“The Raven’s wishes, I know.” Gelis picked up a stew ladle, pretending to examine it. “Tell me,” she ventured, setting the thing back down, “has he expressly forbidden me to explore my new home?”
“With surety, nae.” Hugh pulled a length of cloth from beneath his belt and dabbed at his glistening brow. “He only ordered that you are not to leave the keep unescorted.”
“And I shall not.” Gelis pounced. “A score of your lord’s best guardsmen shall accompany me,” she improvised, wondering if she’d dare ride out alone at all after making such a false claim.
“ ’Tis true,” a feminine voice spoke from the door to the wine cellar.
Anice.
She stepped into the kitchens, a clutch of willow bands in her work-roughened hands, her large-eyed gaze on the cook.
“The Raven’s men await her now — this moment,” she said, and Gelis hoped only she heard the tremor in the girl’s lie. “They’re gathered outside the gatehouse.”
Hugh scratched his ear, clearly undecided.
In the corner, Hector pushed up off the stool where he’d been sorting peas. Quiet until now, he came forward, his chest puffed and his newsgian dubhpeeking up from the top of his left boot.
He paused beside a pile of empty wicker baskets and coiled ropes. “I heard the Raven say so myself,” he declared, not batting an eye. “The lady may go where she pleases.”
“Ha.” Hugh MacHugh wasn’t fooled.
Indeed, he was a great towering pillar of suspicion.
But something in his aspect altered.
A trace of indecision — orsoftening— as his gaze flitted between Anice and the lad.
Most especially when he looked at the girl.
Striding over to her, he snatched the willow bands and tossed them into a corner.
“I dinna believe a word either of you are blethering,” he said, somehow not quite managing to sound very fierce.
“And I told you to leave be with the wine barrels. One of the lads could have repaired the hoops.” He grabbed her hands, turning them palm upward. “ ’Tis no’ work for a lass.”
Anice flushed.
Gelis almost laughed.
So that was the way the cat jumped!
Proving it, the scowling-faced giant dragged Anice across the room, stopping in front of a long wooden rack on the wall. Hung with every manner of cook pots, long-handled ladles, and scummers, it also held an assortment of mortars, and pestles, trivets and measuring weights, and a few round earthen jars.
“Here!” He snatched one of the jars and, removing its rag stopper, thrust in his fingers to withdraw a smelly, greasy-looking unguent.
This he smeared onto Anice’s palms before taking her elbow and guiding her to a little three-legged stool next to the pile of ropes and wicker baskets.
“Stay there until your hands absorb the selfheal cream.” He straightened, wiping his own hands on the cloth tucked beneath his belt. “You can use the time to remember that I have a nose for smelling lies. That’s aimed at you, too, laddie,” he added, flashing a glance at Hector. “I’ll no’ have the like in my kitchens. No’ for any reason.”
That last, Gelis was sure, was meant for her.
Feeling duly chastised, she cleared her throat.
“You mustn’t blame them. They but meant to champion me. They’ll both know I’d hoped mysurprisewould help me gain the Raven’s favor.” She lifted her chin. “I do not yet have it, you see.”
She spoke plain, giving Hugh MacHugh the honesty he’d demanded.
Unable to let her only friends here — save Valdar and Buckie — take the brunt of his burst of temper.
