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.
Xanthe was busy unpacking two more large canvas bags. She looked at each package, container or jar interestedly, muttering to herself as she set the items on the table, which was already piled high with fresh fruits and vegetables.
He opened his mouth to ask for her help but then hesitated. Instead, obeying again some nameless impulse, he tilted his head and watched her work. She had a quiet, peaceful demeanor, and she looked comfortable, at home with her own company. For the first time, he realized that she wasn’t dressed in a palace black uniform, but instead wore a soft looking, somewhat worn tunic and trousers. Her hair was braided, but not as tightly as usual, and the dark length shone with auburn highlights in the slice of sunlight that fell across her back and shoulders.