Page 17 of The Orc's Stolen Shepherdess

My eyes widened as an idea popped into my head. A silly, stupid, perfect idea. I wrung my hands and paced the room, trying to talk myself out of it. Trying to convince myself it would never work.

But the eager face of that warrior orc kept popping up in my brain. The warmth of his embrace still lingered.

Caivid.

I knocked over my lamp as I yanked out a warmer dress and didn’t bother to pick it up. I popped a button on my damp gown as I changed and left it in a rumpled heap on the ground. My muddy boots left tracks on my floor as I went to my desk and scribbled down a frantic note with jerky, shaking hands.

I didn’t need to bring anything else.

I climbed over my bed, uncaring that my muddy shoes left huge footprints on my bedsheets. I would wash them tomorrow. After I made sure I wouldhavea tomorrow.

I threw open the window. The cool night breeze fluttered over my face. The air was crisp and cleansing.

I sucked in a breath, hesitating only for a moment. This was a dumb idea. Foolhardyand risky and. . . and. . .

And worth it.

I whistled into the night and was relieved when a little robin swooped out of the nearest tree and landed on my windowsill. The bird looked the same as any other—tiny black eyes, red breast, tapping feet. They were a marvel of these woods, enchanted by the magic of the conjurer orcs to carry our messages to anyone we asked.

I swallowed hard. “Can you take this to Caivid? The warrior orc?”

The bird cocked its head at me, and for a moment, my chest tightened with dismay. What if the magic did not extend to the warriors?

And then he stuck out his tiny leg for me to tie the message.

I exhaled with relief and the moment I’d gotten the parchment secured, he flew out into the night.

Now it was my turn to join him.

If my father thought the woods were too dangerous for me, then I would get myself a protector.

A protector that was the source of my father’s fear.

With that determination, I climbed over my windowsill and leaped out into the night.

Chapter Six

Caivid

“This. . . is it?”

I looked around the worn-out, almost dilapidated dwelling that Chief Brovdir had guided me into. When he’d mentioned that the conjurer orcs had offered him a house to stay in, I hadn’t expected it to be the nicest dwelling they had available, but this was just insulting.

“Might be better off as firewood,” Toj said as he walked the perimeter. He stopped near the fireplace, which looked more like a burned-out pit.

“I wonder if they actually tried that,” Ogvick said brightly, betraying his youth. He went to look at the countertops lining the far wall. They were half rotten. Even the floor underfoot looked like it might give way.

Which was impossible, because like with every other orc home in Rove Wood, this dwelling had been carved directly into a massive tree. An oak so ancient I could feel the life of it thrumming in my bones. It was a wonder that it could survive such a huge chunk of its trunk being carved out. I looked toward the ceiling and could see the tree’s rings, marking each year of its life. There were probably more than I could count.

“I think with enough work, it would be a fine house.” Ogvick toed at one of the open cabinet doors and the top hinge snapped off.

I chuckled at Ogvick’s shock as he scrambled to right it.

“Don’t bother,” Chief Brovdir said from the doorway and Ogvick gave up the fruitless task only to have it break off completely. A puff of dust wafted up as it smacked to the floor.

I looked away from my younger brethren and scanned the wall. “Is that the bathroom?” I pointed to a door that was shut tight.

“Don’t, ” Chief Brovdir warned darkly. “Needs fixing.”

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