“’E’s got huge claws at the end of each finger. You can’t see ‘em now, because ‘e’s like a cat, and can suck ‘em back inside. But they’re fierce, aye.”
Nodding now, the man pointed.
“And you saw his tusks? ‘E bit down hard on one poor bastard, tore out his throat. Bled out before we could help him. Aye, the orc’s no better than a wild animal.”
My hold on the tray was now so tight I could see my knuckles turning white. But ‘twas the only way to keep from shaking in dread.
Dear God, this orc had done such a thing?Washe really so much like a beast, the way Father said? I’d seen him each day for months and thought him more like a man—a taller, greener man, mayhap, than I was used to—but I knew no man who could kill so ferally.
But…
But now, he was a wounded beast. A chained one. And after so many months being the recipient of his stare, I couldn’t help feeling some kind of responsibility for his life.
“They sent him broth,” I whispered, glancing down at the tray. I hadn’t thought aught of the change when the harried scullery maid had pushed the tray into my hands. “And bandages.”
The guard snorted. “Your father wants him to live, then? Makes sense that he’d send you, milady, what with your experience in such matters.”
Me? I had no—oh.
Swallowing, I glanced self-consciously downward, although my withered foot was hidden by my long skirts.
“Aye,” I whispered. “I suppose I do.”
Not only was I the youngest of Lord Tarbert’s daughters, I was the least. Least able, least beautiful, least skilled. My sister Sorcha was the educated, adventurous one. My sister Roxanna was the fierce, bold one. My sister Elspeth was the beautiful, biddable one.
And I was the broken one.
But one benefit of living with a cursed foot was knowing my place; I would never leave Tarbert Keep, I would never need to worry about making my way in the world. My place had always been here, tending to my father’s demands as well as I could, quietly praying he would be satisfied with the best I could offer.
I wasn’t beautiful or accomplished enough to act as his hostess; Elspeth had done that before she’d been married off to Laird McDonald when Sorcha had broken that betrothal alliance. But I did my best to follow my father’s orders, even if they required me to be bold or speak with someone I didn’t know.
Aye, Father was right when he called me a mouse. I was small, timid, and mostly worthless, with a broken body besides.
But someone—perhaps my father himself—wanted the orc to live and had sent me.
I took a deep breath, straightening as much as I was able. There was only one option.
“Open the door,” I murmured.
“Aww, milady, you don’t want to do that,” the guard whined. “You heard what the beast is capable of. Leave the broth for ‘im, that’s good enough.”
He wouldn’t be able to eat it with his hands chained.
I kept my gaze on that bowed head, those defeated shoulders.
“Open the door,” I repeated, even quieter.
The guard paused, then shrugged and reached for the ring of keys on his belt.
By the time the barred door swung open, I was shaking so hard the bowl of broth rattled on the tray. But still, I forced myself to step a foot into the cell, holding my breath the entire time.
The orc didn’t stir.
I doubted he knew I was there. I doubted he knewaughtbut pain.
The knowledge bolstered me, so I took another small step toward him.
The beast’s breathing was shallow, silent, and as I watched, a droplet of blood ran down his nose to drop between his bare knees, which rested on the frozen stone floor of the dungeon.
