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“Is this saffron I taste, MacDear?”
She lifted a spoon again to taste the stock from a roasted capon. It was thickening nicely.
“You think it is, Hastings?”
“Aye. I know, next you will say that mayhap I am right. You vex me, MacDear. Ah, Eloise, you are learning to separate the egg yolks and whites. You are doing it well.”
“Allen, you miserable whelp, you nearly dropped that peach pie. By Saint Thomas’s nose, I’ll clout you, boy!”
Eloise turned as colorless as the egg whites she had separated into a wooden bowl. Allen just tossed MacDear a cocky grin, but he was watching more closely now. He was shoveling ashes out of the open oven so he could put in more pies.
“Ah, little one,” MacDear said before Hastings could open her mouth, “don’t fear that I’ll clout you. It is just the spittle cock boys who need threats and roaring, never lovely little peahens like you.”
“Aye,” Hastings said, coming to stand beside Eloise. “MacDear never even yelled at me when I was young. He waited until I gained my adult years. Don’t fear him, ever. I see you are making barley bread. I spent hours mixing the dough, Eloise. MacDear is a stern taskmaster. I will leave you now. The smells make me so hungry I would eat my dinner now were I to remain.”
She met Severin when she went into the great hall. It was already filled with men-at-arms, squires, servants, children, and four wolfhounds, Edgar, the leader of the four, chasing a stick a little boy threw for him. The noise was deafening. Everything was normal. She smiled. It was difficult to believe her father had died but a week ago.
She tried to mourn him, she truly did, and she did say prayers for him, but in her heart there was little regret, for in his life he’d never paid her any heed, never showed her any particular fondness, clouted her when the mood struck him or, more likely, when the ale wasn’t to his liking.
She said to Severin even as she grabbed up her skirts when Edgar the wolfhound bolted toward her intent on the stick that had landed just beside her, “Eloise is with MacDear in the kitchen. He is showing her how to make barley bread. Are you hungry, my lord?”
He looked down at her. “Aye, mayhap I am. You have not yet attended me in my bath. Will you do so?”
She’d seen him naked for the past three nights. “Aye, if that is your wish.”
“Go to our bedchamber and await me.” He turned away from her then to speak to Gwent. Hastings went to her bedchamber. No, now it was their bedchamber. She called Alice to fetch her bathwater. She waited, and waited more. She turned to the bed and saw a lump beneath the covers near Severin’s pillow. She lifted the covers and pulled out the jar of cream he’d used that first night. He’d remembered. He had thought about it and decided not to take any chances that he would hurt her again. Perhaps, she thought, as she replaced the cream, he did care, a bit. Mayhap it would be nice, this mating.
She waited some more, but still he didn’t come. She shrugged and climbed into the wooden tub herself. She was lathering herself with sweet lavender when he strode into the room. She stopped in mid-lather and stared at him.
He walked to stand over her. “When you are finished, I will bathe. You will wash my back.”
“I waited for you but you did not come.”
“Do you wish me to wash you?”
“Oh no, I can manage it well enough.”
“What is that smell? It is nice.”
“Lavender. The Romans brought lavender with them when they invaded Britain many hundred years ago. I believe it comes from the Latin lavare that means to wash.”
“Where did you learn that?”
“I am not ignorant, Severin. It is from Leech Book of Bald, written some two hundred years ago. I have also read The Physicians of Myddfai. If you will leave me now, I will finish and then fetch you.”
He just shook his head, walked to the bed, and sat down. He began unwrapping his cross garters. She washed her hair and rinsed herself as best she could. The drying cloths were on a stool three feet from the tub. She looked at him, now pulling his tunic over his head, at the cloths, and quickly climbed out of the tub. She had just wrapped the cloth around her when she heard a low laugh.
“You move quickly, Hastings. I like your legs. They are long and smooth. They will go nicely around my flanks.”
“Why would you want my legs there?”
“You will see. I—”
There was a knock on the door.
“Enter.”
He frowned at her for speaking so quickly, but said nothing. It was Alice carrying a bucket of hot water, two lads behind her carrying more buckets. Hastings gripped her bedrobe and held it in front of her. The lads, however, just hefted the tub and carried it out to empty it.
