I emerged from the tent with the last bucketful to a sky faintly tinged with pinks and yellows. I didn’t even glance to the sides, but set my weary eyes on the latrine. A slight noise distracted me, and I looked off to the side to see the slackers standing there at attention, looking rather pale. From behind me I heard a cough, and I turned quickly. Too quickly, as the bucket slopped over on to my trous.

There sat Keir on his warhorse, all black leather and armor, leaning forward, arms crossed on the saddle before him, looking angry and grim.

I blinked.

He raised an eyebrow, and spoke in a calm and even tone. “Would someone care to explain why the warprize is cleaning slop pots?”

I drew myself up, being careful with the bucket this time. “Because these bragnect are not worthy of the task.” There were gasps from behind me. I ignored them. I turned and headed to the latrine to finish my task.

I’d have to remember to ask Joden what that word meant.

When I had finished my job and rinsed the empty bucket, I turned and walked back up the rise. The Warlord was still there by the tent. The warriors that had been standing there were gone. Keir dismounted, secured his horse, and followed me into the tent without a word.

I stood there for a moment surveying my handiwork. The tent smelled clean and fresh, and the men were resting in comfort. Keir moved past me, and started talking to his men, moving through the tent with ease. I went over to a stool near where they stored what medicines they had, and started sorting them. At least, that was what I pretended to do. Instead, I watched my master. I really hadn’t had a chance to see him clearly. Well, other than this morning. My face warmed at the thought. He moved among them with no ceremony, no formality. Even knelt to speak to the whipped warrior.

While the movements of other warriors were controlled and powerful, he was different. There was a flow, a grace that I had not seen before. The way he grasped one man’s hand, how he would tilt his head and listen to another. And one breathtaking moment when he smiled at a comment and his face relaxed into a thing of beauty.

Which made my role as sex slave even more wildly absurd. Especially with women like the blonde around, tall and strong and… ample. With women warriors like that wandering the camp, how did one brown-haired, short and… well… less than ample warprize compare?

He finished, stood and looked around. I looked back down at the various bottles and jars and really had no idea what was in them at all. As he walked over to me, it suddenly occurred to me that I had not done as Marcus had bidden me. I stood when he approached, but kept my head down.

“There will be men coming with the evening meal who will tend these men.”

I looked up quickly, scowling.

“Different men, not the ones that were here earlier.” Keir looked around. “Our supper is waiting for us.” He held open the flap and waited for me to go first. I paused and looked up at him. He just stared back, noncommital. No anger that I could see. I stepped through and waited for him to retrieve his horse. I thought he would mount, but he grabbed up the reins and started walking. I followed behind, but he waited for me to move up beside him. Then he wrinkled his nose. The horse snorted, and shook its head. Keir moved to the upwind side and we proceeded on.

I cleared my throat. “I checked on Simus. He is doing very well.”

No response. I continued. “He wants to be up and moving, but I think I convinced him to stay off the leg for another day or so.”

Still no response. I sighed and decided to shut up. The sun was almost gone now, the colors of the night sky fading into black over our heads. We were getting closer to his tent, and I was getting nervous. Finally, I blurted out, “Are you going to punish me?”

Silence.

“One of the warriors had been beaten, and just dumped inside the tent.” Nervously, I blithered on, afraid of the silence. “I couldn’t just leave him lying there. Those men needed aid, they had no one to help them, no one to care for…” My voice trailed off and died at the expression on Keir’s face.

“Marcus became concerned when you did not return. He sent for me, and I have been searching for you. It looks bad to lose one’s warprize on the very first day.” The voice was quiet, his face unreadable.

“Are you going to punish me?” My voice cracked slightly.

“No.” Keir handed his reins to one of the guards who came up. He turned with an odd expression on his face. “I won’t need to.”

Just then, the tent flap pulled back. I turned, startled, to find one very angry Marcus standing there. His scarred face transformed into a snarl of rage.

I gulped, and stepped back a pace, bumping into Keir.

“Where have the likes of you been?” His voice cut through the night. “Had to send Hisself out to find you, that I did.” He moved back to allow me to step into the tent. “How hard is it to find the tent of Simus? Eh? Then return here?” he glared at me, his hands on his hips. “Where have you been?” He frowned, then drew in a deep breath. His eye widened and his face screwed up in disgust. Keir had followed me into the tent, and I heard a soft chuckle from behind me. Marcus’s glare deepened as he raked his eye over my clothes. I looked down. For the first time I noticed the stains and wrinkles. I swallowed hard and looked over my shoulder for help.

None was forthcoming. Keir arched an eyebrow at me. “I’ll return after awhile.” I could have sworn he grinned as he turned away and left the tent.

“No sense, no sky-blessed brains.” Marcus grabbed me by the shoulder and pushed me into the back sleeping area. “Been rolling in the muck pits, eh?” He vanished for a moment and returned with a sheet. “ Strip and wrap up in this.”

“Marcus, I…”

That one eye glared at me fiercely. I grabbed the sheet and held it to me as I slid out of my shirt.

“Hisself says ‘take care of warprize, look after warprize.” Marcus stomped off with the shirt. I took the opportunity to shed the rest and get the sheet wrapped around me. His voice floated out of the other room. “Doesn’t tell Marcus that the warprize doesn’t have the brains that the elements gave a gosling.” He stomped back in and gathered up my stuff, holding it at arms length. He fixed me with another glare. “ Standing there? When there is hot water going cold?” He gestured into the privy area.

I moved rapidly, but with some dignity into that room, closing the flap behind me. Marcus followed me in. “Stand there.” He pointed to the wooden platform in the center. “Water drains out below. You understand? Or do I need to wash you myself?” His one eye cut into me as I shook my head and clutched my sheet tighter around me.

Exasperated, he flung up his hands. “Warprize you may be, but nothing there I’ve not seen before.” With that he stomped out, but his voice pierced the canvas as he left. “Gosling? Did I say gosling?” He growled out the words. “More like the brains of an ox.”

I cringed back from the door, and stood for a moment, getting my heart and breath under control. Really, Marcus was no different from Anna, right? I kept trying to convince myself of that as I turned and found four buckets of water steaming there, and soap and scrub rags waiting on a small table. Marcus was still talking, his voice fading in and out as he moved about. Thankfully, I couldn’t make out the details.

There were stones under the platform and I realized that it had some sort of drain underneath it. I dropped the blanket, stood on the platform, and carefully poured some of the first bucket over my head and body. The warm water felt wonderful. I grabbed the soap and rags and started to lather, working over every inch of my body and up into my hair. I missed the great pools of the castle bath house, where you could soak in the warm water up to your neck. But this must pass for luxury in an army camp. I relished the feel of the mild soap on my body. I closed my eyes at the feel of the grime of the day washing away.