Page 33 of The Warrior and the Monk

The man’s eyes narrowed even further, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Then I’m here for you. Anders came to see me yesterday. I’ll be making your clothes."

Wilder blinked again, unsure what to make of this new information. "Clothes?" he repeated. The idea of Anders commissioning clothes for him had not crossed his mind. Why hadn't Anders simply bought a set of clothes at the market like anyone else? And why this particular man? Wilder’s thoughts flickered back to the previous day. If Anders had gone off to visit this stranger, it would explain why he had come home late—without any dinner to show for it. But the question remained: Why clothes?

"For what?" Wilder asked again, still feeling a sense of bewilderment creeping in.

The man’s expression didn’t soften. "For your ceremony."

Ah, the ceremony. Disa had mentioned it—a ceremony to make their union official in the eyes of the town. The thought made Wilder’s heart flutter. It had only been a fleeting mention, but now he understood. Anders had been making plans for their wedding. A real wedding, in front of their community. Wilder felt a rush of warmth at the thought, his smile spreading wider. "Of course! And, you are?" he asked, eager to know more.

The man seemed to find this question amusing, or perhaps just unnecessary, as he raised an eyebrow at Wilder. "Kirk," he said flatly, before turning and marching toward the longhouse without another word.

Wilder stood frozen for a moment, taken aback by the suddenness of it all. "Of—of course," he stammered, feeling more bewildered than ever. "Please, make yourself at home," he added, though Kirk had already barreled past him and was headed straight into the house. Wilder could only follow after him, his mind racing with questions.

???

From the entryway of the longhouse, the animals peeked their heads in, curious about the unusual spectacle unfolding near the hearth. The goats, ever inquisitive, nudged each other to get a better view, while the chickens flapped their wings nervously as if they too had questions. Avery, the rooster, puffed himself up in exaggerated indignation but kept a cautious distance, watching the strange man at work.

Wilder stood perfectly still, arms outstretched, draped in a plain, thin tunic, feeling utterly out of place. Kirk, the tailor, circled around him with a measuring tape in one hand and scraps of fabric in the other. His face was intense, browfurrowed as he mumbled to himself, held bits of different-colored cloth to Wilder's freckled cheek, and clucked his tongue in dissatisfaction. The sound was frequent, and it struck Wilder like an unspoken reprimand.

"Yes?" Wilder finally asked, hoping to offer some assistance, unsure what was expected of him.

Kirk’s eyes flicked up, a brief flash of frustration in his gaze. "What?"

Wilder shifted uncomfortably, looking for some sign of progress. "No, nothing," Kirk muttered after a pause, then gave a long-suffering sigh. "It’s only—can I help in some way?"

"You can stop moving," Kirk ordered sharply.

Wilder’s breath hitched, and he froze even more, if that were possible, trying desperately not to twitch under the man’s relentless scrutiny. The slightest movement could undo whatever progress Kirk had made. Despite his best efforts to remain still, he couldn't help but glance toward the goats, who were eyeing the newcomer with mischievous curiosity.

Valiantly, Wilder tried to ignore the bit of bright red wool that Kirk jabbed near his ear, only half-listening as he asked, "Do you make the clothes for everyone’s wedding?"

Kirk tossed the scrap of fabric onto the table with an exaggerated flick of his wrist. He grabbed a piece of charcoal and marked a section of the fabric before deftly sliding a bone needle through it. "Not everyone," he said, his voice flat. "Some don’t care for my style of embroidery. Some don’t care for me in particular. But enough people come to see me when they’re ready for marriage. Your Anders, for one. Surprised my husband and I to see him yesterday."

"Oh, yes, you mentioned earlier—so he met with you to discuss, ah, what we’ll be wearing?" Wilder asked, trying to make sense of it all.

"That’s what I said." Kirk gave him a strange look. "He didn’t tell you?"

Wilder blushed, feeling the heat rush to his cheeks. "Well, last night we were... busy with—other things."

For the first time since his arrival, Kirk’s lips curled into a grin. "I’ll bet. I remember when my man and I were first wed. Got nothing done except for each other."

The remark struck a chord with Wilder, who found himself chuckling despite the blush still staining his face. He recalled their own wedding night, a whirlwind of passion and emotions that had left him barely able to think of anything else. But it had been... wonderful. They had only just begun to enjoy their marriage, and the desire between them seemed to be growing each day, each touch, each kiss.

Reluctantly, they had left the bed to start their daily chores, and Anders had set off for the forest after receiving a flurry of kisses from Wilder. It wasn’t just that day. All morning, Wilder had been distracted, lost in memories of the way Anders felt against him, the heat of his body, the weight of his presence. Was this what it was like for all newlyweds?

Wilder blinked at Kirk’s teasing smile and found himself asking, "Will that stop eventually?"

Kirk raised an eyebrow, a mischievous gleam in his eye. "Can’t speak for others, but not in my experience. Osgood still fucks me like we’re stealing moments together in the fields. Or, he would, if I wasn’t so worried about his back. Thinks he’s a workhorse, that one, but stubborn as an ass. Anders’s much the same, I think. My advice, if you ever need to give him a bit of rest, just ride him."

Wilder’s mouth dropped open. "What?!" he shrieked, horrified, his face burning.

Kirk took Wilder’s flustered response for confusion and shrugged. "Climb atop him and set the pace yourself. It’ll drive him wild, I guarantee that. What do you think?"

Wilder could feel his heart thundering in his chest, completely overwhelmed by the suggestion. "Think of what?!" he sputtered, unable to process the advice.

Kirk held up a square of dark blue cloth, a look of nonchalance on his face. "Of this color here."

Wilder blinked, his relief palpable. He pressed a hand to his chest, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "It’s very lovely," he managed to say, still a little rattled by the conversation.

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