Page 36 of The Orc Warrioress and the Elf Lord

He blushed, looking down at his shoes. “If it comes to that, perhaps.”

She put a finger in his face. “No pulling me into your lap or the like to prove that we are involved, do you understand? I’ve had quite enough contact with you for one day.”

“Oh, that’s unfortunate you feel that way,” he said, and he was laughing.

She folded her arms over her chest. She should take her horse and go. Why was she keeping company with this man?

Drag her to Nilhaem, she could have simply let him die that morning. She did not have to save his wretched life.

Of course, she had to admit that she would appreciate his money. She didn’t have any.

He turned and she caught sight of a splash of red on the inside of his jacket sleeve. He was wearing the remnants of his kingsguard uniform. It was white. The red was bright.

She took his arm, turning it to see that bloom at his elbow. “What is this, my lord?”

Iahir looked down at it, blinking. “I think that’s blood.” He grimaced, peeling his jacket aside.

She was alarmed. His inner shirt was full of blood, soaked all the way down the side of him. She lurched at him, taking his lapel and jerking his jacket away from his shoulder. “How have you not noticed this?”

“Been distracting myself,” he said softly, furrowing his brow as he looked down at his bloody shirt.

“Your shoulder,” she said. “Your shoulder was wounded, but I did not think it was bad—”

“It’s not,” he protested. “It’s nothing. I’m sure it stopped bleeding a long time ago, and it is even now sealing itself up.”

She glared at him. Businesslike, she started to undo the buttons of his shirt.

He laughed. “Well, then, warrioress, if you wish to undress me—”

But he cut off when she bared his shoulder, which was definitely still bleeding.

“You need stitched up,” she said. “Luckily, there was a saddle bag that was packed with these sorts of essentials, and I brought it. But we need water, a place to sit down… you’ll have to get us a room, my lord.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Well, then. A room. You and me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Haem smite you, you wretched man.”

NOW THAT HE’D seen the blood, Iahir felt weaker. He supposed he’d known that would happen and that was why he’d refused to look.

He staggered at the front desk as he spoke to the innkeeper, saying they needed a room and they needed food brought up.

The innkeeper eyed Gathren, looking alarmed.

“I’m his whore,” said Gathren in a tight voice.

Iahir would have laughed, but he thought the innkeeper might take it badly.

“We’ve heard word of what happened in the capital today,” said the innkeeper.

“Why do you think we fled?” said Iahir, giving the man a look. He jerked his head in Gathren’s direction. “She’s on the run from the orcs as much as anyone. They think she’s betrayed her own kind.”

The innkeeper looked from Iahir to Gathren and back again. “You swear she’s not the one to bloody you, then?”

By the rosy tresses of the dawn, could the innkeeper see the blood? He thought he’d covered it with his jacket again, covered it well. “I swear,” he said, but he grunted it, and then he tipped over into her, moaning into her shoulder.

She righted him, worry written all over her features. “Sir, he needs to get off his feet! Give us a room, please.”

The innkeeper hesitated. “If I find you have been doing sneaky, untoward, tricksy orc things, I will have you strung up. I don’t care if you’re a woman. You understand me?”