Page 19 of Luthias

“I like the wee lass,” the groundskeeper said, ignoring the cook’s glowering. “For all her love of washing she’s no’ afraid to dirty her hands. If ’twould please you, my lord, I’ll put her to weeding and such with one of my younger lads. Then she’ll no’ make us fall behind with our plantings.”

“A good notion.” Luthias regarded his cook. “’Tis be-ing san-i-tar-y too much for you to bear, then?” He glanced at the child’s clean face. “I favor seeing our sculleries’ face shine. They smell better, too.”

“Aye, well.” The cook’s expression softened and she put her arm around the girl. “I’ve run my kitchens as my màthair and grand màthair before me did, my lord. ’Tis breaking with the old ways I most despise. We’ve no’ changed so much in my life as we’ve done in the past week.”

He knew that only too well from the disruption of his own routine of late. Every time he thought the lass had settled down, she’d cross someone else in the stronghold, who would then come running to him. Yet he couldn’t find fault with Emery or his people; they simply belonged to different times.

“I wouldnae mind finding fewer grits in my bannocks,” he chided. “Change comes for us all, Mistress. Be gentle with Mistress Parker for my sake.”

After they left Luthias read through the day’s message scrolls, most of which had come from the outlying farms and pasturelands about the work of summer. Shearing, felling trees and preparing the animals and goods for market would keep his people busy for weeks, but they had years of practice and required little oversight. Thanks to the herds and the bounty of lambs, foals and calves they had produced over the spring they would do very well at the autumn stock markets. MacRoss horses had always been prized for their strength, training and excellent bloodlines, and their cattle and sheep had become renown for being vigorous and long-lived.

Instead of deciding which of the stockmen to first visit Luthias found himself wanting to go to Emery, and see how she fared, and if she had discovered how she might avert disaster for the clan. No, if he were to be honest, he simply wanted to see her and hear her voice and know she was happy. As for the rest of what he desired, he could ride out to one of the towns where he sometimes spent a night with a woman willing to share her body but not her heart or home. Yet of late he felt no desire for even that relief.

’Tis the lass I want in my bed.

Since finding her in the armory Luthias had spent almost no time with Emery, who always smiled at him when their paths crossed but then hurried off to the kitchens or gardens, or went to the forge, where she now spent most of her day. He wondered if he had made her afraid of him; she’d been obviously upset during his tussle with Camdyn by the river. He’d seen the very real fear in her eyes, and felt it in the coldness of her hands. Then after, when he’d taken her in his arms, she had been startled, perhaps even shocked. Men in her time were likely very different from him and his brothers.

I shouldnae trifle with her, and yet ’tis all I desire.

Luthias wrote replies to the messages that required them, and handed off his scrolls to a clerk to be sent. Although he was due to meet with Darach in the garrison’s map room, he then went down to the armory, where he found Emery in a leather apron seated beside Camdyn, who was showing her one of his shaping anvils. They sat so close together the sides of their legs and arms touched, making Luthias scowl.

“’Tis a century since ’twas forged,” the armorer was telling her. “’Twill last another five, I reckon.”

“Really? That is so cool. What if I could find it when I get back to my time? I could arrange a demo and show everyone how you actually used it.” Emery looked up and gave Luthias one of her cheerful grins. “Hey, my lord. We’re having anvil lessons today.” She held up a tiny hammer. “Want me to shape something for you?”

“Do you mean to make Mistress Parker a smith?” he asked Camdyn.

“Do you reckon me addled?” The armorer made a contemptuous sound. “The lass can hardly dent copper using both hands, the poor puny thing.”

“Puny?” Emery made as if to kick him, and then laughed as he flinched. “I have toes of steel, pal.”

“What need you, my lord?” the armorer asked, rising from his bench.

“Naught with you.” Luthias didn’t like how easy she seemed with Camdyn. “I need speak with the lady.”

“Uh-oh.” She groaned. “Okay, besides this guy, who complained about me today? Cook was probably first in line. She has a real problem with food safety, but she’s fine with baking gravel in the bread. You do know you’re eating rocks at every meal, right?”

He nodded. “If we may go and speak on such matters, my lady?”

After they left the forge Luthias escorted Emery to the kitchen gardens, where he noted the lads at work stopping to smile at her and touch their brows for him. She greeted all of them, and even stopped to offer a suggestion to one gardener picking slugs from an herb plant. By the time they reached the end of the beds Luthias wondered if all the women of her time were as friendly, and asked her the same.

“I guess it seems weird that I talk to everyone, huh?” She smiled. “Being here is like jumping into a history book and living every page. I can see things I’ve only read about, so I have a million questions. Also, your people are really nice. Your cook may be grouchy, and kind of a tyrant about menus and food preparation, but she makes sure all the kids who work in the kitchens get plenty to eat.”

“Cook ran away from a cruel master in the lowlands,” Luthias said. “When she came to us she’d been starved, so at first she hardly had the strength to turn a spit. I reckon she shall always look after our sculleries well, and see to it they never go hungry.”

“She’s not a bad chef, either, considering she has to cook over a hearth and boil or bake everything. If I can just get her to stop turning all your vegetables into sludge, I’ll consider it a major victory.” Emery rolled her eyes. “Anyway, if I’m being a problem or upsetting anyone, I’m sorry. In my time people are much more health conscious, and, well, we won’t even talk about bacteria. You’ll have nightmares.”

He thought of how happy she had been in the forge. “What of you and Camdyn?”

“Cam? He’s like the blacksmith version of Cook, only grouchier,” she admitted. “The man does nothing but complain about the heat, the quality of the ore, the lack of ventilation, the need for this hammer or that, etc. etc. But he’s also taught me more about medieval forging in the past week than I learned during eight years at the university. Plus he’s really funny.”

“Do we speak of the same lad?” he asked, surprised by that.

“Uh-huh. He has hilarious nicknames for everyone in the clan. I’d tell you yours, but you’d probably kill him.” She chuckled. “He’s also got some great ideas about defending the stronghold and patrolling your lands and farms. I think he spends more time thinking about how to protect the clan than you do. You should try talking to him instead of yelling once in a while.”

Another surge of jealousy made him take hold of her hand. “What more do you with him, that he should confide in you?”

“You mean, besides poke around the forge, ask him a million questions and watch while he works?” She glanced down at his hold on her. “Uh, nothing.”