“Ynyr told me to tell you hello, and that there is no need for payment of any sort. He’s apparently exceptionally grateful for what you did for his daughter.”
“Regardless of what he says, I’ll be paying him. Ynyr’s a good man, er…elf. He should be paid for his work.”
“So what sort of name is Valentina? I haven’t heard it before…and your coloring…” I looked down at my hands for a moment, surveying my warm golden skin. I was born in the Kingdom of Vanotti, a land of gardens and sweet, warm winds. My father had been a merchant and, after receiving a patent to sell goods in Ersland, moved my entire family here when I was five. I didn’t look a thing like my sister, a blonde with bright emerald irises and an exotic accent. No, I looked like my mother: olive-skinned, with dark hair and a mouth perhaps too full for my face. In Vanotti, I would have been considered an exceptional beauty. Here, I was prized for my shapeliness and my unique lavender eyes, but aside from that, I wasn’t considered noteworthy.
“I’m a Vanotta.” My accent slipped across my tongue like a long-lost lover’s kiss.
“So the rumors are true then.”
“What rumors?”
“That Vanotti women are the most beautiful in the world. They possess in gold and jet what few have in milk and honey. I have never seen irises like that before.”
“Everyone says that about somewhere. People say lots of stupid things to get between a woman’s thighs. In Vanotti, they say it about those pale Ersland girls whose cheeks blossom like roses when they blush. Come, we have to set his leg,” I said as I stepped past him and into the back room. I hated setting bones. “Did you ever assist your mother setting bones before?” I asked lifting the furs from around the unconscious elf’s wounded leg.
“No, I’ve seen it done but never helped.”
“Well, it’s simple enough. Once we have his leg laid on the splint, you just need to grab his ankle and gently pull it toward you until I tell you to let go. I’ll warn you, though, he will scream.” After imparting that bit of advice, I dashed off to grab the tiny bit of rolled leather for him to bite on, before tossing a small linen pouch of herbs into the teapot.
Returning to the room, I carefully positioned the wounded elf’s leg on the splint and placed the bit between his teeth. Tracing my hand down his pale thigh to the swell of the break, I nodded to the hooded elf, who slowly pulled on the ankle as I commanded. The wounded elf screamed till he was hoarse as I slowly aligned the bone pieces together and then signaled to the hooded figure once more. He released the leg, and I started buckling the straps that would hold the leg in place. The wounded elf sobbed behind the bit when we were finished. Tears streamed down his cheeks, which glistened with sweat. His chest heaved rapidly. I almost didn’t want to use the spirit of hartshorn to wake him. Almost. He needed to drink the tea to bring the swelling down and ease the pain.
After snatching the small glass bottle from the nearby shelf, I uncorked it. I then waved it under the wounded elf’s nose, and he blinked into consciousness with a gasp. His eyes were odd. One was a warm reddish-, almost copper-brown the shade of autumn leaves, and the other was a rich green. He gazed wildly around the room.
“I’ll let you two speak while I ready the tea,” I said quickly before I left the room. I hadn’t even crossed the threshold when they started speaking in that soft, lilting tongue. The weight of their gazes on me made me move sluggishly as I poured the tea and grabbed a potion from the shelf.
Upon returning to the room, I surveyed Aneurin’s face. It was clear he was in pain; his furrowed brow glistened with a sheen of sweat. He stared at me for a while, his bicolored gaze seeming to assess me as I placed the tea on the small table next to the bed.
“Drink the tea, and then take this.” I held the small vial out to him. “But only take it after you’ve finished all the tea. The tea is for the swelling and pain; the potion will help you sleep and maybe help speed healing. It worked on the daughter of the elvish-smith when she had a similar break.”
“Thank you,” he finally said, holding my gaze with his. Oh, that voice. He spoke those two words like they held some sort of dark little secret that was ours and ours alone. A shiver slipped down my spine, making my shoulders rise noticeably. I quickly pulled the shawl tighter around my shoulders.
“Here I thought the carpenter fixed that damned draft,” I mumbled, shaking my head. “There’s no need to thank me; I’m here to help the wounded, aid the sick, and all of that,” I lectured him as he picked up the mug and took a sip. Surprisingly enough, he didn’t make a face as he sipped the tea. It was the first time someone didn’t grimace with every swallow—the smith’s girl vomited after the first mouthful. “You’ll have to stay off of your leg for a while. I’d recommend staying here for a day, maybe a week, and then having your friends fetch a cart to take you home.”
“With all due respect—”
“With all due respect? Why don’t you just say what you’re thinking? ‘You’re a plowing idiot,’ that’s all I ever hear when someone says those words to me.” I snickered as I leaned against the door frame. My tiny outburst won me a short-lived, boyish laugh from Aneurin. He winced after a few moments and placed his hand on his bandaged side.
“I can’t exactly leave by cart.”
“I suppose you’ll be staying here then. It won’t be the first time I’ve treated a patient for an extended period of time…” I eyed my bed—my warm, soft, comfortable bed that I’d be giving up for the next however long.
“I’m going to tell the others he’ll be okay. I’ll leave payment on the table,” the other elf said quickly as he stepped past me. And I had a brilliant idea.
“No coin. Just follow the river upstream to the wood and remove the carcass that’s polluting the water.”
“All right, I’ll come back tomorrow to check on him.” Without another word the hooded elf left.
“Fucking Islwyn,” Aneurin grumbled in a ragged breath between slow sips of the tea. His hands were shaking. Isn’t that cute, he’s trying to fight the pain.
“Not a fan of your friend?”
“He’s not my friend.”
“He certainly seems like he’s your friend. He cares for you,” I offered him a smile, a quick tug of my lips.
“He’s…family.” Riiiight. I quirked a brow before leaving the room. I locked the front door and stared at the two cots. One had blood on it from when I treated his first wound, the other the butcher’s boy’s vomit. I should have made the “friend” clean up before he left. I watched as he finished the cup and drank the potion. He passed out before the vial left his lips, leaving me to curl up with the extra fur on a chair in front of the fire while the winter wind howled outside the window and the snow continued to fall in fat, slow snowflakes. I was probably the only person in town hoping to get snowed in.
Chapter Two
Winter raged on, and snow fell inch after inch until it piled up to the window. On the third day we were snowed in. The door wouldn’t open. It wasn’t a problem for me; I always made sure I had more than enough firewood and food. Water wasn’t an issue either with the snow that gathered outside the window.
I stared out of the warped glass at those falling flakes that danced on the wind. The snow didn’t seem like it would be letting up anytime soon. I was more than a little grateful for the break the snow afforded me. If someone got desperate enough, they’d dig out my door, and I’d gladly treat them. But until then I would keep to myself and tend to Aneurin, who was pleasant enough—read quiet. He kept to himself for the most part and only bothered me if he needed water—which wasn’t too often. However, I did need to clean and change his bandage.
With a sigh, I gathered fresh bandages, ointment, and a cake of soap. When I entered the bedroom, he watched me curiously. That odd gaze followed me as I moved about, but he said nothing as I set things on the small table next to the bed. I then walked back into the larger room and set the kettle on the hearth.
“I need to clean the wound a
nd bathe you,” I stated plainly as I returned to the bedroom tugging the shawl tighter about my shoulders.
“Here I thought humans didn’t believe in bathing.” He smirked, those lovely lips tugging to one corner. Is that supposed to be a joke? I furrowed my brows at him.
“So have you been to Lyr? Ynyr told me every decade elves are supposed to go to Lyr on pilgrimage. Though he didn’t tell me why,” I said, making idle, pointless chatter as I made sure everything was in order.
“Yes, though I’m surprised your smith has been at all. Most of my kind who dwell in cities rarely follow the old ways. When an elf goes to Lyr, they’re not really going to Lyr. On the coast, there are ruins of the old port, Lyr Gan’ddwr. It once was a stop on the pilgrimage to the holy sites on Ynys Afalau, but it was swallowed up by the sea long ago. When I was a boy, I remember going with my parents. The only sign that there had ever been land there was a single large dead oak tree sticking out of the water, a macabre skeletal hand taunting us as it waved in the wind, reminding us of what we lost and what we’d never have again.” His voice was quiet and hoarse when he finished. “The pain is starting to set in again.” I watched him carefully as his dark brows furrowed.
After closing the distance between us, I checked his temperature with the back of my hand on his forehead. His skin was dewy with sweat, and he was starting to smell a bit like a goat—three days of sweating in pain would do that. I’ll need a new mattress after this. He was still running a slight fever, which was normal for his injuries.
“After your bath, I’ll give you another potion to help you sleep.” He nodded, but frustration lurked in his gaze. “It must be hard to be confined. I honestly can’t imagine what it’s like to go from being so free, to so trapped.”
“It could be worse. At least the company is pleasant enough.” We exchanged a smile, and I turned from him almost immediately to hide the blush that colored my cheeks. Clearing my throat, I went to check the water.
There was a certain amount of dread that accompanied the thought of bathing him. The smell was probably the only thing keeping me from turning into an utter moron around him. One look at him and I could forget everything that elves were rumored to do in those forests. I respected them, but there was a grain of truth to every vicious, hateful rumor. I didn’t believe everything I was told, but I knew enough. Elves treated humans in the forest like humans treated elves everywhere else. It was only fair, in my opinion, since elven harems were commonplace. Once, I had a standing order with a brothel for fisher’s root tea (more commonly referred to as whore’s tea because it prevented pregnancy). When I initiated the deal I didn’t know the whores were elven slaves, and when I found out I was mortified. It was then that I realized I had lived in the countryside for far too long. It never occurred to me that the elves employed there were being held against their will, let alone as slaves. When I went to collect payment, I saw a cart carrying in a cage filled with male and female elves of varying ages. I watched horror-struck from a distance as the owner took them out one by one, fondled them as if assessing their worth, and then placed a brand on each of their backs. I didn’t collect my coin for the tea. I turned around and walked the six days home without hiring a cart like I had planned.
That was almost a year ago. Maybe I was feeling guilty for being attracted to him because of what I had done. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts I didn’t notice that my body had continued on without me. I was sitting on the bed beside him with a small knife in one hand as the other pulled up the bandage. I shook my head and slipped the knife underneath, cutting up through the soiled linen.
“Are you all right?”
“Mhm. I just remembered that I am no less moronic than the idiots that live in this town.” I sighed as I slowly removed the bandage from his side. He hissed loudly through gritted teeth as I peeled the dirty bandage away from the wound. It was healing nicely. “Oh, that’s fantastic,” I exclaimed to myself as I wet the cloth beside me in one bucket, and rubbed the soap on it until it lathered. “The wound is healing exceptionally fast. At this rate, it will be mended completely by the end of the week.” I didn’t look at him as I spoke. My attention was focused on the wound as I gently rubbed the cloth over it. “Then we’ll just have to worry about your leg.”
Once the wound was cleaned, I applied a generous amount of ointment to it and continued washing the rest of him. I tried my hardest not to notice the exquisite composition of his body, the defined lean muscle that danced under the skin as he shifted. I was able to maintain my professional decorum until I reached his lower stomach and my wrist grazed that hard lump of flesh lurking under the linen that was wrapped around him. I froze and raised my gaze to meet his. He was staring at me expectantly with lips slack and eyes darkened by lust. I quickly rinsed and dried his torso.
“Here, you can get the rest of you.” I set two buckets on the small table. “When you’re finished I’ll rebandage the wound.” After pressing the soaped cloth into his hands, I scurried out of the room and shut the door behind me. I waited for a moment, and then curiosity got the better of me. I peeped through the keyhole. I could barely make him out in the candlelight. And though there was soap involved, I was fairly certain he wasn’t actually washing.
The linen sheet lay to the side of him, discarded in a messy, crumpled ball, leaving his body nude apart from the brace. He was truly an exquisite creature, every inch of his body ideal and immaculate. It was nice to be able to admire it from afar, to forget that he was my patient. I was admittedly taken aback by the size of him. I was widowed and had seen my fair share of men—thanks in part to an outbreak of the pox at the brothel in Nathton. But that massive, veiny, blushing cock between his strong thighs was by far the largest I had seen. I heard rumors about elves but, as they say, seeing is believing. I was hypnotized as he slid his hand up and down that impressive length. Mesmerized by the way his chest heaved with each languid stroke. And when he came, as he spilled his seed onto his chest a single utterance escaped his lips.
“Valentina.” He breathed my name with a near-silent moan. Had I not been peeping through the keyhole I wouldn’t have heard it. A large, self-satisfied smirk spread across my lips as I stood and passed my fingers back through my dark hair.
Smoothing my simple gray wool dress, I allowed myself to indulge in fantasy for a handful of moments. My mind wandered to what it would be like to be loved by an elf. I wondered if he’d bring me sprigs of rare flowers from the forest. If he’d be tender to me. What it would be like to share my life with someone again…
And then I forced myself back to reality. Chances were it was a passing attraction and nothing would come of it. I wasn’t a stupid woman. Granted, I had my moments like we all do, but I wasn’t dumb enough to read any more into it. He’d heal, and I’d never see him again. He’d go back to the forest and whatever life he had there. Even if there was a glimmer of anything between us, the worlds we lived in wouldn’t allow it. So dwelling on it for more than a passing second was moot.
Returning to the door, I drew a shaky breath before knocking a few times.
“Are you finished?” I called to him.
“Yes.”
I entered the room. He had cleaned up after himself. If I hadn’t been spying on him, I wouldn’t have ever guessed he had finished pleasuring himself mere moments ago. But there was something there. His lips were a deeper shade of pink than they had been before, and his cheeks held a slight blush.
I rebandaged his wound in silence, and he watched me carefully. There was a tension between us now, one that hadn’t existed before. Was it my fault? Oh, it certainly was to some degree. I probably wouldn’t have been aware of him watching me if I hadn’t heard him whisper my name.
“It finally stopped snowing,” I broke the silence as I finished tying the bandage.
“Has it?” I nodded to his question. “And here I was enjoying having you all to myself.”
I stilled again, as our gazes locked and lingered. It was one of those m
oments that seem to last longer than they should. My reaction to his words had the possibility to change things… And I wasn’t sure I wanted that. He’d leave when he was healed, and I’d never see him again—like I had never seen him before.
Curling my fingers back against my palm, I withdrew from his warmth. My only response to him was a small grin as I gathered the buckets, soap, ointment, and cloths. I left the room without looking back at him, the floorboards creaking ominously.
“Is it because I’m an elf?”
“No, it’s because once you’re healed, you aren’t coming back.” I rolled my eyes as I opened the window that overlooked my garden, and emptied the buckets into the pristine snow. Shivering, I closed and locked the window. “So attraction, regardless of mutuality, is utterly pointless. It’s like the sun and the moon wanting to plow each other. Yes, it’s all well and good, but they live in two different worlds entirely.”
“So it’s because I’m an elf.”
“Not directly, no.” I grabbed my water bucket and opened the door inward—the only redeemable quality of broken hinges—revealing a veritable wall of unmovable white. Though it had stopped snowing, what had already fallen had drifted to reach the top of the door. Using my hands, I packed the top layer of snow into the bucket. When I was finished, my fingers were numb and I felt chilled to the bone.
“Then what is it directly?” he asked the moment the door was shut.
Heart of the Forest (Arwn's Gift Book 1) Page 2
