Page 8 of The Scouts

Reading his emotion was, at times, like figuring out how to open a Rhénese puzzle box—impossible. But now and again, and more frequently of late, it came to me as instinctively as releasing an arrow.

The calmer he appeared on the surface, the more withdrawn and unsettled he became inside. I knew he wouldn’t be the one to seek me out right then. I had to go to him. Dispel his unease and soothe his nerves. And preferably while we still had some unchopped wood left in the bastion.

Chilly currents of late autumn air hit my skin as I crossed the courtyard. My breath steamed in front of my face. The weather didn’t have enough bite to be regarded as cold by a Highlander yet. But soon enough, the ground would freeze over beneath a blanket of snow. I could feel it in my bones.

As though to challenge the elements, Lochan’s bare torso glistened with a sheen of sweat.

I halted three paces away and took in the view. For an instant, all of my woes vanished.

He stood with feet wide apart, his shoulders squared, allowing his knees to drop on the downswing, lending it additional momentum by pulling his hips backwards. His well-defined physique rippled with every movement.

His cheeks were flushed pink, which highlighted his fine bone structure. I trailed my eyes over his chest tattoo. A single bead of moisture trickled down the ridge between his pectoral muscles towards his taut stomach. Mesmerised, I followed its course until it disappeared into the low waist of his leathers.

I fought not to succumb to that familiar wave of possessive arousal I often felt around him. But my blood heated when the scent of his clean sweat mixed with fresh resin reached my nostrils.

Wood appeared to be the word of the day.

Lochan swung the axe once more. His right palm slid down the handle until both of his hands met just above the hilt end.

A glance at his abused knuckles—grazed and bloodied—told me he’d gone against the training post without wraps. Again.

Damn.

I scowled.

I’d come to terms with Lochan’s craving for pain. But only as long as it pertained to what we did in the bedroom and only if I could curb the lengths he would go to. When he sought physical harm elsewhere to comfort himself—often going overboard—it disturbed and upset me. It felt like a failure on my part.

He was aware of my presence, of course, just elected not to acknowledge it. Since the chances of him speaking unbidden were slim to none, I volunteered a soft, “Lochan.”

Another log rattled, dropping off the stump, split into perfect halves. He replaced it with a new one.

I stayed still, expelling a long, silent exhale.

Back in Black Mountain, Verhan and I used to sneak out to watch cougar cubs when their mothers had been away hunting. Nothing taught patience like lying motionless, belly-down in the undergrowth for hours on end—damp clothes, numb limbs and a grasshopper tickling one’s ear. A single incautious move could result in fucking it all up and startling the young into hiding. I’d stopped counting how many times I’d drawn on this experience when it came to Lochan.

“Mu’hrōnye.” I reinforced my tone, changing not its volume but its resonance. I expected that to commandeer his attention.

Thwack! The blade of the axe sank deep into the stump.

Best wishes wrenching it free to the poor sod using it next.

Lochan took his sweet damn time, but eventually, his gaze drifted to mine. It held that absent, icy glint again. I loathed its return, having seen less and less of it in recent months.

He still didn’t offer any words, not that it surprised me. I, on the other hand, chose mine with care. “You don’t want Heinnés to see that, do you?” I indicated his scraped knuckles with a tilt of my chin.

The last time the commander had caught Lochan having a go on a dummy without hand protection, he’d chewed Lochan’s arse out and revoked his upcoming gehÿn as punishment. A soldier’s duty was to tend to their bodies. While in combat, injuries couldn’t be avoided. But ones that were self-inflicted or caused by recklessness equalled negligence. And on Heinnés’ watch, that shit meant big trouble fast.

For a time, it seemed as if no response would be forthcoming. I quirked an eyebrow.

At last—a barely perceptible head shake. Some of the vacant frostiness eased from Lochan’s expression.

“Well, then.” I drawled. “I’ll dress these for you later. For now, though, how about we pop into the food hall? Let’s get some grub before they stop serving morning meal.”

Another moment passed before Lochan decided to snatch his shirt off the neatly stacked logs. Bark chippings flew off the fabric when he gave it a shake. He threw the garment on, not bothering to do it up.

I didn’t relax until he fell into step beside me.

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