Page 91 of The Orc Chief's Baker
Brovdir had gotten up and done that while she was sleeping?
Her heart tugged at the thought, and she crossed the room to finger the blue wool gown. It was only a little damp, and most of the mud stains had been scrubbed out. So much work.
His words spiraled through her mind again.
“It is my honor to serve you and keep you hale.”
A little shiver coursed up her back, and it had nothing to do with being naked.
When was the last time she’d relied on someone to take care of her? Not since her mother had died, surely. Even longer. Her mother had gotten sick, and Trinia had gone from child to caretaker.
She shook her head, unhappy with these thoughts. Usually, she had her baking or sketching to keep her distracted from unpleasant memories.
There certainly wasn’t any baking to be donehere. It wouldn’t even be possible. The kitchen area, if one could even call it that, was tiny, and the stove was only large enough to fit the kettle. All orcs ate together in the hall, so there was no need for anything more.
She moved around the room, taking time to examine everything as she went. He had very few personal effects. It made sense he wouldn’t, since he’d been on the move for war campaigns all his life, but it was disappointing. She would have liked to see more of his interests.
She shook the thought from her head. His interests didn’t matter. She was playing conquest for him, not forming a relationship.
Her heart squeezed at that, and she ignored it. She moved off to the only cluttered place here, a rolltop desk at the corner of the room. The craftsmanship was excellent, and she was certain it had been made by Savili’s father. It was cluttered with parchment and black coal pencil marks. It took her a moment to realize that the beautiful swooping handwriting wasBrovdir’s.
She supposed it made sense. He couldn’t talk much, so he’d have to write to communicate often. But still, the image of that huge, scarred male writing so beautifully...
Would he write to her if she asked?
Her cheeks warmed as she smiled.
She quickly wiped it off her face and muttered, “He’s not going to write to you, you dolt. What would he write for?” They only needed to talk about the building and perhaps pregnancy updates from here on. They probably wouldn’t see each other much.
She sighed, but it did nothing to ease the heaviness that had settled over her.
Her eyes scanned the large, open room again. There were very few furnishings and a lot of empty space. The bed was also right across from the door, which left little to no privacy.
A few walls would help. Maybe a built-in bookshelf so he could organize some of these papers. And if she did that, there could be a little nook area near the fire that would be quite cozy.
Her fingers twitched to sketch it the way she’d done so many times before. Daydreaming about how her own home might look had been her favorite pastime, but redoing Brovdir’s was an interesting challenge.
She glanced at the desk with its papers and pencils.
He wouldn’t mind if she used some, right?
“It is my honor to serve you.”
She picked up a paper and charcoal pencil and quickly sketched the outline of the tree with the furniture. She spenttime figuring out what could and couldn’t be moved. The table was attached to the floor and so was the couch, but the bedframe was adjustable.
Before long, she’d sat down on the chair and had used up three pieces of paper. She reimagined the space into a dwelling with two smaller bedrooms and an open living space.
Perhaps if things didn’t work out with having her own house in Oakwall, she could ask to move in here.
Oh, biscuits. She needed tostopthinking about this.
She reached for another paper and accidentally knocked a whole stack. They flew off the desk and scattered all over the floor.
“Blast,” she muttered, getting down on her knees to clean up. The little slips were clearly bird missives.
She shouldn’t snoop.
She really shouldn’t.
