“I’m not married.”
“Expected, since you cannot cook,” he murmured, and without waiting for her reply, he went to speak to Fin, who was waiting at the door.
“We need a bigger hut,” his brother suggested. “Everyone will not fit in here.”
Wolf nodded in agreement. “Find out if there is a town hall or a great hall nearby. Keep me apprised.”
A short while later, the men all piled into a large town hall at the north end of the market, near the town church.
Wolf decided to remain in the hut, without all the noise, and in the company of Camelee Pendrey—and two of the women who were cooking for him. Normally, servants did not sit at his table, but Camelee had already been sitting there from when she fell into her seat earlier.
So, he sat opposite her. He wanted to see her, though he did not stare, and when he looked, he was quick to look away before being caught.
“Are you from this village?” he put to her, accepting one cup of whatever they drank here and taking a sip. She stared at the cup and cleared her throat. He observed her glancing around the table for her cup. And then at the other two women, who’d served him. When she realized she wasn’t getting anything to drink, her heated gaze found his.
“I’m thirsty.”
He handed her his cup. She stared at it as if were a dead herring.
She turned away toward the women. “May I have some water?”
“Camelee,” he said keeping his voice low. He still held the cup out to her.
“You are tempting them to defy me. Is that truly your desire?”
She went pale, but only for a moment, and then she fumed at him. “What is this? Who are these people? End this now and I won’t have my lawyers destroy you!”
“Why do you speak like a madwoman? Are you?”
“I wasn’t mad this morning. But now I don’t know.”
He pushed the cup closer. She finally accepted it and brought it to her nose. “You don’t understand—at home, I’m an actress. I’m famous. I am treated very well. I—”
“Where is your home?” he asked her, not knowing, or caring what an actress was or why she was famous. If she was treatedverywell, that was going to change.
“New York. Manhattan.”
“York?”
“New York,” she corrected. “New York,” she said again when he gave her a curious look. “The city that never sleeps. Home of the Yankees.”
“Yankees?”
She laughed a little. “Oh, come on, you don’t know who the Yankees are? Every guy knows—” She stopped and looked at her surroundings, at the two women cooking, the large stone oven, the bed a few feet away. The fear, so carefully concealed throughout most of her capture, became suddenly clear. The truth of her demise was difficult to ignore. Her tears welled up along the brims of her eyes—but they did not fall. She drew in a deep breath and patted her cheeks.
When she set her glassy gaze on him again, she wore a well-practiced smile. “Where did you say we are?”
He didn’t answer. He should have sent the two cooks away. Word moved swiftly around kitchen fires. A chief who had taken an interest in a captive? A servant? And a mouthy one at that? Who cared if she was mad in the head? All the more reason for her to not be sitting here.
He glanced at the two women cooking. “Stop asking questions. If you must speak, show gratitude to me for letting you sit at my table.”
She smiled, but her beguiling lips were pulled tight against her teeth. “Well then,” She gave him a pitiful look through her flaxen locks as she stood up. “I think I’ll be leaving now.” She tilted her chin and tucked her hair behind her ears. “And there’s no reason to answer my question. I already know I’m in hell.”
She turned to leave. He called her name to stop her. “You will remain here and wash the dishes. If you cannot cook, you will wash. That is it. It is done. Do you understand?” He believed she did.
She stopped and swung around to look at him. Still smiling, as ifhewere the mad one. “No, I don’t understand.”
His smirk widened. “Let me be more clear then. If you are not here to do these dishes, I will give you to Fin.”
