Page 94 of Untempered
The tower was silent.
I didn’t mind her quiet. It was broken by little sounds of her fidgeting, the rhythmic scratch of her quill as she traced strange patterns on scrap parchment, or the turn of pages. I’d had a lot of time to observe her.
I didn’t think she’d been noticing me much.
It had been a very long time since I’d walked halls like these, feeling distrustful glances and speculative looks being thrown my way. I’d gotten out of there, and I was getting out of here, too.
But I didn’t dislike the idea of getting outwithsomeone this time.
Steeling myself, I went up the stairs with a quick, “Coming up,” in case she had her cushion out again. The thought made my steps lighter.
She was curled up in a pillow fortress in the center of her bed. It was late morning, and from someone I was reasonably confident rose with the sun, this was unusual behavior.
“Is there a problem?” she asked me.
There was nogivein the woman. But that wasn’t right, either. I’d seen her be thoughtful. The way she had chosen a specific room for Ylva because of the sunshine, the time we’d stopped by and she’d shared her skeins of thread with one of the cooks, who was low on greens. She didn’t say nice things, but she did them.
“Sir?” Her formality was made even more devastating by the messy tumble of her hair and the blankets draped over her shoulders. In her hands, parchment rustled. Would shealways“sir” me? I recalled her saying my name, but it felt like it was so long ago I couldn’t bring up the precise memory any longer.
“Are we in hiding?” I asked, maintaining my focus. “Because, if we are, I ought to lay in more coal.”
“What should you be hiding from?” Isolde asked from the other side of the door.
Beside that door was a chair still draped with the blanket Audrey must’ve wrapped herself in when she sat there to speak to Isolde. It was a familiar one, a dark green I’d seen her wear like a shawl a few times. A candle had burned out beside it, leaving behind a puddle of wax in the saucer.
Something about that made my heart ache.
What should we be hiding from?Everything.I looked into her whiskey eyes, and she looked straight through me, then dropped her gaze back to the words she’d been studying.
“Nothing’s changed,” Audrey told her, turning a page.
Fury gnawed at me. I was tied to this woman. “Should I exercise your horse?” I offered, because that at least would get me out of here, and her mare hadn’t been as middling as the chestnut she’d ridden through the orchard when we’d met.
“No.” She set her book aside heavily and flung an arm back with more drama than was necessary, sending a few pillows tumbling and breaking the surface of her bed. “I’m coming.”
“You don’t need to.” But I glanced at the cover of the tome as she shook herself free from her layers.The East Arcanloc Trade Company: A History.
“If I don’t need to, why are you here?” I had no answer for that except that I was tired of sitting in a silent room alone. She looked at me, blanket held tight around her shoulders, waiting.
“You’re the one who’s been agitating for action,” I reminded her.
She barely blinked. “So Idoneed to.”
“No, you don’t.” Her toes were bare. I could see the way her feet were positioned mostly by the way the blanket draped, but a few digits peeked out. There was something strange about that combative stance and those naked toes. “But I’ve been waiting for you, assuming today, like any other day, you’d appear and announce what it is we’re doing, and I’d be expected to trot after you like a good boy.”
“Did you hear that, Isolde?” she asked, laughter in her voice as she turned away from me. “He’s a good boy.”
“I don’t recall seeing such a thing, but I’ve obviously missed a lot,” Isolde said, the honey dripping off her words.
In front of me, Audrey tossed the blanket to the side. Her nightgown wasn’t like the ones back in ’Ban, shorn off at the knees. I’m sure Thomas would be scandalized that I knew the regional differences between women’s nightclothes.
I bet he wouldn’t like to know that the extra length didn’t hide the curve of her ass beneath the cloth as she leaned forward. She didn’t pop her hips to accentuate the movement, rummaging through ribbons, jewelry, pins, and pots. Embers blew to life low in my belly. The fabric stretched over her back. She had strong shoulders with defined musculature that I wanted to explore. Impatient fingers unraveled the tie in her hair, and I was jolted back in time to the tourney I never should’ve fought in.
She’d helped me accomplish a dream without being gutted. I don’t know that I’d ever shown her gratitude for that.
As they had then, her fingers tangled up in the auburn strands. I watched as she tore the tie free and broken wisps of hair fell to the floor. She muttered in annoyance, shaking it free. I fought not to grab her hands and force them to still.
I fought not to bury my face in her hair and pull that ass against me.
