Page 27 of His Orc Lady
It takes me too long to figure out what I should do, but once my mind clears a little, it hits me all at once.
Clawing at my dressing gown, I rip the garment off my shoulders, then sniff at my nightgown. It smells like Owen, too, so I drag it over my head and pile both items in a hamper by the door. Then I run into my privy niche and scrub myself with soap and ice-cold water until my skin is raw and painful.
I don’t notice I’m crying until I dry my face—and my eyes keep leaking tears.
“Damn him,” I whisper.
Within moments, I regret washing him off, though, and by the time I’m dressed in a fresh nightgown, I miss his scent already. Like a complete madwoman, I take my nightgown from the hamper and bring it to bed with me.
Embarrassment floods through me as I scrunch it up and sniff at it, but there’s no one to see me, no one to judge. I might be pathetic, but at least there’s no one here to witness me falling apart.
Chapter
Eight
The night is long, with vague dreams of running down the corridors but never arriving anywhere, and more crying every time I wake up and remember what happened. I get up in the morning with a pounding head and red-rimmed eyes. A bath would feel amazing, but I dare not venture there. I met Owen at the baths yesterday, and I have no wish to berescuedby him again. So I wash in cold water, and it serves its purpose of brightening me up. What I need is a hearty breakfast, some bacon perhaps, and a gallon of strong tea.
I stuff my old nightgown back in the clothes hamper and take it to the washroom on my way to the great hall. I’ve had one night of self-pity, and that’s quite enough. If I see Owen anywhere, I’ll do my best to act like we’re just polite acquaintances, and I hope he’ll do the same. And I’ll have to talk to Poppy and Steagor and ask them to stop matchmaking, no matter how pure their intentions.
The noise of the breakfast crowd has me cringing, and my head throbs harder than before. I squint at the tables, wondering where I could sit without having to speak to anyone—at least until I’ve had my tea. Though with a headache of this magnitude,I might need to visit Taris at the infirmary later and get some of her willow bark tea to get through the day.
“Mara!”
I turn in the direction of the call instinctively, recognizing Carrow’s clear voice. Moments later, I realize my mistake—because his human, Ian, is there, sitting right next to my friend, and opposite them…
Oh gods.
Even from a distance, Owen looks weary. His hair is brushed and pulled back in a bun, his tunic is clean and seems freshly pressed, but his eyes are shadowed with dark circles, and he’s staring right at me.
I could run. Turn on my heels right now and hightail it out of the great hall, propriety and reputation be damned. How can I sit next to Owen and pretend that everything is fine? Now that he’s right here in front of me, I know there’s no world where I could act like he’s not important to me.
On top of that, Carrow will see immediately that something happened. He knows me well enough—and I don’t know if I can trust him to keep his mouth shut. He wouldn’t speak out of malice, but if he tried tohelp, he could very well stomp on what little dignity I have left.
But I can’t do that to Owen. He doesn’t deserve to be treated like garbage, not afterI’dinitiated that kiss last night.
With heavy steps, I make my way toward their table. I scan my other clansmen who’d claimed seats on the same side as Ian and Carrow, but none of them are close to finishing their breakfast, so it would look strange if I tried to shuffle them aside.
That means I’ll have to… Oh, the Fates are toying with me because I’ve been denying their will, no doubt about it.
I take the only empty seat at the table and squeeze in next to Owen. When I wobble, he even reaches out as if to steady me, but I pitch myself forward and grip the table instead. I don’tknow if I could trust myself if he touched me, so it’s best to avoid that.
Still, our thighs brush as I settle on the bench, and heat shoots through me, sudden and scorching all my thoughts.
“Are you feeling all right, Mara?” Carrow asks, his brow creased in concern. “You look a little flushed.”
Beside me, Owen grips his fork tightly but doesn’t glance up at me.
“Aye, I’m fine. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”
Didn’t someone say all the best lies are rooted in truth? I hope Carrow won’t pry any further, and I’m relieved when Ian lets out a snort of laughter, glancing up at my friend.
“Neither did we.” Carrow grins broadly.
Ian slaps his arm lightly, his face pink, but he seems pleased, too. I chance a look at Owen to find him staring at the two men, his expression pensive.
“I did want to talk to you, Captain,” Ian says between bites of sausage. “I know you said you’d be sending about half of us home early. I’d like to stay at the Hill as long as you’re here.”
Owen lifts his eyebrows. “Truly? You wouldn’t mind?”