Page 31 of The Physician's Barbarian
Jogging up to Rath, I asked, “Brother? Is there a problem?”
“Ambrose’s son. He is here.”
Shocked, I leapt over the fence, hurrying after my brother who jogged toward the village center with purpose. When we arrived, there was a small carriage parked just outside the first line of tents and a couple and a young boy stood talking to Orthorr beside it.
My eyes fell to the boy, and my heart tripped over itself. The boy looked so much like Ambrose. His short black hair fell onto his forehead, and deep brown eyes narrowed suspiciously on me much like Ambrose’s had upon our first meeting. He was thin like Ambrose, and tall. I wasn’t sure what his age was, but he was nearly as tall as the woman standing beside him.
“Clan leader?” I asked as I approached, bowing slightly with my fist across my chest.
“Godr. This is Ambrose’s family. They are looking for him.”
Something in his expression was strange, and I didn’t understand what he wanted from me. He knew Ambrose was not here. He’d left. I shook my head slightly to show my confusion.
“What do you need from me?”
Orthorr’s lips pressed together, and he sighed. “I can see the pain you are in, Godr. We made a mistake allowing my people to act as protectors when there was a possibility a match would be found this way. You are not the same without him.”
The breath escaped my lungs in a rush. I hadn’t thought he’d noticed. He was busy with clan business, and I had done my job as he asked it of me.
“You were not there to see it, but Ambrose wasn’t happy about leaving either. We will go together to the Ilvos clan and explain ourselves. Should he choose you?—”
“Yes! I will go,” I interrupted, taking a stumbling step closer.
I had never asked Ambrose to bond with me, but if he felt the same as I did, maybe he would accept me.
Orthorr nodded. “Ready the stallions. We will leave after Ambrose’s family has eaten a warm meal?—”
Again, I didn’t let him finish. I didn’t want to give him a chance to change his mind, so I spun and ran toward the field without waiting for his words. I would need to stop in my tent and grab a few things, but I needed to ready the stallions first. Orthorr’s stallion, mine, the stallions for the fighters who would come along to protect our clan leader. I ran through the list in my head, murmuring to Tolsen to head for the fence line while I gathered the others.
A bite to my arm made me yelp and jump back. Rhoddgorr glared at me, almost like he knew where I was going and was insulted that I would think to go without him. I thought about it, and the hope growing in my chest made me reckless as I told him, “We will go to Ambrose. You are coming with us. He will be glad to see you.”
Rhoddgorr gave me a strong nod, following me as I gathered the rest of the horses. A part of me worried I was being too hasty. I had misunderstood Ambrose many times before. While I knew he would be happy to see his son, would he really want me there as well? Or was I setting myself up for more heartache in the future? Our night together had been amazing, but he’d still left without saying anything to me.
My gaze moved to Rhoddgorr, who was trailing after me wherever I went. He missed Ambrose just as much. At least if I went, I could return Rhoddgorr to his person. It would do my heart good to see them reunited. Even if I couldn’t have what I wanted.
Twenty-One
AMBROSE
My first week with the Ilvos clan was nothing like it had been with Godr’s clan. Or the Northern clan, as my new protector called it. Doskar was nice enough—a hunter for his clan with sharp eyes and a wicked sense of humor. I was the first male tribute the Ilvos clan had accepted, and he seemed eager at first to meet me, but it didn’t take long for us to figure out there wouldn’t be a future there. He admitted to me he had heard of the smaller, softer male tributes from the Northern clan and had hoped to meet one of them. I wasn’t his type. And he wasn’t mine. He was bulky and wide, and one of the shorter members of his clan. Nothing like the lithe horsemaster I’d left behind.
Despite our lack of interest, Doskar was kind and watched out for me. He’d had to step in once when Takr tried to get handsy, and he’d kept a close eye on me since. The only time he wasn’t beside me was when I was inside the healing tent with the other healers. Unlike Zoya and the other healers of the Northern clan, the Ilvos clan healers weren’t entirely welcoming to a man,but when I made Doskar a poultice on my own to help with a hunting injury and they saw my work, they grudgingly allowed me to join them.
When I wasn’t with the healers, I was in Doskar’s tent. He didn’t always stay with me—I told him that wasn’t necessary—but despite some encouragement from the clan leader, I didn’t feel up to being introduced to the rest of the clan. He said he’d give me a week to get settled like most tributes were allowed, which meant my solitary time would be up any day now. I wouldn’t have a choice in the matter.
It wasn’t that I thought badly of the clan. Other than Takr, who was a creep, the people I met weren’t bad. A little standoffish and uncomfortable with a male tribute, but they didn’t ostracize me or treat me poorly. It just wasn’t the Northern clan. They had been welcoming and happy to have me. And Godr?—
I cut off my train of thought, forcing myself to focus on the tunic I was mending and not the man with the goofy grin and soft eyes. I’d been so determined to pretend nothing had ever happened between us that I lost an entire week I could have spent with him. I wished I’d pulled my head out of my ass sooner and realized what that flutter in my chest meant whenever I was near him.
A sharp stab in my finger made me hiss, and Doskar looked up from where he was sharpening his hunting knives. He frowned at me.
“Is Ambrose okay?”
He still used simple words to speak to me, despite me having a decent grasp of the language after four weeks of speaking only in their tongue. I didn’t bother arguing with him about it. It was better than him speaking too fast for me to understand.
“I’m fine. Poked my finger.”
He grunted, his grimace filled with understanding. “I hate sewing. I always prick my fingers. I hope my bondmate is better with sewing than me.”
