“Take a seat,” he instructed her when they reached a wooden table lined with benches. “I will bring yer meal.”
She hesitated, her eyes darting to the cauldron bubbling over a fire. He could see her weighing her options, deciding whether or not this was an argument worth having. Finally, she relented, taking her position with a grace that suggested she wasn’t just a common woman who had been plucked from her home.
Darragh didn’t have to speak when he approached the cook. The man ladled a large helping of broth, vegetables, and meat into a bowl, topping it with a brown roll. Wordlessly, he passed it to Darragh, his eyes flitting to the girl who was now sitting tall and scanning her surroundings.
“For ye,” he said, placing the food in front of her when he reached the table.
He didn’t sit, instead choosing to stand guard over her. His survey of his men came to an abrupt halt when he heard her slurping the liquid. Almost immediately, his interest was focused on her.
The proper posture she’d maintained as she waited was gone, her back hunched and her mouth close to the bowl. She spooned bite after bite into her mouth, liquid dripping down her chin. Then, she grabbed hold of the bread, chomping down on it like a wild dog would a slab of raw meat.
How long had they been keepin’ her like that? When was the last time she ate a proper meal?
Her hands shook with the desperate intensity of her hunger. It seemed as if whatever shame she may have had was overridden by her most basic need finally being met after weeks of denial. By the time the first roll of bread was gone, the cook had already dropped off another along with a glass of water and a cloth, anticipating the woman’s need before she had a chance to voice it.
I should look away, give her some privacy.
He couldn’t, though. Part of his vigil was to keep her from choking. And, though he was loath to admit it to himself, something about this woman fascinated him beyond simple concern for her well-being.
After gulping down half of the mug, she slowed down. Her back straightened as she reached for the napkin, and her movements were graceful and precise when she cleaned off her hands. As she blotted her mouth demurely, Darragh fully realized that she was hiding much more than her name.
He waited for her to finish eating, noting the way her grip on the spoon became more precise as the survival panic eased. It wasn’t until she carefully placed the utensil on the table and sopped up the dregs of her stew that he settled across from her. When she met his gaze, the fire seemed to have only intensified, renewed now that she was properly fed.
Darragh cleared his throat, his interest in her only deepening. He’d assumed that after a proper meal, she’d be tired. Instead, she looked as if she was ready to verbally spar with him once more.
I shouldnae like the idea of that so much, yet her voice is enticin’ as all creation.
“Are ye goin’ to tell me what they call ye now?” he asked, folding his hands on the table in front of him.
“Does it matter?” she deflected, her spine getting impossibly straighter as if she was trying to make herself bigger.
“Aye,” he said easily, not allowing himself to rise to her obvious attempts at irritation. “For the obvious reasons, first of all. And for findin’ yer kin, next.”
“Ye want to find me kin?” she said, the words underlined with something hard.
“Aye. I will find yer family and return ye to them.”
She scowled, an anger even greater than he’d seen in the tower washing over her features. For a moment, he thought she would run again. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, her expression steely once more.
“Ye willnae have any luck findin’ me family,” she said, each word calculated, “seein’ as I’m an orphan. I suppose ye could find the orphanage I grew up in, but I’m nae a child. They wouldnae have a place for me.”
Darragh was quiet, finding it hard to believe that someone who spoke and sat the way she did was lowborn. What he’d seen after she’d curbed the initial hunger pangs didn’t speak of someone raised in any orphanage he knew of. That didn’t necessarily mean she wasn’t telling the truth, however.
“I see,” he said, letting his gaze linger over her for another moment before glancing around the area. When he spotted hisman-at-arms, he called, “Ewan. I need ye to guide this lass to a tent. Ensure she’s comfortable.”
Ach, Saints. I daenae ken what to do with her.
But, as he watched his man-at-arms lead her away, he chastised himself. Heshouldknow how to handle this. He always had before, but this girl was an anomaly.
* * *
“And here ye are,” Ewan said, pulling back the canvas flap to invite her into the tent. “It’s nae much, but ye’ll find that it’s comfortable. If ye need anythin’ at all, daenae hesitate to find me. Me tent is just over there.”
Amelia didn’t look at where he was gesturing. She didn’t need to. If she were to ask for something, that would make her reliant on these men, and she refused to be so.
It didn’t seem as though they were participants in the hunt. Setting up a camp like this just to trick her felt far too elaborate.
When he didn’t leave, still holding the fabric open for her, she stepped into the tent. Finally, he dropped it, leaving her alone in the space. Her shoulders slumped a bit, but she didn’t relax.
