Chapter 29
As I strode toward the kitchen, Hendry gave them a lecture on pretty much the same thing I'd been thinking. That we were locked in our fears and distrustful of anyone new, no matter the excuses they told themselves.
"You can all do better," he said, his voice tight with anger.
He was right. We all could. Even me.
The kitchen was through the dining room, and I must've left all the cooks behind in the entryway because the space was empty. Several round, freshly baked loaves of damper bread sat in the middle of a table dusted with flour. I floated on the delicious smell, my head spinning with need, and swooped down on the nearest one. Half of it dangled from my mouth when Hendry walked in.
His lips had pressed into a thin line, and he must've scrubbed his hand through his curls a couple of times because some of them had gone wild. He looked dangerous, even more so when he stalked his large frame toward the chair next to me, his hazel eyes like slits.