Free Hunter's Season: Elder Races, Book 4 by Thea Harrison

floor.”
    “That does not matter.”
    He eased back onto the pillows. “It matters to me.”
    The darkness grew closer, hazing his mind. As if from a great distance, he felt her tuck the sheet over him. He thought he heard her say, “That is why people care about you so much.”
    Then his unruly emotions and wayward mind grew quiet, as the darkness took him over completely.

Chapter Five
    The Dance
    Xanthe took the perishables like the eggs and clotted cream, loaded them carefully into the wire well basket, and then lowered them into the cool deep water of the well. She kept a few of the eggs out to boil them. While those cooked, she found storage places for rest of the food.
    There were also biscuits, fresh bread, jams and jellies, cheese, both fresh and salted meat, nuts, three kinds of tea, butter, flour, barley, sugar, fruits and vegetables. Sweet potatoes. There were even three bars of soap that smelled like honeyed almonds and were rich enough that fine ladies would not distain using them. This cottage had never seen such rich fare.
    Xanthe was no fancy cook, but she could prepare good, plain meals, and all the luxuries from the market would help to dress up anything she might offer. By the time Aubrey awakened again, she had a substantial lunch prepared of the last of the chicken, sautéed turnip greens, boiled eggs, and bread, butter and jam. In small bowls were fresh berries sprinkled with sugar.
    She was just about to retrieve the clotted cream from the well when she heard his quiet footsteps. She turned as he entered the room. He ran his hands through loose raven hair. His clothes were rumpled, and his feet were still bare. It was shocking to see him in any way less than meticulously groomed and in formal clothing. As she studied his stance and angular features, she was pleased to see that he was much steadier already.
    He said, “I see that you have been busy.”
    “Are you hungry?”
    His gaze lit upon the contents on the table. “I am.”
    She had not been sure how to lay out the meal, if he might need to stay in bed or if he would rather she did not eat with him. But this was, after all, her home. There was only one place to sit and eat, and also, he had not seemed to mind in the slightest when she had joined him and Tiago for breakfast, so she had laid two settings.
    His gait was steady, if a bit stiff, as he walked over to ease into one of the chairs. The reality of sitting across from him and eating alone with him started to sink in.
    She remembered the clotted cream and said awkwardly, “I almost forgot something—I’ll be right back.”
    He snagged hold of her hand when she would have walked away. Her insides churned at the warm grasp. Although she would have given anything for him not to have been so badly wounded, already there were so many moments of this experience that she would hold close and treasure afterward. Chief among them was every time he touched her.
    He looked up at her. The gold of the sun glimmered in his light gray eyes. “Thank you for this, Xanthe. Thank you for everything.”
    She turned her hand to clasp his and press briefly at his lean fingers, as she said, entirely truthfully, “It is truly my pleasure, my lord.”
    “I expect you to start calling me Aubrey,” he said as he returned the squeeze of her fingers and released her. “After all, as you so eloquently pointed out, you are not my servant.”
    He was nobility, while she was a commoner. She forced her lips to move. “That would not be appropriate.”
    He winked at her. “As Tiago would say, screw appropriate.”
    Winked. At her.
    She should probably respond in some manner to what he had said, but her mind seized up, so she gave up and fled the cottage.
    When she drew up the wire basket from the well to retrieve the pot of cream, she splashed cold water on her face and stood for a moment with her head bent, the water dripping from her nose and chin.
    “Aubrey,” she whispered. The sweet pain, that honeyed