Page 3 of Yuled By the Orcs
Oh.Lydia’sspoon froze halfway to her mouth, because had he — had he just said that his son’s mate was anothermale?Anotherorc, surely?Andfar more importantly,Trygwanted — he wantedLydiatomeetthem?!
“Ach, no need to scent so vexed, woman,”Trygsaid now, more clipped than before. “Don’tneed to meet ’em, if you don’t wish.Ifyou’re one of those humans who don’t approve of males finding joy together.”
Therewas a flinty glint in his eyes as he spoke, andLydiafelt herself blanching, her head shaking. “Ido want to meet them,” she said firmly. “Verymuch.I’monly — surprised.Thatyou would… want me to.”
Shecouldn’t hide the uncertainty in her voice, but across from herTrygcocked his head, his eyes intent. “Whywouldn’tIwish you to meet ’em?” he said. “We’veshared much joy together, these past moons.M’boy’soft asked after your scent upon me.”
Right.Lydia’sface was heating again, but she jerked a shrug, and drew in a shaky breath. “Ijust know you have… others, in your life,” she said thickly. “Otherswho are… probably much more important to you.”
Therewas an instant’s dangling silence, and across the table,Tryg’sface had gone entirely blank — and too late,Lydiaflapped her reddened hand at him, and then cringed and shoved it under the table. “Whichisfine,” she blurted out. “Iunderstand, of course.I’msure your other lovers are younger, and wealthier, and better looking, and probably have far more experience pleasing you, and —”
Hervoice abruptly broke off, becauseTryg’slong arm had snapped across the table, his hand clasping her shoulder. “Enoughof that, pet,” he said, gentle but firm. “Idon’t care for any of that.Youlive this life as long asIhave, you learn what holds true weight, ach?Akind heart and an eager touch hold far more worth than all these fleeting fripperies.”
Oh.Lydiabit her lip, blinking back toward him, and he flashed her a crooked, affectionate smile. “Butyou are yet stunning, pet,” he said, even softer. “Yourscent, and your pretty eyes, and your sweet little womb, and the hunger in your touch —ach.Whydo you kenIcannot keep myself away, human as you are?Wheneven now,Iwonder whether you spoke truth, when you said you should welcome —”
Hestopped there, his mouth twisting, butLydiacould easily follow the rest of it.Hewas talking about… thesharingagain.Andabout her promise that she didn’t mind.Youyet rage and weep when you hear you’re not the only one.
Lydiacouldn’t seem to find a response to that, andTryg’seyes were studying her again, glinting with a strange, shimmering intensity. “But… you swore this sharing would not vex you,” he continued, quiet. “Doyou” — he hesitated, tilted his head — “do you yet mean this?Enoughto prove this to me?”
Lydiaswallowed hard, her heartbeat lurching — what did he mean byprovingit? — but then she felt herself exhale, heavy but certain. “Y-yes,” she said, her voice only slightly wavering. “Iwould try to do whateverIcould to prove it to you.I” — she drew in air, courage — “Ilike you a lot,Tryg.Somuch.And” — she swallowed again, held his eyes — “I…Itrust you.”
Itwas an inexplicable sentiment, and no doubt an unaccountably foolish one, becauseTryghad madeLydiano promises, hadn’t even stayed a single night.Butas she looked at those glinting eyes across the table, her words still felt deeply, damnably true.Shedid trust him.Hewouldn’t hurt her, or mock her, or abandon her without warning.Hewouldn’t.
Tryggazed back at her for another long moment, his shoulders rising and falling, but then he gave a quick, decisive little nod. “Ach, then, sweet thing,” he said firmly. “Finishthat, and thenI’vegot a gift for you.”
Agift?Lydiablinked toward him, but his eyes had shuttered again, his hand waving purposefully at the stew and treats.Soshe readily obliged, even as a low, whispering unease kept rising in her chest.He’dbrought her a gift, after he’d so roundly refused one from her?Andthis gift… did it have anything to do with the question he’d asked just before it?
Doyou yet mean this?Enoughto prove this to me?
ButTrygdidn’t speak again, seeming fully focused on the delicious meal, soLydiaattempted to do the same.Ittruly was wonderful, between the rich stew, the flaky pastries, and the hot mulled cider.Andcombined with the cozy room, and the crackling fire, and the sweet scent of the spruce and fir, her unease seemed to catch and tangle with a deep, powerful longing.Gods, if only this could truly be hers.Ifonly he could truly be hers.
Andas she finished eating, it occurred to her thatTrygwas looking uneasy, too.Hisblack claws drumming on the table, his eyes darting repeatedly toward the door.Untilhe finally shoved back his chair and leapt to his feet, pacing toward the door, and then whirling around towardLydiaagain.
“Areyou ready?” he demanded. “Foryour gift?”
Lydia’sheart again kicked in her chest, but she drew in another shaky breath, and nodded, and stood.Andwatched, unblinking, asTrygstrode to the door, and swung it open.Andbehind it was…
Anotherorc.
3
Theorc in the door was terrifying.
Hewas huge, greenish-grey, and utterly hideous, with a ruined nose, a split lip, and a heavy, horribly scarred face, framed by thick, long black hair.Hispointed ears were puffy and bulbous, his eyelids were mottled black, and when he pulled back his lips — perhaps in a smile —Lydiacould see that one of his fangs was broken off, his other teeth jagged and crooked in his mouth.
Lydia’shands clapped over her own mouth, her eyes wide and arrested on the orc’s appalling face.WhileTryg—Trygwas reaching for the orc, and…
Hugginghim.Yes,hugginghim, yanking him into a tight, close embrace.Hishand slapping again and again to the orc’s massive shoulder, his head ducking brief but meaningful into that scarred, corded neck.
“Hullo, sweetelskan,”Trygsaid, muffled against the orc’s skin. “Thankyou for coming, ach?”
Thehideous new orc’s mouth was still pulled into something that must have been a smile, and his eyes fluttered closed, his big scarred hand gripping just as tightly atTryg’sback.Thetouch easy, familiar… andintimate.
Butit was only for a moment, because the ugly orc was already pulling away fromTryg, and straightening out his cloak as he turned toward…Lydia.Andthen he gave her a deep, fluid-looking bow, his huge fist pressed against his heart.
“Greetings, woman,” he said, in a surprisingly low, soft voice. “Ihave heard so much of you, these past moons.”
Oh.Lydia’sclammy-feeling hands had still been clapped to her mouth, but she guiltily shoved them downwards, and gulped for breath. “Th-thank you,” she choked. “I’m—Lydia.A— washerwoman.Tryg’s— friend.”