The Elements of Love Page 3

  Grelig threw open the shutters and rummaged through the small cupboard in the corner. “What did you have to break your fast?"

  The girl still sat with a mulish bent to her jaw and tight shoulders.

  Grelig sent a breeze to the hearth and cheered up the fire while he placed wood over the brightening coals. The pot of stew from last night's supper was swung over the flames and soon rich smells permeated the air.

  "If I loosen your bindings, will you eat? Or will you run?” Grelig's steely grey eyes asked of the frightened girl.

  She swallowed while she stared at the steaming pot. “I'll eat."

  Grelig placed a bowl full of stew, a spoon and upended his lunch sack upon the rough table. As an afterthought, he found a clean scrap of rag and a bowl of water to complete the hearty table setting.

  The girl blinked, her jaw slackened a bit, and she pulled her chair up. Grelig watched her shovel food into her mouth with single-minded efficiency. Confident that the starving thief was preoccupied, he went outside. From there he closed and sealed the shutters and the front door. He smiled grimly when his prisoner pounded on the door and rattled the windows crying for her release.

  Grelig returned to his labor, confident that with her belly full, the girl would soon be sound asleep, and he needn't worry about her attempting to escape. He still had some armor to repair and a sword to sharpen before his day's work was complete. The mystery of the starving slave girl would have to wait for evening.

  * * * *

  Shayla stopped beating the door. The monstrous blacksmith had left, his footsteps retreating across the lane to the smithy. She sagged against the door made of rough-hewn timbers. Listlessly she tugged at the latch, knowing that he had blocked the door from without.

  Master would be mad, she knew. Master would be looking for her beaten, skinny form in the shadows of his hall when the sun set so he could laugh and allow her the crust of bread she lived for.

  Shayla turned about and stared at the bounty on the table. The stew was thick, full of rabbit meat, and tasty. The bread was fresh, the cheese free of mold. Even the water was cool and clear. Such riches she had not known for nearly a year, since the Army of the Sun had overrun her village in the Land of the Moon and killed her family.

  Tears pricked at her eyes. The meal was a gift. However, like the gift of the crust of bread she begged for nightly, she was sure there would be a price attached to it. Still, with such food in her belly she would have the strength to survive another week. Maybe she would be able to find the means to escape her torment in that time. She returned to the table and downed every bit of food. She drank deeply of the water and cleaned her face and hands after dampening the bit of rag.

  Only then did she realize that weariness ached in her very bones. A large, rough cot stood in the corner covered by a brightly colored quilt, the sun picked out in elaborate and brilliant threads upon it. Invited by the promised rest, she sank down, snuggled under the quilt and was shortly lost to the world around her. Only fleetingly did she pause to think that the cottage was a cage, but one that would keep her safe for now.

  * * * *

  The sun set over the hills west of Trillith as Grelig lifted the heavy oak beam he had used to bar his door. He picked up the sack filled with fresh bread, cheese and a cabbage. The bounty was actually payment from the genial farmer for shoeing the horse that morning. Still, it was a timely offering as Grelig's pantry only bore a few beans and potatoes.

  Once inside, he placed the sack on the table and looked for the girl. He grinned when a soft snore brought his attention to his bed. Nestled deep under the quilt, the girl lay curled up in a ball with only the very top of her head visible in the flickering light of the hearth fire. Remembering the fight she gave him at the stable, Grelig set about securing the door again. He meant to get some answers from her before he released her back into the uncertain life of the war torn village. Even in times such as these, slaves were expected to be fed and cared for. The man that neglected his servants in such a way needed to be brought before the Village Four.

  Grelig made enough noise about the cottage to rouse his guest. In a matter of minutes, soft snorts and a sharp gasp drew Grelig's attention back to the bed.

  "Good evening.” Grelig tried to smile, but his grim thoughts regarding the girl's master turned his lips down into a snarl. He was somewhat reassured that the solid meal and rest had lessened the sunken circles below her eyes.

  She swallowed, casting furtive glances at Grelig and the table with the evening's meal set out for two. A three-legged stool had appeared along with the chair.

  "Come,” Grelig ordered, “Have something to eat."

  She held the quilt to her chest, pressed against the wall. Still, the hunger in her face could not be denied.

  Grelig tried again to smile. It worked better this time. “I've bread and cheese. Come.” After she continued to huddle in the shadows he added, “I won't bite."

  She climbed from the cot and padded to the table, took a seat and reached for a piece of bread. Grelig grabbed the round of cheese and pulled a knife from his belt. The girl dropped her food and leapt back from the table.

  With the knife hovering over the cheese, Grelig avoided her petrified glare and nodded towards a bucket in the corner filled with water. “Why don't you fill a bowl with some water? We'll need it to wash down our meal."

  Grelig grinned when the waif calmly followed his directions. She did breathe more easily after he sheathed his knife. It was a start.

  The pair ate in silence. Grelig waited. She would say something soon. If she was bold enough to sneak into the smithy in his presence, and desperate enough to break bread with him, she would surely want to speak up for herself.

  "Thank you,” the whisper came after she finished wiping her face and hands with the rag from lunch.

  Grelig grinned. He looked directly at her. She continued to stare at the table. Her hands, fine boned and nimble, pushed the bowls about. Finally, she peeked up from under thick, curling lashes. His smiled deepened. “You're welcome."

  A blush colored her cheeks.

  Why that would please Grelig, he wasn't too sure. He spent his life fixing things and this girl's life appeared to need fixing. Perhaps it was that simple. Whatever it was, he couldn't help but ask, “Do you have a name?"

  Again a nervous swallow. “Shayla"

  "I'm Grelig."

  She nodded. “I know."

  Grelig raised an eyebrow.

  Shayla's jaw firmed in irritation. “That's what the sign over your door says."

  "You read?"

  "Of course.” The pride and hurt in her voice could not be hidden.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend. It's just..."

  "Slaves don't read?” she taunted.

  Grelig nodded, feeling defensive. Silence stretched as the pair eyed each other warily across the table. Grelig tried to think of what he should be doing. The simple thief and slave was clearly not simple at all. She was well spoken, had nice manners and had tried to steal his lunch.

  Shayla stood. “I must go. My master will be expecting me for the Sunset Devotion."

  "Yes, your master...” Grelig thrummed his fingers on the table. “Why is he starving you?"

  Anger and hatred lit up the girl's face. “What else would be done to a daughter of the Land of the Moon?"

  "An enemy of the Sun would be held prisoner and accorded all rights due them, including shelter, clothing and food,” Grelig stressed the last item. “Are you my enemy?” Doubt colored the question.

  "Do I look like one?"

  Grelig considered that carefully. She was small, filthy and capable of infiltrating his smithy unnoticed. She could be a spy. However, something in her exhausted and fearful gaze spoke to his instincts that said otherwise. “Not particularly,” he acceded.

  Grelig stood, walked over to the foot of the cot and rummaged in the small press. After some mumbling, he pulled out a dark green dress. Holding it up, he eyed Shayla a
nd the gown. “Here,” he tossed it towards her, “It'll probably be too big. But you could use a clean change."

  Shayla caught the gown reflexively and then dropped it. “You're not my master. I can't accept anything from you."

  Shaking his head, Grelig snatched the gown up off the wooden floor and shoved it back into the girl's hands. “After tomorrow, whoever is your master will be answering to the Village Four—not continuing to abuse those that depend on him."

  She blinked. Grelig looked down on the girl. Her eyes widened, not with fear, but with wonder. She took a breath to speak, but paused. Understanding lit her thin face. A tiny hand reached forward, fluttering like a moth before settling on his massive chest. “I don't know what to say."

  She studied him for minutes. Grelig maintained his frown as he tried to fathom what the suddenly serious girl was thinking. Then she leaned towards him, raised herself up on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on his lips.

  Fleeting though the kiss was, it rocked Grelig down to his toes. His body reacted in such a violent manner, his cock immediately coming to attention that he stepped back as if burned. Whatever his body was thinking, he was fairly sure this waif was nothing more than a child. Still, with his blood telling his body what it desired, he groaned before saying, “You are not for me."

  He opened his eyes only to see a wisdom in the depths of her eyes he had not previously seen before. A smirk danced at the corners of her mouth; a dimple deepened on her left cheek. “Where can I change?” She held the gown up before him hanging from one hand.

  Coughing, Grelig excused himself and went outside for a few minutes. Once the door was sealed, he grabbed the bucket next to his front step and headed towards the well on the other side of the smithy. He needed to cool down.

  * * * *

  Shayla slipped into the soft green dress after washing most of her body down with the water remaining in the bucket by the hearth. She ached for a bath. She couldn't remember when the last time she had been able to wallow in that particular luxury. The swirl of the gown around her ankles sent a thrill of feminine delight through her.

  Even so, her brow wrinkled in thought. Grelig appeared to be a truly kind man. Where he had every right to haul her back in chains to Master, causing her pain in punishment, he was extending a helping hand. As safe as she felt within the walls of the neat cottage, it could not last. The repercussions of her failure to present herself at Sunset devotions would be dire. Still, for the kind intentions she would do something for the giant of a man.

  Shayla set the table, cot and chairs to rights, wiping up crumbs and straightening covers. She threw another stick of wood on the fire, its warmth adding to her feeling of security. She would be ready when he came home.

  * * * *

  The dark had deepened into night when Grelig returned, making a good deal of noise as he unbarred the door and let himself in.

  Shayla sat on the bed, a curious mix of anticipation and fear heated her skin. Never before had she approached a man. For the past year, Master had sent his male guests to her chamber for a pleasure that she didn't share. Still, the many other girls employed as maids in the massive barracks complex spoke repeatedly of the pleasure they found in a man's arms. Shayla wondered if that was because they sought out their partners, instead of having such attention foisted upon them.

  Meeting Grelig's curious gaze, Shayla reached up to the top button of the scoop-necked gown's bodice and unfastened it. When his eyebrow rose in question, Shayla grinned and unbuttoned the next in line.

  "I don't know what you're doing, but I advise you to stop,” Grelig's deep voice grumbled.

  Shayla's hand stopped. “Why?"

  "I'm not your master. I don't require your services."

  Shayla's face blanked. “I was only trying to thank you."

  "I don't require that kind of gratitude from a child.” The look of revulsion could not be missed.

  "Child? I hardly think a woman who has seen twenty years can be considered a child."

  He snorted. “You are not twenty years old."

  "I beg to differ."

  "Beg all you want...” he muttered. Grelig reached for the latch on the door, clearly thinking he should be leaving.

  Shayla ran across the room, throwing herself between the giant and his escape. “I've never begged for anything.” Her shoulders were straight and square, a note of pride in her statement.

  Grelig looked a little closer. What he had considered a child was truly a woman who had suffered too much. The gown, too long for her diminutive stature, hung loosely about her breasts and hips. Hunger had deprived this girl of her feminine charms, Grelig grimly acknowledged, but it had not extinguished her pride or hunger for human companionship.

  He met her angry, snapping doe eyes evenly. “What is it you do want?"

  She made several attempts to say something before her shoulders sagged. Grelig realized her strength of character prevented her from doing what she truly wished to do, beg.

  Peering back up at his suddenly eager face she said, “You are the first person who looked at me as a person in a year.” She leaned against the door with her hands behind her, her head tilted to the side. “I have nothing to thank you with except that which is taken from me almost every night."

  Her eyes wandered from his face, over his neck to the wide shoulders, the bare chest dripping from his ablutions and down to his waist. Her mouth went dry as her imagination began to fill in what her eyes could not see. He remained still, his breath shallow. In the merest whisper she begged, “Please accept my gift."

  He bowed his head as her hand reached out and skimmed over the taut muscles of his upper arm. Her lips left a wet kiss over his left nipple as her tiny hands continued to wander over his flesh.

  An intense feeling of control and possession washed over Shayla as she eagerly explored Grelig's treelike limbs, the arms corded by the weight of the hammer he wielded with such ease. She continued to nibble at his chest, tasting the salt of his labor remaining on his skin. They staggered across the room until Grelig sat back against the table, Shayla following him.

  What a magnificent man she held in her hands! His shoulder length, brown blond hair brushed her shoulders. Shayla imagined that his agile features would be relaxing into the soft smile she had glimpsed briefly over the day. Lost in the sensation of devouring him, she jumped when one of his hands cupped the back of her head while her tongue delved the ribbed muscles of his stomach. The hand tugged.

  Shayla paused in her devotions and looked up. Smoky grey eyes studied her before drawing her up, his other hand lifting her buttocks. His lips lowered to hers. Shayla hesitated, memories of bruising bastards causing her to flinch.

  He waited, confident and eager.

  Eventually Shayla tilted her head and accepted his kiss. Wet, hot, urgent and explicit, his tongue charged into her mouth. Shayla continued to wait, holding her passion in check. She was confident that the pain would come soon. No man in her experience could find his pleasure without hurting the girl servicing him. Her body betrayed her fears. Heat pooled between her legs, a unique sensation. His cock, rubbing in a hard ridge against her thigh was further proof that although Grelig was a man different from any other Shayla had bedded, his body was held to the same pressures.

  Still he devoured her mouth with kisses soft and sweet. Hope blossomed within Shayla's chest. That hope blinded her to the lingering fears, and she dove into the pool of desire lapping at her senses.

  Caught up in a passion new to her, Shayla pressed on. Her arms twined about his neck, drawing his head down. Even as demanding as his mouth was, she could find no malice in his kiss.

  Pleasure, seductive and abrasive, licked at her consciousness. A summer breeze cooled her heated brow. His hands raised her skirts and began a soft, easy perusal of her legs. Shayla continued to explore her newfound toy, wondering if it was normal for a man to allow his woman such bold access to his body.

  Her tongue darted over his face, tasting the roug
h stubble of his beard. A grunt was earned when she nudged his ear. Hungry for response and encouragement, Shayla took his lobe between her teeth.

  A sigh.

  She tugged.

  A growl.

  She licked and sucked.

  His hand abandoned her thigh.

  Shayla idly wondered where it went as her tongue trailed down his neck.

  "So, you like tongue play, do you?” the bundle of supple muscle queried.

  Shayla had only a moment to squeak her surprise when the remaining button on her bodice popped open by the missing hand. Torn between fear and a flaming curiosity, she looked up to determine his intent.

  That crooked smile quavered while his eyes erupted into a smoldering flame. Shayla shivered as the cool air of the evening caressed her exposed breasts. Shyly she pulled her arms from around his neck, as if to cover herself.

  "No, sweet, you can't keep the gift all wrapped up,” he murmured, pulling her hands away. He seared her skin with a lazy gaze, eyeing her nipples hardening in the chill. His tongue darted out, licking his lower lip.

  Nearly perishing from anticipation Shayla asked, “What do you want?"

  "These."

  His hot breath lit Shayla's skin on fire when he took her left breast into his mouth. A shockwave tore a moan of pain and pleasure from her throat. Her hands curled into fists in his hair as he continued his onslaught; nipping, sucking and gently swirling that remarkable tongue around her nipples.

  Shayla surrendered to the never-ending bliss found in his arms. The soft breeze tugged at her hair, pulled from its braid by his hands. Where did the wind come from?

  Arching against his mouth, the tension in her belly grew. Reacting to the ancient call of her body, Shayla swayed upon his legs. His erection flexed against the explicit invitation. Abruptly he ceased his assault on her senses. Shayla studied him from beneath her half-closed eyes.

  He was waiting. He was watching her, too.