Page 32 of Sword of Rage
Not wanting to sit and wake everyone, she decided to remain there. Since meeting Ackley, this was the first time she’d had the opportunity to study him in detail. His dark hair clearly indicated he wasn’t from around here. While the color was fascinating, she found his eyebrows and eyelashes truly striking. Black, like the night sky when no moon or stars shone. His face had odd patches of lighter spots, and she wondered if he’d had a nasty sunburn he was still recovering from. A few freckles dotted his nose and forehead. His hands were calloused—more so than either her brother or Lyle’s. A testament to his profession.
When she looked from his hands to his face again, his eyes were open, staring directly at her.
“Don’t move,” he mouthed.
Fear slid over her like a blanket. This man in front of her was an assassin and could kill her before she’d even have time to blink. However, she didn’t think he intended to harm her in any way.
“There’s a rat sniffing your hair,” he whispered.
She screamed, flailing her arms around her head, trying to scare the rat away.
Ackley flung his arm around her, yanking her toward him while simultaneously sliding a dagger from his sleeve, throwing it just above where her head had been. He flipped her on top of him.
“Stop moving,” Ackley demanded.
She froze, her face right in front of his, their noses almost touching. Her hair slid around their heads, shielding them in. “Did you kill it?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. I can’t see it with your hair all over the place.” His chest rose and fell.
“Why is your hand on my…bottom?”
“I told you not to move,” he answered. “You moved. I grabbed you in the wrong spot.”
“So it’s my fault your hand is still on me?” With the entire front side of her body crushed against his, she felt something hard press into her.
Ackley’s eyes flashed with panic. “You weigh more than you look.” He lifted his hand from her rear end, then shoved her off of him.
She scrambled to her knees as Gytha came sprinting toward them, sword in hand.
Right where Harley’s head had been, a rat lay prostrate, a dagger embedded in its body. She shivered, hoping the rat hadn’t been in her hair. “Did you plan to kill that thing with me just lying there?” He could have had her move before he started throwing weapons at her head.
He propped his body up on his elbows. “I considered it. Then I decided to roll you out of the way so you didn’t freak out.” He shrugged. “Looks like you’re freaking out anyway.” He sat up and rubbed his face.
“Let me get this straight,” Gytha said, sheathing her sword. “All of this commotion is over a rat?”
“A very large rat.” Harley pointed at the rodent.
Gytha shook her head. “Ledger, now that you’re awake, come with me to find something for us to eat. There’s farmland to the east of here.”
Yawning, Ledger stretched. “Sure.” He stood. “Harley, want to come with us?”
“She’ll remain here,” Ackley said, not giving her a chance to answer for herself.
Once Ledger and Gytha were far enough away, Harley glared at Ackley. “I am perfectly capable of speaking on my behalf. You are not my keeper, and you do not make decisions for me.”
“Are you done throwing your temper tantrum?” He knelt and tossed a few more logs on the dying fire, stoking it to life again.
“I’m not throwing a tantrum.” If anyone was being unreasonable, it was Ackley. He didn’t own her. “Are you going to do something with that rat?” She didn’t want to see its body.
He tossed it in the fire. “Better?”
“Much.” She shivered from the mere idea of the rat being close to her while she slept.
“I want my clothes back.” Ackley sat next to the fire. “Now.”
She blinked, processing what he’d said. A smug smile slid across his face, as if he enjoyed irritating her. Well, she would not give him the satisfaction. Her dress was not only dry but toasty from the fire. Grabbing it, she went on the other side of the wall. After removing Ackley’s clothes, she put her dress on.
Before rejoining him, she needed to cool her temper. He could have just told her there was a rat, and she could have slid away. He didn’t have to throw a dagger at her head. And he most certainly didn’t have to pull her body on top of his. He was a soldier, an assassin. And she a lady. If anything, he owed her an apology for his behavior. The part about his hand placement or feeling his hardness must have been a reaction to the situation. An accident. Nothing to bother thinking about.
