by Tracy Lauren
I rise and retrieve my brush from my chest of drawers. She looks over her shoulder at me, watching with great scrutiny. I pull my armchair close to her and take a seat. “Come closer,” I tell her. She frowns as if I’m asking for some deviant sexual favor. I huff out a breath and move my chair to her instead, positioning her between my legs. She tries to turn to look at me, but I turn her head away and scoop up her muddied locks.
“This might hurt,” I warn and she yelps as the brush catches on tangle after tangle.
Chapter 6
Adelaide
“What was the name of your village?” the troll asks.
“Aberdeen.”
“That’s a ways out. Did you run the whole way here?”
I nod in response, but it causes a tangle to get caught in his brush and I hiss in pain. Gently, he works it out.
“You had family there?” he asks.
“Another aunt. She and I weren’t…” I swallow heavily. “Our relationship was tense.”
“I understand.”
“How could you? You’re a troll,” I tell him, not hiding my disgust.
“Even trolls have family, little one,” he responds calmly, moving to another section of my matted hair. I lean against one of his muscled legs, the alcohol beginning to take its effect. My lips tingle and my head is buzzing, the adrenaline I’ve been running on all day finally wearing thin.
“She and I fought this morning.” I laugh sourly. “Who am I kidding? We fought every morning. I just wish we hadn’t this time. I still hate the old hag, but I’d have been nicer to her had I known she would die today…or whatever worse fate she endured.”
“There is nothing worse than death.”
“Yeah? What do you know? My entire village was wiped out and I lost my freedom all in a day. Getting washed down in the river sounds undeniably appealing fate at this point.”
“You’re either wrong or stupid,” he says, giving me a rap on the head with the back of the brush.
“Hey!” I complain, scowling at him over my shoulder. It doesn’t hurt, but I don’t like his forwardness. He rises to his feet and I teeter without his leg to lean against.
“Most of the mud is out, but you’re still dirty. You’ll need to bathe again in the morning.”
He looks at me expectantly and I scowl at him. “I hope you aren’t waiting for me to thank you.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he scoffs, echoing my earlier words to him. The troll makes his way around the room blowing out candles and lanterns. I watch him for a while. Oddly enough, I want him to talk. I want to fight with him and tell him what a monster he is. I want him to snarl and growl and to scare me so I don’t have to think about all the people I grew up knowing and how horrible their deaths must have been. I can see the faces of my childhood playmates. The town healer. The priest. My mother’s dearest friend, Catherine.
“What are you doing?” Tears well in my eyes and I hope he doesn’t hear my voice waver.
“It is time for bed.”
“I never knew trolls slept in beds,” I say spitefully, trying to pick a fight. “I thought they slept in the filth and algae that festers beneath bridges.”
He doesn’t look at me. Instead he inspects the quickly healing wounds on his chest and arms. “One could write a book about all the things you don’t know about trolls,” he responds absently.
“I know everything I need to about your kind. Besides being green and living under bridges, trolls are nothing more than a lot of thieves and manipulators. And if I take you as an example, I can add callous and—” He shoots his gaze to me, waiting to hear how I’ll finish my appraisal of him. His yellow eyes shine in the dark and the firelight casts dancing shadows over his monstrous face.
“…and hideous, and—” My voice grows small and his brow softens. The troll approaches, kneeling before me, and my voice dies in my throat. I hold my breath, trying not to swallow the knot it leaves there. For if I do, I’m sure to cry and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stop.
“What is your name, little one?” the troll asks.
“Adelaide.”
“I am Brom.”
I force out a laugh. “Don’t you want me to call you ‘Master’?”
He reaches out one massive, four-fingered hand and palms my cheek. Some weak sliver of my soul wants to lean into his warmth, wants to cry and find solace in another being. But this troll isn’t safe, he isn’t my friend. He is my captor and I recoil at his touch in defiance.
“You are safe here, Adelaide. The sooner you come to terms with your new life, the easier it will be for you.”
“How can anyone come to terms with slavery?” I never bowed to Aunt Celia’s will, why would I do so for this troll?
“There are worse fates. Work hard and this will be a fair life.”
“I can’t possibly stay here forever.”
“Why not? You have nothing else in this world, save an aunt in Pontheugh, who I gather you hardly even know.”
“This is no life! I’m young, I want to have a husband one day and a family!”
“I am sorry, but I’m not attracted to humans. You’re all too scrawny and pale.”
“No one wants to marry you, you dim oaf!” I shout. A wide smile cracks across his face, showing brilliantly white fangs. He’s teasing me. “I see what you’re doing. You’re trying to get a rise out of me.”
“Isn’t that what you want?” he asks, sounding nonplussed.
I huff and look away from him. “Don’t do me any favors.”
“I take it I also shouldn’t point out all the favors I’ve done for you thus far,” he says, rising. I watch him amble the short distance to his bed. His movements are languorous and slow. I’m shocked when I see his loincloth fall from his waist. Gasping, I look away before I can see anything of consequence, wishing I had a hand free to cover my eyes. I can hear him laughing at my shock, but don’t venture another glance in his direction until I hear him drop heavily down onto his bed. He spreads out over his thick and plentiful pile of blankets.
“Do us both a favor and promise not to run. You wouldn’t make it past the charms on the bridge gate and I’m in no mood to rise again before morning.”
I don’t respond, refusing to make him any promises. Though, I don’t plan on going anywhere tonight. I’m too tired to run…but he doesn’t need to know that.
Chapter 7
Brom
I watch Adelaide as she stares into the fire. Silent tears fall down her cheeks. I consider rising and offering her another bottle of honey wine, but eventually she lies down and falls into a deep sleep. I have a more difficult time finding rest. My own sleep is light as I remain vigilant of her throughout the night.
It’s still early when I’m pulled from my light slumber only to find her tossing and turning—in the midst of a nightmare. The blanket I had wrapped around her has fallen free and her arms are pinned beneath her back, leaving her breasts exposed to me. I try to ignore the erect, strawberry-pink tips.
Climbing from my bed, I buckle my loincloth around my waist, making more noise than necessary so that she might wake and turn to shield her smooth and curved human body from my view. Her breaths are short and quick and her eyelids flutter. I grow concerned for her, having no desire to leave her trapped in a nightmare.
“Human,” I say, but she does not wake. When she whimpers out a sad cry, I decide enough is enough and go to her side.
“Adelaide,” I call to her, gripping her upper arm. “Adelaide!” Finally, she wakes with a start…followed by a scream.
She skitters back from me, looking outraged. “What do you think you’re doing?”
I rub my hand over my eyes. “You were having a nightmare.”
“Waking is a nightmare if the first thing I see is your hideous face!”
“And this is what I have to see,” I say, gesturing to her exposed body and giving her my most unimpressed expression.
She gasps. “How dare you! I demand you cover me with
that blanket right now!”
I take the blanket from the ground and wrap it around her shoulders tightly so that it does not come free again. When my hand brushes against her arm, she hisses in pain.
“What is it?”
“My arms…they’re sore.” She’s wincing now that her initial shock of waking has subsided.
“Are you done running?”
“No,” she answers honestly.
I’m forced to laugh at her bluntness. “Do you at least promise not to knock our breakfast onto the floor?”
She looks thoughtful for a moment and then nods her head.
“Good enough for now,” I mutter.
Moving behind her, I pull the blanket back down and use my knife to cut the rope binding her wrists, freeing her. Before my blade is even sheathed, she’s hurrying to cover herself once more, but her hands are shaking and weak so I help her with the blanket again. She doesn’t pull away from me as I offer my aid. Nor does she thank me.
When she whimpers once more I’m not sure what to make of it. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“My arms hurt,” she whines. “The ropes were too tight and I must have been laying on them.”
“Let me see.” And to my surprise, she turns to me, holding out her arms.
I begin rubbing her forearms and wrists. “So trusting,” I point out, bemusedly. She scowls in response. “You must be warming to the idea of our partnership.”
“I’d hardly call being your slave a ‘partnership.’ Besides, I’m desperate. My arms really do hurt,” she admits. Some of the edge falls away from her words. “It feels like needles…”
“They have only fallen asleep. The feeling will subside in a few minutes.” Her arms feel cold in my hands and I rub them gently, helping the blood circulate.
“That’s better,” she tells me finally, pulling her hands free and rolling her wrists. “Can I dress now?”
“Would you like my assistance with that as well?” I offer, still feeling in a teasing mood.
“What do you think?” she asks angrily.
I shrug and rise, walking across the room to give her some sense of privacy. “What will you be making for breakfast?”
“Do you like omelets? Or crepes perhaps? Some people like a good coffee cake.”
“Any of those sound delicious.” Already my mouth is watering in anticipation.
“Well, then you have the wrong slave. I don’t know how to make any of that. I can scramble an egg if you want.”
I start a pot of coffee, laughing to myself. “No, I think I have the right slave. I’d choose a good sense of humor over a good meal any day. Though I’d prefer to have both.”
I peek over my shoulder in time to see her slip her stiff and tattered dress over her shoulders. She did not do a thorough job washing it yesterday, though I can hardly blame her considering the circumstances. As time goes on, she will get used to this arrangement…and hopefully get better at household chores.
Adelaide huffs, fussing with her bodice. “You tore it, you big oaf.”
“Would you like to sew it? I have needles and thread—”
“No. I don’t want to sew it. I’d rather it was never torn at all.”
“Do you not know how to sew?”
“No. I don’t know how to sew,” she says in a mocking sing-song voice. “I also don’t know how to cook and I’m terrible at keeping house. Looks like all you got out of me was my sense of humor,” she huffs, finally giving up on her bodice and rounding on me. The front of her gown used to hold her breasts in tightly, and while they’re still covered, now they jiggle freely, accentuating her shape.
“That and the view,” I say, nodding towards her breasts.
“You’re an animal!” The human crosses her arms over her chest in an attempt to cover herself. The stance only amplifies her cleavage however. I chuckle and go to the larder.
“Here are the eggs. You may make some for yourself too, if you like. There’s bread and butter, the pots and pans are in the cupboard here, and I expect you to wash everything after you’re done.”
She rolls her eyes at me and starts pulling things from the larder, setting them out on the table. I have my own sewing to do, so I take a seat and unroll my sewing pouch on the opposite end of the table.
“I can teach you this skill,” I offer.
“I’m a terrible learner.”
“What a shock,” I mutter, peeking up at her. While she says she doesn’t know how to cook, she seems to know her way around the kitchen well enough. Unfortunately, my optimism is short lived, for it isn’t long until the room is filled with smoke and the plate she sets before me is hardly recognizable as eggs.
“What’s this?” I cough, waving the smoke from my eyes.
“Breakfast. Enjoy, Master,” she says smartly, not bothering to hide the wicked smile on her rosy lips.
“What are you eating?” Eyeing her plate I see that for some reason her eggs don’t seem to be suffering from the same affliction as my own. She brings a fluffy, yellow scoopful to her mouth and bats her eyes at me. I rise to my feet, as imposing as I can—which I’ve been told is fairly imposing—and I stalk the short distance to her end of the table. It seems effective, because she drops her fork and it clatters against her plate, her expression no longer so smug.
“If you can’t cook, you can be taught,” I say, stopping in front of her. “One way or another.” I take her plate and trade it with my own. “Now eat.”
“I’m not eating this.”
“Let me put it this way, your behavior is going to be punished. Hells, I’ll even let you choose. I can either hogtie you naked once more or you can eat your breakfast.”
She shakes her head in dismay.
“I could always give you a spanking,” I offer instead, eliciting another fearful shake of her head.
“Then eat.”
Adelaide scowls at me and picks up her fork, frowning at the charred mass on her plate.
“Now or I’ll choose an alternative punishment.”
She shoots daggers at me with her eyes and shoves a bite into her mouth, grimacing. Her eyes water and she gags. “Oh, this is repulsive!” she wails, gulping down water. Again, my troll-sized cup seems like a bowl in her human-sized hands.
“How much do I have to eat?” she asks.
“What have you learned?”
“Nothing I didn’t already know…that I hate you and you’re a horrible beast holding me against my will.”
“Take another bite.”
This time she doesn’t take her eyes off me. The shining green globes remain narrow and full of hate, a silent challenge to me. This will get old quickly.
“Are you truly so stubborn to not see a good thing when it is standing right before you?” I ask. She makes a big show of looking around the room, pretending to be perplexed.
“How many times must I explain, the road to Pontheugh is a dangerous one. You are a female, traveling with no companion, no goods to trade, no horse to ride, heading toward a distant relative that you don’t know will take you in.”
“My aunt offered to take me in last year when my parents were killed, the offer will stand.”
“Many things can change in a year. Perhaps your aunt has taken a man or had a child and no longer has room for you. Maybe she’s moved and you won’t even be able to find her. Maybe that room she offers you is in a whorehouse—”
“How dare you!”
“The point is you do not know! Here you have safety and I only ask that you to do the same chores you would in your own home. That is not UNREASONABLE,” I argue, my temper beginning to get the better of me.
“You’re stealing my life away! How is that reasonable?” she shouts back.
“What would you have me do, release you? Only so you can die at the hands of a rapist before the day is done?”
“No! I…I… It couldn’t possibly be that dangerous…could it?” Behind her insolence, her eyes look fearful.
“Little one, you have wan
dered into the Perished Woods. There is nothing but danger here. Did your parents teach you nothing?”
She hunches her shoulders in defeat, looking away. I take it her parents did tell a story or two. Good, hopefully it will save her life.
“Cook yourself some fresh eggs,” I tell her.
Disgruntled, she rises from the table, taking her plate with her. I grab her arm as she passes. “And stop wasting my food or I will be forced to find a way to punish you that will leave a more lasting impression,” I warn. A spanking would do this stubborn woman some good.
Chapter 8
Adelaide
At breakfast I eat a troll’s share of eggs, ensuring I won’t be hungry for dinner. Something like a plan forms in my mind. I’ll cook for the troll if he’s going to force me to, but he isn’t going to like it.
As supper time nears, I rifle through the troll’s cupboards, stumbling across the spices I’ll need for his meal. While I cook, he works on a new latch for the door. It’s as heavy as a tree trunk and I doubt I could ever move the thing on my own. I frown at it unhappily; my only solace is the meal I ladle into his bowl.
“Aren’t you hungry?” he asks when I serve him.
“Nope,” I answer flatly.
“Suit yourself.” He scrutinizes the stew I made especially for him. “Looks better than breakfast did.”
Still, he’s wary and pokes at the meal before venturing to take a bite. I watch him with a blank expression as he chokes back a cough. His brow furrows and he sputters into his napkin. Already I can see sweat breaking out on his forehead. I’m feeling pretty damn good about my sabotage when he turns to me.
“The joke’s on you this time, little one. I like spicy food.”
“Well, it’s a shame I used your entire supply of chili and pepper then.” I shrug, taking a seat across from him. “This’ll be your last spicy meal for a while.”
The troll shoves another spoonful into his mouth. His nostrils flare and more sweat beads on his forehead. “Looks delicious,” I say with a smirk.