Page 14 of The Orc's Bonded Bride

Yet when she glanced up at him, something in her expression—a flicker of the past, perhaps—held him in place. He couldn’t leave. Not yet.

“It’s not much,” she said, giving the makeshift bed a rueful look.

“It’s more than enough,” he answered truthfully. After years of sleeping on rocky ground or in crude military barracks, the simple pallet looked like luxury.

She nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear—a familiar gesture that sent an unexpected pang through his chest. “We should get some rest. Dawn comes early on a farm.”

He knew he should walk away. Stay for the information he needed about Lasseran’s activities, then disappear again. That would be safest—for her, if not for him. But watching her prepare a place for him in her home, he realized he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Not tonight. Perhaps not for the full two weeks.

And that realization terrified him more than any battle ever had.

CHAPTER 6

Lyric sat on the bench in front of her cottage, pretending to sort through her herb basket while stealing glances at Egon. His massive hands, which should have been clumsy, manipulated the wooden fence posts with unexpected precision. Sweat glistened on his green skin as he hammered a nail into place with one hard strike, muscles rippling beneath his tunic.

“You planning to fix that fence or murder it?” she called, immediately regretting the playfulness in her voice. She wasn’t supposed to be warming to him.

He looked up, a half-smile tugging at his scarred face. “The fence deserves what it gets. I think it’s been plotting against your chickens.”

The easy banter caught her off guard. Last night, after preparing his sleeping pallet in the main room, she’d retreated to her bedroom certain she wouldn’t sleep a wink. An orc warrior under her roof—the same one who’d vanished from her life years ago—should have kept her wide awake with anxiety. Instead, thesteady rhythm of his breathing had lulled her into the deepest sleep she’d known in years.

She watched him straighten a crooked post with a single powerful push. The fence had been on her repair list for months, but she’d never found the time between tending bees, harvesting vegetables, and preserving food for the upcoming winter.

In spite of her resolution to keep her distance, she found herself dipping a bucket of water from her well and bringing him a cup.

“Would you like some water?”

He paused, wiping his brow before accepting it. As he did their fingers brushed, and she pulled back too quickly, sloshing water onto his hand.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“No harm done.” He drained the cup in one swallow.

The morning sun highlighted new scars she hadn’t noticed in the dim evening light. What battles had he fought? What horrors had he seen? Questions burned on her tongue, but she swallowed them down. Better to keep a distance between them.

“Sleep well?” he asked, returning to his work.

“Better than I expected.” She folded her arms. “You?”

“Your floor’s more comfortable than most places I’ve slept.”

She tried not to think about what that meant. The hardships he must have endured. The places he might have been while she was building her little sanctuary.

“I’ll bring you some breakfast,” she said abruptly, turning back toward the cottage. “It’s the least I can do for…” she gestured at the nearly-repaired fence.

“Lyric.” His voice stopped her. “Thank you. For letting me stay.”

She nodded without looking back, unable to trust her voice. The genuine gratitude in his tone threatened to crack something she’d carefully sealed inside herself long ago.

She returned with a basket of freshly baked bread and a small crock of honey butter. She set the basket on a nearby stump, taking a moment to appreciate the progress he’d made.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, breaking off a piece of bread and spreading it with honey butter before offering it to him.

He devoured it quickly, then nodded his thanks before reaching for the plank beside him. As he positioned it against the posts and hit it with the hammer, the weathered wood splintered with a sharp crack, breaking clean in two. The pieces clattered to the ground at his feet.

She tensed, instinctively bracing herself. The Egon she’d known years ago would have cursed, maybe even thrown the remaining piece in frustration. His temper had been quick then—never directed at her, but flaring hot against objects and circumstances that defied him.

Instead, he laughed. A deep, rumbling sound that caught her completely off guard.

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