Chapter 3 #2
Off in the distance, the blue sea blended into the sky so she could not even see where one ended and one began and to the southwest was the distant hump of Bjorn’s Isle, morning mist still surrounding its coastal edges.
Then, riding over the arch of a hillside stood a pair of red deer, grazing until they looked up and stood startled and motionless, staring, before loping off to the streams fanning downward through a trail of rocks towards the steep slopes at the sea cliffs.
Her belly called out again and for a brief moment a platter of plump, juicy venison swam before her eyes, surrounded by savory browned onions and turnips.
Over another golden mound that reminded her of freshly baked bread they rode, and her mind filled with dandelion honey dripping from a honey comb and running like liquid amber over that warm bread....
Their direction led down toward a gathering of rocks that looked like plums or roasted chestnuts or perhaps gooseberries and she thought she might die with the need to chew on something other than her lip.
Without a word, Montrose reined and dismounted.
She almost ran over him, and pulled back hard on the reins. Skye reared immediately and only Glenna’s consummate horse skills kept her mounted.
Montrose swore and reached for the reins.
But Glenna pulled Skye away, glaring at him. “Some warning you were going to stop would have been helpful.” She cast him a withering look, then turned back to find Fergus, who came loping down from the hillock, tongue lolling, and he ran past them to toward the stream.
“I am used to traveling alone.”
She supposed that was the closest thing Montrose had for an apology.
“There is water over there for our mounts and your hound.” He came over to her, his hands heading near her waist.
She jerked the reins and pulled back from him. “I’ve ridden horses for as long as I can remember, my lord. I need no help getting down and will do so when I am ready.” She had a purpose; she stayed in the saddle because she could look down at him.
Pointedly silent, he studied her through narrowed eyes that probably longed to chop her head off, or perhaps cut out her tongue.
She understood she had made him angry, which was her point, but she wondered why she had the sudden urge to apologize.
Bah! She was changing already and becoming someone she didn’t know.
Immediately she sat taller in the saddle and her smile melted into a thin line. “I have questions for you. Who are you to my father?”
He looked at her as if she were a flea he’d plucked from his shirt.
She wished she had fleas…she might eat them.
“Dismount Glenna. “ Was all he said.
“You did not answer my question.”
“The animals need water and to rest. So do you.”
“I can take care of myself. I do not need a man to tell me when to stop, when to dismount, when to water my horse. My bro--Al and El learned that lesson many times. You would do well to learn that.” Her belly tightened again, and began to gurgle and churn, so she closed her eyes briefly, willing her hunger and anger and hurt to go away.
Look how well she had taken care of herself. She was a fool whose pride was more important than remembering to pack some food.
Silent, Montrose did not move. Standing there looking all too powerful dressed in padded leather, heavy hose and his powerful legs in tall books, she had to look away because of what looking at him did to her.
Fergus was romping in the stream, barking and splashing water.
Her mouth was dry, her head growing light.
She sighed heavily and dismounted. Pride be damned, water would fill her grumbling belly.
And there was the fact that her pride would be sorely damaged if she swooned into a dead faint in front of him.
She did as he asked and took her horse to the stream, but only because that is what she would have done. Montrose followed her. Ignoring him, she pushed back her hat, knelt down and cupped her hand to drink.
“I have a water skin.”
Wiping her mouth, she turned and looked up at him standing over her, all noble baron who was used to telling everyone what to do.
“And you are welcome to use it, my lord.” Then she continued to drink from the cool stream until she was full and washed the dust of the land from her face, which felt sticky with sweat and grime, then wiped it dry with the hem of her tunic.
She sat back on her heels; she was full of water but still famished, and stared listlessly at the cool clear water skipping over rocks bright with green lichen and pooling below where it reflected blue from the cloudless sky overhead. She wished it were soup.
Pea stock flavored with salt pork.
A river of bean pottage.
Something thick and hearty to fill her gut.
Bread. Oh sweet Lord…she would give her heart away for a loaf of bread.
At that perfect moment her belly betrayed her and growled loudly. Her vision swam and she pressed her fist into it.
Montrose turned, swore under his breath and pulled her to her feet. “You should have told me you needed to stop.”
“I did not need to stop,” she said quietly, stumbling along behind him, before she plopped down bonelessly on a flat rock that was shaped like a pie. “I need to eat.”
He pulled a cloth from his bags knelt down next to her, unfolding the cloth to show her the bread (from God’s ears to her mouth) and a fat wedge of white cheese. “Here, Glenna. Eat.”
No more pride. She took the cloth, ignoring the soft look she saw in his eyes,--so blue they too reflected the sky--and tried not to devour the food whole. "If you had not destroyed my bow and arrows we could have meat."
"I imagine that meat would be my liver roasting on a spit."
He was not wrong.
Sitting crosswise, she watched him as she ate. Fergus was wet and sloppy and trotted back and forth between them, then shook himself all over a scowling Montrose. Glenna looked away to hide her laughter. The dog settled beside her and she gave him a piece of cheese.
“You reward him for his behavior?” Montrose was refilling his skin, squatting down at the water’s edge, his shoulders wide enough to block her view.
“I feed him. He is hungry, too. Would you have me starve the animals?”
He merely shook his head at her and went on as he had been.
His light hair hung to his shoulders and was beginning to curl at the ends.
She noticed he did not wear his gold signet ring on his tanned hand.
She had tried the ring on as she rode home from the cove yesterday and it was heavy and big.
Two of her small fingers could have almost fit into the ring.
He stood with the ease of a lion and she concentrated on her food and gave Fergus more cheese, then watched him from the corner of her eye. He took an apple from his pouch and sat down on a rock near her and used a small knife to cut off a piece, then paused and handed it to her.
She glanced down at the food in her lap and realized she and her dog had eaten over half of it. He must be hungry, too, she thought. A warm flush of shame surprised her, so she concentrated on folding up the cloth.
“Glenna.”
She looked up sharply. Her name on his lips sounded oddly foreign and strange. Not like the sour notes of a horn or a lute, but low and it was almost as if she felt his voice all the way to her toes.
Before her was his outstretched hand, his thumb pressed on his knife and holding the apple slice toward her. “Take it,” he said.
She did, then held out the cloth to him with a quiet, “Thank you.”
“You finish it.”
“Nay. I’ve had my fill.” She leaned forward and set the cloth of food on his knees.
Leaning back on her elbows, she stretched out, crossed her feet at the ankles and popped the wedge of apple in her mouth and began talking whilst she chewed.
“You eat. The truth is, Montrose, I don’t need you swooning halfway to wherever it is we are headed.
You are huge and I don’t believe I could lift you.
Why I believe merely your hard head alone would be enough to break my poor, wee back.
” She paused, then added pointedly, “My lord.”
He laughed loud and long and hearty and something warm ran through her at the sound. Amusement changed his face, brightened a kind and sweet gleam in his blue eyes and revealed the sudden dimples in his hard cheeks. She found herself smiling back at him.
Montrose was a beautiful man. She had not forgotten the image of him by the sea, the one that was burned into her memory only to return unbidden and plague her too often for her own comfort. That was merely yesterday?
Perhaps he dominated her thoughts because he was only something new and different. Of late, her life had been mundane and uneventful, having spent most of the late spring and summer on the mainland, where they stolen their fill and had taken more than enough to trade for a long time.
His profile was strong, his nose long and noble, but she saw now as he laughed, that his mouth was wide, his teeth all there, white as the sun-bleached shells on the beach and perfectly aligned, not gaping like fence posts or crossed all over each other like a stack of firewood.
There had been a time when she’d had to pull one of Alastair’s teeth after it festered, and last year Elgin lost a front tooth in a hard fall from training a horse.
Her own teeth were crooked on the bottom, too close together and food often caught in them.
She wondered now if there was bread or cheese stuck in them and quickly stopped smiling.
“You asked who I am to your father. You said you had questions.” His voice was quiet, kinder, and she thought they might have reached a new kind of truce. He chewed on a morsel of cheese he had wrapped inside some bread.