Page 14 of The Orc's Promised Bride

Her fingers brushed his as she took it, sending a spark through his arm. She laid the sword across her lap, her small hands gripping the scabbard and gave him another small smile.

“Thank you. You… you don’t need it?”

“There is nothing in these mountains which I fear.”

Except perhaps the small female looking up at him with those wide dark eyes. He forced himself to turn away, quickly retracing his steps. He found the silver-backed leaves growing exactly where he remembered, in a shadowy hollow beneath towering pines. Harvesting them was a delicate business and it took longer than he’d hoped.

Almost an hour had passed before he returned to camp. As he approached, he frowned. Something was wrong. The feeling of unease intensified when he didn’t see her sitting next to the fire. His heart pounding, he raced the remaining distance. She was slumped against a log, her face flushed and beaded with sweat. His sword lay forgotten beside her.

“Jana!”

He bent down over her, pressing his palm to her forehead. Her skin burned against his touch as her eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused.

“Lothar?” Her voice came out as a weak rasp. “I don’t feel well.”

Fear clawed at his throat as her eyes closed again, her body going limp.Fuck!

He carefully settled her back on the bedroll and covered her with his cloak before returning to the moonleaf, trying to remember how Merow had prepared it. After crushing it between two stones, he mixed it with water from the stream to form a thick silvery paste. Her skin burned beneath his touch as he spread the mixture over her wounds, but she didn’t stir.

“Please work,” he prayed, binding the poultice in place.

He added dried meat to a pot of water to make a broth, positioning it carefully over the fire, then refilled his water skin. He lifted her head, supporting her neck as he pressed it to her lips but most of the liquid spilled down her chin.

“Come on, little one. You need to drink.”

Her lips parted at his words and she managed to take a few sips. A little while later he tried the broth, relief flooding him when she swallowed a little more. But as the sun climbed higher, her breathing grew more labored. The flush spread across her chest and neck, her skin radiating heat like the coals of their dying fire.

He carefully dragged the bedroll into the shade, then started bathing her face and neck with cool cloth. They warmed almost instantly against her skin but he kept trying. Her dark hair clung to her temples, and occasional whimpers escaped her lips.

“Don’t leave me,” he murmured, gathering her small hand in his. “I know I didn’t pray for you, but the gods brought you to me anyway. There must be a reason.”

For the first time since he was a child, he felt utterly helpless. All his strength, his fighting skills, meant nothing against this invisible enemy.

The forest darkened around them as afternoon faded to evening, and her breathing grew more ragged, each inhale a battle. All he could do was to remain at her side, to continue bathing her and trying to get her to drink, and to pray.

CHAPTER 8

Jana’s eyes fluttered open as a cool breeze brushed against her cheek. Her mind felt clear, the fog of fever finally lifted. The familiar scent of woodsmoke tickled her nose as she turned her head toward the fire.

Lothar crouched beside it, his broad shoulders slumped with exhaustion as he stirred something in a pot. His usual neat braid had come loose, strands of dark hair falling around his face.

“Good morning,” she whispered, her voice scratchy from disuse.

His head snapped up and in two long strides he was beside her, dropping to his knees as he pressed a cool hand to her forehead.

“Thank the gods. The fever’s broken.”

Up close, the signs of his exhaustion were even more apparent. A pang of guilt hit her as she realized he must have been watching over her the entire time she was feverish.

“How long have I been sick?”

She tried to push herself up but her arms trembled, weakened by the fever. He immediately put his arm around her shoulders,lifting her up against his chest. Even though both of his arms were around her, she didn’t feel the urge to panic. Instead it felt familiar. Safe.

“This is the third day.” He reached for a water skin and held it to her lips. “Here, drink this.”

The cool water soothed her parched throat. As she drank, she noticed the pot simmering over the fire, the bowl of silvery paste, the stack of firewood. He’d been taking care of her, probably barely sleeping.

“You stayed with me the whole time?”

---