10:02 A.M.
6
Gwen had never felt so acutely five foot two and three-quarter inches in her life as she did trailing behind the behemoth who didn’t understand the concept of physical limitations.
As she stretched her legs, swinging her arms to generate greater forward momentum—fully aware of how futile the effort was because momentum was contingent upon mass, and his mass was three times hers, ergo, he could outwalk her to infinity barring any unforeseen complications—her temper snapped. “MacKeltar, I’m going to kill you if you don’t slow down.”
“I am curious to know how you plan to do so, when you can’t even pace me,” he teased.
She was not in the mood for teasing. “I’m tired and I’m hungry!”
“You ate one of those bars from your pack a scarce quarter hour past, when we stopped to examine your map and plot the fastest course,” he reminded.
“I’m hungry for real food.” And I’m going to need it, she thought with a sinking feeling, for the tourist map in her pack had indicated the fastest course from their current location to Ban Drochaid was eighty miles, cross-country.
“Shall I snare and spit a rabbit for you?”
A bunny? Was he serious? Eww. “No. You should stop at the next village. I can’t believe you didn’t let me go into Fairhaven. We were right there. There was coffee there,” she added plaintively.
“To reach Ban Drochaid by tomorrow, we must travel without pause.”
“Well, you keep stopping to pick up those stupid stones,” she grumbled.
“You will understand the purpose of my stupid stones tomorrow,” he said, patting his sporran, where he’d stored them.
“Tomorrow. You’ll show me tomorrow. Everything will be explained tomorrow. I don’t live for tomorrow, and you require a lot of faith, MacKeltar,” she said, exasperated.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Aye, I do, Gwen Cassidy. But I give much in return to those people who have faith in me. I could carry you, if you wish.”
“I don’t think so. Why don’t you just slow down a bit?”
He stopped, evidencing the first hint of impatience she’d glimpsed. “Lass, if that map you have is correct, we have until the morrow’s eve to travel a distance of nearly eighty miles. That is three of your miles per hour, without stopping to sleep. Although I could run much of the way, I know you cannot. If you can manage four miles each hour, you may rest later.”
“That’s impossible,” Gwen gasped. “The fastest mile I’ve ever run on a treadmill was ten and a half minutes and I nearly died. And it was only one mile. I had to rest for hours and eat chocolate to revive myself. MacKeltar, we need to rent a car,” she tried again. Earlier, upon discovering the length of the hike he planned, she’d proposed the alternative, but he’d simply clammed up and dragged her off at a brisk pace. “We could travel eighty miles in one hour in a car.”
He glanced at her and shuddered. “I trust my feet. No wagons.”
“Come on,” she nearly wailed. “I can’t keep up with you. It would be a simple matter. We can go down into the next village, rent a car, drive to your stones, and you can show me whatever it is this afternoon.”
“I cannot show you until tomorrow. It would be without merit to arrive today.”
“You said you needed to stop at the castle. If we walk the whole way, that’s not going to give you any time to visit your old stomping ground,” she pointed out.
“I doona stomp there, nor do I stomp much of anywhere, woman. You drive me to stomp.” A muscle in his jaw jumped. “You must walk more quickly.”
“You’re lucky I’m moving at all. Haven’t you heard of Newton’s First Law of Motion? It’s inertia, MacKeltar. An object that’s at rest wants to stay at rest. I can’t be expected to overcome laws of nature. That’s why exercising is so difficult for me. Besides, I think you’re afraid.” Gwen felt a little guilty for playing fast and loose with Newton, but most people had no idea what she was talking about when she brought up the laws of motion, and rather than reveal their ignorance and argue with her, they usually dropped the subject. Dirty pool, but startlingly effective. She’d avail herself of anything that would get her out of walking eighty freaking miles.
He was staring at her strangely, with a mixture of startlement and confusion. “I know naught of this Newton, but ’tis clear he failed to attain a complete understanding of objects and motion. And I am hardly afraid of one of your foolish wagons.”