A Memorable Meeting

“Your meal, miss,” a young woman said. She slid a heavy trencher full of thick stew with a floating slab of bread across the table. A waft of beef and turnips flooded my senses and my mouth watered. A mug of watered ale followed, liquid sloshing over the edges and covering the table as she thumped it down.

“Wench,” a male voice hollered nearby. “My meat is overcooked!”

After tossing a spoon on the table, the woman adjusted her bodice and turned away to attend to the man’s complaint. I pulled the trencher closer and picked up the spoon. The first bite was heavenly, the turnips were well cooked and the meat tender. I closed my eyes and let the thick gravy coat my throat.

On the trail, I rarely had time to cook. Most meals were bread and cheese, or salted jerky. Occasionally, after a capture, I would treat myself to a stew, but it never was this good. This taste could only be produced by cooking it all day over a low fire.

“You have gravy on your chin,” a male voice informed me. My eyes flew open to find the bold bounty hunter sitting on the bench across from me.

I swallowed and dragging a sleeve across my mouth, glared at him before looking at it. It was clean. “That seat isn’t available.”

Chapter Two of Wren