“Full of stuffing. Did I drink all the ale in the tavern?” She narrowed her eyes. “You look like you feel fine.”
“I did not drink as much as you. You had a great deal to say.”
What had she told him? It was all a big fat blank.
“I don’t really remember what we talked about. Did I say anything…odd?”
He hesitated only a moment. “Nay, you did not. I can hear you are hungry from here. Shall we break our fast?”
Why had he hesitated? Was he being tactful, or had she told him she was from the future? No, if she had, there was no way he’d be acting like everything was fine. A memory flashed and she cringed. Had she tried to kiss him?
She looked up at him through her lashes. He wasn’t acting weird. No way was she ever drinking that much again. Three years of college and she’d never gotten up on a table to sing in front of a crowd. And it ended up being for nothing, because they’d had to sleep in the stables anyway. Wait. The brawl was her fault. That horrible man had made the lewdest suggestion, and she’d slapped him. Then all hell had broken loose.
There’d been one time when she was out with Ben and theteam, celebrating a win, and she’d had too much to drink, but this…this was ten times worse. As much as the thought disgusted her, she knew the guys on the team swore by having a small drink with breakfast to get over a hangover.
What she wouldn’t give for some Lindsay Stirling playing softly in the background while she popped a few aspirin and slept the day away. Inside the tavern, the debris had been cleared away, leaving two tables and chairs. She cringed. They’d be lucky if they were given a piece of moldy bread after the damaged they’d caused. Stupid guy. Guess it didn’t matter what time she was in—jerks were jerks throughout history.
She couldn’t hold the smile in—the memory of Christian popping that guy in the nose, defending her honor. Medieval men. She sighed. Too bad she couldn’t remember what they’d talked about last night. Oh well, it couldn’t have been too important, or he would have said something.
CHAPTER 14
The innkeeperand his wife were arguing in low voices when Christian found them.
“My apologies for the damage. I have none with me, as we were robbed, but will send gold for your troubles when I arrive home.”
The woman whispered to her husband. The man cleared his throat.
“We have had problems with Sir Benton before. He will pay for the damage.”
“Might there be some labor I could perform to pay for a meal for my wife and I before we depart this morn?”
The innkeeper’s wife threw her rag down on the table, swearing.
“Both our girls ran off during the night, taking most of the food with them. Off chasing boys from the next village.” She threw up her hands. “How are we to feed everyone this day? I don’t even have porridge.”
“Do not worry. I will cook for everyone.”
The two of them gaped at him as he strode out of the inn. He had seen chickens near the stables. Since his cook had been stolenaway to Dover Castle, Christian had taken turns with his men cooking meals until he found another. They drew straws to see who would do the daily cooking. At first he’d left it to chance, but the food prepared had been inedible at best. He prayed that by the time he arrived, a new cook would be in the kitchens at Winterforth.
“What are you doing?” Ashley touched his arm as he looked behind a barrel in the small courtyard. He wiped the dust on his hose. They both needed a bath, but that would have to wait.
“Seems the cook and serving wench ran away with the food. I informed the innkeeper and his wife we would cook and earn our meal.”
“I can’t cook. I usually just—” She shook her head and moaned, placing her hands to her head as if it pained her, which it likely did, given the amount of ale she’d consumed last night.
“Never mind. What can I do to help?”
“Come with me. We’ll have to make do with what we can gather. Search for eggs while I catch the chickens.”
“If you say so.” She looked uncertain, but poked at a nearby bush. Christian noticed the disarray of her dress, and wished he had gold with him to purchase her a new one. When they were home, he would have whatever she wished made for her. A dress for each day, if she so desired.
While she searched for eggs, he caught several chickens, and was dispatching the last one when he heard a soft cry.
She was pale, holding the eggs in a basket she had found, a look of despair on her lovely face.
“Do you not have chickens…where you come from?”
“Yes, but they come from the store in a package. We don’t have to do that.” She pointed to the chickens he had laid at his feet.
