“Never mind, lass. We’re glad to have ye staying here. In the meantime, go on down to the kitchen and help get supper prepared. Ask for Astrid.”
And just like that, the conversation was over. The Abbess rounded the desk and settled herself into her seat again, taking up a pen and a piece of paper, and preparing to write.
Freya cleared her throat. “S-Seven days?”
The Abbess glanced up at her. “Seven days, lassie. Use the time wisely. And now, off with ye.”
The kitchens were absolute chaos.People ran to and fro, calling to each other, bearing trays of various foods. Huge vats of vegetables simmered, and countless cauldrons and vats bubbled. A skewer of chickens turned and turned over the fire in the massive hearth, turned by a small dog in a wooden wheel. A girl of about twelve watched the fire and the dog, feeding the dog occasional scraps to keep him motivated.
There were wooden pegs hanging on the wall, with caps and aprons. Freya snatched up an apron, tying it securely around her waist.
“I’m looking for Astrid!” Freya called, several times, until sometimes finally pointed her in the direction of a petite fair-haired woman stirring a huge pot of what looked like gravy. Freya hurried over, grateful to finally havesomethingto do.
“My name is?—”
“Freya, aye,” the woman responded. “I’m Astrid, as I think ye already know. I’ve heard of ye. Senga and Kyla are my friends, and they mentioned ye. Did ye meet with the Abbess?”
“Aye. She sent me down here. Is it always this busy?”
Astrid threw her a wry smile. “It’s generally worse. We have all the sisters to feed, as well as all the other women who live here. Maids, postulants, everybody in the infirmary, the healers, the women here to study, and so on. That’s why this place is so expensive—all those mouths to feed. Incidentally, how long did the Abbess say ye could stay?”
“Seven days.”
Astrid lifted her eyebrows at that. “That is a while. Longer than most. Here, grab a spoon with a long handle and help me stir. It’s sticking at the bottom.”
Freya obeyed, snatching a long-handled spoon off a counter and getting to work.
She eyed Astrid out of the corner of her eye. The girl was about eighteen or nineteen, small and thin and almost child-like. Her hair was fair, but nowhere near as white as Senga’s. She had large, gray eyes fringed with golden lashes, and a pretty, dainty face. The sort of woman that men didn’t like to see becoming a nun. They’d call it awaste.
“How long are ye allowed to stay?” Freya asked, already sweating from the steamy heat in the kitchens.
Astrid’s hair was scraped back in a knot and covered in a handkerchief, and Freya wished she’d thought to do that.
“As long as I like, I suppose,” Astrid answered. “I’ve been here since I was a babe. I don’t remember much beyond this place.”
“Are ye going to take orders?”
“I don’t think so. Are ye?”
For some reason, the question turned back onto Freya gave her something of a start.
“I… No, of course not.”
“I heard ye were engaged.”
Freya sighed. “News travels fast, eh?”
She shrugged. “New things are always exciting. New people, new knowledge, all of it. Who have ye met, besides me, Senga, and Kyla? And the Abbess, of course.”
“I met Sister Rosemary. Briefly. And Brendan, the man who brings the supplies.”
Astrid’s delicate mouth turned into a smile. “Oh, aye, I know Brendan. He’s very kind. Kinder than ye would think, for a soldier. I know he isn’t one anymore, but I don’t suppose that sort of thing ever leaves ye, eh? He brings flowers for me and the sisters, sometimes. He’s here most days, actually. Between ye and me, I always had a liking for him.”
Freya flinched. She had no right, of course, to feel any twinge of jealousy. She barely knew Brendan, or Astrid, or anyone here. And yet, she couldn’t help her heart sinking.
Why would Brendan look twice at her, a freckled little redhead with an angry clan laird on her trail, when he could have the attention of a girl who looked likeAstrid?
She cleared her throat, and concentrated on stirring. Her wrist was already aching, and the gravy was onlyjuststarting to simmer.
