Her father blinked toward her, his frown deepening. “Now, now, Gwynnie,” he said, in a soothing, conciliatory voice. “You’ve been betrothed to Roy foryears, and you’re the one who came here with the sole intention of winding him up. Surely you can’t be upset, now that he’s doing exactly what you wanted!”
Gwyn’s own irritation kept rising, and she whipped her head back and forth. “No, Father,” she countered. “That’s whatyouwanted, remember?Iwanted to escape Roy, and break our engagement, for good. I wanted to start my ownlifehere, away from him.”
Lord Anton was looking genuinely bewildered now, his gloved hand rubbing at his reddened face. “ButGwynnie,” he said earnestly. “Roy will take good care of you. He’ll keep you safe, and give you a good life. A goodhome.”
His eyes had darted darkly around the room, clearly suggesting that this house was no such thing — and Gwyn felt her breath rushing out, her anger snapping even stronger. Because she — she’dhadall that. Hadn’t she? A good life. A good home.Safety.
She’d had all that, withJoarr.
And she was finding a new way. She was. Shewas.
“No, Father,” she replied, her voice curt. “I will not marry Roy.Ever. And if you want the truth” — she squared her shoulders, she was facing this, shewas— “I met someone else. Here. And I want to make a life withhim.”
Her father kept blinking at her, astonishment flaring through his eyes — and then he exhaled a heavy, exasperated sigh. “Someone new?” he demanded, as he pulled off his gloves, and used them to fan his face. “Someone well funded, I hope? With decent holdings and property? Any titles? Hopefully no children?”
The tightness in Gwyn’s belly had oddly flipped, because wait, surely her father wasn’t actually —agreeingto this? Asking?Listening?
“No, no children yet,” she replied, her voice sounding thin, strange. “But he runs some excellent properties, with very valuable yields. And he’s very clever, and holds a high position, and frequently travels, and” — her distant thoughts flicked back to what Roy had said — “often goes up to Dunburg. So I’d still be able to visit you, too.”
And her father was still —listeningto this. Listening, watching her, and… andnodding? And then giving another worn, resigned-sounding sigh as he fumbled for one of her kitchen chairs, yanked it out, and sank his heavy body onto it with obvious relief.
“You realize I’m not paying for acopperof this, Gwynnie,” he said, though there was no heat in his voice. “So who is he, then? Who’s this miraculous man who’s managed to steal away my precious daughter?”
Well. Gwyn swallowed hard, her eyes held blankly to her father’s face, while her stomach kept swerving, her heart galloping harder and higher in her chest.
Goddess, she wasn’t going to do this. Surely she wasn’t. Finding a new way. Rolling with whatever the goddess threw at her…
“I’d be honoured to introduce you,” she said. “Joarr, will you please come, and meet my father?”
39
For a fraught, frozen breath, there was nothing. Only the increasing uncertainty in her father’s wary eyes as he glanced around the kitchen, twisted to look behind him —
When on the other side of the room, Gwyn’s bedroom door swung open, silent and sure. And from within, out strolledJoarr.
He looked cool, relaxed, utterly at ease — goddess, he’d even put on atunic— and he calmly shut the bedroom door behind him, and then strode over toward them.
“Lord Anton,” he said, with a fluid little bow. “I am Joarr. Of Clan Bautul.”
Gwyn’s father had badly startled, his mouth dropping open, his hands clutching at his heart. “Gwynnie!” he shouted, leaping up from his chair, and rushing over to stand before her. “There’s anorcin your house!Run!”
And twisting in Gwyn’s furiously thundering chest, there was something — new. Her father was — afraid for her? Protecting her? Telling her torun?
“N-no, Father,” she managed, grasping both her hands against his bulky shoulders. “This is who I was talking about. He’s — an orc. And he’s — he’s my —”
Goddess, she couldn’t even say it, because what if it wasn’t true? What if she was still horribly misreading all this, what if she still couldn’t trust him, still —
But Joarr’s eyes had flicked up, over her father’s shoulder, to hold on Gwyn’s face. Quiet, steady, intent. True.
“I am Gwyn’s mate,” Joarr said, very smoothly. “I shall tend her, and honour her, and worship her. For as long as I am able, and as long as she should wish.”
Oh. Oh,goddess. Those words soaring deep, curling up warm and close, quelling Gwyn’s screaming thoughts, quieting her rampaging heart. Joarr was her mate.Hers.
But before her, her father was twitching, spluttering, staring back and forth between them — and then he lunged, with surprising speed, toward Gwyn’s crossbow. Which had been lying fully armed on the table beside them, and her father was sweeping it up, aiming it toward Joarr’s heart —
“No!” Gwyn shrieked, clutching at his shoulders, yanking him away — and luckily, the shot went wide. Firing straight toward the closed front door, even as Joarr had already flashed into motion, dropping and rolling well out of its path.
And when everything shuddered still again, there was another crossbow-bolt embedded in Gwyn’s door, her father was cursing and trembling, and Joarr was standing tall again, smirking toward Gwyn, and clearly trying not to laugh.
