Page 6 of Wagered to the Orc
I felt her stiffen for a moment, before she said, “Sorcha and Roxanna are my cousins.”
Fitting. “And Moltar, the bastard who hit you, is mine. He wagered me his spoils of this raid that he would spill more human blood.”
But at the last minute, Drakolt had announced we wouldnotkill the humans if it could be helped. He—who was so much wiser than me—knew the Tarberts would never align with the Bladesedge Clan if we massacred their men.
None of that mattered when I saw the fear on this wee human’s face as the human traitor used her as a shield. I defied my brother to kill John, and I’d do it again.
“I…” Her voice was so soft, soafraid, I could barely hear it. “I am the spoil?”
“Aye,” I grunted. “I spilled more blood, so I won. I collected.”To protect ye from his fist. “Ye’re mine now.”
When she shuddered, I realized how that must sound, and I cursed myself.
Fool. Ye sound nae better than Moltar, who thought naught of assaulting and hurting her.
I wanted to say more…to assure her she was safe. Safer with me than she’d been with Moltar or John, for certes. But I couldn’t make that promise, so I kept my mouth shut.
She had a fortnight with me, and I was unused to female company of more than a few hours. Who knew how safe she’d be?
We rode for hours, and I wasn’t sure at what point she fell asleep.
Her wee hands slipped under my belt—to hold herself in place, I imagined—and her cheek was plastered against my back. Likely literally, with how wet the wool was from her tears. I could feel her steady exhales on my skin, and I was careful to keep as still as possible, and the horse’s gait as steady as possible, so as not to disturb her.
The last hours had been traumatic for her, and if she could escape her fear through sleep, I would not ruin that.
Dawn came and went.
She woke mid-morning, and I could tell from the way she squirmed that she was uncomfortable.
Eventually I pulled the horse to a stop and the mare followed.
“What is it?” I barked.
Ifelther flinch. “I…I am sorry. I need to…”
When she trailed off, I twisted in my seat. I couldn’t quite see her expression, but there was embarrassment in her words.
Ah.
Without a word, I gripped her around her upper arm to swing her down, but her lips parted on a muffled cry of pain, and I remembered how the human traitor had held her there.Fook.
I should apologize for hurting her even more, but I didn’t know how. So, I merely moved my hold on her and helped her from the horse’s back. I swung down after her and moved to the animal’s head to check on him.
As I pressed my forehead to his, I heard the wee human limping toward the shelter of a bramble bush to relieve herself, and I winced.
“The puir thing’s in bad shape, aye?” I whispered to the gelding.
He whickered, which I took as agreement.
“Go, eat a bit,” I urged him and the mare. “We have hours to go at a moderate pace.”
Sometimes I swear the beasties could understand everything I said to them.
I turned back in time to see the human—Effie, I reminded myself—hobble from behind the bushes.
“Are yer legs hurt?” I asked.
From the way she flinched, mayhap I was too loud. I tried to gentle my tone when I elaborated.
