“Oh no?” That chuckle again. “What would you have done?”
“What any Goddess worthy of devotion would.” He looked over his shoulder expectantly, heat and amusement in his gaze. “I’d have demanded you worship me a second time. And a third.”
A grin spread over his face as he turned away from me. He tipped his head back toward the sky like he’d been swept into a pleasant daydream. I thought I heard a low, satisfied hum fill his chest.
I spent the rest of the short ride lost in a daydream of my own.
We turned off the main road for the caretaker’s cottage and found three horses tied to the watering trough. A small, worn-down cart with packs and provisions sat in the small clearing. The little thatch-roofed building beyond it had no door, no glass in the windows. The floor through the entryway was made of the same packed dirt as the road. A small stone well sat beside it.
Low voices and laughter rose from the cottage’s opening.
Theodore pulled on his horse’s reins and dismounted. His hand hovered over the dagger at his hip. “Stay here.” His unease swept away all the dreamy heat I’d been basking in.
Before he could duck into the cottage, three young men came out. Two looked like brothers, small and reedy. They reminded me of Serafi arrowheads with their black hair and sharp noses. The third was tall and handsome, with gold-streaked locks, warm brown skin, and mirthful eyes in the palest shade of green. All of them smiled. “There’s room inside,” one of the brothers said to Theodore. “We’ll sleep outside. Weather’s nice.”
Theodore scowled and gave them a curt nod, but before he could do anything else, the handsome one looked up at me whereI sat upon my horse. He crossed to my side with a widening smile. “Need a hand?”
“Lay a hand on my wife and you’ll lose it.” Theodore gripped the hilt of the dagger.
The man’s eyes went round as platters; his arms rose in surrender. “I was just trying to help.”
I shot Theodore a scolding look, but he ignored it. Stormy and inexorable, he stole to my side and reached up to guide me off the horse. With pinched faces and muttered words, the men retreated to a little clearing behind the cottage, where a pit for a fire sat.
“What the hell was that?” I scolded. “They’re not going to share that fire with us now.”
“Pretend you like me.” He reached up for the waterskin at my horse’s side and pulled it open so I could drink. “Act like we’re happily married—a stretch, I know.”
I took an angry gulp of water. “Why? What’s wrong?”
Theodore’s brow buckled. He set a hand to his stomach, over the bond. “I don’t know them, and the thought of him touching you—” He shook his head and took a drink of the water. “It’s that Godsdamned bond. Just do this for me, please? Keep beside me. If they think you are anything other than my wife, then you’re not safe.”
“You’re jealous.” I gaped at him as he rummaged through the saddlebag. “You thought my reaction during those contract negotiations was ridiculous, but this is exactly the same.”
He shook his head. “That was different. That was the Empress of Obelia—”
“See the handsome one?” Theodore frowned at him over his shoulder. “When you’re asleep tonight, he and I are going to sneak away into the grapevines to make love, and then over breakfast tomorrow, you can listen as we discuss the fate of our future children.”
He glared at me.
“Doesn’t feel good, does it?”
“No,” he conceded in a grumble. “It doesn’t.”
We troughed the horses, and all the while Theodore stewed. With a small bowl and a rag pulled from a saddlebag in hand, he led me to the little well. He rounded its stone wall, so his back was to the men around the fire, then sat upon its ledge. He scooped some water into the little bowl, set the rag into it. He spread his legs wide. Then tugged me by the hand, so I stood between them.
I stared for a moment—at the dark fan of his lashes, the slant of his nose, the bow of his lips. “What are you doing?”
“Acting like you’re my wife.” His eyes were level with my chin. He raised his hands and slowly, devastatingly gently, swept aside the stray hairs that had escaped from my braid. His fingers tickled at my ears, my temples, as he caressed the curls back. I held my breath as he reached around for my braid. He gripped it, wrapped it once around his fist, and gave it the softest tug. It tipped my chin up, baring my neck to him.
He made a throaty, approving sound as he looked from my lips to my neck and down further. Water droplets sprayed as he wrung the rag out with his free hand. Slowly, he dragged it across my cheek. Down the column of my neck.
I bit back a moan. “You don’t have to—”
He dipped the rag again and brought it back to my flushed skin. “You’re covered in dust and sweat,” he said quietly, “and a good husband would see you cleaned up before feeding you and putting you to bed, wouldn’t he?”
“That’s not what you’re doing.” The rag traveled down farther, to my collarbone, where the shirt I wore—his shirt—was pulled slightly open. My eyes fluttered shut. I didn’t doubt he could see the color rising on my cheeks. That he could see my breaths comingquicker, growing shallow. “You’re getting back at me for what I said earlier. You’re teasing me.”
He shook his head. “I promise, I’m not trying to.” The words were a hot caress over my skin. “But I’ll admit, I wish I didn’t care what you thought of me.”
