Dances Naked Read Online Free PDF

anyway,” the man said as he turned away from the locked door, admitting defeat with his sour grapes explanation.
    Wallace walked behind Mr. Rudeness as he headed toward Sarah and the fire pit. The stranger stood right in front of her and demanded without preamble, “Where’s the meat you promised? ”
    Sarah lifted her arm and wiped her brow with the back of her wrist. Wallace could see that she was tryi ng hard not to lose her temper— she was biting her bottom lip as she composed her thoughts. When she realized Wallace had walked up to join the conversation, she relaxed her clench. Her son-in-law nodded to her that he could handle the situation , so she let him do the talking. “We’ll be having meat on the spit this evening. You and your family are welcome to join us, Mr…”
    The stranger turned sharply and glared at Wallace then turned his attention back to Sarah. “You didn’t say we’d have to wait for nightfall. Give me the food for the road then , and we’ll leave right now. We have a long ways to go.”
    Sarah inhaled deeply which, rather than having the calming effect of composure, seemed to fuel her fire of impatience. She wasn’t going to let this man intimidate her, even if he was a master of that black art. She had Wallace here for protection if the scum did decide to get physical , although he seemed the type who worked with words only. “Your sister won’t be able to go anywhere for a few days,” she said through clenched teeth. “She’s going to deliver the baby tonight. If you want to eat, you’ll just have to wait a bit longer. I can offer you bread and ale for now , but the meat will be a few hours more.”
    Sarah looked up and behind the man to Wallace. He once again gave a slight nod. She didn’t have to tell him what was going on. He knew childbirthing was neither a quick nor an easy task. He looked at her again to make sure she understood that yes, he would tend to the meat for dinner and anything else that was needed.
    “Where’s the whisky?” the man demanded. “You said there’d be whisky.”
    “I, I did not!” Sarah blurted out with exasperation. “I told you we had ale. Wallace,” Sarah was biting her bottom lip again, trying to contain her steadily increasing rage at the man’s rudeness, “would you get mister…what is your name?” she demanded. He wasn’t going to get anything else until she at least knew his name.
    “Mr. Grant MacLeod , if you really need to know, which you don’t,” he said as he looked up toward the sun, apparently trying to gauge the time of day.
    Sarah and Wallace looked at each other quickly then broke eye contact. Sarah bent back down to the kettle with the muslin bags of black cohosh root, juniper berries, slippery elm, and rue. Wallace looked over at Evie, making sure she was okay. Did she know who this man was, or at least his family name? Yes, she probably did. She was frowning and staring down the road to the mill, rubbing her left shoulder, the shoulder where she had been shot less than two weeks ago by that worthless excuse for a man, Captain Atholl MacLeod. Wallace looked back to the pregnant woman. He saw her gaze at his children in the playpen, a slight smile trying to crack her stone countenance. Then she put her hand on the top of her swollen belly and the chance at happiness glow was gone, a hard, angry look replacing it.
    “Well, where’s the ale?” groused Grant . “I’m thirsty!”
    Wallace shifted his eyes over to the ungrateful guest. Something was very wrong with this scenario , but he would have to wait to find out more. He wasn’t going to speak with Sarah or Evie about it until this man was out of hearing range. “Why don’t you go sit down under that tree in the shade? I’ll bring you a bottle of ale and a bit of bread. Would that suit you?” Wallace asked with only a slight hint of disgust.
    “Better make that three bottles— I don’t want you havin’ to run back and forth all the time,” he