Page 56 of Swamp Kings 2

“It wasn’t a waste,” he said, meeting her perturbed stare. “I was listening. Just not to the words.”

She performed more facial tricks, and he couldn’t keep from chuckling at them. “What the bloody hell are you listening to if not words?”

It was a fair question. “A lot of things,”he said, in mild awe with how easy it was to talk to her. Like a real sister. Only not.

“Like what,” she pushed bossily, not about to let it go.

He picked up a stick and poked the fire, contemplating a route out of the corner he found himself in without incurring fines. “Like… the sound wrapping them.”

She filled the awkward moment with odd noises, making him realize she had an uncanny gift to match sound to mood. Even a blind person could read her. “Like my voice?” her tone doubted quietly while her brows angled with possible hope.

Voss felt the stares burning the back of his head now, wondering what his brothers had been observing while he sat there, caught up in her word spell. The last woman they had in their camp was an actual sister and he was sure in that very second, every man there was hyper aware she was not an actual sister.

The sudden problem had caution crawling slowly through his blood.

The men were allowed to live by their own moral codes. It didn’t mean they were free to openly sin against obviouscommandments, but when it came to women, they were allowed to pursue however they liked, so long as they honored the marriage bed once they entered it.

“Now I’ve gone and offended you, I see.”

“Nah,” he muttered, rethinking where to put her fucking tent now. His memory offered up a dozen brothers she wouldn’t want to be near and then twice as manyhewouldn't want her near.

The idea of one of them fucking with her in any way sent him marching across the settlement and dragging her tent right next to his, practically connecting her door to his. He met every brother’s look head on, waiting for a single word. They could think what they wanted. This was the only quick solution. If they didn’t know why he did it, then they didn’t know him. If they had the balls to ask, he might tell them. Or just eyeball them till they knew it was none of their fuckingbusiness. That was their law in personal affairs. Unless they saw blatant sin, they had the right to fuck off. If they felt the needto ask, then ask. Didn’t mean you got an answer. Didn’t like it? Fight me. Don’t want to? Leave. Their laws were simple.

He made his way to where Flint cooked. “You got anything she can eat while that finishes up?”

“Veggies are done,” he said, lifting the lid on the giant black pot.

Voss filled a bowl with the hot steaming food and took the spoon Flint handed him. Back at the fire, he handed her the food.

“Oh my goodness,” she whispered, taking it with both hands, smiling at him. “Thank you… uh. Do I call you Voss or Brother? Brother Voss? Mr. Voss?”

He sat again, letting her presence calm him. “You can call me Gideon.”

“Oh,” she said, happiness in her tone as she stirred in her bowl, blowing the steaming veggies. He peeked at her as she took her first bite, curious to see what food faces she’d make. She didn’t disappoint. Eye rolling heaven, slow, reverent chewing. Then came the sounds he wanted to stop her from making, sure every male there was hearing them how he was.

“You’ll need to eat in private if you’re gonna make that kind of noise,” he muttered for her ears only.

He pulled out his knife and picked up a stick, feeling her gaze on him as she muttered a shocked “Oh,” thankfully understanding him. He slid the blade over the tip of the wood, sneaking another look at her while those sounds he’d stopped continued playing in his head. She continued eating with that slow reverence, minus the pleasure sounds. Her tongue swept out and over her lip, thoroughly cleaning up remnants. The pink on her cheeks said she was warming up. Good.

“You’re staring,” she barely whispered, sounding like it pained her.

He continued to watch her while knowing he was out of line. “I am.” But it seemed she was an exception to every rule. This fair-skinned beautiful woman from another land. Defending those he vowed to protect, offering herself as a sacrifice if it meant protecting them. She was more than rare. She was a precious soul. She was the veryheart of what he lived to protect.

Her brows rose at her bowl then she widened her eyes, taking another big bite, again getting lost in the food as if each bite was its own salvation. Had they not fed her?

She raised her hand next to her face, blocking his view. “Sorry Gideon,” she mumbled. “I thought I could handle it, but you have quite the staring power.”

“I don’t usually stare.”

“Ah,” she said, filling her mouth again. “Weird out of town pond girl. I get it.”

Pond girl. “Why are you a pond girl?”

“Because I live across the big pond. From America?”

He blew on the tip of his stick, smiling at the expression. “Got it.”

“Did you think I was from the pond?” she asked, her voice teasing.

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