When the liquid is safe from spilling, I look up, shooting a glare at the intruder. “What do you want?”
Captain Osrik arches a thick, bushy brown brow at me. Honestly, there’s not a single part of him that doesn’t need trimming. His beard is so long I could braid it, his hair is always windblown around his shoulders, and from what I can see at his wrists beneath his sleeves, he’s hairy there as well. I justknowthat he’s one of those men with chest hair. The male saddles always had to use sugar wax to remove theirs. I would pay good money for someone to strap down the captain and yank on his skin, strip by painful strip.
“You’re staring again, Yellow Bell.”
My gaze cuts away from his hands, flying up to his face. Flustered, I shift on my feet. “I’m not staring, I’m simply amazed at just how much of a hairy giant you really are,” I say, curling my lip up with distaste.
“If you’re interested in seeing my body hair, all you have to do is ask.”
Why I suddenly picture his groin hair is beyond me. I don’t want to think of that. I’m not interested in anything to do with his groin. Not at all.
I roll my eyes and start to shove away from him, though the annoying oaf just follows me. “What do you want?”
“I brought you some more food,” he says as he tries to pass me over something wrapped in a bit of cloth.
“You already left the soup earlier, and my hands are a bit full at the moment.”
“What’s that?”
I feel a slight blush of embarrassment climb up my neck. “What do you think it is? It’s our...” I trail off, not wanting to say it out loud.
The boor actuallyleans overand looks inside of it, much to my horror. “Oh, why didn’t you just say so?” He looks behind him. “Himinn,” he barks out, and somehow, a reedy soldier appears from nowhere.
“Yes, Captain?”
Captain Osrik yanks the chamber pot out of my hands before I can stop him, and shoves it at the younger man. “Take this and go clean it out. Then return it to Lady Rissa’s tent.”
The soldier actually lights up, as if this is an honor. “Right away, Captain!”
As soon as he bounds off, I cut a look at the captain. “Don’tdothat! Now some strange soldier is dealing with our...void.”
He laughs and then tries handing me the food again. “Piss and shit aren’t anything to be ashamed of, and trust me, Himinn is going to be excited about that job for the rest of the night. Now take the food, woman.”
“My name isRissa,” I say tartly, but then I rip off my gloves, stuffing them into my pocket, and take the food, because I haven’t eaten yet tonight and I’m starving. When I peel back the small bit of cloth, I find a pocket of bread with meat stuffed inside.
“Come on, Rissa,” he says, gesturing ahead. “Come sit by the fire, eat your sandwich and drink some wine.”
I shake my head. “I’ll eat in my tent. I need to keep an eye on Polly.”
“Isn’t she sleeping?”
I hesitate for a moment too long, because he smirks. “Thought so. Come get some fresh air and sit with me, woman. You can listen to Polly pitch a fit when you get back.”
For the most part, I’ve kept away from the captain, ignoring him at all costs, but somehow, it seems like he’s always nearby. I find him riding his horse outside of our carriage, getting battered by wind and snow, yet never seeming to mind it. I see him at the cook’s fire or talking with soldiers or walking around camp every time I venture outside. I see him tending to our needs, but never barging in. And even though I try to avoid him, I still...watch.
I’m not even sure why. It’s silly, really. He’s a crass, boorish, uncivilized giant. Definitely not my type. For one, he’s a man, and I’ve sworn off men for the time being. Maybe even forever. I haven’t found a single one who’s ever been worth much of anything.
So I’ve no idea why I find myself following him to the fire. Perhaps I really do need a break from the stagnant air of animosity brewing in the tent.
When the captain leads me to the tent set up just in front of mine, I stop and stare. “You...why is your tent so close to mine?”
He ducks inside it for a moment, pulling out a fur, and then grabs two buckets. He overturns them both and sets them in front of the small fire he has going, placing the fur on one. “Here, sit.”
I blame it on the fire that I obey. It has nothing to do with the way my stomach tightens at his gruff order. Nothing to do with the way his leathers hug his tree-trunk thighs.
Nothing at all.
Yet as soon as I do sit, I nearly slump against the warmth of the flames, a sigh escaping me. I start nibbling at the sandwich, and while it’s cold and the crust too tough, it tastes so good that I could eat a whole plate of them right now.
