A Dishonorable Knight(111)

Elena scrambled through the underbrush with Gareth, trying to move as quietly as he did, but it was proved to be very difficult when branches were forever catching in her hair and snagging at her hose. Although, she reflected as Gareth helped her climb over a moss-encrusted log, these clothes make traveling, and firewood hunting, much easier than they would be in a gown, no matter how pretty or new that gown was. Elena felt so unrestrained in her borrowed garb. Her hands were free from holding hems off the ground, her legs were able to take long bounding strides unencumbered by yards of fabric, and, though these were no doubt Gareth's good clothes, she did not have to constantly worry about grinding dirt into the knees or tearing the sleeve on a tree branch. Yes, Elena decided, this mode of dress certainly had its advantages.

Elena followed Gareth's lead in looking for dry wood, burrowing under bushes and pulling apart rotten logs. Though she could not keep her lip from curling in disgust, she managed to keep quiet as Gareth loaded her arms with crumbling logs off of which ants and spiders scurried. When they finally made their way back to camp, the light was nearly gone from the overcast sky. Elena quickly dumped her armload of sticks and began vigorously brushing the dirt and twigs off her shirt. She could not suppress an, "Ugh," when her hand came away from her shirt covered with a slimy moss. With a distinctly queasy feeling in her stomach, she quickly knelt and wiped her hand in the damp grass that carpeted the forest floor. Still kneeling, she glanced up to see if Gareth had noticed her discomfiture. Though he had what looked like a suppressed grin on his face, his focus was fixed intently on building a fire from the smoldering logs. Relieved, Elena stood and made her way to the bedrolls. They offered little cushioning from the ground but they were dry and still warm from the body heat of the horses on which they'd been carried. She lay back on the ground and stretched, glad to send blood to the muscles that were weary of riding all day. Especially her inner thighs, she thought, flexing the muscles in her legs. She was not accustomed to riding astride and it seemed to require the use of a whole separate set of muscles.

Settling into a comfortable position on her side, she was content to watch Gareth stoke the now burning logs and open the satchel containing their food.

Gareth worked steadily, breaking off a chunk of the heavy bread and taking his knife to the slabs of hard sausage and cheese. Standing, he fetched the boiled leather wine flask and uncorked it. Though he worked diligently preparing their dinner, feeding the horses, and keeping the fire going, his mind was on other things; specifically, his beautiful traveling companion. He wondered what had possessed her to offer to help and marveled at her uncomplaining attitude when he had handed her the damp and dirty branches. Of course, she had not offered to lift a finger to help prepare the food, but, he rationalized, how much work was there in tearing bread and slicing cheese? She was, he thought charitably, acting less and less overindulged every day. As he sat down next to her, he again wondered if she would ever consider marriage to a poor Welsh knight.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, handing a hunk of bread to her.

"Yes," she said without enthusiasm and took a small nibble.

Gareth laughed. "Well don't gorge yourself all at once on this feast."

Elena smiled. "It's good enough, I just wish traveling didn't mean cold food."

Gareth thought a moment and then scrambled to his feet, pushing his hair out of his eyes. He searched around in the underbrush for several seconds before he said, "Aha!"

Elena sat up from her reclining position. "What are you doing?"

"You want hot food, Sir Gareth will deliver hot food." He held up a long stick proudly.

"I don't mean to offend you, good Sir Gareth, but that does not look like roasted venison to me."

"Patience, sweet, patience." He retrieved his knife and began whittling the end of the stick to a point. When he was finished, the stick was bare of bark and sharply pointed. He then skewered Elena's piece of bread, her cheese, and her slab of hard sausage. "There we go," he said as he thrust the stick out over the fire.

Elena watched, fascinated, as the cheese began to bubble and turn a delicious golden color. The smell of the roasting sausage made her mouth water as drops of grease sizzled into the fire. Gareth carefully turned the stick, wary that the cheese did not melt off, and when he deemed it finished, he carefully removed all three items, stacking the meat and cheese artfully on top of the toasted bread.

"Fit for a queen," he declared as he handed it to her.