Page 26 of The Lyon and the Lass

Chapter Thirteen

The next morning,after a night of tossing and turning on the hard cot in the stable, with Kerrigan stretched out on a bundle of hay alongside her, Christine rose with determination. Even though she’d never been involved in the actual running of a home, and she had no idea how to run a keep of all places, shedidknow they needed servants—many more—than what they had. Her father’s home always had servants cleaning, cooking, shopping, and doing laundry. She knew the duties they needed to perform and how many were necessary for a smooth-running household.

Like other women of her class, she’d spent her entire life with a personal maid, along with numerous other servants, but the trip had taught her she could do things for herself—except take a bath—and did not want to give those in her new home reason to believe she was a spoiled English woman.

So, she dressed herself in an easy-to-wear warm wool skirt that she’d bought at Kerrigan’s suggestion during one of her shopping trips. Unfortunately, everything fancy that her husband just smirked at would most likely end up at the back of the wardrobe in the bedroom, never to be worn.

After a quick wash in the bowl of water she had one of the young men bring her the night before, she dressed, braided her hair in what would never be called well-done, and headed for the keep.

Kerrigan was gone, but he’d told her that he and Neil would be headed to Edinburgh to see about replacing their sheep. He left instructions with Patrick to begin visiting the tenants and seeing what their sorely neglected needs were.

Hopefully, with flour delivered the night before once Edward promised the granary’s bill would be paid today, the kitchen should smell of the wonderful scent of baking bread.

She walked into a very silent kitchen. No kettle of porridge bubbling over the hearth, no lovely aroma of bread baking, and no activity at all.

The kitchen maids all sat at the worktable, chatting away. Christine shook her head, thinking she must be imagining the scene before her. “Why is there no food being prepared?”

The chatting stopped and they all turned toward her. Isla spoke up. “Llioni is dead.”

Christine sighed. “I know that. But you all work in the kitchen. One of you must know how to at least cook porridge.” She looked at Isla. “I planned to find a new cook today, but since you cooked the supper last night, do ye think ye can do porridge?”

Edward entered the room and said, “No one ever cooked except Llioni. ’Tis a wonder Isla hasn’t poisoned us all yet.”

Isla reached out and smacked Edward on the arm.

She had less knowledge of the kitchen and cooking than any of them did. The first time she actually stepped into a kitchen had been here. “I assume that besides no porridge no bread has been baked either?” She turned toward Edward. “Did the flour arrive last evening?”

“Aye.”

“Can you get some and bring it here so we can get bread made?” Could bread be baked that quickly? She had no idea. “Where is the porridge kept? And does anyone know how to make oatcakes?” She was growing desperate, knowing after last night’s skimpy supper there would be hungry people looking for a meal once they arrived at the great hall.

One of the girls raised her hand. “I ken how to make oatcakes. My mam makes them all the time.”

Christine breathed a sigh of relief. “Very good. And what is your name?”

The girl dipped. “Bridget, my lady.”

“Can you get started on some oatcakes, Bridget? And make a great deal because I don’t think bread can be baked quickly.”

“Nay,” Edwad said as he hefted a container of flour onto the table. “My mam always mixes her bread up before she goes to bed and covers it with a piece of linen. If we mix it now,” he continued, “it might be ready for supper. I can run home to my cottage and ask her.”

“I don’t suppose your mother would be interested in cooking for us?”

He shook his head. “Nay, we have seven little ones at home.”

Seven! Plus him? In a cottage? She could hardly breathe thinking of such a thing. “Very well then. Hurry to your home and get instructions from her on how to make bread.”

Edward ran from the kitchen and Bridget began to assemble what she needed to make oatcakes.

“And the porridge? Does anyone know how to make that?” She didn’t even know what ingredients went into porridge.

“I’ve ne’er made it, my lady,” another one of the girls whose name she needed to learn said, “but I did watch Llioni make it each morning. I am interested in cooking, but she always pushed me away.”

“Good. Do what you can.” Christine looked at Mavis. “Go to the garden and bring back plenty of apples.” She swung around and looked at the last girl at the table. “What is your name?”

“Beatrice, my lady.”

She nodded. “Please go to wherever the cheese is kept and bring up as much as you can carry.”