, but his kiss demands everything from me.

Abruptly, he breaks the kiss and steps back—just in time to accept a pair of horse brushes from one of the stable hands. I give him a wide-eyed look, and he snorts, dropping his gaze tohis boots, but he seems pleased, and I can’t help but feel giddy, too, my body burning up.

“I need to brush Acorn,” he says, his voice deeper than before. “Would you like to help?”

I’ve never brushed a horse before—since I never go outside, I haven’t had the need. But I don’t want to leave Owen when I’ve only just got him back, so I accept one of the brushes and follow him and his horse into a stall.

“You’ll have to show me how,” I tell him.

Owen steps up behind me, puts his hand over mine on the brush, and brushes the horse in slow, circular motions. His body shifts behind me, his chest pressed to my back, and I catch him sniffing my hair when he thinks I’m not paying attention.

If I lean back just a little, craving his touch, I cannot be blamed for my actions.

“I think you’ve got the idea,” he says after a long moment, then drops a quick kiss on the side of my neck before stepping away. “You brush that side, and I’ll do his tail. He doesn’t like it when snow clumps in it, so it’s best if I do it quickly.”

I shut down the voice in my head yelling at me to kiss Owen again, and lose myself in the rhythm of brushing Acorn. He’s a calm animal and doesn’t mind me being a bit clumsy with him. Owen finishes his side much faster than me, then moves on to his tail and mane while Acorn munches on oats and hay.

“You’re doing good,” Owen says as he surveys my work, and my chest glows at his praise.He helps me finish up Acorn’s flank, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out an apple. “Here, you feed it to him. It’s his reward for being patient with us.”

I hold out the apple gingerly, worried Acorn might take a finger along with it, but the horse nuzzles my hand first, his big snout surprisingly delicate, then picks up the apple and eats it in a big gulp, his dark eyes glistening in the low light.

“You’ve made a friend.”

I turn to find Owen watching us, that half-smile of his curling his lips. There’s nothing special about the moment—he even smells lightly of horses and hay after his ride—but my breath catches in my throat at the sight of him.

He stares at me, then offers me his elbow. “Come on. There’s something I want to show you.”

Chapter

Nine

We wash at the trough in the stables, then walk down the corridor, my hand tucked in the crook of Owen’s elbow. We greet the clanspeople, though there aren’t many of them in this part of the Hill. We walk past the forge, and Owen glances sideways, as if he’s tempted to go admire Morg’s swords again, but he turns back to me and doesn’t, and it somehow means a lot to know I have his full attention.

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