And even if Gwyn had somehow become accustomed to Joarr — to his greenish skin, his harsh features, the sheer height of him — the sight of these new orcs still seemed to fire fresh ice through her veins. One orc was just as lean and sharp-looking as Joarr, his eyes already narrow with dislike, his sinewy arms crossing over his bare chest. While the shorter, bulkier orc beside him looked far less alarming, his gaze curious rather than hostile — but wait, were thoseteeth-marksin his neck, drippingbloodonto his tunic? And the last orc — Gwyn’s heart had perhaps stopped beating — was a scarred, massive, hulking beast, so huge that she hadn’t even noticed the fourth person curled into his lap. The…woman?
But yes, good gods, that was a woman. And not only that, but tucked into the woman’s arms was a small, black-haired bundle… with a tiny, pointedgreen earjust visible through that thatch of hair.
For a single, frozen breath, Gwyn couldn’t move, or blink, or tear her eyes away. She’d never encountered an orc child in person before, and while she knew — intellectually, at least — that they were much like human ones, there was still something about how small it was, how vulnerable, how its tiny hand was clutched into the woman’s dark braid. And how the woman was cradling it, close and clearly affectionate, as any mother might, and — Gwyn’s brain latched onto something in the chaos, her eyes peering closer — how the woman was surely soundasleepin the circle of the orc’s huge arms, with her baby also asleep upon her.
There was truly no way to speak, no way out of the stunned silence in Gwyn’s throat, or the memories of her clients’ whispers now swarming her thoughts — and thank the gods Joarr coughed, snapping her blinking gaze up toward him. Toward where he was looking entirely unconcerned, his brow raised, his eyes speaking again of that challenge, that promise.Show me your mettle and your wits, as you walk amongst my kin, and I show you…
“This is our captain,” he told her, his brow still lifted, as he inclined his head toward the huge orc with the woman in his arms. “Grimarr, of Clan Ash-Kai. And his right hand” — Joarr nodded toward the lean, glowering orc — “Drafli, of Clan Skai. And his left hand is Baldr, of Clan Grisk. Drafli’s mate.”
Joarr’s eyes had settled on the least alarming of the three orcs, who was currently giving Gwyn a cheerful, if rather sheepish, smile, his hand absently rubbing at his bloody neck. A startling fact that Joarr didn’t even seem to notice, as he waved back toward the big orc — or rather, the sleeping woman in his lap. “And this is Grimarr’s mate, called Jule, and their son Tengil. Jule was once Lady Norr of Yarwood, before she chose to swear vows to our captain.”
Gwyn’s brain was shouting even louder, her eyes now desperately flicking between Joarr and the subjects of these thoroughly shocking disclosures. This woman had once been an actuallady, in Yarwood? And she’d willingly sworn vows to anorc? And good gods, Gwyn had surely heard — and ignored — tales of this too, hadn’t she? Of the Yarwood lord’s mistreatment of his wife, and then an attack by orcs, and then the wife’s disappearance, and now…this?
And not only that, but — Gwyn’s glance at Joarr was more of a glare this time — had he just said this Baldr and Drafli weremated, too, as in married, as in a clear repudiation of all the realm’s firmly held laws? As casually as he might point out that his mountain was made ofstone?
But yes, yes, he had. And as the bastard stared back at Gwyn, brows still slightly raised, it occurred to her that this was another challenge. It was him throwing the pinecone toward her, seeing what she would do next. Whether she would show him her mettle and her wits, or turn tail and run, like the craven coward he himself was wont to be.
And curse him, but Gwyn could surely do better than that, and surely wasn’t about to be defeated by a round of introductions, either. So she somehow squared her shoulders, and even dropped a little curtsey as she turned back toward the strange orcs.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” she said, her voice only slightly faltering. “I’m Gwyn, from Varrahan. I’m a herbalist, and a trained midwife. Joarr tells me” — she had to drag in breath — “you might have some need of a midwife here?”
The angry orc — Drafli — didn’t show any acknowledgement that Gwyn had spoken, but the neck-bitten orc — Baldr — smiled again, even warmer this time. And the huge captain orc nodded back toward her, his mouth slightly curving up, though it occurred to her that his glittering eyes were far more knowing than she might have liked.
“We welcome you to our mountain, woman,” he said, his voice deep and unhurried, his clawed hand stroking the still-sleeping woman in his arms. “My mate shall be well pleased to meet you, once she wakes. Our son now grows new teeth, and thus scarce slept, this night past.”
There was both pride and ruefulness in his voice, something Gwyn had often encountered in bewildered new fathers — and she felt her unease slightly thawing, her own mouth softening into a little smile, too. “Teething is always so difficult, isn’t it?” she replied. “That said, there’s a helpful herb — chamomile — and if you apply a paste to his gums, that ought to soothe the pain, at least long enough for him to fall asleep. I’d be happy to make you some, if —”
She bit off the familiar spiel there, disconcerted — not only by her own offhanded offer tohelpthis horrifying orc, but also by the unmistakable flare of interest in his watchful eyes. And also by the undeniable fact that her chamomile was back in Varrahan, and therefore entirely unavailable to support this thoroughly ill-thought plan.
“Ach, I ken I have some of this,” said Joarr’s voice beside Gwyn, “should you wish for it, Captain.”
Gwyn’s head snapped back toward Joarr, her eyes narrowing — but the bastard just gazed down at her, utterly unruffled. Telling her, without words, that hedidhave chamomile in his garden? Truly?!
“Thank you, brother,” Grimarr replied. “I shall speak with my mate upon this once she wakes, and send you word.”
Joarr briefly nodded toward Grimarr, before settling his eyes back on Gwyn. “Also, Captain,” he continued, his voice deceptively light, “I have altered our plan, with this woman.”
Their plan. Gwyn blinked at him, and then at this captain, whose gaze looked even more piercing than before. “Ach, I see this,” he said, his voice deliberate, heavy with meaning. “What have you altered, brother?”
And for an unmistakable instant, that was surelyuncertaintyin Joarr’s eyes. In the way his hand reflexively snapped to that tooth around his neck, concealing it in his fingers’ grip.
“This woman knows,” he replied, after a too-long silence, “that I wish to whelp a son upon the daughter of Lord Anton of Dunburg, as a strike against the lords’ foul new law.”
An odd, scraping shiver hurtled up Gwyn’s spine — these orcsallknew who she was, then? And Joarr had concocted this dastardly little ruin-her-life plan with hiscaptain, the leader of their entiremountain? And also — her eyes darted between the captain and Joarr — had Joarr just said hestillwished for a son with her?Present tense?
“Ach, this would alter much, I ken,” replied the captain’s deadpan voice, and it distantly occurred to Gwyn that his glinting eyes looked almostamused. “And yet, this woman willingly comes to us, bearing your fresh scent?”
His gaze had shifted to something more speculative as it slipped back to Gwyn, clearly giving her an opportunity to speak — but her thoughts were clamouring far too loudly in her skull, drowning out her voice. And finally it was Joarr who spoke again, his hand still absently stroking the tooth at his neck.
“You ken I always run with what the gods drop upon me,” he told Grimarr. “Thus, I seek new way in this. Seek to help this woman, mayhap, and regain her trust. Lest you wish to stop me, Captain?”
That was an unmistakable challenge in his voice, but Gwyn’s uncertain glance at the captain showed him looking thoroughly unprovoked, his eyes steady on Joarr’s. “No, I shall not stop you,” he said finally. “But you must make sure there can be no claim of kidnapping or guile. No cause for men to cast blame upon us. Ach?”
Right. He thought Gwyn’s disappearance would lead to accusations of abduction, or worse. And Gwyn found herself again looking between them, twitching her head back and forth. “I left a note,” she said. “And I’m only staying here for a day. Right?”
But Joarr’s glance at her was quick, quelling, his eyes flicking back to his captain. “Ach, you ken I shall address this, should she stay longer,” he said. “My scouts shall leave more notes, and traces of her there. And spread word of her many travels, mayhap.”
Gwyn was now eyeing Joarr suspiciously — this seemed a lot of forethought, for a one-day trip — but the captain was looking distinctly pleased, and gave a satisfied grunt. “Good,” he said. “And whilst this woman stays, we speak not of her father nor Dunburg before our kin, ach?”
