Not Every Girl by Jane McGarry

Author:Jane McGarry [McGarry, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Clean Reads
Published: 2015-06-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

To call the stream refreshing is an understatement; it is heavenly, its chill long forgotten the second the grime of three days dissolves off my body. Dirt mixed with the frothy soap bubbles drifts downstream until it is only a bad memory. The meager weight of my cropped hair in my hands startles me. As I comb through it with my fingers, there is regret, not only about how chopped it is now, but at how scraggly it will look while growing back. Beauty was never a concern for me before, but that was before I met one specific person.

The fresh clothes provide another blissful moment, caressing my now dry skin. They are merely the simple clothes of a peasant boy—tan breeches, and a dark green tunic over a white undershirt—yet to me they are as luxurious as fine silk. An attempt to wash out my old clothes is fruitless. Their stains won't budge and they are ripped in any number of places, though I do manage to scrub out most of the stench. Hanging limply on some branches to dry, they don't even seem fit for a scarecrow.

Confident I am as presentable as possible, I slip on my boots and mount the hill. The crisp air fills my lungs, revitalizes me, and I breathe in and out with purpose. Time to face everyone after my embarrassing show of weakness yesterday. Time to start behaving as though I deserve to be taken seriously. Time to rescue my father.

When I return, the camp is a hive of activity. Some men eat in small clusters, quiet snatches of conversation humming as I pass. Others shave and wash by small pitchers, while more tend to weapons or repair gear. A large, dark-skinned man sharpens his knife on a rock, the metallic scrape resonating off the trees with every stroke. He barely glances up at me before focusing back on the task at hand. In fact, no one speaks, nods, or in any other way acknowledges me.

Liam sits on a long, fallen tree trunk near Claude where he eats bacon and some type of gruel. When our eyes meet, his face lights up into a spellbinding smile. He waves me over, then pats the spot next to him on the log. No sooner have I sat down then Claude offers me a bowl of gruel and some bacon of my own. My stomach rumbles at its aroma.

"Enjoy, mi'lady."

Then he goes back to guarding his gruel pot, scrutinizing who takes what for breakfast. He even calls out a few he feels take more than their fair share. The men all tease him good-naturedly. Claude is obviously well liked and well thought of among these bandits. But I imagine it must behoove them to be nice to the person who feeds them.

"Sleep well?" Liam asks.

Does his expression hold a bit of amusement? Goodness knows, I have supplied no shortage of that. Passing out certainly did not add to my credibility of being knight material. And

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