Page 56 of The Orc Chief's Baker
She wasn’t about to turn that down. She took it from Brovdir and was about to swallow it when he steppedmuchcloser. The firm wall of his bare chest, rippling muscular perfection, was all she could see. Her breath caught as the desire to lean into him swarmed her. What was he doing? Was he going to kiss her again?—
Brovdir swung Sythcol’s cloak around her shoulders and heat flooded back into her bones. She let out a long exhale. Sothat’sall he was doing.
She should be grateful for the generous act, but a silly tinge of disappointment edged at the corners of her mind. She was being stupid. He hadn’t even sent a message by bird. Of course he wasn’t interested in her.
Not that it mattered. It really shouldn’t matter. She had far bigger things to worry about.
Like the fact that three generations of hard work had just been stolen away from her.
Her eyes stung and the world around her blurred.
“Drink.”
Brovdir’s sharp demand had her tipping the tincture into her mouth without question. The familiar prickling sensation began at her tongue but quickly spread through her whole body, warming her briefly before she was shivering cold again. The cuts along her arms and face stung for only a moment, and then they were gone completely. Only smears of blood remained to prove she’d been hurt at all.
“I do apologize for this.”
Sythcol’s words caught her attention. Brovdir stepped back so she could meet the conjurer’s tired eyes. “It never should have happened. I’ve been relying on the warriors to warn us of the cracks in the ground so I can predict when and where the sinkholes will form.” He looked toward the massive chasm again, his expression a mask of concern. “But I failed. I alone am at fault for this travesty.”
Trinia’s gut twisted at the heavy weight of guilt flickering behind the orc’s green eyes. He had much to answer for, certainly, but she didn’t see the benefit of wringing him out here. Especially now that the chill of the forest was getting to her. She tugged the cloak tighter.
As if he could read her mind, Brovdir said, “Taking her back.”
“Good. Send a bird to my conjurers and your warriors to meet me here. I’ll need their help tonight.”
Brovdir nodded before turning to her. His eyes pierced her, from the top of her head all the way down her sodden frame, or what he could make of it since she was covered by the cloak.
She suddenly wished they didn’t glow, so his intense expression could have been lost to the darkness.
“I’ll carry you.”
She jerked at that. “Oh. No. You don’t need to.”
“Too dark.”
“I can see just fine, Brovdir.”
“Too wet.”
“Being wet doesn’t inhibit my ability to walk.”
“Too . . . small.”
She almost laughed. “All right. Now you’re just making things up. I don’t need you to carry me. I’m just fine on my own.” To prove it, she began walking in the direction she supposed the village to be.
And immediately tripped on a thick root.
She yelped as she went down, but the sodden ground wasn’t what she hit. Instead, she slammed up against a firm wall of muscle. Hot and hard and smelling of spice and woodsmoke.
She should have pushed away from him. Absolutely should have immediately.
But . . . he was sowarm.
Her half moment of hesitation was her undoing because Brovdir took full advantage and swung her up into his arms without preamble.
Her breath caught in her throat as he tucked her into his chest. His arms were banded around her back and under her knees. Her head was right next to his. The shock of it gave her pause.
Maybe... she could let him carry her for just a little while. Just until they were back at the main path leading to Oakwall.
