When the feast was finally declared ready, the Stormseeker received the first trencher, loaded high with roasted meat, thick bread, and wedges of stolen cheese. The clan shouted jibes at Issa—who was apparently the reason for the theft of the cheese—and her human Mate, since she moaned loudly as she ate.
Even I found myself smiling at the teasing.
Then the Stormseeker turned to me and offered me a piece of the meat from his trencher. Casually, as if feeding me was a responsibility he didn’t even think about. I didn’t want to point out how unusual ‘twas for a chief of a village to be performing tasks foranyone, so I took it carefully, making certain not to accidentally brush my fingers against his.
We continued this way—him offering me the choicest cuts and plumpest fruits—until I was stuffed…and I hid my confusion.
I’dhurthim. I’d bloodied him. I was his enemy…and he fed me like an honored guest?
In my world, our chiefs—men like my father—were powerful men who surrounded themselves with strength and wealth and steel. Here, the Stormseeker grinned softly at his people as if he were…a sort of benevolent father, watching his children’s joy as he casually fed me.
I didn’t like being confused.
But I continued my ruse, pretending to drink often from the strong spirit they calledish-ka, acting more and more drunk, until Maardok lifted his horn.
“To bed!”
His own drink sloshed as he gestured, a wench under each of his arms, a broad smile on his face.
“Vrogul, take yer enemy to bed, afore she falls asleep in the fire!”
I pretended not to hear the crude suggestions being called out and instead slumped further. It would have helped my ruse if I’d been willing to brace myself against the broad shoulder beside me, but I didn’t.
Was it because I didn’t want to touch him, or because I felt guilty for the bandage he wore?
With a hum I think mayhap only I heard, the Stormseeker stood and reached for me. He didn’t lift me, not the way he had done in his sister’s cottage, but he wrapped his good arm around my waist and tucked me against his side.
His size should be intimidating. Why was it not?
The hard planes of his body seemed to bracket me, and a confusing sense of safety swept through me.
He was my enemy. I had to remember that.
My ribcage pressed against his belt and it took me a moment to realize that was the hilt of a knife poking me.Myknife, if I wasn’t mistaken. Emboldened, I kept up my drunken act, stumbling against him and sliding my hand up to ‘support’ myself. While he turned us away from the fire, I carefully slid the blade from his belt and secreted it against my arm.
He led me gently through the crowd, occasionally returning a greeting or embrace, and ignoring the jibes. Icouldn’tignore the jibes, wondering if he really was taking me to bed, wondering if I was strong enough to do what needed to be done.
The cottage he took me to was on the small island—a chief’s privilege, I supposed—and as cozy as his sister’s. Since I kept my head ducked to keep up the pretense of being intoxicated, with my arms against my stomach to hide the knife, I didn’t see much of it. But the linens on the bed were fresh and there was a nice breeze through the windows which faced the loch.
Without a word, the Stormseeker led me to the bed, then knelt at my feet.
Instinctively, I tried to knee him in the head.
Mayhap, from his small huff of laughter, he knew ‘twas unplanned, as he blocked the blow.
But instead of hurting me, he removed my boots, then lifted my feet and swung them onto the bed. I didn’t have to pretend confusion.
Straightening, he watched me for a moment, and I wondered if he could see the sliver of my irises from between my lashes. Wondered if he guessed the knife I had secreted against my side, wondered if he knew I wasn’t as drunk as I was pretending to be.
“Go to sleep, little wildcat,” he finally sighed, turning away. “Ye’re safe here.”
Safe?
Safe?
I was in my enemy’s world—his village—hisbed.
I wasn’t safe here.
