Conal Bruce, the laird of Cleit, looked down at the trencher before him on the high board. “What
the hell is this?” he demanded to know. He pushed at the gray glutinous mass with his spoon.
“I think it’s porridge,” his older half brother, Duncan Armstrong, ventured.
“It’s burned too,” the laird’s younger brother, Murdoc, noted.
“Who is cooking today?” Conal asked.
“I think Sim,” Murdoc said.
“Conal, we need a cook,” Duncan told the laird. “We can’t go on like this just because you won’t put another woman in the kitchens.”
“Every time I bring a female into the keep, one of the men gets her with child, and then she’s gone with her bairn, and more often than not the man follows her. We can’t lose any more men at arms, damn it!” His gray eyes were stormy with his annoyance.
“There’s a simple answer to the problem,” Duncan said. “Find an older woman. One with some common sense, not looking for a man. Willie Douglas is offering a group of English slaves he recently acquired for sale at the Michaelmas fair tomorrow. If we get there early we’ll have our pick of the best he has to offer. Willie’sa careful man. He only carries off the strong and healthy.”
The laird sighed. “Well, at least I can take a look,” he agreed. “I’m tired of always being hungry, and if I show up at Agnes Carr’s cottage for a meal one more time she’ll be trying to get me to handfast with her again.”
“She’s a fine and friendly woman is Agnes,” Duncan said.
“Aye, a bit too friendly,” the laird remarked. “When I marry I want a woman I know I can trust to be faithful.
A woman who is mine alone. Is there any man in the borders who hasn’t ridden a mile or two between Agnes’s pretty, plump thighs?”
His two companions laughed knowingly, nodding in agreement.
“Some cream might help the porridge,” Murdoc suggested. “At least it’s nourishing. And it’s all Sim cooked for our supper. I think the men are trying to tell us something, Conal.”
“Then they had best stop giving the cook a big belly,”the laird said dourly.
“We’ve bread and butter, and a bit of our mam’s jam left too,” Duncan said cheerfully. “And there’s ale.”
“We’d best eat up before the porridge hardens into rock, and then get to bed if we plan to go early to the Michaelmas fair,” Conal Bruce said, and he poured a dollop of thick cream into the trencher. Tasting it, he said grimly, “It doesn’t help, I fear, but ’tis all we have.
Butter me a bit of that bread, Duncan. With luck tomorrow we’ll find a slave woman as ugly as a toad with warts, but who can cook like an angel. Don’t forget to say your prayers tonight before you sleep, brothers, that God will grant us that miracle.”
Duncan and Murdoc chuckled.
In the morning the three departed the laird’s stone keep for the fair, which was held each year in a sunny glennear the village of Craigsmur. It was late September, and while the sun was a bit slower to rise than it had been a month ago, the day was still fair and warm. As they approached the glen they could see the pendants flying from the pavilions that had been set up. The Michaelmas fair was a time to socialize with one’s neighbors; buy and sell cattle, sheep, and other goods; eat and drink; and maybe even handfast with a lass for a year. The three brothers, known to all in the area, were hailed and welcomed as they arrived. They shared the same mother, now deceased. Duncan Armstrong was the youngest son from his mother’s first marriage. He had come to Cleit with her when she had married James Bruce, his stepfather. He was just two years older than his half brother, Conal Bruce, the laird of Cleit; and seven years older than Murdoc Bruce, their youngest brother. James Bruce had been killed in a border raid.
Their mother had died only the year before.
The three siblings tethered their horses and sought William Douglas. They found him in the middle of the fair with a group of slaves beneath an awning. “Conal Bruce, ’tis good to see you,” William Douglas greeted the laird effusively. He nodded to Duncan and Murdoc.
“Are you in the market for something? I’ve some fine stock today just brought from over the border. They’ll not last.”
“I need a cook, Willie,” the laird said. “A sensible older woman who won’t be spreading her legs for the men in my keep, and then finding herself with a full belly.”
“I have just what you need,” William Douglas said.
“Actually two such women. I’ll let you have one cheaply. I’m keeping the other to give my wife. I took them because they’re healthy and strong. Elsbeth, stand up so the laird can get a good look at you.”
Conal Bruce stepped over to the woman. She had a very angry look on her face.
“Can you cook without burning the porridge?” he asked her.
“I can,” Elsbeth said tersely.
