Page 12 of Morfran, Dark Lord Reformed

Look at that, he thought. For all her bravado, that woman is inept at knot tying.

He paused before admitting,

And I’m stupid for not trying to escape earlier.

For a blissful half minute he rubbed both his tender wrists, flexing his fingers to get the blood pumping. Right. Now all he had to do was find his sword and pack, grab Beni and the kids, and get out of—

The hut flap rustled. He slammed back onto his butt at the base of the pole, shoving his hands behind him as though he were still bound.

The door flap opened. In the glow of the lantern, he saw green skirts and a shawl, and a long, distinct tassel of a brown braid. Bronwen. What could she possibly want? Was it her turn to torture him? He scowled, though with half his face numb and smeared with blood, it had none of the intended effect.

She just held the lantern up high, studying him. After a long quiet moment, she gestured at his bruises and bleeding cuts. “They did all this to you, and you still wouldn’t talk?”

He said nothing, too spiteful to reply. Something about her set his teeth grinding. Ravana hated the silent treatment. Perhaps Bronwen would, too.

A corner of her mouth tipped up, as if she found his pouting amusing. He hated that it brightened the green in her eyes. He didn’t want to look at this random forest woman and be reminded of home. “Look. If you would only confess a few details of which of Morfran’s men sent you and what their plan is, we might consider a deal.”

Liar. He wanted to spit. But he doubted his throbbing jaw would allow him that pleasure, and his mouth was so dry that he feared his saliva would only make it onto his chin, so still he said nothing.

“No?” She sighed, as if resigned. “Fine. You’ll be tortured tomorrow as well, then. And the next day, and the day after that. Until we know what you know.” She turned towards her pocket, and he tensed. But instead of a weapon like he expected, she drew out a water skin and a crust of bread.

She brought him food and water? It was likely drugged, or poisonous. At this rate, he’d happily take something drugged. As for the poison…yes, he’d take that, too.

She set the lantern on the crate and slowly ventured towards him, her hand resting over her skirt pocket. “I’m going to feed you now. But I swear, if you try any funny business, I have no qualms about kicking an already injured man in the head.”

He couldn’t remain silent at this. Both his throat and tone were dry as he said, “I would never harm a benevolent lady like yourself.”

She arched her eyebrow, probably at the word benevolent. “But you were quick to trip one.”

“You got in my foot’s way,” he argued.

“Maybe I’ll chop your foot off, then.”

“Or maybe you’ll just trip again trying.”

She pressed her lips flat, as if he were an insubordinate child constantly back-talking in class. Her gaze skimmed over him a second time, slow and purposeful. “Or maybe I’ll just castrate you and see if you’re as full of bravado afterwards as you are now.”

Good gods, her hostility is something to behold. Yet he’d flustered her earlier. Perhaps if he said something similar, he might get under her skin. “I knew it,” he murmured, giving his head a little shake. “You just want to see me without my pants on, don’t you? Go on, then. I dare you. Follow through with your words. Show me you’re not just full of bark but that you can bite, too.”

Bingo. Her cheeks flushed pink. This time he was pretty certain it stemmed just as much from bashfulness as anger. “I’ve bloodied my hands plenty. And I’m happy to bloody them again with yours if you keep mouthing off.”

He grinned, spiteful, goading her. “Bite me, then.”

Another flash of quick anger lit her eyes. She dropped to her knees before him, suddenly too close. He couldn’t help but flinch.

“Don’t get excited,” she said, right before shoving the bread at his face. “Eat before I change my mind. We need you alive and conscious for questioning.”

Well, if that’s what they needed, he’d rather be dead and unconscious. He mumbled, “I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“My jaw,” he said, morose. “It’s more than likely broken. I can’t open it wide enough to take a bite.”

She looked at him with wild disbelief. “Yet you could open it wide enough to fling insults.”

He shrugged. “That was a necessity.” She just stared at him. “The water, please?”

Her chest fell with a sigh that said she found him beyond burdensome, but she did set aside the crust of bread and turn to where she’d set the water skin down, and that was when he launched at her. In no time at all he’d snatched her and had her back pinned against his chest, his hand slapped over her mouth so she couldn’t scream. She’d touched her outer skirt pocket earlier, which indicated she’d stashed her stishovite dagger inside it. He found it with ease and pressed the knife against her throat to get her to stop thrashing.