Page 15 of The Orc's Captive Bride
“Um. I need to…” Words failed her and she resorted to charades, pretending to squat as her cheeks flamed.
His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. Amusement? Concern? She wasn’t quite sure but he jerked his head towards the entrance.
Alrighty then.
Outside the tent, the camp was already awake. The three men were gathered around the fire, and their conversation stopped abruptly when she emerged.
The tall one—the one with the scar through his eyebrow—looked at her with an expression that made her skin crawl. He said something in that harsh language, and the other two laughed.
Khorrek growled.
It wasn’t a word. It wasn’t even a sound of displeasure.
He literally growled, like an animal warning off a threat. She decided she wasn’t going to examine too closely why that made her feel safer.
The laughter died. He waited a moment longer, then led her behind the tent. He pulled something out of one of the pouches on his belt and handed it to her.
A leaf?
“I don’t understand.”
He arched an eyebrow and when she gave him a blank stare, he mimed what she’d done in the tent.Oh.Her cheeks flamed, and his lips quirked before he turned his back to give her privacy. Apparently this was his world’s version of toilet paper.
At least it’s soft. And eco-friendly.
She took care of business as quickly as possible and when she joined him, he pointed to the tent. He wanted her to go back.
She looked at the men by the fire and went.
The scent of tea—or something close to it—met her when he returned a few minutes later with a small bowl of warm water,a steaming mug and a piece of heavy bread studded with dried fruit.
He sat near the tent entrance while she washed her hands and face, then ate. The bread was dry and the bitter, earthy flavor of the drink was something that would take getting used to, but it was warm and filling. When she was done, he took the bowl and packed it away, along with the sleeping furs, moving with an efficiency that spoke of years of practice.
She had to step outside as he quickly took down the tent, and her stomach clenched as the three men leered at her. They didn’t even try to hide it. The one with the scar who appeared to be their leader said something crude to the others before they started loading the horses.
Horses.She’d vaguely noticed them the night before but the reality of the situation suddenly hit her.
I’m going to be on one of those horses.
She had ridden exactly twice in her life. Once as a child at a fair, on a pony so old and docile it barely counted. Once in her first year at university, when a well-meaning friend had dragged her to a stable and she’d spent the entire hour rigid with terror.
She was not a horse person, but she suspected she wasn’t going to have a choice.
Khorrek joined her, his arms loaded with bundles, and headed for the horses with that ground-eating stride that made her have to jog to keep up. Since the alternative was staying near the fire with the soldiers, she jogged.
He stopped beside the largest horse—a massive black stallion that made the other mounts look like ponies. He quicklyfastened the various bundles in place, then threw one of the furs over the saddle before turning to her.
“Thrak.”
Horse? Probably horse.
“Thrak,” she repeated dutifully.
He told her the words for saddle and stirrup and she repeated them, storing them in the mental filing system she’d developed over years of language study. Noun. Object. No verb forms yet, but those would come.
Then he gestured at the horse’s back. She looked at the massive animal, then gave him an exasperated look.
“How am I supposed to get up there?”
