Hunter's Season (Elder Races #4.7)(17)

Tiago and Niniane shared a long, inscrutable look before Tiago promised, “I’ll look into it.”

Niniane stood. “I’m sorry our visit is so short, but we can’t stay any longer.” She looked at Xanthe. “Take care of him.”

“I will,” Xanthe promised.

She trailed behind Niniane and Tiago who left. Aubrey breathed evenly as he glared at the open window. He listened to their voices fade as they moved away from the cottage. If he thought he could stand without falling, he would have followed them to argue.

After a few minutes Xanthe returned. She moved around in the other room then appeared in his doorway carrying two large canvas bags on her shoulders. He glowered at her, which was a totally useless display of petulance as she did not look at him directly. She wore her perfect expressionless face again.

He had been amused by that smooth façade of hers before, but now it was beginning to grate on him. Silence reigned in the room as she opened first one bag and pulled out a pile of folded clothes and boots. She set them on the bed beside him then opened the other bag and pulled out twenty books. Some of them were American paperbacks, and a few were Dark Fae. He glanced at the titles as she stacked them neatly on the small, simple bedside table. None of the books were nonfiction.

Xanthe returned to the pile of clothes on the bed and broke the silence. “Would you like a pair of trousers and a shirt?”

His hand shot out to circle her wrist. She stilled and looked down at his hand. “As soon as I am better, you will take me back to Adriyel.”

Her dark gaze lifted to meet his. “No, my lord.”

He said, his voice edged, “I did not ask you. I ordered you to.”

One of her silken eyebrows raised, a small quirk of reaction. “You may issue as many orders as you like, but I am not obligated to obey you,” she said. “I am not your servant. I am the Queen’s. You may be willing to defy her orders, but I will not disrespect or disobey her.”

There was that loyalty of hers, straight and unwavering. He thought back to his disappointed sense of betrayal when he had so briefly thought she had kidnapped him, and his unruly temper subsided.

He remarked in a much milder tone, “I’m acting like an ass, aren’t I?”

Her demeanor softened. “You’re angry, and understandably so. It’s hard to have your movements restricted, especially when you feel the need to act.”

“This has happened to you too,” he said. “You must stay here with me.”

One corner of her mouth lifted. “Truly, it is not a hardship. I want to do it. But before her grace came up with this idea, I had asked to be the one to hunt for your attackers. Tiago denied me, and it was very hard. He’s hunting for all those responsible, himself.”

She had wanted to hunt down those who attacked him? He blinked, and his grip loosened.

The last several days had given him a deep, visceral knowledge of her, the timbre of her voice, her scent, the gentle touch of her hands on his body. Following an impulse to learn more about her by touch, he let his fingers slide over her forearm as he slowly let go of her. The texture of her skin was silken, warm.

She took in a quick, near silent breath. As he stared into her eyes he saw her pupils dilate.

She reacted to his touch.

What was he doing? He frowned and released her fully.

She angled her face away as she gathered up the pile of clothes. “Please leave trousers and a shirt,” he said.

She nodded and did so, then took the rest of the clothes to set them on the nearby dresser. Afterward, she turned to him, not quite looking at him. “Do you require assistance with dressing?”

He hesitated as he struggled with his pride. It wasn’t just his rage; all his emotions were unruly. Normally even tempered, he felt like a stranger to himself. At last, he admitted, “I don’t know.”

She glanced at his face quickly and nodded. “Call if you have need.”

“Thank you.”

She stepped out of the room, and he shook out the trousers. Those he could manage, one leg at a time, although his muscles shook when he stood upright to pull them over his hips. The shirt was something else entirely. He could slide one arm into a sleeve, but could not flex his back muscles enough to fully don it.

Instead of calling out to her, he stood again, forcing his knees to lock and accept his full weight. Then he walked carefully across the room, his bare feet making no sound on the smooth floorboards. When he reached the doorway, he leaned one shoulder against its support and looked curiously around the other room.

It was more spacious than the bedroom, with a large kitchen cupboard and shelves along one wall, a table and two chairs, and two more armchairs positioned in front of the fireplace. There was a sideboard with a basin and bucket for washing dishes and preparing meals. A sheathed sword in a shoulder harness hung on a simple hook beside the doorway that stood open to the sunny morning.

All of the furniture was made of plain, solid oak that had been polished to a warm golden color. The armchairs had seat cushions that looked worn and comfortable. As with many Dark Fae country cottages, the large fireplace was the heart of the house, a true cooking fireplace with walk-in room and a swiveling iron bar from which hung a cooking pot.

Beside the fireplace was a shadowed alcove with a curtain pushed open. He could see the edge of a copper tub. There was also a simple pallet on the floor. He paused at that thoughtfully, looking back into ‘his’ room. There was only one bed in the cottage, and he was using it.