“It isn’t your cooking that’s at issue. I understand you beat the spit boy.”
After another malevolent glance at Riona, Alfred said, “He let the meat burn, my lord. Would you have me excuse him, or pat him on the head and say never mind? I had to beat him to teach him not to do it again, and by God, my lord, he won’t.”
“Or what? You’ll kill him?”
Alfred sucked in his breath and regarded Riona as if she’d unfairly accused him of attempted murder. “I don’t know what she’s been saying, my lord—”
“She told me that you beat the boy. She told me that the rest of the servants aren’t pleased with your governance. She told me I could have serious trouble if something isn’t done.”
Sweat trickled down the sides of the cook’s reddening face. “What does it matter what the servants think, as long as they do their work—and by God, my lord, I see that they do!” Alfred retorted. “What sort of serious trouble is this woman—this Scot—talking about?”
“The sort of trouble I’ve seen many times when a commander isn’t fit to lead.”
“Not fit?” Alfred cried. “I’mnot fit? I tell you, my lord, I’ve been cooking for noblemen since you were nothing more than a poor soldier in the pay of anybody who’d hire you and I won’t be treated like this. Either she goes, or I do!”
As Riona held her breath, Nicholas’s brows lowered. “Since you must be unhappy working for a man who was once nothing more than a poor soldier in the pay of anyone who’d hire him, I’m sure you’d be happier somewhere else.”
The cook gulped and suddenly seemed to realize he’d said far too much, and to the wrong man. “Forgive my hasty words, my lord,” he stammered. “She got me angry, that’s all. You always let me have a free hand to run the kitchen as I see fit, so when she came and tried to take charge—”
“Did you try to take charge of Alfred’s kitchen, my lady?” Nicholas asked as he looked at Riona, and in his dark eyes, she saw a skepticism that told her who he believed.
Her heart singing, she answered him with frank honesty. “I told him to stop beating the spit boy, my lord, and that I was going to tell you what was going on. If that’s taking charge, I did—and I’d do it again.”
Nicholas turned back to the cook. “Alfred, you will leave Dunkeathe immediately.”
“But my lord, surely you don’t mean that!”
“I assure you, I do.”
“With so many noble guests and their servants? Who will supervise those lazy louts in the kitchen?”
“That will be my concern, Alfred, not yours. Collect your things and be gone before sunset. Or would you prefer to spend the next week or two in the stocks alongside Burnley?”
Alfred blanched and backed away. “All right, my lord, I’ll go,” he said, his whole body shaking, “and good riddance to you and your lazy servants and this damned country! I hope you all rot!”
Riona let her breath out slowly as she watched the cook run away as fast as his fat legs could take him.
As Nicholas came to stand beside her, he said, “He’s right about one thing. Now I have no cook and thus no one to supervise my kitchen.”
His expression speculative, he turned to her. “While I appreciate that you acted out of sympathy for the spit boy, I also recall that your uncle claims you are a wonder at the management of a household. Would it be too much to ask that you take command of my kitchen in the interim? I assure you, I’ll have Robert do his utmost to hire another cook as quickly as possible.”
He made that sound like a perfectly reasonable request, and there was flattery and respect in it, too. Happiness bloomed within her, at least for a moment, until certain realities intruded. “I don’t know the sort of dishes Normans like.”
“The servants ought to have learned something from Alfred,” he countered. “All they need is someone to oversee the meals and ensure that there’s enough for everyone to eat, and at the appropriate time—although given that I’m expecting my sister and her family, perhaps you could show them how to prepare a few Scots dishes.”
How could she refuse to oblige him when his proposal sounded so reasonable, and she would have the chance to make something her uncle would like? “Very well, my lord.”
His eyes suddenly seemed to glow, and his lips curved up in a satisfied smile. “Maybe I should even thank you, for it occurs to me that I now have a way to determine which of the ladies remaining are best able to run my household. Each of them will take it in turn, with you to start.”
Riona frowned. “I didn’t complain about your cook so that you could have a contest to find the most competent bride.”
“Yet it gives me that opportunity just the same,” he replied without so much as a hint of shame. “If you’d rather not participate, I suppose Lady Joscelind could take the first—”
“I’ll do it,” Riona said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d best get to the kitchen and see what remains to be done for tonight’s meal.”
As she marched away, determined to show Nicholas, Lady Joscelind and anybody else that if she wasn’t pretty or young or rich or from a powerful family, she wasn’t completely useless, Nicholas went to the buckets by the wall. He found one that wasn’t empty and dumped what was left of the cold water on his head.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
