The conversation around them resumed, but Eve was too angry for words.She stabbed her eating knife into her roll with a little too much force, making Adam flinch.
“Butter?”he asked, offering her the bowl.
To her humiliation, her knife had gone through the roll and linen tablecloth and stuck in the table.She tried to pry it out, to no avail.
“Allow me,” he said, enclosing her hand within his on the handle to rock it loose.
She trembled with rage.How dared he touch her with such familiarity in front of her holy sisters?
When the knife was free, she grabbed her hand back so fast, she sliced his finger with the blade.
She hadn’t meant to.
Fortunately, no one else noticed.
But he winced and covered the cut quickly with his napkin.Then he leaned close to whisper, “There’s no need for violence.We can settle this likeequals.”
His point was clear.Someone had revealed to him she was a merchant’s daughter.Bloody hell.What else had they told him?
She was too upset to speak calmly.She slathered butter on the roll and stuffed it in her mouth to stifle a curse of rage.
Meanwhile, novices brought dish after dish.A salat of parsley, sage, mint, and leeks dressed with almond oil and verjuice.A dish of roasted neeps and parsnips.Pastry coffyns stuffed with apples and onions.A great roast of beef presented on a board and decorated with sprigs of rosemary.Pears poached in wine.And darioles of milk, eggs, and cream, cooked into a tart crust.
Hard cider accompanied the meal.It was one novice’s task to refill the cups as needed.Eve decided she would keep the lass busy, for she intended to drink away her agitation.
She downed her first cup all at once and slammed the cup on the table, earning a scowl from the abbess.
“’Twas a long journey,” she explained.
“So how long were ye at Rivenloch?”Adam asked, pushing his neeps around on his trencher and trying to make the question sound casual.
“Long enough,” she told him cryptically.
She popped a large wad of salat into her mouth and instantly choked on the strong verjuice.
As she started coughing, Adam clapped her on the back, which didn’t help at all.
She slapped his hand away and stole his cup of hard cider to wash down the sour dressing.
“Are ye all right, Sister?”the abbess asked in concern.
“Fine, Reverend Mother,” Eve lied.
Her eyes were watering, her throat burned, and her nerves were stretched to the limit over this awkward interaction with Adam.The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to their skirmish.
Adam’s hand tightened on his eating knife as he stared at the slice of roast on his trencher.“Did ye speak to anyone besides the laird?”he muttered.
“Oh aye,” she revealed with a measure of admittedly unhealthy satisfaction.“I spoke to a lovely lass named Isabel.Perhaps ye’ve met her.”
Of course he’d met her.She was his cousin.
“The name sounds familiar,” he hedged, smiling for the abbess, who’d taken a sudden interest in their conversation.
“She seems to know everythin’ about everyone,” Eve told him.
He turned as pale as the parsnips.
The novice returned to refill both their cups.They simultaneously took bracing gulps of cider.
