Page 4 of A Winter Romance
“They are cold and wet. Then you can get in the bed to warm yourself.”
Understanding dawned in the man’s eyes, and he reached for the buttons of his jacket. His hands shook and fumbled, unable to grasp the amber buttons holding the jacket closed.
“Here, I’ll do it.” Sero pushed the man’s hands aside, quickly unbuttoned the jacket, and pushed it off his shoulders.
It looked like the man would protest when the garment fell on the dirt floor, but he held his tongue. He wore a long-sleeved black shirt beneath. Sero drew the shirt over the man’s head, fingers brushing against his icy-cold stomach, revealing pebbled and unnaturally pale skin. The man had a nice body, tall and lithe.
In other circumstances, Sero might enjoy spending a night amongst the furs in his cave with the man, all wrapped up with each other. It could be a very pleasant way of spending a night.
A tremor ran through the man’s frame, teeth still chattering. But not tonight.
Dropping to his knees, Sero reached for the man’s boots and undid the laces quickly. He had to tug hard to remove them, almost causing the man to fall. He unlaced the man’s breeches, trying to ignore the way they fit snugly around his crotch. Beneath he wore undershorts patterned with the crest of Norend over his dick. The wordArynhad been stitched into the soft fabric.
Sero stood. “Get in the bed,” Sero said, nudging the man with a hand to the hip, and Aryn climbed into the bed.
ChapterFour
Sero had made the mattress by stuffing dried leaves into a giant linen pouch. He pulled the furs over the man and tucked them around him. Hopefully, he would get warm now.
Stepping away, Sero reached down by the fire, picked up the empty iron kettle, and ducked out of the cave. Quickly, he grabbed several handfuls of the powdery snow and put them into the top of the kettle before going back inside. He hung the kettle on an iron stand suspended over the fire. Then, reaching for his waterproof rucksack, he pulled out a few dried herbs and placed them in the kettle.
His oread grandparents would tease him, saying that he couldn’t go anywhere without his precious tea. Of course, they never protested when he had a nice fire going and handed them each their cup of the delicious brew. Especially if he then presented them with some fresh bread or some other baked good he’d made.
“What’s your name?”
Sero glanced toward the voice. The furs were piled up around the man, and only his mouth, nose, and eyes were visible. They were lovely eyes, rich, dark pools of brown.
“Sero.” He sat by the fire, on the mat his mother had made from woven reeds.
“Are you an oread?”
“My mother is an oread. My father is human. What’s your name?”
“Aryn.”
The name on his undershorts. Why would anyone stitch their name on their undershorts? Did he lose them often? Or did he have trouble remembering his own name? What sort of idiot was this man?
“Thank you for finding me… I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t.”
Aryn would be dead if Sero hadn’t found him, but he decided to hold his tongue. “What were you doing in the forest? Alone? No horse? No proper clothes?” He knew he was being blunt, but what had the man been thinking?
“What do you mean, without proper clothes?” Aryn frowned.
“They aren’t warm enough, not for these mountains. Not in winter.”
“I hadn’t realised what it would be like.” He snuggled down into the blankets, and Sero refused to think it looked cute. “These clothes are good enough for winters in Bordertown.”
Bordertown. Sero had expected as much. It was the closest city other than Castle Evermore. And it got cold at the castle. They knew how to dress for winter there.
“I was going to Castle Evermore. Somehow, I got lost. I thought it was a straightforward trip, but… I had a horse…” Aryn spoke slowly, exhaustion clear in his voice. He swallowed. “But it got spooked and threw me… I don’t know where it is.”
The trip from Bordertown to Castle Evermore was straightforward, not that Sero had ever done it. He’d never been to Bordertown. But he knew the path, and that it was well marked. It was also the only cobblestone path through the mountains.
Years ago, before the trail, it would have been easy to get lost. And it used to take weeks to wind one’s way through the steep, poorly marked paths, but not now. Now the path had been cleared, and it was a couple of days on a horse on a well-marked track. It said a lot about Aryn’s navigational skills that he had managed to get lost anyway.
Sero grabbed his rucksack and rummaged around inside it. He pulled out a berry loaf, a Solstice loaf he’d baked himself. He always brought freshly baked bread and loaves with him. He also had food stored in the cave. Dried berries, vegetables, and fruit, and some dried meat and fish as well.
He tore off a piece of the loaf. “Here,” he said, handing Aryn the chunk.
