I don’t know where Steagor spends the night, but it’s not in this room. And now I feel like the worst sort of intruder for having pushed him out of his own domain. The realization sits heavy on my shoulders as I don a fresh shift and that beautiful periwinkle dress again. I wiggle around and manage to tie the laces on my back. The thought of meeting strangers without wearing a corset still makes me uncomfortable, but the dress really is beautiful.
I want to sew another one like it, only with minor alterations.
The thought comes with a shot of pain at the memory of my father. Because his health was failing, I’d taken on more and more of his work, until I’d been the one running his shop and making dresses—using his patterns, yes, but I’d been the one to meet with our clients to pick the fabrics, colors, and ornaments.
And I loved that work. Leaving behind the entire workshop to my stepmother was one of the hardest things I’d done—not that she’d given me much choice. Now, for the first time since leaving Morav, my fingers itch to hold a needle again.
I walk to where my leather shoulder bag rests on Steagor’s desk and open it, pulling out my small sewing pouch. I untie the flap and peer inside. It’s all there, the things I took from my father’s shop before I ran. A pincushion stuck with a variety of pins and needles. A silver thimble. A piece of chalk. And a small pair of sharp scissors.
The tools of my trade.
It doesn’t matter where I am in the world. And as much as it hurt to leave the shop and all the stock of fabrics and such, those were only things. My skill remains my own, and if I want to, I can start fresh.
I’ll have to talk to Mara and Dawn, but maybe this is where I’ll plant my roots. They might need someone to make more clothes for unfortunate souls who come here needing them.
That is, if my stubborn orc guardian doesn’t succeed in marrying me off first.
I look down at myself, and a sudden idea pops into my head. Maybe I don’t need to make things quite so easy for him. Maybe I could stack the deck in my favor.
But before I can put my plan in motion, the door flies open, and Steagor strides into the room, carrying a tray with a covered bowl and a cup of tea.
“Breakfast,” he barks. “Eat.”
I blink up at him. His voice sounds like gravel, and by his expression, he had trouble sleeping last night. His skin is an unhealthy grayish-green, and I want to ask if he’s feeling all right, but he herds me to the table and pulls out a chair for me, so I have no choice but to sit. He sets the tray in front of me, careful not to spill the tea, then sits in the chair opposite and hovers.
I try not to show how his attention gets to me, but I can’t help the heat that rises in my cheeks at his close scrutiny. Focusing instead on the breakfast, I take the spoon and scoop up some creamy porridge, blowing on it gently.
Steagor groans. I glance up at him, to find him sitting with his eyes shut, his nostrils flared. It definitely seems like he’s in pain now.
Maybe he has a toothache?
Do those tusks ever hurt?
I bite my lip, wondering what he’d do if I leaned forward and touched one, lightly.
Steagor opens his eyes and catches me staring. His gaze darkens, and I immediately drop my attention back to my porridge, eating quickly.
He cannot know what I feel about him.
I finish the bowl of porridge, which is excellent, studded with raisins and fat pieces of butter, and drink my tea, all under his careful scrutiny. He’s likely worried about my health—but I’m much better already, so I give him a bright smile to show him he needn’t fuss.
The orc freezes for a beat, then his lips turn up at the corners, enough to soften his expression. It’s not a grin, but without the ever-present frown, he is handsome, as Dawn claimed. He’s just in a perpetual bad mood.
Or maybe I’m the one who brings out the worst in him.
The thought dims my smile, and I get up, clearing my throat. “I need a minute, and I’ll be ready.”
He stands as well. “I’ll wait for you in the great hall. You know how to get there?”
I nod, and he leaves me to use the bathroom in peace. Soon after, I’m hurrying down the corridors, hoping I’m headed in the right direction. These halls are all very similar, and my heart speeds up at the thought of getting lost in the labyrinthine structure, but moments later, voices float up to me, followed by growing light. I pause at the entrance to the great hall.
Steagor is there, as are Mara and the warrior with the eye patch whose name escapes me, until I remember it’s Vark. They’re standing close together, immersed in a conversation.
“…doing this?” Mara is saying, her voice tense. “This doesn’t make sense, Steagor.”
“I have to,” he says.
She crosses her arms over her chest. “What did she say about it? I mean, she’s barely been here a couple of days. At least wait for her to settle a bit.”
“I can’t,” Steagor growls. “I need her out—”
Vark clears his throat. “Hello, Poppy.”
Mara and Steagor turn in my direction, and I curse Vark silently, wishing he hadn’t given me away. What was Steagor going to say? That he wants me out of his room? Out of his life?
My throat closes up all of a sudden, so I raise my hand in greeting. Then I grit my teeth against the urge to run away and walk forward calmly.
I can do this.
And maybe it really is for the best if I get married and leave the Hill if Steagor wants me gone so badly. I understand, too. I’m the stone his friend hung around his neck, dragging him down. He feels some sense of obligation, misguided as it may be, to fulfill my father’s dying wish. And he wants to do it as quickly as possible.
“I’m ready,” I quip as cheerfully as possible. “Let’s go find me a husband.”
A strange sound has me glancing up at Steagor, and it takes me a moment to realize he must be grinding his teeth. A muscle jumps in his cheek, and there it is again, that sound. It’s enough to raise the hair on the back of my neck, and so is his scowl, so I focus on Mara instead.
“Are you all right?” she asks.
“Of course,” I lie.
My voice comes out a little higher than usual, but I’m hoping my new acquaintances don’t know me well enough yet to notice. From the way even Vark lifts his dark eyebrows, though, I’m not sure I’m fooling anyone.
“I brought you a cloak,” Mara says. “It’s cold and—hey!”
Steagor snatches the heavy wool cloak from her and faces me. He swings it around my shoulders and fastens the clasp at my neck, wrapping me in warmth. His fingers linger at my throat, and he stares down at me with such intensity, my thoughts scramble again.
Why is he doing this to me?
The changes in his behavior are getting hard to keep track of, and I’m not sure what to do with that. I’m not equipped to read this male’s mind. I’m not equipped to deal with any male creature, for that matter, human or orc, so maybe I should get someone to teach me.
If I didn’t think Steagor would murder him, I’d ask Neekar to help me out.
“Whenever you two are ready…” Vark says.
I jump, rearing back from Steagor, and nearly smack into the table behind me. Steadying myself on the smooth wooden top, I try and fail to stop my galloping heart. It’s so completely unfair that the first male I’ve ever been interested in seems to have only one thing on his mind, and that’s pushing me out of his life.
Steagor stalks toward the exit from the great hall, and Vark motions for me to follow. I wave weakly at Mara, who stands there with her arms crossed over her chest, her expression full of worry. Then I scurry after the two warriors, not wanting to be left behind.
We reach what must be the main entrance to the Hill, and after two days, I stand outside again. The morning is crisp, not yet cold enough for the ground to freeze, but winter is on its way, and nature knows it. Most of the trees surrounding us are tall firs, green as always, but the few maples studded through the forest here and there are losing their vibrant red color and slowly dropping their leaves. Birdsong echoes through the air, which is perfumed with the scent of mushrooms, decay—and horses.
At a low whinny, I turn to the side and find Steagor standing by a massive, beautiful black horse. It’s taller than me, and on its back is a large brown saddle, the leather worn but freshly buffed. Next to it, a lovely mare looks almost comically small, even though she must be a regular-sized horse. She is saddled as well and munching on some carrots that she snuffles up from Vark’s palm.
The male unties the reins and offers them to me. “This one is for you.”
I stare at the horse, then at Steagor. “Uh.”
He frowns. “What is it?”
“I’ve never ridden astride,” I confess. “And only once sidesaddle. When I was eleven.”
Both orcs look at me like I’ve grown horns.
“Your father never taught you to ride a horse?” Steagor demands. “Why?”
I lift one shoulder in a shrug, even as I wonder the same thing. “It wasn’t necessary? I could walk anywhere in our town, and if we had to leave for any reason, we’d always take a cart.”
I’d rarely accompanied my father on his trips to the cities where he bought the good fabrics he liked, but those are some of my most cherished memories. Sitting in the front of the cart, watching the countryside roll by.
“You will ride with me,” Steagor declares. “Come.”
I gape at him. “I can’t do that.”
He tosses back his traveling cloak and grips the pommel of his saddle. “Why not?”
I struggle to find the right words. “The horse can’t carry us both.”
“Our horses are bred to carry us.” Vark gives me what he likely thinks is a reassuring smile. “And you barely weigh anything at all, I’d wager.”
That doesn’t help me. The tall horse snorts and turns his head toward me, his breath steaming in the air. He looks like a creature out of a fairy story. Steagor swings himself up into the saddle, presenting the spitting image of a mythical warrior, ready to ride into battle.
“I’ll fall off,” I squeak. “I don’t even like horses. And I’m sure he won’t like carrying a human if he’s used to orcs. I probably smell strange to him.”
I’m babbling, and I don’t know what I’m more scared of—the horse or his rider. Well, no, I’m not scared of Steagor himself, but sitting pressed up to his back…that would be a special kind of torture.
“Here.” Vark offers me two carrots. “Feed him these.”
He’s expecting me to put my fingers near those huge, chomping teeth? But the orc beside me places the vegetables in my palm, then bodily maneuvers me so I extend my hand to the horse. A surprisingly soft muzzle snuffles at my skin, and the horse picks up the carrots almost daintily. They disappear within seconds, and the horse nudges my now-empty palm as if begging for more.
“There you go.” Vark lets go of my elbow. “Now you’re friends.”
“If you two are done talking,” Steagor grumbles from the saddle, “I’d like to get on the road.”
Vark gives me a wink with his good eye, then grips my waist suddenly and hoists me up. Before I can even protest, strong arms wrap around my middle, and I find myself sitting sideways across Steagor’s lap.
“What?” I struggle in his grip, trying to wriggle around him so I can sit on the horse’s rump. “Let go, I’m trying to—”
His hold on me tightens. “Stop moving.”
For some reason, my mind interprets that as an order to redouble my efforts. “I can’t get around you if you don’t let go, Steagor!”
“For gods’ sake, woman, will you be still,” Steagor roars.
Somewhere in the forest, a flock of birds takes flight, cawing loudly in protest. Then a ringing silence descends on us, and I peer up at my guardian, wary. He’s never used that tone with me, and I don’t know what to do. He is glaring down at me, his frown in place, but it’s more than that—he looks pained, and a vein throbs in his forehead, as if he’s at the edge of…something.
“Well, you two seem to have everything figured out,” Vark says dryly. “I’ll take the mare back to the stables.” He grabs the mare’s reins and leaves without another word, melting into the misty forest.
“I thought I was going to ride behind you,” I whisper, not daring to look at Steagor again.
His big hands land on my hips, and he shifts me this way and that until he’s satisfied with where I’m sitting. Then he mutters, “Safer for you here. You could fall off.”
I swallow thickly, wondering how I’m going to survive this. “You’re sure we can’t walk?”
Steagor flexes his legs, giving the horse some sort of signal to get him moving. “The village is too far from here. We’d have to stay the night. And you’re barely recovered. I’m not making you walk all the way.”
Oh.
He could probably run to the village and back, but he made this accommodation for me.
“Thank you for thinking of me,” I say, trying to decipher my own feelings.
I’m still nettled about the fact that he’s making me do this—but at the same time, he’s being so damn considerate. In his mind, he’s doing the best he can by me, so can I really fault him for it? He had a point last night. How can I find the right husband for myself if I’m not out there, actively searching for one?
We settle into silence, riding through the forest. The land is beautiful, small clearings showing signs of woodwork and trails well maintained, the undergrowth cut back to allow for us to ride through. We follow a stream for a while, the sound of the water mingling with the rushing of the wind in the treetops. I don’t ask how Steagor knows exactly which way to go—he handles the horse with assurance, sending the animal into a light trot whenever the trail permits it, then slowing again to clear obstacles on the path.
At first, I watch the forest carefully, half worried that some wild beast might jump out at us and try to eat our horse, but nothing happens, and after a while, I become more and more attuned to other things surrounding me. Like Steagor’s delicious scent. Or the way his body moves around mine, keeping me balanced at all times. The more time passes, the more I relax against him, until I’m leaning on his chest, enjoying the warmth radiating from him. The shifting of muscles under his shirt is a revelation, each thick slab of flesh so powerful and enticing.
I’m also trying very hard not to notice the thick, firm ridge behind the laces of his leather pants. Or his massive thighs, between which I’m perched. I remember the unnamed male I saw at the baths, and my mind does the rest, merging that image with what I’m experiencing now with Steagor. Is that what he looks like without his clothes on?
That needy, fluttering sensation settles in my belly again, and I shift in the saddle, squeezing my legs together. There’s a pressure building inside me, but I don’t know how to make it go away. Or even if I want to dispel it, because it’s not unpleasant. It’s strange, and the knowledge that it only happens when Steagor is around is most inconvenient.
The orc warrior lets out a rough exhale, his breath tickling my cheek. I still and peek up at him, noting his tense jaw, his flared nostrils. Then I glance down at where his cock is straining at his pants. Is it larger than before? Thicker? Longer?
My breaths come out as short, shallow puffs, and my fingers itch so badly to reach out and trace the outline of that bulge. If I could just see it, I’d know…something. I’m not sure what, but surely…
“You have to stop, woman,” Steagor rasps.
“Stop what?” I ask.
His arm stiffens around my waist, and that sensation inside me intensifies, flooding my limbs with liquid heat. My nipples are painful, sensitive points, chafing against the fabric of my shift, and I instinctively grip Steagor’s hand where it rests over my ribcage, just south of where I need it.
“You know damn well,” he grumbles.
My frustration builds. “I don’t,” I exclaim. “I don’t know what’s happening, and I want it to stop, but then I don’t want it to stop either because it’s good, and there’s—”
Steagor tightens the horse’s reins, and I let out a small shriek at the abrupt stop. We’re still in the middle of the forest, which is alive around us, with birdsong floating through the air and the wind in the trees.
I don’t dare look at Steagor. I’m shaking, and I don’t know what to do.
“Ah, sweet,” he says, gently brushing the backs of his fingers over my cheek. “You’re trembling.”
I dig my fingernails into the skin of his wrist, trying to calm myself down. But no matter how hard I try, that slick sensation between my legs won’t go away.
He takes my chin and lifts it until I’m forced to gaze into his face.
His expression takes my breath away. His dark eyes burn with intensity, and he seems just as affected as I am.
That makes everything a little better—that we’re in this together. That he’s suffering, too.
“Has no one explained this to you?” he asks. “You’ve never…?”
“Explained what?” I cry. I place one hand on his chest, curling the fingers in his shirt because he’s the only solid thing to cling on to.
Something passes over his face, and he seems to come to some sort of decision. With a sudden movement, he swings one leg from the saddle and jumps to the ground with a thump, keeping me steady on the horse’s back. Then he takes me by the waist again and lowers me to the ground, but he doesn’t let me go. And I don’t want him to—I clench my fists on his shoulders and hold on.
With slow, measured steps, Steagor backs me up against an old beech tree, its smooth gray trunk damp to the touch. The stream burbles gently somewhere behind me, and I think for a moment I should jump in to cool the strange burning sensation in my chest. Our breaths mingle in the cool morning air, and my pulse hammers in my ears, drowning out all reason.
“If I do anything you don’t like,” Steagor murmurs, “tell me to stop.”
I stare up at him, barely able to remain on my feet. I’m on the edge of something new, and my life won’t ever be the same after this.
“Poppy, I need you to answer me,” he insists. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “I’ll stop you.”
He presses his forehead to mine, curling his body over me, and I go on my tiptoes and raise my face to his, thinking he’s about to kiss me. But Steagor doesn’t give me what I want.
Instead, he kneels in front of me.
“S-Steagor?” I say, voice trembling. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you what your body needs.”
Slowly, he lifts the hem of my dress, taking the shift with it, until he exposes my stockings. He pushes it up to my waist, then looks up at me. “Hold on to this for me.”
My mind is screaming at me to cover up, to hide my linen underwear from this male, but there’s the part of me that’s too curious, too thirsty for knowledge to obey. So I grasp the wadded-up cloth and dig my fingers into it.
“That’s it,” Steagor says. He runs both hands up the back side of my legs, over the stockings, right to the creases of my thighs. “You smell so fucking good, Poppy.”
“Smell?” I squeak, embarrassment cutting through my hazy thoughts.
He leans in and presses a kiss to my belly, through my dress. “Your scent is indescribable. I know your pussy is wet even without touching you.”
The words settle in me, heavy and potent. He’s scenting the core of me, where I’m slick and hot and aching, and he likes it. I close my eyes and lean my head back against the cool bark.
“None of that,” Steagor barks. “You look at me when I make you come.”
Immediately, I snap my eyes open again and gaze down at him. He takes my underwear with both hands and gives it a quick tug. It rends down the middle as if it were woven of spiderwebs, not linen, and suddenly, I’m completely exposed to him.
No one has ever seen this part of me. My—my pussy, as he’d called it.
I bite my lip, instinctually trying to close my legs, but Steagor is there, his big hands keeping my knees spread without effort. Then he takes one of my legs and hooks it over his shoulder, opening me completely.
I yelp, scrabbling for balance, and for the shortest moment, I think about calling a stop to this. Do I really need to know what this is all about?
Yes. I do.
So I clamp my mouth shut and lean more of my weight on the tree trunk, still holding my dress to give Steagor access. He hums deep in his chest and leans in. My heart stutters, and I can’t believe he’s going to—
“Oh!”
My cry of surprise echoes through the forest, but I don’t care. Steagor stares up at me as if gauging my reaction, then leans in again and licks my pussy, dragging his tongue through my sweet folds.
“Steagor,” I pant, “that’s not—what are you—oh gods!”
He chuckles, his breath fanning over my heated skin. “Tell me where it feels good.”
“Everywhere,” I cry at another lick.
But every time he drags the tip of his tongue over a certain spot at the top of my slit, shivers explode inside me.
“There,” I say, letting go of my dress with one hand to grasp the top of his head. “Right…there.”
He rewards me by flicking his tongue over that sensitive bud, and I rock my hips forward, digging my fingers into his long hair. The wicked orc takes full advantage of his power over me and teases me mercilessly, licking and sucking until I’m a trembling, whimpering mess. But there’s a spot inside me that clenches up in time with my thundering heartbeat, and I don’t know what to do about it.
I’m sure Steagor does, though. He groans against my skin, then hoists my other leg over his shoulder, supporting my ass with one strong arm. I brace myself on the trunk behind me and roll my hips to get more—always more of this exquisite pleasure.
Then the big orc drags his tongue lower and spears it into my tight pussy.
“Steagor!”
I abandon the skirts of my dress and dig both hands into his hair, tugging because I want him right there, in that empty, needy space that needs to be filled.
“Fuck, Poppy,” he rasps. “You want my fingers?”
“Yes,” I say, too quickly, because I want everything he’s willing to give, even though I’m not sure what he means by his fingers, because I thought that he’d be using his—
“Oh gods!” I cry as he pushes one blunt finger inside my core. It’s hot and rough, but it slides into me easily because of how wet I am.
Steagor licks that sensitive spot at the top of my slit again, and the combined sensations open up something in me, a vault of pleasure I never even suspected I possessed. Because this is all for me—everything he’s doing is for me, and I wonder at this male’s intentions. He’s still fully clothed, his cock out of my reach in this position, and he’s pushing me closer to some unknown edge. I can’t keep my eyes open anymore, and he’s not watching my face either, so I let myself sink fully into the discovery of this secret part of myself.
More pressure at my pussy, and I realize Steagor has fit another finger in me, and the stretch hurts for a moment until I get used to it. Then I roll my hips, rocking over his hand as much as he lets me while keeping me pinned to the tree. He hooks those fingers forward, touching a spot deep in my core that has me opening my mouth on a silent cry.
My body seizes up, my thighs locking around Steagor’s head. I’m on the cusp of something, and he must know it, he must, because he takes that button of sensitive flesh between his lips and sucks it, hard.
The crest of my pleasure starts at my core, where Steagor and I are connected, and grows into a massive wave that wipes out all other thought, overwhelming my senses. I’m hot and cold all at once, shivers racing through me. Someone’s whimpering, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s me, because Steagor is still giving me small pulses of his fingers and gentle licks of his tongue, bringing me back from the peak.
His harsh breaths feather across my skin, which is damp from sweat and my juices. I should feel embarrassed, but I’m still too tingly and satisfied by what happened to really care. Besides, the ladies at the Hill told me orcs don’t view nudity as shameful, which now makes perfect sense, because something that feels this good could never be connected to shame.
So why is the orc between my legs more and more grim?
My legs are still curved over his shoulders, though I’m limp now, and it’s only his strength keeping me from tumbling sideways to the forest floor. But he’s staring at his hand, at the fingers he has just pulled from my pussy. His frown deepens, and he slowly unhooks first my left leg, then my right, from his shoulders. All too soon, I’m standing on my own two feet again. My skirt slides down, covering me, but strangely, I feel more naked now than I did only moments ago with his mouth on my most intimate part.
“Steagor?” I prompt, my voice barely louder than a whisper.
Still kneeling in front of me, he wordlessly shows me his hand. It’s wet from my juices—but there’s a faint pink smear, barely visible on his green skin.
Oh.
I squeeze my legs together, registering a pinch between my legs. It’s nothing I can’t handle, and I didn’t even notice it until now, lost as I was in all the other sensations he brought out in me.
“I hurt you,” he chokes out.
I step forward, wanting to hug him, to comfort him and make sure he understands that what we did was entirely pleasurable. But he stands so abruptly, he stumbles a little, and takes several steps back.
I don’t like the horror dawning on his face, so I try again, reaching for him. “It’s all right,” I say softly. “You didn’t hurt me. That was…”
“A mistake,” he rasps. “The biggest fucking mistake of my life.”
I wince, jerking to a stop. The words are a blow, and if I wasn’t in pain before, I certainly am now.
“But I liked it.” My voice is small, quieter than I’d intended, but my throat is closing up, and I have to force myself to say the rest. “I wanted you to do it. And I thought you wanted it, too.”
Steagor doesn’t answer. He lumbers over to the stream, where he washes his hands and his face, and by the time he returns, everything inside me goes cold. He doesn’t want me. I have no idea why he’d do something like this if he doesn’t, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s clearly horrified by what we did.
He silently hands me a wet cloth, a torn-off chunk of his shirt by the looks of it, even though I can’t tell with his cloak wrapped around his shoulders. I turn my back to him and reach under my skirts to clean myself. I find a slight smear of blood on the cloth, so I wad it up and quickly bury it under some rotten leaves before Steagor can see it and make even more of a fuss.
At least I’m not silly enough to not know what has happened. Even though I had no idea of the pleasure my body is capable of, I have heard enough whispers from older women to know that some bleeding is normal for when a woman is first…fucked. I’d thought it would happen on my wedding night, though, and I’d expected it to involve my future husband’s cock, but I suppose long, thick fingers are similar enough. I was so sure it would hurt, though, and now my first experience was vastly different from that.
I bite my lip, trying not to think of how Steagor held me up easily, how he feasted on my body. Because the thought alone might be enough to get me going again, and I don’t want that, not now that he clearly regrets what he did.
I return to where he’s waiting by the horse, his expression forbidding. Nothing about him gives away how gentle he was with me, how thorough in helping me find my pleasure for the first time. He’s a warrior now, menacing and cold.
I can’t help but glance at his pants, where that thick ridge is still visible behind his laces.
Aha!
He is affected by me. The realization fills me with triumph at first, and the knowledge that this wasn’t completely one-sided is a relief. Then I realize it might be even worse, because he clearly doesn’t want to want me.
I wish to communicate something to him, though. I can’t stand the thought of him berating himself for something he did for me.
I stop in front of him, inches from his chest, and crane my neck to see his face. At first, he keeps staring into the forest, but I remain silent until he finally relents and meets my gaze.
“I liked what we did,” I say. “I enjoyed it.”
“We shouldn’t have—” he begins.
But I speak over him, needing to get the words out. “I want to do it again.”
He chokes on his words, clears his throat, and returns to staring to some point over my head.
I take another step forward, close enough that my chest brushes his. My nipples are still sensitive from before, and from the hardness in the front of Steagor’s pants, I know he’s feeling this, too.
“Why can’t we?” I ask.
“I’m your guardian,” he growls.
But he doesn’t step away.
“That doesn’t matter to me,” I protest, pressing my palm in the middle of his chest.
Steagor places his hand over mine. “I’m nearly twice your age, Poppy.”
I snort. “I’m twenty-two. I highly doubt that.”
He sends me an unamused glare. “Fine, then. I’m sixteen years older than you. Old enough to be your—”
I reach up and smash my palm over his mouth to muffle the words. “You’d have to start having children very early in life for that to be true. And I don’t care how old you are.”
He tugs my hand away from his mouth. “This is not up for discussion. We’re never doing this again. Now come on. We’re wasting time. I want to reach the village before noon.” Without waiting for my reply, he turns to the horse and adjusts something on the saddle strap.
I put my hands on my hips. “You don’t honestly expect me to go and find a husband after what we just did.”
He points at the horse. “We’re leaving.”
“No.” I back up a step. “I don’t want some stranger in my life.”
Steagor scowls at me. “You and I are strangers. We only met a week ago.”
The words hurt. He’s right, but somehow it doesn’t feel like the truth. We’ve been through so much already, and he wouldn’t take such good care of me if I was a stranger to him, would he? And I certainly would never allow a stranger to—
“Come here, Poppy,” he barks. “Now.”
His order has me narrowing my eyes. For so many years, I’ve been the good girl, following first my father’s orders, then obeying my stepmother even though I didn’t want to. And now I don’t want to get back on that horse, I don’t want to travel to the village, and I certainly don’t want to be presented to the villagers like a piece of meat.
So I pick up my skirts, turn up the trail, back toward the Hill, and run.
