Page 13 of Kept to Kill
Lily woke with the dawn,blinking sleepily as she recalled what had happened yesterday. She’d killed another man. She sat up and looked down at her ruined chemise. No one had brought her anything else to wear. She recognized the power play from when Vineri had punished her similarly, though his first port of call was usually to take her books away, her only source of diversion, when she’d displeased him. How she hated it when he did that! But she’d learned to stuff one or two behind a loose stone in the wall so she always had something, even then.
Here, they took her clothes and let feral men attack her. There wasn’t much she could do about that, she supposed. There wasn’t a sneaky way to clothe herself and to ward off a man who thought he’d be rewarded for laying his hands on her.
Lily felt her nose gingerly and winced. It was sore from when that man, that stinkingRat, had leapt on her, his head smashing into her face. She’d fallen on her back, head reeling from the blow when he’d torn her chemise almost in half and thenbittenher.
She glanced around the tent and saw that Quin was still abed, his eyes closed. She eased down the blanket that had been covering her and inspected the wound on her breast, unable to help a shiver. He’d gone right for it, as if that had been the first thing that came to his mind; not to grab her, not even to hit her, but to bite herthere. What sort of man thought thus? She could see the outline of his teeth, the dark bruise contrasting with her pale skin.
After the quiet one, Mal, had rushed from the tent, Bastian, the one who seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice more than anyone else’s, had offered her wine, which she’d declined. Then he’d gone as well, leaving her to the darkness that was their Commander. Quin had ignored her for the rest of the day while she simply sat on the bed and tried not to let her turbulent emotions get the better of her. She didn’t like crying in front of anyone, and it was threatening to happen with an alarming frequency since she’d been dragged out of her tower.
When the day waned, a soldier came in and stood guard to ensure she didn’t go wandering off, she expected, and Quin left, not returning until well into the night.
Lily had fallen asleep in the bed even though the unwavering gaze of the soldier unnerved her. Though the fever wouldn’t take hold of her after just one death, she was always tired after a touch.
And now it was morning once more. She stood, pulling the blanket around her as she went to inspect the offerings on the food table. She grabbed a spiced bun and then another, taking them back with her to her bed to devour them in peace.
It wasn’t until she heard him walking around the tent that she noticed that Quin was up. He ignored her, washing shirtless in a ewer of steaming water that someone had brought. She couldn’t stop staring. The hot water, that’s what she wanted, she told herself. It definitely wasn’t his broad chest, the rippling muscles, or the shape of him that proclaimed the Dark Army Commander a warrior of the first degree – in case one was to forget. It wasn’t that tattoo either, the one she’d caught glimpses of since she’d met him. She tried not to stare at it, memorize it’s swirling, complex pattern that snaked from the bottom of his jaw down one side of his chest and past the waist of his breeches.
He dressed in his blacks under her surreptitious eye and ignored the food table in favor of the desk. He began his morning’s work even as she sat on the bed, wondering if she would be allowed to wash or even relieve herself without being in the presence of a man. She’d had to piss in the pot last night while the soldier looked on, and it had been one of the most mortifyingly low points of her life since Vineri had brought her south – besides all the deaths she’d been made to cause, of course.
She approached the desk and waited for him to look up. He didn’t. She gave a small cough and he finally give her his attention.
‘What is it?’ he asked absently, as if he was still in the middle of something far more important than her wellbeing.
‘Could I have some privacy to wash, please?’
He looked surprised, and she hoped to the gods he never got a pet or something. The poor thing would be dead inside a week with his lack of attentiveness to living things.
‘There’s a screen over there that you can put up,’ he finally said, looking up at her. His jaw tightened and she drew back, wondering what he was angry about now.
‘You didn’t remind me.’
Her brow furrowed. ‘Of what?’
‘I was going to call someone to see to your face.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘What for? What would they even do? Pass me a wet rag and ask me to do it myself?’ She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from her throat. Had he forgotten why he’d decided not to torture her, make an example of her?
He looked sheepish. ‘They could wear gloves,’ he muttered, and she shook her head.
‘I can do it myself easily enough,’ she said, pulling the blanket more tightly around herself and going in search of the screen. She found it behind his bed and dragged it out with difficulty, finding it much too heavy to stand up by herself. She was about to ask for help when he appeared by her side, making her jump back with a yelp.
He put the thick divider up as easily as if it were made of canvas and not oak and went back to his desk.
Lily found a chamber pot and saw to her morning needs before washing in Quin’s now tepid water. When she had finished sponging away the dried blood from her nose and the grime from the rest of her, she eyed the ruined chemise she’d draped over the top of the screen. Was there much point in putting it back on? Her gaze shifted to the full-length looking glass. What an odd extravagance to have in a mercenary camp. She hadn’t pegged Quin for being so … vain. Bastian, maybe; yes, he was definitely the type to primp in front of his own reflection. She looked past her own image and realized she could see Quin sitting at his desk. He was sitting back with his boots upon it, his eyes on the looking glass! Her eyes widened as they met his and she grabbed the chemise with a gasp. He’d been watching her!
She stormed out from behind the screen. ‘You said I could have some privacy,’ she accused.
He snorted. ‘I said there was a screen you could put up. I didn’t say that you could have privacy while you used it.’
Her mouth opened and closed, but she found she couldn’t even form words. She turned away from him and his fucking smug, superior countenance, vowing to pay very close attention to what he said and how he said it from this moment on.Tricky bastard!
‘Perhaps you’ll forgive me if I have some clothes brought for you.’
Her eyes narrowed and she didn’t get her hopes up. It was likely to be a ploy. He’d probably make her walk over hot coals or something equally awful to earn them.
‘There’s a pot by my bed. You can use it on your bruises and they’ll heal more quickly.’ He sounded absent again. Clearly the attention he’d paid to her was at an end. She told herself she was glad of it because she definitely didn’t want the horrid spy’s notice!
But she grabbed the pot and unscrewed it, sniffing at the greenish salve inside it in suspicion and sneezing at the cloying floral scent. But she put some on her nose and sat on her bed letting the chemise hang open so that she could attend to the bite.
