Lord of Raven's Peak - Catherine Coulter [25]
But now he was worried and he knew why. It was Laren and Taby. He had to keep them safe. He didn’t like it one bit. He enjoyed fighting, had never sought to avoid it, but since he’d gotten her away from Thrasco’s house in Kiev, he’d done nothing but choose the safest route. Except now. But he didn’t want to take the extra weeks just to avoid possible trouble.
He looked over at her. She still wasn’t standing straight because of the pulling pain in her back, but her chin was up. She stood like a princess—a very thin, a very ragged princess—staring as the men worked the longboat up onto the rough trail made by so many longboats before them. Taby moved away from Cleve to stand beside her. He saw the child smile up at her. It was just a simple smile yet it pulled at him. He looked quickly away before he saw her expression.
They pulled the longboat over the pitted path throughout the morning, stopping only briefly to eat and rest. The weather held hot and dry.
The men were exhausted by the evening, for Merrik had pushed them hard. They couldn’t waste the good weather, he’d told them again and again. He himself was breathing heavily, his shoulders and arms cramping, his legs feeling like great weights dragged at them.
He looked over at her to see that she was also breathing hard, as if she’d been running a long distance, only she hadn’t, she was still very weak, both from the bone-deep hunger that had gone on far, far too long, and the beating. He looked over at Taby, standing quietly beside her, saying nothing, merely staying close, nearly touching her, and suddenly he felt a new spurt of energy. His men went about their tasks, all very familiar with what they had to do.
Eller oversaw the gathering of wood for a small fire and built it up. Old Firren hooked the iron pot from a chain he attached to the three iron poles that were fastened at the top, and prepared to serve up the dried meat and cheesy curds and boil some vegetables.
Oleg set up the perimeter so that they could guard the longboat and themselves. Roran and three other men went hunting. As for Merrik, it was his job to oversee things, but now he didn’t. He walked to her and said, “You are very tired. I have spread furs in the tent for you and Taby. You will rest now, both of you. Cleve will bring you food when it is prepared.”
She looked at him, at his blond hair plastered to his head with sweat, at the rivulets of sweat streaking down his face, at his arms, still wet with sweat, the muscles still flexing. “Did we come as far as you wished to?”
“Aye, a bit farther even. I don’t trust those clouds building to the east of us. Rest now, both of you.”
“I know how to cook.”
Merrik stared at her as if she’d said instead that she practiced some sort of old Celtic magic. Old Firren usually cooked and what he prepared was edible, but no more. “Do you really?”
“Aye, I cook very well.”
Still he just looked at her.
“I learned from a woman just last year. She said I was apt, for a slave. She cuffed me every time I prepared something not to her liking. I learned quickly. It was either that or go deaf from the blows to my head.”
“Very well. You will speak to Old Firren. We have vegetables from Kiev—cabbage, peas, some apples, rice, and onions. Roran is hunting. Mayhap he will bring in a pheasant or a quail.”
“I will make a stew.”
She made, with Old Firren’s nominal help, a rabbit stew, with Cleve and Taby also helping her. She stood over the huge iron pot, stirring the stew with a long-handled wooden spoon. The men sat about the fire, cleaning their weapons, or paced the perimeter, always on the lookout for enemies. The sky darkened and Merrik worried, but kept silent about it. Soon his mouth was watering at the smell of the stew. His men looked ready to do battle for it. They were all moving closer to the pot, all staring at it intently.
His first bite made