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“Must be,” he said, and lifted her without warning into the air. For a long second, he didn’t set her over the camel’s saddle, but held her in the air and stared at her. “Your eyes are bloodshot and your mouth is puffy from all your wailing.”
She stiffened.
“Are you done crying?”
“I am.”
“Good,” he said, and that was all. If it was intended as an apology, it fell flatter than a glob of gruel on a hot plate.
Puzzled by his odd demeanor, Drifa remained silent for the first hour of their journey. To her consternation, she was very aware of the man against whom she was nested. The scent of his clean body and clothing, the movement of his muscled arms as he steered the reins of the camel, his breathing against her ear, his heartbeat against her back, his thighs cradling her hips, and his manhood pressing against her backside. It was hard to maintain her anger, or her grief, or any other emotion, when she was being assailed by all these physical reminders that Sidroc was a man, and she was a woman.
Finally, out of nowhere, he said, “Tell me about my daughter.”
Drifa thought about refusing, but decided that Sidroc, despite his boorishness, deserved to know. “Runa was a difficult baby, at first. She’d been barely fed by her wet nurse, and her little bottom was raw from lack of cleaning. It wasn’t Eydis’s fault. Your brother Svein demanded she spend all her effort and milk on his baby.”
She felt Sidroc stiffen behind her.
“That is not meant as a condemnation of you. Merely a statement of your father’s order to do only what was necessary for the baby.”
“How did you get the baby out of Stoneheim without my father knowing? What does he think happened?”
“This will sound terrible.”
“And everything you did before was not?”
“If you are going to start insulting me again, I am going to stop talking.”
“Go on,” he said grudgingly.
“There was a baby in the village who died of the coughing ailment. We managed to slip inside your father’s keep—”
“Wait. Stoneheim is well-guarded. ’Tis not an easy task ‘slipping’ beyond its defenses.”
She shrugged. “My sisters and I are clever. Besides, Tyra is a seasoned warrior.”
He snorted his opinion.
“She is. Besides, we took no chances.”
Sidroc swore a long streak. “Took no chances?” he sputtered. “Forget about what my father would consider ‘stealing’ his grandchild, do you realize that going within a hide of my father was taking a chance.”
“I thought your father didn’t want to let the baby live.”
“He didn’t, but he would consider it his decision to make, and sure as his soul is black as sin, he would resent anyone else impugning his honor, not that he has any.”
“We rescued the baby. The manner in which we did so does not matter,” she argued.
“Are you really so thick-headed you cannot understand. Dost know what my father would have done to you ... before killing you or sending to your father for ransom? He rapes at will, and makes sport of giving innocent women to his men for public fornication.”
Drifa cringed. “I see, but why make such a fuss when the deed is done?”
“Because I suspect you will continue to make such foolhardy decisions in the future.”
“ ’Tis not your concern. You are naught to me, as you have reminded me on more than one occasion.”
He inhaled and exhaled loudly several times, as if to garner patience. Men did that around her and her sisters all the time, especially her father. “Go on, then, continue this wondrous tale of how you managed to sneak into my father’s castle unnoticed.”
“Your sarcasm is unnecessary.”
