She's tall and comely enough, but it's clear she's not very willing.
The chit swallows hard, her throat visibly bobbing, and takes a brave step forward, her eyes averted as if she's afraid to look at me. Up close, I can see that her skin is lovely, soft and inviting and begging to be touched, and her lashes long and thick. She is covered in freckles on every bit of exposed skin, and I wonder if she's freckled everywhere. I can't wait to find out.
The woman clears her throat. "M-might I have a word with you, Lord…"
"Agakor," I supply. "Agakor of Broketusk Clan."
"Lord Broketusk," she stammers, still not meeting my gaze. Her hands are clasped tight in front of her at her waist, in a very ladylike fashion, but I can see just how white her knuckles are. "Might I have a word in private—"
Her words are drowned out by the hooting of my men. "She wants him in private already! Agakor's gonna have himself a son before the year is out, mark my words!"
More ribald shouts accompany this.
The woman's face drains of color, and her father looks impatient. He grabs the woman by the arm, hissing something in her ear. She hunches her shoulders a little, trying to seem smaller, and I decide I don't like the hand he puts on her.
I turn and glare at my men. "Lady Iolanthe may of course have a word in private with me. And the next person that shouts something obscene in front of my bride-to-be will have his tongue pulled out with the blacksmith's pliers."
The men just laugh, knowing I won't do any such thing, but the poor chit looks utterly faint. Her father gives her one last hissing, whispered command and then shoves her forward, and it takes everything I have not to grab him by the throat and toss him bodily out of my keep. It's a good thing I don't intend to keep my end of the bargain, because the urge to kill this fool is rising by the moment.
I offer the woman my arm to escort her, and she gives me a startled look, her gaze finally flashing to mine. By all the gods, those dark eyes are beautiful. Thickly lashed and deep in color, and so expressive. I decide then and there that Lady Iolanthe is going to be mine, no matter how the marriage negotiations go. No doubt she is asking me to meet with her in private so she can prettily tell me that her father did not explain that she would be marrying an orc, and there must be some mistake, and how she needs to return home with him.
And then I will simply tell her no.
Lady Iolanthe is not leaving this keep again unless it's as my wife.
She swallows audibly and then places her hand on my arm, gazing at the floor again as I lead her through the crowd. My men grin, pleased that we've finally got an honorable lady in the keep to be my bride. They know how important it is to me and to our band to be taken seriously. I escort her through the main hall, over to my private war room, where I keep my weapons and shields. There are pieces of armor everywhere, I notice, as we enter the room, and for every book on my shelves, there is also a vambrace or a melted candle, or even an old crust of bread. I try to envision this from her eyes and wonder if it will make her run in terror. Perhaps I should have ordered the men to take a day off of training and clean up first. I don't want her disappointed.
Well, more disappointed than she already is.
Once I lead her into my study, I shut the heavy wooden door behind me. "Speak your words. No one will hear them now save me."
And I wait. Wait for the excuses. The “there must be some mistake” speech.
She trembles again, such a soft, shy thing, and then wrings her hands. "I-I would know exactly what my father promised you," she says in a whisper-soft voice, tinier than the one she used in the hall. "I just…" Again, she wrings her hands. "I fear my father has oversold things."
"Has he, now," I say flatly. Here it comes.
Lady Iolanthe chews on her lip, reddening it. She has nice teeth, at least. "I fear…" She wrings her hands again. "There is much that rides upon our marriage. The funds…" She trails off, frowning to herself. "My father," she tries again. "He would very much like for this marriage to go through."
She won't look me in the eye, which I find I'm growing impatient with. "Spit it out, woman."
"O-oh, of course," she says, twisting her hands again in that helpless sort of way. "It's just…I know this is not what you expected." She bites her lip again. "I am very tall and not young, and I fear my father has oversold my virtues. I w-wished to apologize for that in private if he has misled you."