Gwyn bit back the sudden, surging urge to laugh, and shook her head as she turned to light a fire in the stove. “It has occurred to me, Father,” she said, “but I’m now confident that’s not the case. As for my safety” — she blew on her little fire, and turned to meet his still-sharp eyes — “you can be assured I will use my own midwifery knowledge to the best of my ability, and also seek out the best prenatal care possible. And if you’d like to further improve my prospects, you can deal with that horrid law, andhelpme.”
Lord Anton sighed, rubbing a hand at his face, but didn’t speak. And at that very moment, Joarr leapt back through the window, now with multiple skinned grouse gripped in his clawed fingers. “Hungry?” he said cheerfully, as he rummaged around for a pan, and set it on the stove. “You like mushrooms in food also, Lord Anton?”
Gwyn’s father twitched, but then gave a slow, wary-looking nod. And soon the room filled with the delicious scent of frying poultry and mushrooms, seasoned with a generous helping of light, fragrant rosemary.
And when Joarr finally plunked an overflowing plate down before Lord Anton, he blinked suspiciously down toward it, and carefully poked at its contents with his fork. And then speared a chunk of meat, and took a slow, reluctant nibble, his head tilting as he chewed.
“Oh,” he said, his eyes brightening, and he took another bite, much larger than before. And soon he was tucking in with astonishing eagerness, his body leaning close over the table, his dazed eyes fluttering with visible approval as he swallowed.
Joarr quickly made up plates for Gwyn and himself too, and soon they’d joined her father at the table. And it felt utterly, impossibly surreal, to be casually sitting around a table with her father and her orc, eating a delicious meal here in her cozy new house.
“This really wasn’t bad,” Lord Anton finally said, once he’d polished off his entire plate, frowning wolfishly down toward it. And before Gwyn could even ask, Joarr had already stood and refilled the plate, and set it back down before him again.
By the time they’d all finished eating, Lord Anton was looking rather dazedly contented, rubbing both hands at his rounded belly, and vacantly smiling toward the opposite wall. “I don’t s’pose,” he said, in a somewhat sing-song voice, “you’ve got any more of those lovely little mushrooms on hand?”
His hazy gaze had flicked toward Joarr, narrowing with visible effort on his face — and to Gwyn’s astonishment, Joarr reached into his pocket, and produced two more little brown mushrooms. “You help daughter, and keep me secret,” he said coolly, “and I keep you in mushrooms, ach? Send you new supply for each moon, mayhap?”
Wait. Was Joarr — was Joarr offering to become Gwyn’s father’s regularsupplier?! And wait, was her father actuallyconsideringit? Studying Joarr across the table, his mouth tight, his clouded eyes shifting…
“One for each day,” he countered, as Gwyn stared at him in utter disbelief. “And a few extra for friends.”
But Joarr’s brows had lifted, his head shaking back and forth. “I can no grow so many,” he said. “Two for each week. And some for friends, when I can do this.”
Gwyn’s father returned this with a counter-offer, which Joarr returned with one of his own. Leading to a full-on haggling session over Gwyn’s kitchen table, which she watched with ever-increasing bemusement. Until her father and Joarr had settled on an amount, a delivery schedule, and even a comprehensive plan for keeping it all secret from her father’s guards and servants. And by the end of it, Joarr had even thrown in a demand that Lord Anton quietly cancel Roy’s engagement-notice, and call off his betrothal to Gwyn, as well.
When Lord Anton finally stood to leave, the extra mushrooms were safely ensconced in his pocket, along with a rough handwritten agreement he and Joarr had drawn up on the back of one of Gwyn’s notes. And while Lord Anton’s eyes on Joarr weren’t at all approving, they weren’t quite disapproving, either — and he even reached over toward Gwyn, and yanked her into a painfully tight embrace.
“You make sure you take care of yourself, Gwynnie,” he said, his voice surprisingly choked as he rocked her back and forth. “And send me letters, with that mushroom supply. And come see me, too, when you can. All right?”
Gwyn’s eyes were unexpectedly prickling, and she hugged her father back, as tightly as she could. “Of course,” she said thickly. “Th-thank you, Father.”
If she wasn’t mistaken, her father even wiped his own eyes as he backed away, his hands on her shoulders, his gaze flicking up and down her form. “You really are looking well,” he said, with a sigh, and a resigned glance toward Joarr. “See that you keep her that way, orc.”
And with that, he turned for the door, pulled it open, and slipped out into the darkness beyond.
40
Gwyn and Joarr stood in place behind the closed door, staring at one another. Not moving, perhaps not breathing, as they stared at one another, and listened. Hearing first voices beyond the door, and even a few easy laughs — and then horses walking, hooves clopping, fading off into the distance.
There was one last gulp of stilted silence, an odd-looking quiver on Joarr’s mouth — and then he suddenly burst into laughter. His shoulders shaking, his eyes dancing, his body nearly bending double as he staggered sideways, and sank down into a chair.
“Mushrooms,” he said, between guffaws. “Mushrooms! Powerful Lord Dunburg defeated bymushrooms?!”
All Gwyn’s tension seemed to drain away at once, and she felt her own mouth twitching up, her body instinctively following his — and Joarr let loose another howl as he reached and dragged her close, down onto his lap. “And thisbetrothed,” he gasped, shaking his head. “Ineversee youshoothim, witch. You hear how hesqueal?”
The laughter was stealing over Gwyn now, too, convulsing her belly, shuddering through her shoulders. “Ahhhhhhh!” she said, in her best impression of Roy’s voice. “Owwwwww!”
Joarr’s hoot of laughter echoed through the room, his head thrown back, his fist banging at the table. “I shall hear this in mydreams, witch,” he choked, and those were actually tears, streaking down his cheeks. “Owwwwww!”
Gwyn was laughing too hard to speak now, her hands wiping at her wet eyes, her whole body collapsing back into Joarr’s. Into the sheer contagious joy of him, the rolling convulsions of his chest, the bright warm comfort of his arms.
And when their laughter finally settled again, breaking into the occasional shaky chuckle, Joarr yanked Gwyn even closer, his head buried hard in her neck. “Ach, my witch,” he said, his voice hitching. “This was well met. You are so quick. So wise. Make me so proud.”
The warmth furled deeper into Gwyn’s belly, her fingers lacing together with his. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” she replied, quiet. “Thank you for staying. For helping.”
He shrugged against her, and that was surely a soft, lingering kiss, pressed to the tender skin of her throat. “Always,” he said gruffly. “But” — he pulled away slightly, leaned around to meet her eyes — “mayhap you no welcome me keeping your father in mushrooms, ach? Mayhap you no wish to keep him so close?”
His eyes were serious, suddenly, searching hers with careful intent, as if he were truly worried about this — and this time it was Gwyn who shrugged, and huffed a hoarse little laugh. “It was brilliant,” she said. “And of all the vices he pursues, this is probably one of the milder ones. And you know” — her head tilted as she considered it — “I actually think it’ll be nice to still stay in touch with him. In controlled doses.”
