Page 74 of The Orc's Thief
His gaze darkens, and he stares down at his plate as if it offended him.
“Is that an issue?” I ask, peering up at him. “To be so close to the orc kingdom?”
“To be close, no. But if the caravan crossed the border, I’m not sure it would be safe to follow. We’ve had no news from our king’s brother, so there’s no telling what the situation is like.” He grimaces and tears his bread into smaller pieces. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea to see what’s going on. But I don’t want to take you there if there’s unrest. You’re not fit for battle, and if King Trak is still in power, his soldiers won’t take kindly to us crossing their border uninvited.”
I study him for a long moment, worry spiking. “But I need to find Lindie. If she’s been taken to the orc kingdom for some reason, I need to know.”
“Aye, I know.” He puts his hand over mine, some of his tension evaporating. “I’d do the same if it was Sarrai we were following. Or any of my clansmen, for that matter.”
“Is Sarrai your friend?” I ask, intrigued.
Arlon nods. “She’s one of the best warriors from our clan. Incredibly skilled with a bow. She’s almost as good as Korr, who’s the king’s best hunter.”
A wave of jealousy swamps me at his words, irrational and burning hot. This Sarrai could very well be one of the women who taught him everything he knows about the female body—a fact I should be grateful for, since I’m the one reaping the benefits.
“That reminds me…” He pushes away his empty plate and stands. “I need to send out some letters so my clan will know where I am and where I’m going. You finish up here, and then we can talk to the maids about that caravan.”
I sit back, fuming quietly as he strides across the room. The fact that he’ll write this Sarrai a letter is even worse than thinking they might have a history together. What is it with him and the letters? I’ve spent years without sending a single personal letter, and he’s taking the time to do it now, when we should be hurrying to leave?
My appetite’s gone, but I don’t know when we’ll stop for food next, so I stab the rest of the sausage and nibble on it morosely. I tuck the rest of my bread into my pocket for later.
To my surprise, Arlon returns a minute later, armed with several sheets of paper, envelopes, an inkpot, and a quill. “I asked if there’s a tailor in town. You need a new cloak if we’re riding out in this weather, and even more so if we’re going up into the mountains.”
Shame flushes through me at his words. Here I was, stewing in jealousy, while he’d only been trying to take care of me. I pop the last bite of sausage in my mouth to cover my embarrassment and wipe my hands on my pants. He’s already hunched over the table, dipping the quill into the ink at regular intervals.
“What can I do to help?” I nudge my knee against his thigh. “I’m terrible at writing letters, but I’ll do it if I have to.”
His lips turn up at the corners, but he finishes writing the word before glancing up at me. “You could go up to pack.” He sniffs the air between us, and his eyebrows furrow in a frown. “Is something wrong? You smell distressed.”
I shake my head quickly. “Nothing important.”
He looks like he might press for more answers, so I push against his shoulder to get him to move. He only lets me go after extracting a kiss, and I scurry upstairs with my lips still tingling.
I stop by the washroom to pick up the clothes we sent to be washed last night, then climb upstairs, sniffing the fabric. Some of Arlon’s scent still clings to his shirt. It hits me that this isn’t normal at all. My shirt smells like soap, clean and fresh, but to me, Arlon’s scent is so powerful I would know it anywhere.
I never really believed his claim that we’re fated to be together. But the intensity of our connection…there could be some truth to what he’s saying. If I trust him with my body, as I clearly do, maybe I should trust him when he says he’ll always be true to me, too. Whoever he was with in the past helped shape the man I?—
I stop myself and stuff his shirt into his saddlebag with more force than necessary. It’s way too soon to be putting names to my emotions, which may very well prove to be only temporary.
My hand brushes against one of the money pouches, and I curse under my breath. He left them in the room as if they’re secure? It’s a testament to the fact that he’s never had to go without. Anyone who’s ever had to steal and scrape for coinwould know this is the height of folly. Any one of the guests could have broken down the door and robbed him. I could rob him right now, take more gold from his bags, and he’d never even know until it was too late.
With a sigh, I close the flap of the saddlebag and cinch the buckle tight. For some godsdamned reason, I can’t even steal from him anymore. It’s not just that I decided to stay last night—I’m now incapable of taking money from Arlon.
That should worry me. Stealing has been a fundamental part of my life for the last decade, and I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for my skills.
But now, for the first time since I left home, I don’t have to worry about where my next meal is coming from.
It’s seductive, this safety and comfort. I could easily get used to it.
At a noise from the hallway, I shake myself and finish packing. I fold Arlon’s clothes more carefully than mine, then brush out my hair and braid it into a tight bun at the nape of my neck. One last sweep of the room, and I stagger downstairs under the weight of our combined luggage, banging against the wood-paneled walls. Arlon looks up the moment I enter the taproom. His eyes widen, and then he’s striding toward me to take the bags from my shoulders.
“You didn’t have to bring everything down in one go,” he grumbles. “That’s what I’m here for.”
I grin at his outrage. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time, husband.”
Mistress Maeve walks past us and sends me a wink that has me giggling as I follow Arlon to our small table.
“Are you done with the letters?” I ask, noting the two addressed envelopes sitting by our empty teacups. “That was fast.”
