Page 69 of Halfling
It’s just homesickness,she told herself.
“You’re growing more of them.”
Orek’s remark brought her round, and Sorcha bit the last of her apple half. She peered up at him curiously to find him gazing at her softly, tracing along her cheek.
“What?”
“Freckles,” he said, touching a few of his own on the bridge of his nose.
“Oh.” She couldn’t help the blush nor squirming where she sat. “I get more when I’m in the sun. Or the light ones get darker.”
“These are all from the sun?”
“No. I’ve had most of them forever.” She couldn’t help running a hand self-consciously over her collarbones. She’d always had the little pinpricks of color; as a girl, they’d been just a smattering on her nose and shoulders, but as she grew, they’d multiplied, working across her chest and cheeks. Now they patterned most of her face, chest, and shoulders and marched down her arms, too.
“I hate them,” she couldn’t stop herself from saying.
A few would have been fine; she liked the small spattering of them on Orek’s own face. But sometimes it felt like she wore a mask of freckles, that there were more of them and their darker color than her own skin. It didn’t help that every day at home she could compare herself to her willowy, beautiful sister Maeve. At nineteen, Maeve was all graceful limbs, curtains of reddish-blonde curls, and rosy cheeks. She nearly glowed with her beauty and fair skin.
When he still said nothing, Sorcha braved a glance at him. He was staring at her with a bemused sort of expression, brows knit and mouth an unhappy line.
“No?” he said, sounding utterly shocked. As if it hadn’t occurred to him that she might not like them.
“No, not really.”
He huffed his unhappy huff. “But they’re beautiful. Like stars in the night sky.”
Sorcha held her breath when one green finger reached to touch her cheek. It was a whisper of a touch, barely there, but she felt his heat as he traced one freckle to another, his eyes following his finger as if entranced.
The smallest smile touched his lips, softening his face into something that entranced her.
Thump-thudwent her heart.
“It’s like you have your very own constellations,” he said, voice pitched in low tones that Sorcha felt everywhere. That deep orcish rumble made her belly clench, and she let out a shuddering breath as his finger continued to trace her skin.
She watched as something crossed his eyes. She didn’t know what it was but knew what she hoped. Holding her gaze with his, the moment stretched between them, the only movement his finger against her cheek and the breeze lifting her hair.
If he leaned down to her, even just an inch, Sorcha knew right then she’d kiss him.
Instead, his nostrils flared and his eyes widened. His hand dropped away and he turned his head to face forward.
Orek cleared his throat, another of those ruddy blushes overtaking his own cheeks.
The warmth of his touch lingered, her insides quivering with a shudder of pleasure.
“Well, when you put it like that…” Sorcha said, if only to fill the growing void of silence.
She watched the ball of his throat bob as he swallowed.
Fates, I really,reallydo like him.
17
Orek let the wagon down gently with a grunt, arms shaking with relief. Anghus rolled out from under the back, hair plastered to his head with sweat but wearing a triumphant grin.
At least, Orek thought he did. It was sometimes hard to tell through the mass of beard.
He accepted the rag Anghus threw him, mopping up his own sweaty brow.
