“Leave the larger dishes for the morning, girls,” Cook called out to the scullery maids, “It’s time for us to have a bite and sup of our own. Clary, afore ye take a seat, be a dear and pour us a couple o’ large jugs of light mead. “Twill be just the thing to ease our sore feet.”
Cook ran an easy establishment. If a maid was promoted to work upstairs for Mistress Burroughs, it always came as a shock to find a rigid seating order and dress code was strictly enforced by the housekeeper. The kitchen structure was far more relaxed. Spit turn boys, talented bakers, and apprentice pastry makers all sat together at the long wooden table in the kitchen staff dining area. The only room that was off-limits was Cook’s private parlor because it was to here she would disappear every afternoon for a quick nap in the small chamber.
Clary plonked two huge jugs of mead down on the table, and everyone helped themselves to a liberal serving of the refreshing honey ale. Mugs were emptied and refilled, shoes were kicked off tired feet, and the staff chattered happily amongst themselves. Emer sat on the stone stairs leading into the dining room with her back to the corridor, facing the merry kitchen helpers drinking around the table. Davinia sat on a tiny stool next to the fireplace and spoke to her sister about what she planned to do the next day. It was a Sunday, and all the maids planned on visiting the nearest village after chapel. Emer enjoyed the sensation of having nothing to do except quench her thirst and wriggle her numbed toes.
“What did ye all think about the first meal with Caillen as our new Laird?” Cook raised her voice to ask everyone in the room, “Hopefully, he does nae plan on having many more banquets. ‘Tis hard work for us, to be sure!”
Davinia chirped from her corner, “He will nae be able to have any more feasts, Mistress Drummond! The Sutherlands have stolen all our cattle and taken most of the good land where we grow the best crops.”
“That’s an exaggeration if ever I heard one, Davi,” Clary commented, “all the spring vegetables came from Maclachlan land.”
“Aye, maybe so,” Davinia replied, “but the winter crops are all but gone, and the land where we plant new ones are on the other side of the border that divides our fields from theirs-the Sutherlands, that is!”
Emer could not resist joining in the conversation. Before their father had been a farmer, he had been a soldier fighting for control of lands free from overlairdship or invasion. It was only because the farmers at Nethy had downed their field tools and picked up swords that the Wylies had land to till and seeds to plant at all.
“I might nae have been at the castle long enough to ken this new Laird of yers well, but he sounds like a care-for-nobody. What eldest son leaves the land of his forefaithers and disappears halfway round the ocean on his own whim?” Emer said emphatically.
No one replied to her outburst. They sat mumchance in their chairs, looking shocked. Emer did not care and continued to voice her opinion, “A trueborn Laird cares for his clan, so what he did was the same as a parent leaving their bairns so they could travel around. And now everyone’s surprised mischief is happening when the auld Laird cannae keep up?”
“Gawain and Laird...,” Davinia stuttered.
“Dinnae talk to me about Gawain and the new Laird Maclachlan, Davi!” Emer said, draining her mug of mead, “In me own opinion, the two cannae be compared. ‘Tis Gawain should be Laird, and nae that good-for-nothing whatshisname.”
“The name’s Caillen,” an amused voice said behind Emer.
She gave a small scream and dropped her mug. She did not bother watching the mug roll across the flagstones; Emer was too busy whipping her head around to see whose voice had spoken.
All her hopes that it would be some cheeky footman or groom fell away when she saw the two men standing there: it was Gawain and Caillen Maclachlan, the new Laird and his brother...and she had just been disparaging him behind his back. Emer felt the mead she had drunk so quickly come rushing back up her throat but was able to swallow it down again after a struggle.
The only thing I can do worse than I already have is spew me drink all over the new Laird’s boots. I pray he does nae send me away from the keep. After dividing me parents’ gold with Davi, I only have ten sovereigns left!
Caillen stepped around Emer, where she sat on the stairs leading down to the staff dining room. Gawain stayed standing behind her. She could feel the slight brush of his legs against her pinafore bow. It was the most awkward situation, and Emer felt suffocated with one Maclachlan in front of her and one immediately behind her. She shuffled sideways, stood up, and made for the door leading to the kitchens.
Caillen stopped her leaving by grabbing hold of her hand as she walked behind him.
“What? So shy all of a sudden? Ye had plenty to say when ye thought us back in the banquet hall.”
If Emer had lived long enough in the castle to know Caillen since he was a young boy, she would have recognized the bright twinkle in his eye as he said this and realized he was teasing her. As it was, all she saw was his one raised eyebrow and felt the firm grip of his hand around her wrist. She wrenched her arm out of his reach and ran to stand with her back to the wall.
Cook spoke out in her calm, unflappable manner, “Losh, Caillen, or should I say, yer Lairdship, the wench meant nae harm. She’s new here at the keep, lately come to work with her sister,” here Cook indicated to where Davinia sat on the stool by the fireplace, “the two girls lost their parents in a frightful fire-go gentle with them.”
Caillen could not let the jest go just yet, “That I should live to hear the day when one of me own servants speaks out so unjustly about me adventures, Mistress Drummond. Does the lass nae understand the feel of the ocean breeze in me hair is lifeblood to me?
Emer was hanging her head down with embarrassment and did not see the friendly grin Caillen gave her after saying these words. The rest of the staff, who knew Caillen’s penchant for joking, gave broad smiles when he spoke like an affronted jack-a-dandy.
“That’s enough now, everyone,” Cook said to all the giggling servants, “how might we help ye two gentlemen? Or did ye come down here simply to torment the kitchen maids?”
Caillen looked around the room at all the staff, saying, “Me brither, and I came down to say our thanks for a most delicious feast. Everyone may take the day off tomorrow-just leave a few dozen bannocks and some cold cuts for the guards and sentries. Me faither’s valet will prepare his meals, and Gawain and meself will make do, or maybe I’ll serve him meself, seeing as he would make a better Laird than I apparently do.”
And with his final jest made, Caillen and Gawain left the servants to their mead.
When the men had left, the kitchen staff raised a cheer. To be given an entire day off while employed at a busy castle keep was something to celebrate-everyone worked from sunrise to well-passed sundown to provide enough food and drink for all the castle inhabitants, especially on Holy days. A whole Sunday to sleep or laze the day away was a treat worth shouting about.
Unfortunately, Emer was not one of the happy throng of kitchen servants chattering excitedly with one another. She had fled upstairs the second Caillen had left the room, too ashamed at what she had said and what she considered to be his unjust reaction to it.
I’m new here at the castle and was simply speaking me mind on what I saw the situation to be. I wish he would go back to his stupid adventures and leave his brither here to run the castle as he sees fit. Go and feel the silly sea breeze in his hair or whatever he was waxing so eloquent about!
Emer could feel her wrist burn as though scorched by a flame where he had grasped it. The power behind that grip was not the strength of someone who sailed the ocean for pleasure. He had not hurt her, nor had his fingers left a mark, but she remembered the pressure of his hand and held her wrist up to her cheek, as though the heat would be transferred from one to the other.
