by Denali Day
“This is our bok,” Hollen said, setting the torch he’d carried with him into the wall. “Each family has one of their own.”
“Will the torches not starve us for air?” she asked as she pulled her hood back.
Hollen shook his head. He pointed to the center of the ceiling, which hung over a carved fire ring. A large cluster of pores provided natural ventilation, and Joselyn suddenly understood what pulled the current of air through the tunnel.
She watched as Hollen unraveled his pack and began resettling the room as he must have had it before he left to claim her. His axe was the first to be set aside. He hung it on a hook on the flattest part of the curved wall. Next, he shook out the bear pelt. He walked it to a small hill of furs on the room’s massive bed. Hide pillows lay stacked against the wall.
“If you’re cold, you may light the fire.” Hollen nodded toward the pit in the center of the room. He tossed her the flints from the pack. Joselyn impressed herself by catching them both in one hand, and Hollen nodded in appreciation before turning back to his task.
Joselyn stared at the pit. She’d never made a fire before. That was the sort of thing her chambermaids saw to. How had she gone her whole life without performing such a basic task? She approached the pit. It was already stacked with wood and kindling.
How hard can this be?
Joselyn dropped to her knees at the pit and squinted at the sticks which were laid against each other in an upward pointing fashion. She rolled the flints about in her hands, considering. She shifted her gaze to the torches on the wall.
Would it not be easier to simply light the fire from one of them?
Last night Hollen had struck the little rocks together, feeding sparks into the ring until it danced with gleaming heat. Her lips thinned in determination. She squatted down and bumped the stones against one another. Nothing happened. She did so again, a bit harder, and a spark jumped before her. Smiling triumphantly, she continued striking the flints as sparks poured out over the broken branches.
A minute passed. Joselyn hissed in frustration. The flames wouldn’t take. A tingle crawled up her spine. Hollen stood over her. She gritted her teeth in disgust at her own ineptitude. Pretending not to notice him, she continued striking the flints.
Hollen said nothing, but crouched beside her. Joselyn stiffened, unable to feign obliviousness. He reached into the tiny pyre and plucked out a tuft of bark thread, which he set beneath her hands. He waited.
Swallowing her pride, Joselyn struck the flints again, and this time, the spark devoured its offering. Her eyes widened. She snatched a palm full of twigs, lit them like candlesticks, and fed each one into the pyre until it glowed. From the corner of her eye she could see Hollen regarding her with a tilted gaze, his lips pursed. She refused to look in his direction until he returned to unpacking.
Across the fire, he stuffed his empty pack into a wooden chest beneath the hanging axe. She warmed her hands, watching him. When he dropped the lid back down, he set the sheathed gneri blade upon it. Then he walked away as though he meant to leave it there. Her eyes flicked toward the bed. Despite the fire’s heat and her cloak’s warmth, a cold sweat broke out across her body.
“Mu hamma.”
Joselyn jumped as Hollen addressed her. He held out the comb from the night before. Joselyn took it, glad to have something to fidget with. She unraveled her braid and worked at the windblown tangles as Hollen began pulling at the ties of his leather armor.
“You should undress,” Hollen said as he pulled off his furs. Joselyn straightened. With his torso bare, she could again see his scars, both old and new. His latest work was covered in a dry square of bloody cloth.
“I need to make sure your tanshi mark is healing.” Hollen gestured to his own wound.
“It’s well,” she lied, not wanting him near her in such a manner again. In truth it ached like burning skies.
Hollen huffed. “I’m sure it is, but it must be re-dressed. Take off your cloak.”
Joselyn ignored him, watching him tend to his own wound from across the room instead. He peeled the old cloth back and wetted a new square with water. He dabbed at the cuts before covering them in more of the green paste he had used the day before. Finally he re-covered the area with a new square of cloth. When he finished, he strode over to where Joselyn sat before the fire. His idadi scars glared ominously down as he plopped to the ground next to her. Propping a knee beneath one elbow he stared hard into her eyes.
“Why aren’t you obeying me?” he asked, voice even.
Joselyn shot a quick glance toward the bok’s entrance. “You’re not my master.”
“And yet what I asked of you was perfectly reasonable, no?” Hollen cocked a brow.
“No,” Joselyn whispered. If only she sounded more confident.
“So, you would have me allow your wound to fester then? Come all this way to die of a fever?” His accent grew thicker as the tension in his voice ratcheted.
“I expect I would be easy enough for you to replace,” she shot back.
His dark eyes narrowed at that. There was a moment of strained silence before he spoke, “You’re afraid of me.”
Terror and indignation roiled within her stomach, sickening her. She could deny it, but what was the point? Her lie would be obvious. Instead she poured every drop of condemnation she could into her voice. “Of course I am.”
He regarded her. Slowly, he reached into her lap and pulled one of her hands away. Uncurling her fingers, Hollen fitted her freckled palm against his calloused one. She stared at them, noting the vast disparity in their sizes. Her nail tips barely reached the point of his second knuckles. She looked back at her captor who held his iron gaze upon her
“If I want you to move, I can move you. If I want you to stay, I can make you stay.” He spoke slowly, deliberately, willing her to understand him. “If I want you to undress, I can undress you myself. I am not your master, mu hamma, but I can master you, make no mistake.”
Joselyn’s mouth went dry. He was right. She dropped her hand from his palm, her eyes retreating to her lap. She clenched her hands around the comb to keep them from shaking.
“That’s not what I want,” he murmured.
He stroked two fingers across the back of her hand, leaving gooseflesh in his wake. Joselyn risked a glance back up at him, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.
“But I will do what I must to keep you safe because, despite your taunts, I cannot replace you, Joselyn. My only.”
Joselyn swallowed, her brows drawing together.
“If I give you an order that you can explain to me is unreasonable, I’ll not force you to obey me.”
Joselyn’s chin jutted forward. Should she take him seriously? “And, if we disagree on what is reasonable?”
Hollen was thoughtful. “Your new world is strange to you. If your safety is in question we will rely upon my judgment for the time being.”
“And what if the matter at hand does not concern my . . .safety?” Joselyn’s eyes trailed toward the bed.
Hollen sighed, dropping his hand away. “I have no interest in forcing my body into yours.”
Joselyn flinched, cringing at the image those words conjured.
“You will sleep in my bed where it’s warm and where I can keep you safe, but I’ll not claim your body until you ask it of me.”
Then you’ll not claim me ever, savage.
Relief washed over her. Perhaps she’d survive this ordeal with her virtue intact, assuming he could be trusted. She wouldn’t take that for granted. Joselyn brushed a strand of red hair behind her ear. Shifting under the weight of his gaze, she nodded.
“Now, let me clean your wound.”
Joselyn set the comb aside and unclasped the bone broach holding her cloak together. The heavy fur fell to the ground behind her, still holding its warmth to the small of her back. She climbed to her feet so that she could loosen the cords at her sides while Hollen retrieved his supplies.
Joselyn peeled of
f the purple dress, leaving her in the long-sleeved shift. Its neckline had a deep slit in the front that was laced together with a thin cord. Hollen set his things on the ring of the firepit and settled himself back to the ground. He tipped his head, watching as she unlaced her shift. Joselyn felt heat creep up her chest and into her face as she undressed. Even this felt intimate. She dropped to her knees.
Too late she heard her pendant clink on its chain. Would he take it from her? Cite some nonsensical tradition about brides not being allowed to retain any belongings? When Hollen saw it, her fingers itched to hide it away. He hunched forward and swept it over her shoulder and out of the way. Joselyn relaxed even as he wetted the cloth and began working it away from her mark. Once again he had been careful not to fully expose her breast.
She watched him as he worked. His movements were steady and meticulous, as though he’d done this a thousand times before. She studied the mass of tiny scars on his shoulders and down the center of his back. He’d done this a couple hundred times at least.
His dark head bent before her, Joselyn breathed in a bit of his scent. Surprisingly, it wasn’t offensive. She couldn’t imagine that people living on mountains were eager to bathe on a regular basis. But his skin and hair were clean. A hint of pine and sulfur was all the odor she could detect. It was pleasant, and that ludicrous thought made her nose wrinkle. She leaned away from him, anxious to get his heady scent out of her nose. He paused, raising a brow.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No,” she said, too quickly. “I mean, yes.”
Swiving hells, Joselyn! Stop stuttering.
His brows drew together and Joselyn willed him to ignore her. He began again, even more gently. He worked the green sludge into the fine lines before covering them with a clean square of cloth. “It will need to be changed like this daily for a week. Then it should stay dry. If it begins to weep, or burn, or stink, you must tell me.”
Joselyn nodded her agreement, clutching her shift closed. Hollen rose and put his belongings in the trunk. He withdrew a long piece of cloth.
“To sleep in,” he said, bunching it up and tossing it over the fire to her.
She caught it. It was a pale shift without sleeves and with a much lower neckline than her current shift. It was soft to the touch and she imagined it would be comforting against her skin. But it was indecent. Growing up, Tansy had given her many a lecture about the sexual appetites of men. Her warning had been clear: “give ‘em too much to see and they’ll have you on your back the minute you’re alone.” Thoughts of Tansy made the backs of her eyes sting.
Focus, Joselyn.
What of his other declaration? That he wouldn’t force her to obey him on matters which didn’t concern her safety? Time to put one of those oaths to the test.
“I’ll sleep as I am,” she said, folding the shift as she stood.
Hollen regarded her from across the room. “You’ve been in that one since yesterday.”
“Yes, it’s quite warm,” she said, moving to place the shift back into the trunk. She folded her hand over the gneri knife to keep it from sliding as she lifted the heavy wooden lid.
Hollen pursed his lips, pointing to his bed. “The furs are warm. I gave you the shift because I doubt you wish to join me there naked.”
Joselyn bristled. Was he implying that he slept in the nude? Gods, she hoped not. Ignoring him, she lowered the trunk lid back down on his offering.
“Furs aren’t easy to clean. We don’t wear dirty clothes inside them.”
Joselyn turned. “Are you ordering me to change?”
Go ahead, show me now if your little speech was sincere or not.
Hollen narrowed his eyes as if sensing her dare. She returned his glare. He shrugged then grabbed a stone bowl for dousing the torches.
Joselyn’s shoulders relaxed. She retrieved her comb and finished reworking her hair into its braid. When it was considerably darker, Hollen propped a boot up on the wooden bedframe, bending to work at the laces. When his foot was free, Joselyn saw he was missing his three outer toes. She meandered closer to the bed, trying to make out what had happened to him. She froze. He was about to yank his pants off.
Turning at the last minute, Joselyn barely avoided laying eyes on the now, fully naked man. Her cheeks glowed as she clutched the end of her braid. His footsteps padded around the bed in her direction. She skittered forward, turning sideways so that she could tell where he was in her periphery.
Instead of approaching her, he dropped into bed on the side closest to her and the bok’s entrance. Joselyn stood there, fidgeting with her hair. She jumped when he spoke.
“Come to bed.”
Sighing, Joselyn mustered the courage to turn around. Hollen was lying beneath the covers, eyes closed, his hands laced behind his head. The fire cracked and popped, throwing its warm glow across the black-brown furs. Fingering the comb, Joselyn went to set it on the trunk’s lid. When she got there, her eyes brushed the gneri blade, sitting conspicuously in the open.
In one smooth motion, Joselyn set the comb on the lid as she picked up the knife. Carefully, she turned. Thanked the merciful gods that Hollen’s eyes were still shut, his bearded face serene.
She hurried to the bed, her eagerness to hide her weapon strangling her misgivings about crawling under the blankets with a naked man. Turning her back to Hollen, she tucked the knife deep beneath her hide pillow and plunked her head upon it. She would have to return it in the morning, before he had time to notice it was missing. That was, assuming he didn’t force her to make use of it before then.
Joselyn’s gaze dipped to the fire in the center of the room. Once it burned out, they would be suffused in total darkness. Without the sun, would her body know when to wake her? She’d slept through half the day just last night. Her blood went cold. Perhaps this savage was a fitful sleeper. Perhaps his arm would sweep around her in the night and find its way to the knife’s cool ivory hilt. Her stomach lurched as she imagined what he would do to her. He would punish her for certain. Or worse.
Despite the warmth of the furs, another cold sweat broke out across Joselyn’s body. One of her problems was solved. She wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.
Long after the fire died, Hollen lay awake. Concealed by darkness, he no longer bothered to keep his eyes closed. He rested on his side now, facing his bride’s back across the bed. She hadn’t moved since slipping beneath the furs. Scooted so far against the edge, her limbs must be dangling over the side.
He hadn’t been tired when he went to bed. He would have spent several more hours enjoying the company of his brothers, except he was unwilling to leave his bride alone on her first night in her new home. Now he wondered if she’d have been better off had he simply tucked her in and left.
His bride wasn’t sleeping. She’d not slept a single minute. He listened for the same even breathing that’d lulled him to sleep the night prior, but it never came. Hollen suspected that had much to do with the knife she’d brought with her to their bed.
He’d left it out on purpose, anxious to see what she’d do with it, if anything. Hollen didn’t fancy the thought of spending the next weeks or even months wondering if his wife intended to kill him the moment he let his guard down. When he heard her move a little too quickly to join him, he knew she’d swiped the blade. It was just as well. Better she show her hand sooner than later.
However, after hours of nothing happening, Hollen began to think she hoarded the weapon less from a desire for early widowhood and more from desperation to retain her virtue. He knew he shouldn’t be frustrated. But what was it going to take to make her understand that she was safe?
Of course, her wariness was rational. In her mind she’d been kidnapped and mutilated by a savage bent only on having what he desired. The longer he thought about it, the more he decided he’d have thought less of her had she left the knife alone. He’d not claimed a weak woman.
Still, she needed to rest. And eventually, so did he. Not bothering with the p
retense of yawning or stretching, Hollen rose from the bed. His bride, who had been stone still all night, whipped around in the blankets as he moved. Hollen scoffed, his suspicions confirmed. When the dim glow of his torch filled the bok, Hollen saw his wife was sitting up, her face pale with alarm. She seemed to notice too late that he was still naked and her freckled cheeks burned.
Adorable. Disappointing. But adorable.
A corner of his mouth twitched. Unabashed, he rejoined her on the bed, pulling the edge of the furs into his lap for her sake. Joselyn looked ready to bolt, every muscle of her body tense. He let her squirm a moment before speaking.
“Where would you put it?” he asked, voice casual.
“What?” Her brow furrowed in honest confusion.
“The knife,” he said, nodding at the pillow near her fidgeting hand. “If I were to attack you right now, where on my body would you put it?”
“I—” her voice cracked.
Hollen slid his hand under the pillow and retrieved the gneri blade. He saw panic in her eyes and she flinched when he reached for her hand. Though he was gentle, Hollen had to tug at her arm to bring it up between them. He pressed the hilt into her palm and closed her fingers around it. “Show me.”
Joselyn swallowed hard. Hesitantly, she brought the tip to his ribs. When she pressed it to the flesh beneath his lung, Hollen was careful to remain still. He met her wide, gold eyes and waited. She was trembling.
“There,” she whispered.
At least she’d turned the flat so that it would fit between his ribs. Hollen pursed his lips, nodding in appreciation. “Painful. But not deadly. Not deadly enough, anyway.”
Joselyn frowned as he pinched the blade tip between his fingers and drew it up to the deep hollow of his throat. Her lips parted when he dropped his hand to his side.
“Stab a man here, and he won’t have time to make you join him in death.”
He looked her in the eye, and she stared back. Hollen waited for her to move, to speak, to do anything. She squeezed the hilt, the blacks of her eyes dilated. Her breath came in shallow, stuttering gasps, the only sound save for the crackling of the torch behind them.