Love's Magic (20 page)

“And if I told you that I don’t know what to cook?”

“You have a book of recipes, my lady, which you insisted we bring along. Surely you can find something there?”

Hurt that he would think her so mean, she didn’t correct the misunderstanding. Her recipes might clear the sinuses, but they’d hardly feed the keep. “Of course.

I would happily feed an entire troop of Scots rebels before cooking for you.” She turned her back on the knights, all of whom had been kindness itself, and knew she couldn’t walk away from them.

Lifting her chin, she turned back and approached Forrester instead. She cleared her throat and said, “I am worried that the ovens are not yet clean enough—perhaps we could roast the meat outside? I would be happy to turn the spit and, uh, season the meat.” She dearly hoped Bess and Viola could help her not make a fool of herself.

Forrester blushed at being singled out. “Aye, my lady. I would be pleased to build a low fire and set up a pit. Anything to be of service.”

She nodded her thanks and ignored the snort from her husband. “I will make certain that we have some suitable side dishes for when the meat is finished.” Smiling at the knights, she glared at Nicholas and stalked back into the kitchens. Now what? She barely knew the difference between a boiled parsnip and a mashed turnip.

While she was glad that the knights had burned the pine table in the kitchen, Celestia found that she didn’t have anything for a work surface.

Gazing at the four stone walls, she wished she’d been more adamant about taking the second wagon. Then she stopped in mid stream; her subconscious was determined to be fair.

Nicholas had a valid reason for not wanting the second wagon, and mayhap he’d been right. If there had been two wagons, perchance the thieves might not have left until all were killed.

She hadn’t thought to pack furniture from Montehue Manor, and they’d all been eating in the main hall in front of the fire, seated on various pillows and rolled-up blankets.

Her chin quivered.
I’m horrible,
she thought. No wonder Nicholas wanted to leave! She bit her lip until the trembling receded. If hard work was needed, then she was up to the task. By Saint Jude, she was finished with tears. Aye, murder had been done here in this room, and it was true that they had all been avoiding it. But a kitchen was the heart of the home, and the ghosts needed to be purged.

A chill settled at the nape of her neck.

Or not.
Would that they had cooking recipes, she’d even invite them to stay for dessert.

Chapter
Eleven

S
he would start with another dose of soap and water, and see if she could remember any of the recipes her mother had tried to teach her.

Celestia was up to her elbows in suds when Forrester found her.

“Ye’re busy, my lady, should I come back?”

Glancing over her shoulder, her rump moving in rhythm with her arms, she said, “Nay, nay—my grandmother says that idle hands are a devil’s helpmeet. I suppose that makes me quite immune to Satan’s wiles today.”

Celestia tossed the rag into the bucket, well pleased with the gleaming stone floor and the iron pots she had located behind the oven. “I was hoping for a miracle. The men are hungry, and most tired of anything potted or salted.”

“I’ve set the buck on the spit, for roasting, my lady, and I was just wondering if ye had some extra salt?”

She got up and nodded, leading the way to some of the packed crates in the main room. “Aye. Salt, dried basil, onion, and,” Celestia dug around until she found what she was looking for, “parsley.”

Noting the dubious look on Forrester’s face, Celestia flushed. “I’ve got gold plate and fine linens, but no table. I’ve got goblets, but the wine is gone. And, oh, I may as well confess.” She lowered her eyes in shame. “I don’t know how to cook.”

She waited for his disparaging remarks, but when she raised her eyes, he was nodding with sympathy.

“No one liked to say it, but me mam wasn’t a cook, either. Me and my brothers had to learn to cook, or learn to love burned stew.” He smiled shyly. “I hate burned stew.”

Celestia laughed with relief.

“If you could help me, Forrester, I would be forever in your debt.” She rubbed her lower back. “I am a healer. I can clean and garden and do the scullery work, but God help us all if I have to do anything besides toss a few raw vegetables in vinegar.”

“You can hire a cook.”

Celestia stopped laughing. “And where would I find one of those?”

“There has to be a village close by, no more than a day’s ride, surely.”

“That is a brilliant idea.” But it spoke of permanence, and she didn’t plan on staying here long enough for it to matter.

Viola and Bess danced into the kitchen, their expressions playful. After sending a flirtatious nod to Forrester, Bess said, “The entire second floor has been reinforced, and is now as clean as can be. We have beaten the rugs, brushed the draperies, and put fresh linens and rushes in each room. Including the master’s chamber.”

Celestia blushed. “Oh. Well, I thank you, and for certes, Nicholas will thank you, too.” She was certain of no such thing, but she could hardly share that with her maids.

Oh, for certes
, she could say,
I want his love, but he refuses mine, so I am afraid that I will kill him with my anger and adoration?
Nay. She’d keep up the pretense that all was well.

“It will be wonderful to have a real meal,” Bess said, batting her eyelashes. “I saw ye, from the window, making the fire pit.”

Forrester’s face flushed, and he stared at the floor.

Viola said bravely, “My lady, if ye would like to prepare for dinner, ye’ll have privacy now.” She pointed to Celestia’s head.

“What?” Celestia brought her fingers to her hair, remembering the old cloth she’d tied around her braids. “I’m cleaning,” she said defensively.

“Lady Celestia,” Bess said, grasping her mistress’s hand. “Look at how red and chapped these are; Lady Galiana would have a fit. You have a peasant’s kerchief wrapped around your head, your skirts are tucked between your legs, and your feet are bare. I know that you are working hard, but so is Lord Nicholas.”

“I think ye lovely, my lady,” Forrester said with bright red cheeks.

Bess smacked his arm. “A few strokes of the brush, my lady, and ye could remind him of how lovely yereally are.”

Shouts came from the back, and Forrester hurried to open the kitchen door. Willy shouted, “We have visitors!”

“Visitors?” Celestia pressed her hand to her belly. She was in no way ready to meet anyone as the lady of Falcon Keep. And the last time she’d heard someone announce visitors, she’d ended up married.
Danger.

Viola plucked the kerchief from Celestia’s head, and smoothed down her tunic. “Cover your toes, my lady. We don’t want them to think ye a maid.”

“Maid? We have been doing the work of ten maids. Do I have time to change?” Celestia hissed the question between clenched teeth.

“Nay, here.” Bess reached over and pinched Celestia’s cheeks. “For color.”

“Are ye ready?” Viola asked, her brow scrunched with dismay.

“I’ll escort ye, my lady.” Forrester gallantly held out his arm.

Bess huffed.

“I’m ready,” Celestia lied. “Wait, a quick prayer to Saint Agatha Hildegard.”

“Who?”

“She was a model wife, and I have much to learn. I don’t even have anything to offer anyone in way of refreshment!”

“They’ll need nothing but water,” Forrester soothed.

Celestia allowed the young knight to walk next to her as they left the kitchen and walked into the yard. “I forgot, we have a cask of the baron’s burgundy.”

“I put the last bottle of sweet wine from Montehue Manor in your chamber, but I could get it,” Viola said.

“So long as we serve our guests outside, we shall be fine, and mayhap they won’t have to know the extent of our … poverty.” The logical half of her brain reasoned that any visitors would be understanding, but marriage had turned her into an emotional disaster.

“Mayhap they will know of where we can hire some servants. Or better yet, mayhap we can find the former servants from Falcon Keep, and get them to return.”

Celestia stopped her nervous chatter when she bumped into Nicholas’s back. “I beg pardon … I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Looking up, she saw the clearest pale green eyes she had ever seen. They were set in an oval face, surrounded by waving locks of ebony black hair. Warm, rosy lips dimpled in a devastating smile that was not directed at her, but toward her speechless husband.

The woman was beautiful, more beautiful than anyone she’d ever seen before, and considering that she came from a gorgeous family, that was saying a lot.

Celestia hated her on sight.

Nicholas could not remember ever seeing a woman of such timeless beauty. She was like a painting in a church, a Greek marble statue, a work of art that left him chilled.

He knew that he should return her greeting, but he couldn’t move. Her dark hair and voluptuous body brought to mind Leah, with her veiled charms and naked threats. The sling holding her arm to her chest did nothing to detract from her loveliness.

Celestia fumed at his back, and he was grateful for her presence.

Petyr filled the void of his bad manners. “Welcome to Falcon Keep,” he said, with a widespread gesture including all of the keep’s inhabitants. “Good day to you! We welcome you, and beg you to not to judge us too harshly.” He grinned. “We arrived but a few days past, and though it may not seem so, we have accomplished much.”

Petyr used his mythical blond looks to coax another smile from the young beauty, and Nicholas was impressed as his chief knight first bowed to the crone next to the beauty, and lastly to the tall silent man who stood behind his womenfolk.

‘Twas obvious that the younger two were brother and sister, so alike were they in their features. Nicholas, following Petyr’s lead, bowed, as well, but it had nowhere near the grace of Petyr’s.

“I am Petyr Montgomery, chief knight to Lord Nicholas Peregrine.”

“Le Blanc,” Nicholas muttered low enough that only his people could hear him. He raised his voice, but kept his face a polite mask. “Indeed, welcome, and though our hospitality may be rough, we invite you to stay and dine with us. As you can see, we have plenty.” He slid his glance toward the pit where the venison was skewered and browning on a rack.

The beauty lowered her eyes shyly, and the crone stepped forward. “Greetings, and welcome to Falcon Keep, Lord Peregrine. I am called Grainne Kat, and these are my children, Maude and Joseph. We bring you a gift of bread and jams.”

She handed the basket to Viola with a throaty chuckle. “Welcome, mistress.”

Celestia’s maid accepted the basket graciously. “Our thanks; I’ll give these over to Lady Celestia.”

The crone pressed, “Ye’re not the mistress?”

Nicholas watched the fleeting emotions cross his wife’s face. He could tell she wanted to dig her toes in the dirt and hide.

He compared Viola’s brushed hair and clean tunic with its crisp white apron to Celestia’s garb. ‘Twas obvious she had been interrupted in the middle of some chore. He was about to come to her aid, when she hefted that dainty, stubborn chin and walked forward with her hand outstretched.

“Welcome, I’m Lady Celestia. Thank you for the lovely jams.”

She stood regally, and Nicholas cringed as all three pairs of the visitors’ eyes raked over her disheveled appearance. He had never been so proud.

She kept her gaze steely and refused to flinch, even as the beauteous Maude sought to hide a giggle behind her hand. The crone didn’t try to be polite. “Oh! I certainly didn’t see you standing there, how tiny you are. If I would have noticed you, which I didn’t,” the crone assured her, “I would have thought you a child. But, no, I see now that you are full grown.”

Smiling, the old woman showed her blackened teeth. “Certainly you are too small to bear sons for such a large knight?”

Celestia pursed her lips and straightened her shoulders, but Nicholas prevented what might have been a blistering tirade by placing his hand upon her shaking shoulder. “I find her perfection itself, Grainne Kat.”

Taking the brunt of attention upon himself, Nicholas dipped his head and continued, “And, if I was a man to notice such things, and I am, I would say that you are definitely old enough to mind your tongue—or perhaps such things are not important here in the backwoods of civilization?”

The old woman’s eyes popped wide, and her son took a threatening step toward Nicholas. Grainne Kat laid a gnarled hand on his arm and gave a hearty laugh. “Oh—that is true, that is true. The backwoods? Indeed, they are, and, no, my good lord, such fancy manners are not needed. Although I know them, and though they be rusty, I shall do my best to remember them. And curb my tongue,” she laughed, a horrible rusted sound, and said, “I beg your pardon, my lady.”

The old woman tried to curtsy, and Petyr caught her before she fell all the way over. Celestia nodded her forgiveness, sending Nicholas a shy glance that warmed him.

Nicholas hoped that he had soothed his wife’s ruffled feathers enough that she wouldn’t scorch the side dishes apurpose. He was ravenous for anything besides pickled herring and boiled greens. He answered the thankful glance from Celestia with a jerk of his head toward their guests.

She sighed, then smiled. “Won’t ye please stay and join us for a bite to eat? Your bread and jam would go nicely with the meat I am sure you can smell roasting.” Her eyelids flickered as if she refrained from accusing them of coming for the food on purpose. “We have been cleaning nonstop since our arrival,” her hesitation conveyed that she resented the interruption, “but we would deeply appreciate your company.”

Nicholas gave her an approving smile and she discreetly rolled her eyes.

“If you would sit,” she gestured toward the trio of stumps the knights had been using as chairs, “we will bring out refreshments. I see, Maude, that you’ve been injured? Poor child.”

Maude bared her teeth in a smile and quickly unwrapped the scarf from her neck. “It’s nothing, a scratch.”

Celestia, though shorter, managed to look down her nose just the same. “Nicholas, perhaps you could find a way to make some sort of table to accommodate a feast?”

“Would you like it in the main room?”

Celestia pursed her lips. “Being as that is the only room that could fit everyone, my lord, it will have to do.” She turned to the side, so that her unwanted guests couldn’t read her lips. “Unless the shed would be too uncomfortable?”

Nicholas shook his head and playfully pushed her toward the kitchen. “Get to work, wench.”

As she gave him an exaggerated curtsy, baring her naked toes, he grinned, quite liking his wife—again, damn it all.