‘What about you, Lyndal?’ the queen said. ‘Do you speak any other languages?’
Thomas made a noise that resembled a snort but covered his mouth with a napkin to disguise the fact.
‘A little Gaelic,’ she replied, tearing her gaze from her aunt’s plate.
Borin’s eyebrows rose. ‘Gaelic? That is hardly a sensible choice.’
‘Not much of a choice,’ Lyndal replied. ‘Merchants learn what we must in order to conduct business. When French ships start docking in the port, I’m certain every merchant will soon speak French, Your Majesty.’
The queen mother bit back a smile and laid down her fork. ‘My dear, you are such a breath of fresh air.’
Lyndal could feel the heat of her uncle’s glare on her once again. She would pay for these compliments later if she did not bring the focus back to her cousin. ‘Speaking of fresh air, you really should take a walk through the gardens after dinner. Lady Kendra’s knowledge of plants and fauna will have you in awe.’
Kendra picked up her cup. ‘I would be most happy to show you if you can tolerate the rain.’
‘We must all tolerate the rain,’ Borin said gallantly, despite the fact that whenever he appeared on the wall for one of his tone-deaf speeches, there was always someone holding a canvas umbrella over him.
Rising from the table, Lyndal said, ‘Please excuse me. I’m going to see if the cook needs help with the pastries.’
‘Good idea,’ Thomas said, visibly pleased by her imminent departure.
She made her way into the kitchen, where the cook was filling a tray with custard and ginger tarts. Where the rich were getting honey from she had no idea.
‘Do you mind keeping the bones for me?’ she asked, popping up beside him.
He tutted. ‘You trying to get me in trouble?’
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
He shook his head, the beginnings of a smile on his aged lips. ‘If his lordship finds out, I’ll tell him you stole them.’
She leaned on the bench, smiling. ‘And he’ll believe you. That was plan B, by the way.’
A low chuckle came from the man, cut short when Astin entered the kitchen. He walked over and began inspecting the tarts.
‘Don’t you have a king to look after?’ Lyndal asked.
‘That’s what I’m doing. I don’t suppose you’ll help me out by tasting a pastry?’
The cook glanced up at that. ‘What for? They’re excellent.’
Astin nodded slowly. ‘That may be, but I should probably check they’re free of poison.’
The cook only grinned when he should have taken offence at the suggestion.
‘And what if someone has poisoned the food?’ she asked, crossing her arms in front of her. ‘Then I’ll die.’
He searched her face, that semi-smirk of his making an appearance. ‘That’s a risk we’re all prepared to take for the good of the kingdom.’
The cook chuckled once more.
‘Don’t do that,’ Lyndal said, eyes going to him. ‘If you laugh, you’ll only encourage him.’
Astin moved closer to her. ‘You know, your eyes go a vibrant green when filled with hate for me.’
She lifted her chin. ‘A familiar shade, then.’
He winced. ‘Ouch.’
