But now Tristan was staring at her, still silent, with the exact same look of frustrated annoyance he’d had that day, and she felt her cheeks heat.
She let her hand drop and stepped back, regretting the stupid story and regretting even more that she’d thought he would remember.
Gods, was she going to spend her whole life aching after a man who didn’t want her? No. She was not.
She lifted her chin and pushed past him to join the men as they started a fire. By the prickling of the skin between her wings, Tristan was still staring at her, no doubt with the same exasperated scowl.
“How can I help?” she asked, wanting something, anything, to do.
“Why don’t you help with the vegetables?” Jos suggested. She washed her hands in the pond, pleased to find the water fresh and clear, and then sat quietly, peeling and chopping the slightly withered carrots and potatoes. Soon she had a good pile to throw into the pot, already simmering with pieces of dried beef and herbs.
Job done, she leaned back as Jos sat down next to her, his wings folded neatly behind him. He gave her a kind smile, and she smiled back, glad for the small welcome.
“Now, I like to think I know a bit about women,” he said, breaking into a wide grin as the other men snorted. Nim couldn’t help but snort too, especially when Mathos chimed in, “The only women you know are your sisters!” but Jos simply winked at her and continued undeterred, “and I’m guessing that you would like a wash before dinner.”
Gods. A wash! Just the idea made her conscious of how dirty and sticky she was. Her clothes and hair were caked in blood and dirt and still stank of soot.
“There it is!” He grinned at the look of longing she couldn’t hide and continued, “I’ve warmed some water and put it into the hut for you.”
“Oh! Thank you!” Warm water sounded like heaven.
He offered her a hand to pull her up, and she put her hand in his, breaking into a laugh when he pulled her up so quickly that she stumbled and would have fallen if he hadn’t steadied her.
He offered her his arm and she took it, still smiling, as he led her formally toward the hut like a gentleman taking a lady to a dance.
Before she could reach the door, Reece called out in a loud voice, “Hey, pretty lady, do you need anyone to help you wash your back?”
She was about to respond when Tristan beat her to it with a bad-tempered growl from the other side of the camp. “All of you, leave her alone. Nim, be quick.”
She let go of Jos’s arm and rolled her eyes as she turned to drop Tristan a mocking curtsey, not bothering to wait for his reaction before spinning around and going into the hut. The door was too rickety, or she would have given it a good slam.
He’d been so kind and protective, promising that he would keep her safe, holding her close on the long ride. And she had known, without a doubt, that his body had reacted just as much as hers had responded to his. She had gone to sleep in his arms, feeling the heat between them, imagining what his hands would feel like on her skin. His lips.
But now he was back to his surly, frowning self.
She gave herself a shake. Her focus had to be on Val anyway. He was the most important thing.
Someone had done a reasonable job of clearing away the leaves and rotting blankets in the hut and, in their stead, a leather bucket filled with warm water sat on the small stool.
Gods, warm water. She could cry just at the idea of being clean.
She undid the stiff ties and breathed a sigh of relief as she took off the tight jerkin for the first time in days, letting her soft cotton blouse fall loose. She unlaced her long boots and yanked them off with a groan. She was about to pull down her breeches when she heard a quiet knock at the door.
“Who’s there?” she called, damping down her sudden nerves. The noise had startled her, but if someone wanted to hurt her, they wouldn’t have bothered knocking.
“Tristan.”
She didn’t want to face him again. Didn’t want to be reminded of her lonely teenage years as she slowly realized that what she wanted from him was never going to happen, that no matter how many times he visited, he never, really, saw her. Her even lonelier years as an adult, knowing that he didn’t want her and she didn’t want anyone else.
“What is it?” she asked, wishing he would go away.
His annoyed grunt was loud enough that she could hear it through the door. “I brought you some fresh clothes.”
She padded over and opened the door a few inches.
“Here.” He thrust a small bundle at her, no doubt his spare shirt and socks.
She hovered for a moment, uncertain. She didn’t want to take anything more from him, but she really wanted to rinse out her clothes.
