18 Child of Nobility

She paled and nodded, saying no more. She pulled her arm from his grasp after a few steps, deciding, instead to trail behind him on their way down the hall, and finally stopped.

He paused, shoulders tense as he wavered between guilt at her admonishing her so firmly— she couldn't help how she'd been brought up – and irritation that he'd been saddled with the job of teaching this ignorant, arrogant child of nobility.

He glanced back over his shoulder at her, brow raised. "I'd like to get to dinner sooner rather than later. You've eaten little, though your body surely needs it to heal. And until your runes are adjusted, you need to stay in my company or John's. So get moving, girl."

She obeyed, though with some reluctance, and he turned again for the kitchen.

Dinner was more of a production than he'd expected. The company of the ranch had grown. The sheer amount of food simmering away in the pots came as a surprise to him. Sarah pulled several loaves of bread from the massive oven, and Mingan smiled despite himself.

He'd been sustaining on raw greens, fruits and whatever he caught in the wild. The wolf in him hadn't minded the meat heavy diet, but the man in him missed the home cooked pleasantries of bread and butter.

Wiping her hands on her apron, the sandy blonde haired woman turned great them. "Elloreah! You should not be on those feet yet! Mingan, find a seat for her," Sarah ordered.

Elloreah looked wide eyed from Sarah to Mingan before her gaze found the floorboards. Mingan did as he was asked, bringing a battered, high backed, wooden chair to the wall next to the doorway.

"Sit," he told Elloreah, who scrambled to obey. He chuckled, and shook his head as she sat down stiffly, refusing to meet his eye. At least she was easy enough to put in her place.

"Mingan, by god, get over here up and lend a hand," Sarah snapped. "You're perfectly capable, and you know around here you don't get fed till you earn it. Far as I can tell you've been lazin' about since you got here."

He spread his hands out in front of him in mock innocence. "You and John appear to have this well-choreographed. I'd be in the way."

Sarah shot him an icy look and he chuckled again, stepping in to help where he could. He was familiar with the kitchen and their routines. Little had changed since his last visit to the ranch house and he fell into step with ease.

He could feel Elloreah's presence as she watched him, tugged at him with her abilities. She desired much; acceptance, understanding, kindness. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of her presence.

She wanted more of him than he could give, and he couldn't help but wonder why she wanted so much of him when surely she could find others who would be more willing.

Once Sarah had stopped barking orders at him, Mingan settled at Elloreah's side of the kitchen, leaning against the wall, just a few feet from her.

He wasn't entirely sure if he'd been drawn back to her or if it was that he felt so out of place among the group outside. He'd been approached by a girl as he worked, asking if he was a real Indian. When he'd snorted and replied an affirmative, he found more eyes were on him.

He'd been eyed warily before, by the white folks who had surged across the land he'd once explored. He was familiar with the hostilities, judgments and violence. This was different, though. They watched him and whispered, and he felt like an artifact or carnival sideshow.

"How can you afford to feed all these people?" Mingan asked.

John shrugged, stirring a pot. "As long as they work, I feed them. I forget, you aren't normally here this time of year. When the weather turns, and the work gets harder, they tend to burn out, get bored and wander off to wherever they came from. The ones that stay are usually good folks."

Mingan nodded, arms crossed.

John went to Elloreah, a wooden bowl in his hands. It was filled with potatoes, greens, beans and a thick slice of bread. He handed it to Elloreah, giving her a slight bow as he did so. "I hope you are more comfortable now."

She moved to rise, but Mingan put a hand on her shoulder. She bowed her head taking the bowl.

"Thank you," she murmured. "As much as I can be."

John raised a brow, then continued smoothly, "It is good to have you here, lass."

She nodded, considering before speaking. "How is it you came to live here, if I may ask?"

"I escaped to this land while the paths were still wide between worlds," he straightened, keen green eyes studying her.

Mingan noticed then, with an odd chill how similar their eyes were. John's were more of a dark, kelp green. Hers, a bright, spring green but there was a depth, a faint hint of the wild in them that was clearly not human to those who knew to look.

"Those of us who your people call 'wild' are simply folk of nature, spirits, much like Mingan. This world suits us. For the most part, we are not forced to choose sides. We simply are allowed to be."

John reached out, touching Elloreah's cheek, studying her features through the glamour. A subtle growl rose in Mingan's throat.

It died in him when he realized that he didn't like the older man touching her. Mingan gave himself a shake.

"Nature calls to you as well, despite all that you pretend it doesn't," John was saying, holding the girl by the chin.

The growl rose in Mingan's throat again, unable to pull his gaze away from where the old kelpie's fingers lighted on the girl's pale skin.