There is a terrible gnawing in my stomach, though. My attention continually strays to those children hovering on the outskirts of the observers. My own sisters aren’t too far away, their cheeks covered in chocolate from the desserts I bought them before the contest, so they would be occupied. At least I can afford to occasionally buy sweets for my family. The fair-haired woman might not even be able to feed hers at all. If she gets low marks during this contest, she doesn’t have a hope in hell of attracting a suitor. Whereas I can make up for a bad showing in the water carrying round…
With a quick sleight of hand, I switch my pie with hers.
She gapes at me and I put a finger to my lips, trying not to cry when her features transform with gratitude. Honestly, I am not a crier, but the Joining seems to be turning me into a soppy mess. It’s horrible. I’m supposed to be the tough one.
“Thank you,” she whispers, just as the judges reach us.
“Dear God,” the first one says, recoiling from the pie.
They all have varying degrees of the same reaction, one of them even refusing to try a bite, but I accept their criticism with my chin raised and wait for them to move on. My pie, which now belongs to the fair-haired woman, receives top marks and I exhale with relief, warmth flooding my chest at the overjoyed smiles from her children. After that, it’s time to move on to the next round—water carrying—and I’m collecting my things when my spine tingles and I know Corbet is standing behind me.
“I saw what you did, woman.”
With a flip of my hair, I turn to face him and am momentarily tongue-tied by the affection on his battle-scarred face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Ah, you do, though. You might have a tongue as sharp as my sword, but you’ve a soft heart, Gwen. She never would have succeeded without you. Such a sacrifice should be celebrated, but you ask for nothing in return.” I try to ignore the stirring in my chest brought on by his praise, but it’s impossible when his voice is so low and passionate. “You’ve acted nobly. And I’ll have you know it.” He moves closer, which panics me, because my body apparently wants him closer more than anything. Delight races up my skin, leaving goose bumps behind. “I won’t pretend I’m not relieved. Now that you’ve sabotaged your chances in the auction, I don’t have to worry about another man thinking he can have you.”
“Sabotaged myself?” I raise an eyebrow. “There’s another event, Your Majesty.”
Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crows. We are alone now, the crowd having roamed toward the hillside where the next event will take place.
A vein ticks in his cheek as he regards me, a storm gathering in his blue-gray eyes. “Surely there’s no point in continuing after your pie was the worst of the bunch.”
“There are men who value hard work over a woman’s skill in the kitchen.”
His nostrils flare. “Gwen, I forbid you to carry buckets of water for these cockheads who need to buy a wife instead of wooing one properly—”
“Properly. You mean, like dragging them to the loch?”
He growls at my interruption. “I had need of your mouth. Only your mouth. As I do now. There will be no water carrying. For one thing, they should be carrying water for you. And second…” He draws me up against his chest roughly, tipping my chin up with his opposite hand. “You belong to me. I can think of nothing else. You’re my woman, goddamn it to hell. I will bring you back to my castle and you will remain there with me for all time.”
“In your dreams, perhaps,” I breathe, unable to keep my gaze from dipping to his lips.
Corbet visibly reins himself in and says calmly, “I came here to have an important discussion with you, Gwen. There are things you do not know about my upbringing. Once I’ve explained, you will understand why I am against marriage.”
I’m already shaking my head. “I cannot talk now. I’ll miss the event.”
“I’ve told you. It’s not happening!”
“I’ll only allow this discussion if you let me leave presently for the event—” I hold up a finger when he starts to interject. “And if you don’t interfere.”
“Gwen,” he growls, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. “These men ogling you is driving me mad. I want my claim on you. Now.”
There’s a good chance he might already be mad if he thinks a conversation about his past is going to miraculously make me want to be his mistress, but I keep that pretty little fact to myself. “There’s a chance we won’t have a harmonious outcome to our discussion. As such, I have need to keep my options open,” I say, reasonably.