He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “Yes, I noticed.”
She glared at him. “I just finished cleaning the chicken coop.” She knew full well it was more than just the coop that made her smell.
He shook his head and pulled out a nutty wedge of bread, wagging it at her like a finger. “I’ll wager you this piece of bread Metha hasn’t had a bath in four times that.”
She snatched the bread from his hands. He gave it up easily, adding a couple boiled eggs. “Did you eat today?”
She nodded. “Metha let me have some lunch.”
“She’s a real apple, that one.”
Ilyenna sputtered, nearly choking on her bread. “Round and rosy?”
Rone grinned mischievously. “No. More like a smelly, rotten, mushy old apple.”
Oh, an apple sounded lovely right now. She adored apples. She took a bite of the egg, and he handed her some water. She took it gratefully. “Metha’s expecting a baby.”
He froze, his mouth hanging open. “Someone stuck around long enough to get her with child?”
Ilyenna laughed; it had been such a long time her cheeks felt stretched and stiff. But suddenly she wanted to know why Rone was helping her. As a clan chief? Her brother’s best friend? “Thank you for the food—for everything. But Rone, why are you watching out for me? I’m not an Argon.”
He folded his arms. “No, but you need someone as badly as anyone here. Besides, after what your clan did for mine, how could I not offer help?”
“Oh.” Her food suddenly tasted like sawdust. Didn’t he find her pretty? Now she was smelly and skinny and pale as birch bark, but she hadn’t always been. What she wouldn’t give for Rone to feel ardor for her like Darrien did. She shivered deliciously at the thought.
“You’re quiet. My answer didn’t settle?” Rone said.
She handed him the waterskin, glad she could hear the rushing water and have an excuse to end this embarrassing encounter. “Honor is a fine reason to help a woman. Sleep well, Rone.”
She found a full bush and began undressing behind it. When she turned, she was surprised to see him still there, though his back was turned away, his eyes riveted to a tree. “You can go back now,” she said.
He shook his head. “I don’t think I’d better. What if Darrien comes?”
“Then you’d better be as far away from me as possible.” Checking to make sure he didn’t peek, though a part of her wished he would, Ilyenna tested the water. It was as cold as ever, yet that cold felt comforting to her aching body.
“One day, I’ll kill him for you.” A hardness had crept into Rone’s voice.
“Go back, Rone. I’ll be fine.”
He shook his head. “I brought more ointment. I’ll rub it in once you’re finished.”
“Stubborn man,” she mumbled. But secretly, she was pleased. The thought of Rone’s hands on her made her tremble with excitement.
Soap in hand, Ilyenna washed her dress, wrung it out, and hung it over the bush. Then she went in as deep as she dared and splashed water on herself. She began lathering up. She sighed at the sight of her body, a mass of bruises in various degrees of healing. She could feel the ridges of each rib.
Soon, she stepped out of the water and pulled on her damp dress. She tried to adjust it, but the water made it hard to shift. With her dress twisted and heavy, she made her way to Rone.
“You must be freezing.”
She shrugged. “Not really.”
He took out the ointment, and she turned and pulled her hair over her shoulder. His hands were rough as cracked leather, but so gentle on her skin. She shivered.
“See, you are cold.”
Not trusting herself to speak, she bit her lip. His hands seemed to linger as he rubbed in the ointment.
“Your skin is as pale as moonlight,” he said.
“So was my mother’s,” she said without thinking. She was usually careful not to speak of her mother. Memories always dropped a smoldering coal of guilt in her chest. After all, it was her fault Matka was dead. But now Ilyenna had started, she couldn’t seem to stop. “Do you remember her? She had hair the color of a midnight sky and eyes as dark as earth.”
“So do you.”
Ilyenna turned to face him. “If only I were half so beautiful.”
Rone’s brow furrowed. “I don’t see how she could be any more beautiful than you.”
“You shouldn’t say things like that.”
Rone threw his hands up. “I’m sorry. I never know what to say to you.” He turned to leave.
She snatched his hand. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . do you really think that? That I’m beautiful?”
He stepped closer, the intensity of his gaze surprising her. “Yes.”
Her eyes shifted to his arms, the bulge of his muscles visible beneath his undershirt. How would it feel to have those strong arms around her? She couldn’t help herself. Her gaze rested on his lips. Her heart pounded so loud she was sure he could hear it.
He cocked his head to the side, studying her. Unable to bear it, she looked away.
Rone took a small step forward, still watching her. Was he mocking her?
If he starts tickling me, he’ll have more to fear than Darrien’s axe, she thought.
Calling up her courage, she matched his step, her eyes trained upon his lips. He leaned toward her, so close they breathed the same air. She closed her eyes.
“What are you two doing?”
They jumped back like thieves caught stealing spring lambs. Ilyenna’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. If Darrien found out . . .
But it was Narium who appeared through the trees, her expression twisted in disapproval. Crossing her arms, she glared at the two of them. Ilyenna dropped her gaze and stared at the ground in a mixture of embarrassment and shame.
“Do you have any idea what would happen if anyone else saw what I just did? They’d kill him, Ilyenna. They’d kill my son.”
“They’ll kill me regardless, Mother. The slightest slip—”
“And you think to leave your death on her hands?” Narium interrupted. Her gaze softened, and she stepped forward and placed her small hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be selfish. You’re not the selfish kind. I still need you. Our clan still needs you. Ilyenna still needs you.” She dropped her hand. “From now on, I’ll see she receives food, but not from you.” Narium’s face was hard as flint. “Not anymore.”
Rone took a deep breath. “I am clan chief. I’ve the right to—”
“Silence!” Narium said with all the power of a clan mistress. She turned to Ilyenna. “Please understand, he’ll die.”
Ilyenna dropped her head as tears blurred her vision. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” She turned and ran.
11. Healer
Though her blankets were spread before the hearth, Metha was nowhere in sight. Ilyenna was glad to have the kitchen to herself so she could stitch up her overdress—her underdress would have to wait until she had both light and privacy. With fingers accustomed to a needle and thread, she worked quickly, not wanting Darrien to catch her in the kitchen in nothing but her underdress.
She sighed when she pulled the mended overdress over her head. It was such a relief to have her back covered. Suddenly, she heard voices beyond the door—a man and a woman arguing.
“Why are you doing this?” the woman asked, and Ilyenna recognized Metha’s voice.
“Shh! Do you want to wake my father?”
That was Darrien. Ilyenna cringed. The voices moved toward her. As fast as she could, she ducked outside and pressed her back against the cool river-stone wall. She heard the kitchen door creak open.
“I will not ‘shh!’” Metha said loudly, “You told me you loved me. You told me we’d marry! Now everyone knows I’m with child. My family has thrown me out, and still you won’t give our child a father!”
Ilyenna braced herself against the river stones to keep from falling over. Darrien was the father to Metha’s child? She wanted to marry him? It seemed so preposterous. Ilyenna couldn’t help herself; she peeked through the door, which was slightly ajar. Darrien shoved Metha into a chair and pressed his palms into the table behind her, boxing her in. “If you weren’t carrying a child, I’d beat you for speaking to me that way. I will be clan chief. The daughter of a wheat farmer will never do.”
“Not just a child, your child.” Metha’s voice came out half strangled. “You helped create it, so why am I the only one being treated like a whore?”
Darrien shrugged. “Because you’re a woman.”
Metha’s chest heaved on a silent sob. “And I suppose that scrawny little witch from the Shyle would make a better breeder?”
Darrien pulled back his hand and slapped her full in the face.
Ilyenna covered her mouth with her hand to keep from crying out.
Metha screeched and raised her hand to slap him back. Darrien grabbed it. With his other hand, he roughly grasped her face. “Don’t you ever, ever speak to me that way again. I got you work out of pity, but if you’d rather, I can take it away and you can live as the harlot outcast you are.”
He released her face and gently stroked the red marks he’d left there. “As for Ilyenna, yes, she’ll make a fine breeder. I’ll enjoy every moment of breaking her. After fathering a few whelps with her, you and I will be free to meet in the woods, as we once did.”