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 riddenhorses 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 thefact 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.”
