Page 132 of Bound

She had thought mating all about selfishness and yes, the act of mating itself.

He took a few calming breaths, trying to push those particular thoughts from his mind. They could serve no useful purpose. Not here. Not after...

He’d kissed her.

He closed his eyes and his hands curled into fists because...

It had been perfect.

Or might have been. If she wasn’t hurt. If he hadn’t neglected her.

His father had taken Ma on plenty of adventures. And while he might have been damaged a time or two in a squall, nothing had ever happened to his mate.

He looked in on her. Again.

Watched to see the rise and fall of her chest. To reassure himself that he’d come in time for the worst. But he knew it would take an age before he forgave himself for the rest.

How many times had she mentioned the roof? As if... as if looking for his validation. That her efforts were important. She never wanted to appear foolish to him, even from the beginning. Perhaps she hadn’t known it was her mate that addressed her, but she’d wanted him to think well of her. Strong and capable, his Wren. Determined, suited her better. Stubborn, too. And lovely and soft, with hair that tormented him in its braid, and mocked him when it was free...

He might not have much prowess in a kitchen, but he knew how to make broth. He’d cook the vegetables down until they were soft enough she’d no need of a spoon. Bread... he was hopeless at bread. And that took hours, didn’t it? But there was a half-loaf tucked away in the cupboard, a bit dry about the edges but it would perk up nicely if he left it by the fire.

When had she last eaten? He wanted the healer back so he could press him further on her care, but he’d likely be back in the city by now.

“She sleeping?”

He had not heard the other man’s return.

“Yes,” he answered, keeping his voice as low as he could while not seeming rude. The broth bubbled pleasantly, and he added a few root vegetables before turning his attention to her many pouches of herbs. She was not one for labelling, his mate. Some were dried in bunches, the bundles hanging down from hooks on the wall. Others from the ceilings. Still more were in little canisters like the ones he’d brewed for her medicine.

Should those not be away from the cooking herbs? Presumably some were for the lozenges she sold at market, others for the syrups...

As much as he’d come to know her during their friendship, he’d not trespassed into her kitchen. Tea had been the extent of it.

He’d learn, he promised himself. Every cupboard, every canister. He would know it all.

Know all of her.

The slide of a chair against the large rug, and presumably her father was sitting. Watching him.

Braum had not known how to react when Althon came to check on his daughter. Wren had been so clear that Braum wasn’t to accompany their last visit together, and so far there had been no overlap between the two.

Until this morning. When Althon had been rightfully worried after the strength of the storm, and wanted to ensure she was well.

Only to find two strange men keeping watch over her, his eyes darting between the two as his mouth firmed and his body coiled.

“I found her,” Braum had admitted, a truth and a lie all at once. “She needed a healer.”

Althon had grunted, but took his place by Wren, smoothing at her hair and murmuring softly.

Before he cast stern looks at Braum and muttered promises about later conversations.

“Every time I visit my daughter, there is a new improvement. And yet, when I look around this room, I do not see any signs of a mate living with her.” His fingers drummed briefly against the tabletop, and Braum kept sniffing at herbs, trying to find ones he recognised. “A curious arrangement.”

Althon did not know of the cad. Did not know of his daughter’s fears—and Braum would not be the one to enlighten him.

“I am a woodcutter. My belongings reside in the grove.”

Althon smiled at him mildly. “So you do not deny your attachment to my daughter?”

---