Chapter Text
When he’d offered to do whatever [Y/N] wanted, Lambert had expected something…a lot more sexy. He could see the way they looked at him. He knew there was some sort of attraction. They stole little glances whenever they could, looking away and blushing in a way he hadn’t really seen a human do with him. Even that time with Merigold, he’d been the one to feel like an inexperienced boy. This little baker wanted him.
So why was he outside, chopping firewood?
It was those damn eyelashes batting and that stupid little coy smile. The way they’d asked if chopping wood would be too difficult a task for him. The baker must have some kind of magic. Maybe if he got close enough, he could find out. Then maybe he could break whatever spell they’ve put on him. Maybe they’re some type of kitchen witch, which would be easy enough.
After the last log was split, Lambert dropped the axe with a thunk beside the stump he’d been working on. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a sigh. The day had grown hot and he’d already tossed his shirt aside. As he turned to grab it, he caught sight of his host standing beside the back door, staring straight at him. He couldn’t help but smirk as he walked over to them, simply slinging the shirt over his shoulder to let them keep ogling.
“I…thought maybe you’d like to take a break, but I see you’ve already finished,” they said, cheeks flushing a bright pink as they finally looked away. “I have lunch ready. It’s a quick meal, the morning’s been a bit busy.” They bit their bottom lip, as if stopping themself from saying more. Their eyes flicked back to his chest, his stomach, lower…and back to his face. Lambert raised an eyebrow at them.
“See something you like, sweet one~?” he cooed, taking a step closer.
Without a word, they turned on their heel and marched back inside, but not before Lambert got a glimpse of their face growing redder. Not before he caught an alluring scent. And lucky him, they were dressed in trousers again, a slightly tight pair that gave him the perfect peak at their round bottom.
Lambert stared a moment too long after they’d let the door shut behind them. He could feel a stirring in his own trousers, and it wouldn’t do to follow [Y/N] into their shop like that. Instead, he turned and went to the well, then draped his shirt over the edge. It was quick work to lower the bucket and draw it back up again. He took his time washing the sweat and grime from his face and arms, though. A moment to cool off, to let the baker calm down, perhaps. They may have patrons in the shop right now.
Not that he cared what a couple of backwater villagers thought, but if he strode in shirtless, pants uncomfortably tented, it would certainly ruin [Y/N]’s reputation. The rumors about witchers were bad enough without him adding another tale of lechery to the pile.
He took a deep, centering breath, then pulled his shirt on and tucked it into his trousers. He even did up the little tie at the neck. The sleeves stayed rolled up, though. It was a bit too humid to roll those down. Once he felt decent, Lambert made his way back into the shop.
***
When you’d gone to fetch Lambert from his task, you hadn’t expected to be greeted by the sight of him shirtless, entirely focused on his work, arms swinging the axe down like he was born to do it. The way the little logs split cleanly with one swing spoke to the raw power the witcher held. As the last pieces fell into their separate piles, he let the axe fall and turned towards you, wiping sweat away from his face before grabbing his shirt.
And you were still staring, caught up in a fantasy of what it might feel like to be held in those strong arms. Heat rose in your cheeks as he smirked and walked towards you. “I…thought maybe you’d like to take a break, but I see you’ve already finished,” you said, averting your gaze. “I have lunch ready. It’s a quick meal, the morning’s been a bit busy.” You bit your lip, a nervous habit, really, and looked back to his broad chest. A dark dusting of hair covered his torso, dipping below the waistband of his trousers. Once you realized where your eyes had landed, you immediately looked back to his face. He looked quite sturdy, and wasn’t that a delightful notion?
“See something you like, sweet one~?” His voice dipped into that range that made heat coil low in your gut. He was stepping closer. You couldn’t let this continue.
Face burning, you turned on your heel and marched right back inside. You leaned against the door to catch your breath and collect yourself. It wouldn’t do to have your customers seeing you all ruddy-cheeked. They’d think more had happened.
Marguerite, the miller’s wife, shuffled into the doorway that led to the back area. “Is everything all right, dear?” she asked, hands cradling her swollen belly. She was pregnant, due any day now, and the two of you had been discussing the merits of a tea leaf reading while you’d prepared lunch for your guest. You’d gushed to her before, of course, about what a help he was, and how attractive he was.
You smiled at her reassuringly. “I was just…The man I was telling you about before, he finished chopping the firewood so quickly, and—“
“Oho, [Y/N], you needn’t explain further~” she said with a small giggle. “I remember what it’s like when young love blossoms from nowhere.”
You sputtered, shaking your head. “It’s not—I can’t be—He isn’t—We shouldn’t call it ‘love’ so soon!” Marguerite giggled again, tapping the side of her nose in a conspiratorial way. “He’ll be leaving soon, anyways. He isn’t the type to settle down.”
“If you were to, say, let yourself indulge, however, it’s no one’s business but your own. Caelum wasn’t my first, you know~”
Before you could answer, the door opened behind you, and Marguerite’s smile promptly dropped as she took in the witcher behind you. You turned to look at him, ready to make introductions, but the woman quickly snatched you away from him by the wrist, pulling you from the small area and through to the main area of your shop. The other three ladies that had been there were gone now, and Marguerite’s grip didn’t loosen until she had you clear to the other side of the room.
“A witcher!” she whispered harshly. “[Y/N], you know those monsters are dangerous! Tell me, did he threaten you? Has he put you under a spell or poisoned you? My darling, it’s okay, we’ll gather the men of the village and they’ll protect you! They’ll drive him out!”
You gently twisted your arm from her grasp, laughing softly. “No, everything is fine. He’s quite nice, actually. He rode into the village with the storm last night, and…I offered him lodging in exchange for help around the store. He’s—“
“You what?! You can’t be serious!” she cut you off with a shriek. “You must get him out of here!”
“Marguerite, really, it’s okay,” you said, trying to soothe her. As her face contorted into one of mixed fear and anger, you looked back to find Lambert standing in the doorway, a sneer on his face. “Maybe…Maybe you should go back home to Caelum. The baby will be here any day, Marguerite, you need your rest.”
She nodded, but continued glaring at the witcher. “I will, dear. But you, witcher. Mark my words, if you harm a single hair on their head, the men of this village will burn you to ashes!” You walked with her to the front door as she spoke, then gently ushered her out.
Once she was gone, Lambert relaxed. “I’m so sorry, Master Witcher, she…This village doesn’t really take too kindly to things they don’t understand.”
He waved you off with a flick of his wrist. “I’m used to it. You said lunch was ready? I’m starving!” With an apologetic smile, you motioned to a table in the back corner. A spread of cheeses, meats, sliced radishes and carrots, and fresh bread was laid out, along with a tankard of ale. You poured yourself another cup of tea and followed him to the table, sitting across from him.
“They didn’t accept me for the longest time, either. Especially the village elders. My mother always defended me, pointing out that I never harmed anyone and simply wanted to be true to myself.” You popped a radish slice into your mouth and chewed thoughtfully.
The only answer Lambert gave you was a soft grunt as he took a quaff of ale.
***
The way the pregnant woman had reacted, her shrieks and the stench of her fear, lingered long after she’d left the shop. What’s more, the baker had felt the need to apologize to him! An uneasy feeling had settled in Lambert’s gut, and despite the act he put on of being hungry and enjoying the food they’d laid out, he hadn’t eaten nearly as much as he usually would.
He was foolish to think his time here would be any different. To entertain thoughts of flirting with his host, winning their affections…To want to attempt courting them. A voice he’d long ago tried to forget floated into his head.
”Stupid, useless whelp…Nothing more than a burden to me. If it weren’t for you, I’d have been rid of that bitch long ago.”
After lunch, he’d excused himself to the small stable, claiming he needed to take care of his horse and equipment. It wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t something that should’ve taken him well into the evening. He was currently seated in the front corner of the stall, whetstone singing over the edge of his steel blade. ”A witcher mustn’t forget to care for his sword.” Vesemir’s voice was far more welcome in his head than his father’s. It was comforting. It reminded him that he’d be home soon, with his mentor and his brothers, and he could forget this whole shit year.
It didn’t make him feel better about today, though. The pregnant woman had probably already told her husband, and he’d likely gone to gather all the men in the village, and they’d probably show up any minute with pitchforks and torches. If the baker tried to defend him, they risked being run out of the village along with him. He’d brought trouble to someone who had only shown him kindness. It was selfish of him to want to darken their door again. It was selfish to want to share their bed, even if only for a night.
He shouldn’t stay. He should saddle up and disappear into the night.
He was so caught up in this self-loathing pity party that he didn’t hear the soft footsteps approaching the stable.
***
After lunch, Lambert had mumbled excuses about his horse and equipment, then disappeared out the back door. It was fine, really. He’d taken care of everything you’d wanted help with, and it likely would be a disaster if he hung around downstairs. You did worry about him, though. His mood had shifted and he’d been rather quiet after Marguerite had left.
Unfortunately, Marguerite had returned with several ladies in tow. They’d ordered tea and cake, then demanded you join them at the table. The eldest, a woman named Varna, had done most of the talking, with the others nodding and adding in little bits of encouragement. Varna had warned you of the dangers of witchers, of how they were no better than the monsters they hunted, how they’d trick you into feeling safe, then devour you in the night.
You’d politely listened, but when the cake was nothing but crumbs and the tea had run dry, you’d excused yourself from them, returning to your work in the kitchen. They were your last customers of the day, and you feel their attitudes towards the witcher had something to do with that. The whole village had no doubt been warned to stay away.
What did they know, anyway? It wasn’t as if any of them made an effort to get to know him. They were content to let him fight deadly beasts and keep them safe, as long as they never had to acknowledge his existence.
It wasn’t right.
As the evening grew dark, you finally decided to go fetch Lambert. You could hear him in the stable from the back door. Sparing a glance over to the bit of pasture where you’d let Clarabelle out earlier to make sure she was still safe, you walked over and leaned against the stall door. Lambert’s horse gently nuzzled your hands, prompting you to pet her soft muzzle.
The witcher was very focused on the task of sharpening his sword, his brow creased and movements sure. You didn’t understand how anyone could see him as a monster.
“I have dinner ready,” you said softly. “The shop is closed for the night. No one will bother you, I promise.”
Lambert answered gruffly, not stopping his task. “Don’t need it.”
“You didn’t eat much at lunch. Come inside, before it’s too dark.”
“Doesn’t bother me. ‘M fine out here.”
With a sigh, you opened the stall and knelt beside him, watching his hands work. “The night may get cold. Come spend another night in a warm bed before you set off again.” You reached out, gently laying your hand on his shoulder. That got his attention enough to get him to stop. “Please? I enjoy your company.”
He shrugged your hand away, but looked at you, the look on his face softening. “You shouldn’t. I’m a mutant, I’ll only end up hurting you.”
“I’m not asking you to marry me, Lambert, I’m only asking you to join me for dinner,” you said, smiling softly. Something in his golden eyes shifted. “Besides, there are plenty of human men who are far worse monsters than you, and they go on to have full families. Some even go on to be kings. Really, you’re one of the better men I’ve met. People are just quick to judge. They fear what they don’t understand. You deserve kindness and respect, same as anyone else.”
Lambert rolled his eyes. “Fine, if it’ll get you to shut up with this…morality lecture…I’ll come inside. Happy?”
“Positively delighted,” you replied. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. His beard tickled as you pulled away. He stared as you stood and held out your hand to help him up.
He didn’t take your hand, but he did stand and sheath his sword, putting the whetstone away in his pack. “I’ll stay the night, but come dawn, I’ll be gone. I shouldn’t stay in one place too long, especially without contracts.”