Ambrosia (Frost and Nectar, #2)(15)

I bit my lip, trying to layer a little desperation into my voice. “I’d actually feel better if I could move, Torin. I was cooped up for so long in a cell, being confined in here is the last thing I need. I’m desperate to feel my freedom. And also, I believe you promised me food? I am absolutely starving. So I’d prefer if you didn’t delay it by wasting your cooking time fetching water.” Before he could object, I snatched the bucket off the warped floorboards and strode into the marine-tinged air.

If Torin had any sense, he’d be cleaning and healing his feet right now. But maybe Morgant had beaten the sense out of him.

Outside, I kept my senses alert for the sound of oncoming soldiers, but I only heard the mournful call of an owl, the rush of wind through the boughs, and the waves crashing against the cliff. I knelt at the riverside to fill the bucket from the burbling stream.

Gods, it felt amazing to be out of that dungeon. I really did crave the freedom to walk around, even if my muscles screamed at me.

Rising on aching legs, I carried the bucket back to the house, the weight of it dragging on my arm. As I approached the faded blue door, Torin stepped outside, a lock of his dark hair falling in his face. This time, his muscles looked relaxed, his hands in the pockets of his dirt-stained pants. Clearly, he’d used the healing oil, and I felt a little twinge of pride that I’d helped him. “I’m going to get you food, changeling. Like you said, I don’t want you to starve to death on my watch.”

A smile ghosted over my lips. “I’m ravenous.”

In and out I moved, filling up the bucket and pouring it into the giant teapot contraption to boil, then dumping the hot water into the tub.

But I wasn’t about to fill this bath twice, was I? It would be just about large enough for two.

As I dragged the water in and out of the house, Torin returned with a pheasant and juniper berries. While I filled the bath, he plucked and salted the meat, then rubbed it with herbs and old port from one of the cupboards. He speared the pheasant on a spit to roast in the fireplace.

At last, the tub was filled with hot water, and steam coiled from the bath. The smell of the roasting pheasant made it difficult to concentrate on anything but what it would taste like, mouthwatering and succulent.

Torin turned the pheasant on its spit, his sharp jawline and high cheekbones cast in the warm glow of the hearth .

“Torin,” I said, “you are getting in this tub with me.”

He glanced at me over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “I…what?”

“That took over twenty minutes. I’m not filling it again. And I’m not dealing with the guilt of taking the only bath. We were both tortured in the cells. We’ll both take a bath, facing in opposite directions.”

His eyes danced. “If you really want to see me naked, changeling, you could just ask.”

“It’s not like that.” I closed my eyes. “We will each face the opposite direction. I’ll face left, you right. It’s only practical.”

“Whatever you want, changeling.”





11





AVA




We faced away from one another, and I reached down for the hem of my dress. The green material was beyond filthy at this point. Even though I’d already been naked around Torin all the way here, it felt very different now in the calm and quiet of the house. And when I pulled the dress off, I was acutely aware of every inch of my bare skin. The hearth warmed one side of my body, and I glanced behind me at the tub.

“No looking,” I said, more of a reminder to myself than to him.

“That will make it difficult to get in the tub,” he said quietly.

Behind me, I heard the rustle of his clothes as he undressed. An unbidden image of Torin naked rose in my thoughts, and I imagined every sculpted, iron-hard curve of his muscles.

It really was difficult to find the tub without looking, so I stole a glance over my shoulder at the tub. Awkwardly, I climbed back over the rim, mentally congratulating myself for getting the temperature exactly right—hot enough to turn my skin pink, but not hot enough to blister. I slid down, sitting cross-legged in the water.

I heard Torin slip into the bath behind me and the sharp intake of his breath. The water rose higher, and the steaming water lapped at my skin above my breasts.

“Gods, Ava. Are you trying to boil us alive? Is this hell?”

“Do your subjects know you’re such a delicate flower?” My muscles relaxed, and I folded my arms over the edge. I should be actively washing my hair and body, but I just wanted to let myself melt. And I was intensely distracted by the fact that Torin was crammed into the tub close to me, trying very carefully to keep his body from touching mine.

Next to the tub, I’d piled neatly folded clothes—trousers, boots, and clean white shirts that I’d found tucked away in a wardrobe. My gaze skimmed over the garments and back to the Seelie king. From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a warrior’s body, the dark tattoos that climbed vine-like over his finely cut muscles. His shoulders flexed, and shadows and firelight sculpted the chiseled contours of his back. I let my gaze trail over the angry plum-colored bruises on his spine, fury curling through my chest. Morgant had really done a number on him.

Sighing, Torin leaned forward, his arms folded over the front of the tub as mine had been moments before. The heated water was a balm for aching muscles, and the sultry air was soothing to the lungs.