As he had spoken, pink color had washed over her cheeks. Clearly floundering, she opened her mouth and closed it again. When she finally spoke, her voice was subdued. “We have heard tales of other things.”
“I’m all too aware of the stories being told,” he said between his teeth. “I’ve also seen the bodies left butchered in homesteads, and the burned fields. None of those atrocities have been committed by me or my men.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Her reply was even softer than before.
This time he refused to let remorse get a foothold. “Now, if that will be all, I’ve got other things to attend to.” He looked at Gordon. “Take her back to camp with you.”
“Yes, Commander.”
Lily decided she wasn’t going to get offended at being taken back to camp along with the commander’s purchases as if she were another of his possessions. She’d already caused enough trouble for one afternoon.
Retreating into the shelter of her hood, she walked to the encampment beside Gordon. He was taciturn, and she made no attempt to break the silence.
Every passionate word the Wolf had spoken had rung with truth. He shouldn’t have broken into the shop of course, but she suspected he had done it in part because he had lost his temper. When he had left her, he and Jermaine had headed toward the closest inn where golden light gleamed in the windows, shining brightly in the frigid, sullen day.
She chewed her lip. What were they doing, and why had he sent her ahead to the camp instead of keeping her with him?
Maybe they were securing rooms for the night. Maybe they were hiring women, and her presence would have been, well, cumbersome.
At that thought, she pulled a face. All in all, it was best she hadn’t joined them. The gods only knew, every time she opened her mouth, she threatened to let out something she shouldn’t. The less opportunity she had for creating more headaches for everyone, the better.
Cook fires dotted the landscape of tents that covered the valley up to the edge of the forest. It was a sobering sight. There must be thousands of troops. She didn’t see any cattle, which puzzled her at first, but when she heard a whinny from the direction of the trees, she realized they were using the forest for the shelter it offered their animals from the wind.
Among the orderly rows, the commander’s tent was unmistakable, larger than the others with two guards at the flaps. She swiftly scanned the encampment but could find no hint of the weather magic which had died down a while ago.
Once at the commander’s tent, Gordon lifted a flap and gestured for her to precede him. Uncomfortable and fascinated at once, she stepped through the opening to discover a pleasant surprise.
The interior was filled with light and warmth. Thick rugs covered the ground, and woolen hangings around the tent walls provided relief from the winter chill. Braziers warmed the interior and provided the light.
To one side a sitting area was made up of chairs constructed of leather stretched on wooden frames. A large table of planks set on wooden blocks dominated the other side. There were papers strewn over the top, along with maps.
Aside from the colors woven into the patterned rugs and hangings, it was all very plain, but overall the interior was much more comfortable than she had expected and much less intimate than she had feared. A woolen hanging separated the tent into two spaces. It had been tied back, and just visible on the other side was the edge of a neatly made bed.
Inside, she quickly grew overheated and removed her cloak. Gordon unloaded the bag of purchases and stacked everything neatly at one end of the table. She hovered nearby.
The maps and the papers beckoned her. She wanted to rifle through them, but Gordon positioned himself near the tent opening where he watched her steadily with an impassive expression.
His psyche was another matter. When she gave Gordon a polite smile, the shadowy figure over his head glared at her with unmistakable enmity.
There was just no making friends with some people. She had learned a long time ago to mask her reactions to the psyches around her… mostly.
She asked, “Might the commander have something I could look at while I wait?”
After a moment, the soldier nodded to a pile of books that were stacked on a wooden stump by one of the chairs in the sitting area. Wandering over, she picked up the books.
One was a history of Camaeline Abbey. Another was a set of biographies following the lineage of the Chosens. The Wolf of Braugne had done his homework before arriving.
Flipping through the biographies, she saw the last penned entry was about Raella Fleurise and made no mention of the new Chosen. She wasn’t surprised. The date at the beginning of the book meant it had been created before Raella’s death in the spring.
Unexpected tears pricked Lily’s eyes. Raella had been elderly, and she had died peacefully of natural causes, her husband and family by her side. One couldn’t ask for a better ending, but in many ways, she had been the mother Lily’d never had, and she thought she would feel Raella’s absence for the rest of her life.
Closing the book, she set it back on the stack with the others. Then, selecting a chair at random, she settled and prepared to wait for the commander to finish his business in town.
He wasn’t gone long.
She had untied the fastenings of her quilted jacket and drifted into a doze when voices sounded outside the tent. As she jerked awake, the flap lifted, bringing a blast of cold air along with the Wolf. Jermaine followed at his heels.
Instantly, the interior of the spacious tent felt much smaller—too small, in fact, and far more intimate than it had a few moments ago. As Lily stirred, Wulfgar’s sharp eyes took in everything at a single glance, her position near one of the braziers, Gordon’s stolid presence, the neat stack of store-bought goods.
As his attention lingered on the maps and papers at the other end of the table, the devil took hold of Lily’s mouth.
“Curiosity is a sin,” she said, keeping her tone pious. “Of course I wanted to read all of it.”
His dark gaze snapped back to her, and he laughed. She wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised by it.
Smiling, Jermaine collected the papers and rolled up the maps. Wulfgar unbuckled his sword belt and laid the sword on the table. As Gordon took his cloak, breastplate, and gauntlets, he ordered, “Bring us some mulled wine.”
“Yes, sir.” Bowing his head, Gordon stepped out, followed by Jermaine.
With no one else present to buffer the impact of Wulfgar’s personality, the interior of the tent shrank even farther in size.
Underneath the breastplate he had worn leather padding, and he undid the fastenings as he strode toward the brazier beside her. As he pulled the padding off and tossed it onto a chair, she saw that he wore a black linen shirt that was open at the strong column of his tanned throat.
Power coursed through the air. The power of his personality, the goddess’s Power.
She fought the urge to back away, fought to stand steady in the face of it.