He didn’t pull off my clothes or anything nefarious. Instead, he held up a pair of trousers that actually looked my size, holding them against me to measure better. He frowned, pursing his lips, but it was hard to truly look while I was wearing the tunic. It was basically a dress and hid my body from him.
To make things easier, I held out a shaky hand for the material. “I-I can try them on?”
When he shot me a questioning look, I mimicked pulling the trousers on. It was embarrassing to act out my intentions, but it helped and he nodded decisively, handing me the clothing. He even gave me his back for privacy, pawing through a wooden box while I slipped the trousers on. They were a little wide around the waist, but just right on the length. I cautiously tapped his shoulder, stiffening when he turned around. He pointed at the hem of the tunic and raised an eyebrow at me, silently asking to lift it. I nodded and squeezed my eyes shut, willing it all to be over quickly.
He muttered under his breath, pinching the sides until they fit better. Then he ushered me out of them with a gentle tug, making sure the tunic covered me in the process. He wasn’t at all what I was expecting. When the towns talked about the barbarians, they compared them to wild animals who raped and pillaged and would gut you as soon as look at you. This one was nothing like that. In the short time I’d known him, he bathed me, took care of my chafed wrists, fed me, and was now making me clothes. From scratch? Or maybe from his own, tailoring them to fit me instead. Which meant he was literally giving me the clothes off his own back. Would it always be this way? Or was he just buttering me up, so I was more compliant when he finally showed his true colors?
Four
After making trousers that fit me, the barbarian disappeared long enough to fetch us breakfast. Leftover meat from the night before, from the looks of it, fresh bread and a bowl of fruit. It looked delicious, and it only took a little encouragement to get me to eat. I was still hungry after being starved for two days. While we were eating, he held up each fruit and said their name. The ones I was familiar with, I said in my own language to show I understood.
“Blueberry.”
He mulled it over, trying his hand at mimicking me instead of me copying him. “Blue…berry.”
I nodded, and he looked proud of himself. Then his eyes narrowed and instead of picking up another fruit, he pointed at me instead.
For a minute, I thought he wanted to know the word for shirt, and I pinched it while saying the word out loud, but he shook his head, knocking my hand away before putting his massive palm on my chest. My heart stuttered for a moment, and when I didn’t understand, he touched his chest with his other hand.
“Rath.”
“Rath…” I repeated slowly. He nodded and tapped two fingers to his chest. It finally clicked and I looked up in surprise. “Your name is Rath.”
That was too much, he didn’t understand me, but I understood what he wanted now. I debated telling him my full name, but I always hated it, and I had an opportunity to use something different now. It wasn’t like my father was going to show up to berate me for disrespecting the family name. Putting my hand next to his, I introduced myself.
“Finn.”
“Finn,” he repeated, eyes soft. I had to duck my head to escape the intensity of his stare, and he eventually moved on, giving me a chance to get my heart rate under control. Were barbarians supposed to be so sweet?
He continued on that thread for a while, pointing at things and saying them in his language, then encouraging me to repeat him. He only stopped when I yawned for the third time. Despite his help the night before and the nap that morning, I was still tired. I didn’t sleep much the past few days. While waiting for the barbarians to arrive, the mayor had the marshal take me to jail. Because, to them, having sexual urges for something other than women was bad enough to imprison someone. None of my family ever came to say goodbye. I was alone and scared and I worried about what they’d do to me if I actually fell asleep. Now that I was at least semi safe, I kept nodding off.
Rath tipped his head toward the bed, giving me a significant look. I shook my head quickly. I didn’t want to come off as more useless than I already was. When he reached for me, I flinched and his hand drew back, his expression pained.
“I-I’m sorry!” I rushed out, panic lacing my tone. I hadn’t meant to do that. I just couldn’t figure out what he was going to do next. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for him to lash out forthe insult, but when his hands cupped my face, they were gentle and warm.
My eyes fluttered open, and I took in his expression. Pain, worry, understanding. No anger that I could see. His thumbs stroked over my cheeks and he pulled me closer to press his forehead against mine, murmuring low under his breath. I didn't understand the words, but his tone was soothing. This time, when my eyes drifted closed, it was to hide the tears filling them. In my entire life, I’d never been treated so gently. Like I was something precious. I wanted to enjoy it while it lasted, before he finally figured out how useless I was and stopped being so kind.
For the next few days,we settled into a sort of routine. Rath got up with me early in the morning to take me to the trench to relieve myself before sending me back to bed. Then he fed me, we practiced his language, and he showed me things that were unique to his people. The necklaces he wore were different for everyone, but since I hadn’t been allowed to interact with anyone yet, I didn’t understand how. My grasp on the language was too new to follow everything he was saying. He proudly showed me his knives a few times, and I figured out eventually that he was a hunter for his people. He had a bow that was almost as big as I was that he used to hunt, as well as small knives he could throw and bigger ones to take down larger animals after wounding them. Hunting wasn’t really my thing, but he seemed happy to show me, and I wanted to do what I could to keep him in a good mood.
Not once in the past few days since I arrived did he give me a reason to think he’d hurt me. He held me every night to keepme warm, he fed me, and he made me clothes by hand. And not once did he get angry with me when I woke him at night because I’d had another nightmare of my father kicking me out and couldn’t stop crying. He just petted my hair and hummed a little tune until I settled enough to sleep again. But I still found it hard to fully trust him. I wished I could understand more of his language. Maybe then I could understand what he wanted from me.
“Rath!” a voice called from outside the tent, followed by a string of their language too fast for me to translate. Rath looked up from where he was carving something out of wood, frowning at the flap entrance to the tent. He’d started it the day after I arrived, but I didn’t have the skill to ask what he was making. He answered, though slower than the person outside. I couldn’t catch all of it, but a word I was familiar with popped up. Hunt.
“Hunt?” I repeated, tipping my head.
Rath nodded and sighed heavily. He pushed to his feet and like every time he stood next to me, especially when I was still sitting, I gaped at his massive form. Were barbarians part giant?
My expression always seemed to amuse him. He offered me a hand, pulling me to my feet, a smile tugging at his lips. I blushed and ducked my head. If I could, I’d try to explain myself. My town didn’t have tall men. Yes, most were taller than me, but not by as much as he was.
“Come,” Rath said, squeezing my hand gently.
Surprised, I looked up at him. We were leaving the tent? Aside from relieving ourselves, we hadn’t done that yet.
He paused long enough to grab his blades and tie them to his belt before taking my hand and leading me outside. The man who’d called out to him was waiting, a little shorter than Rath, but still several hands taller than me, with a more trim build and braids in his hair. He smiled brightly at Rath, squeezing his shoulder, before turning a curious look towards me.
“Verus, my clan brother,” Rath introduced, gesturing to the man. Then he turned to his friend. “My Finn.”
My cheeks burned at the possessiveness in his tone. Not just Finn.HisFinn.
