by Anne Bishop
Having no choice, she swung the skillet. Damn him, this hurt. But she knew he wouldn't relent, so she tried to hit the target…and actually came close.
Studying her, he held out one hand. The skillet came flying back to him. "Marian? Do you have everything you want for the kitchen?"
Anger flashed through her. The insufferable prick! Of course she didn't have everything she wanted! It was late autumn now, she'd been working for him for months, and she was still working with the basic tools she'd bought out of her own wages. She'd bought all the canning supplies out of her own wages, was still buying cleaning supplies out of her own wages…and was still waiting for him to broach the subject of a household budget. Oh, he'd told her often enough that she could put anything she needed to buy on his accounts at the stores in Riada, but he only indirectly benefited from her having all the tools she'd like to have, and she didn't feel easy about running up a bill without first getting his consent, and if he wasn't observant enough to see what was going on in his own home, he'd hardly understand why having extra casserole dishes would be helpful.
"The kitchen could use a few things," she said, working hard to keep from yelling at him.
He nodded. "I'll make a deal with you. You hit the target three times out of six tries, you can buy everything you want for the kitchen. If you can't find something you want in the shops in Riada, I'll take you to Amdarh. Buy everything you've wanted but have been doing without and put it on my accounts."
She stared at him. At home, she'd had to beg and plead to get anything that would have made her work easier. That was part of the reason she'd been reluctant to say anything to him. She hadn't wanted him to think she was greedy or extravagant, especially when he was so generous with her wages. But now he was offering to let her fill the kitchen, like paying off a wager. All she had to do was win and she could buy more casserole dishes so she could make extra meals and store them in the freeze box so she could just heat them up during her moondays.
She took the skillet from him, swung, and threw it. Grim pleasure filled her when the skillet hit the hay bales before bouncing to the ground. It flew back to her, slowing and turning to present the handle to her hand.
More baking sheets so she wouldn't have to waste time waiting for one batch to bake and cool before she could prepare the next. More pie plates so she could make a fruit pie and a steak pie to serve at the same meal.
She threw the skillet and hit the hay bales.
A good set of kitchen knives. Utensils that were actually designed for different functions. More wooden spoons.
She swung and threw.
When the skillet came back again, she reached for it, her mind full of the useful things the kitchen still needed. But Lucivar just held on to the skillet. He gave her a lazy, arrogant smile, but the unhappiness in his eyes ripped at her.
"That's it," he said, leading her back to the kitchen. "You won. Three out of three. As soon as you feel up to shopping, make your purchases."
Was that why he was so unhappy? Was he worried about the expense? Maybe she should ask him how much she could spend.
He released her arm, set the skillet on the counter, and started to walk away.
"Prince?"
He stopped at the archway and looked at her. "You do what you have to, Marian. If you have to scrub and polish this place when every move hurts you just to prove you can do your work, then that's what you'll do. Short of fighting you to a standstill, I can't stop you. But I can't stay here and watch you do it. We'll work with the skillet again in a few days… and we'll keep working at it until you can use it as a weapon."
He moved fast. She had to dash to the archway to reach it before he reached the front door.
"Are you coming back for the midday meal?" she asked.
"Yeah, I'll be back." He didn't look at her, didn't hesitate. He slammed the front door behind him.
Marian sank down on one of the kitchen chairs and braced her head in her hands. He got mad at her for sweeping up spilled sugar but dragged her outside to throw a skillet at bales of hay. She threw a pot at him and missed, so he was going to teach her how to clobber him with a skillet. Even taking into account that he was an Eyrien male, there was only one explanation for his behavior. The man was insane.
And she'd made him unhappy. She hadn't meant to, but she'd made him unhappy. Of course, she would have told him she'd intended to take things easy today if he hadn't roared at her as soon as he walked into the kitchen, so it was sort of his own fault that he was unhappy now. Which didn't make her feel any better.
Her eyes filled with tears. Not only did she feel guilty for making him unhappy, but now that she was alone, her body was screaming at her and, Mother Night, she hurt.
Marian looked at the roast on the cutting board. It was almost too good to cut up for stew. She looked at the potatoes, carrots, and onions sitting on the counter next to the cutting board and sighed. No, the real reason she felt reluctant to start was that she hadn't considered how long it would take to cut up a roast into stew-size pieces when she had to use a knife. Using basic Craft, she could have done it in a minute. No help for it. If she didn't start now, she'd be very late serving the midday meal.
As she reached for the knife, someone knocked sharply on the front door.
Her heart galloped as she stepped into the front room and stared at the door. Maybe it was that Roxie woman again. She hadn't told Lucivar about the young witch's second attempt to enter the eyrie when he wasn't home. She hadn't mentioned that Roxie had implied she was meeting him in Riada for an afternoon of sex. She hadn't believed the woman for a minute, but it had made her wonder about things she shouldn't wonder about…like how he kissed… and what it would feel like to be in bed with him.
A second knock, sharper this time.
She could pretend no one was home…or say she'd been in the laundry room and hadn't heard the knocking if the person mentioned it to Lucivar. No, not the laundry room. That would upset him. She'd say she'd been in her room, resting. Besides, she didn't want to deal with anyone today.
The High Lord walked through the door, passing through the wood as if the Ebon-gray lock wasn't there. Of course, the High Lord wore a Black Jewel, so an Ebon-gray lock was little more than a moment's inconvenience to him.
He stopped as soon as he saw her. His nostrils flared slightly. His expression turned grim, almost menacing.
"What did he do?" Saetan asked too softly.
Marian swallowed to get her heart out of her throat. "What?"
"What did my idiot of a son do?"
If he'd slapped her, he couldn't have surprised her more. "I don't understand."
Saetan moved toward her. "He upset you."
"No. Yes. It wasn't…" How was she supposed to think when he was staring at her like that?
He made a quiet sound of disgust and shook his head. The next moment, he was leading her back into the kitchen, the hand on her arm sliding up to rest on her shoulder.
She couldn't say he pushed her into the chair, but she found herself sitting at the pine table without having decided she wanted to sit.
"I'd apologize for him, but there's really no excuse for upsetting a woman during her moontime," Saetan said as he removed his cape and laid it over the back of another chair. "His education in the Terreillean courts was abysmal at best, but he's been in Kaeleer three years now. He should have acquired some understanding from dealing with the coven. Idiot."
Marian's hands curled into fists as she watched him rinse out the teakettle, fill it with fresh water, and put it on the stove to heat. "He didn't do anything," Marian said.
"He upset you," Saetan replied in a tone of voice only a fool would challenge. "He probably walked in here this morning and started roaring, telling you what you could and couldn't do as if you were a simple-minded child instead of a grown woman who has enough sense to know when her body needs rest and care."
The High Lord was on her side. So why did she want to take the skillet that was still
sitting on the counter and smack him over the head with it?
Finding the mugs in one of the upper cupboards, he filled one with hot water and slipped a tea ball into it.
"You don't have to tell me what happened," Saetan said. "I've had enough experience with Lucivar to see it all. You have duties and responsibilities that you take seriously. You would have planned for this and wouldn't be doing more than you had to. But then he comes in, snapping and snarling, so what else can a witch do except defend herself and push back, insisting that she's capable of doing more than she knows she can?" He brought the mug over to the table and placed it in front of her. "Here, sweetheart. This is a brew I make for Jaenelle when her moon-time is troubling her. Drink it up."
Reluctant to do anything that would please him after he'd insulted Lucivar but not having enough nerve to defy him, she lifted the mug and sniffed. It smelled good. She took a sip. It tasted even better.
"You're making stew?" he asked.
"Yes."
He washed his hands and began moving around her kitchen with a confidence that looked like he was used to being in kitchens. Which wasn't likely.
"His social skills are rough, to put it kindly," Saetan said. "He just smashes through an obstacle instead of considering if there's a quieter way around it."
Maybe Lucivar's social skills were rough compared to a slick Hayllian, but that wasn't saying much. She'd rather have rough and honest than slick any day.
"Here, darling." Saetan returned to the table and placed a cutting board, the carrots, and a knife in front of her. "Do you feel well enough to cut up the carrots?"
"I feel fine." As he turned away from the table, she drank the rest of :he brew and put the mug aside. She picked up the knife, then looked at :he carrots. They were cleaned and the ends were neatly cut off. She didn't remember doing that, but she must have.
chop
He moved around her kitchen, but she didn't dare look up to see what he was doing since he kept grumbling about Lucivar and she was afraid of what she might say if she actually looked at him right now.
chop chop chop
Who did he think he was, anyway? He had no right to come into Lucivar's home and criticize. She didn't care if he was Lucivar's father and the Steward of the Dark Court and the High Lord of Hell. He had no business criticizing Lucivar in public. Well, maybe not in public, since they were in the kitchen, but he shouldn't be saying these things to Prince Yaslana's housekeeper. It wasn't right.
chop chop
And it wasn't his business, was it? If she and Lucivar had clashed this morning, it had nothing to do with him. He didn't live here.
She heard a quiet sizzle, but it was gone so fast she wasn't sure she'd really heard anything, so she kept her eyes focused on the cutting board.
chop chop chop
So Lucivar was a little rough around the edges. So what? There wasn't an Eyrien male who wasn't. But he was kind, and if he got testy when he thought she was working too hard, wasn't that better than someone who expected her to work until she was exhausted and still didn't think she'd done enough? If she hadn't snapped at him this morning, if she'd kept a tighter hold on her own emotions and told him she was planning to rest today, they wouldn't have argued, and he wouldn't have left because she'd made him unhappy.
chop chop
That wasn't the point. The point was his father had no right to be grumbling about his son, and if she were Lucivar's lover instead of his housekeeper, she'd tell his father a thing or two. Oh, yes, she would. Slick Hayllian. Bah!
"Finished?"
The amusement in his voice confused her enough that he slipped the knife out of her hand before she realized he'd reached for it. He set another mug down in front of her and took the cutting board away.
She sniffed. There was a lingering scent of cooked meat in the air. She looked at the counter…and frowned at the bowl of cut vegetables. She looked at the stove and saw the big kettle she used for soups and stews, the witchfire beneath it spread in a circle that was perfect for simmering whatever was in the kettle.
"Now," Saetan said as he settled his cape around his shoulders. "Lucivar is what he is. No social skills, or lack of them, can change a Warlord Prince's nature. If you want to punish him for snapping at you this morning, you go do the kind of heavy work that will most certainly cause you pain today. But if he matters enough to show him kindness, you'll let him make the biscuits to go with the stew and you'll tuck yourself in this afternoon and do something that won't make demands on your body. You'll let him fuss over you a little. If he doesn't have to fight you to protect you, it will make things easier for both of you."
She studied him. "What you said about Lucivar. You didn't mean any of it, did you?"
He smiled. "He's physical, demanding, and rough around the edges. In other words, he's Eyrien. I wouldn't want him to be any other way. But it was an effective way of keeping you distracted."
He brushed a hand over her hair, leaned over, and kissed her forehead. There was something so… fatherly… in the gesture, she felt tears sting her eyes.
After he left the eyrie, she sat at the table, sipping the brew he'd made for her and thinking about what he'd said.
Lucivar quietly closed the eyrie's front door, then stood still a moment, listening. No sounds. No indication of any kind of what he was walking into.
He couldn't stay away. The worry that she'd do something foolish because he'd jumped on her that morning had gnawed at him. He knew witches tended to snap and snarl when they felt the most vulnerable. Hell's fire, he'd slammed his will against Jaenelle's enough times over the past three years to figure out aggression pitted against vulnerability only caused hurt feelings on both sides. Asking for a favor always got better results than making demands. But when he saw Marian sweeping the floor that morning, his temper had snapped the leash. Now all he could do was hope he could repair whatever damage he'd done.
He found her in the kitchen, her hands wrapped around a mug. She glanced up when she saw him, then looked down at the mug.
Feeling miserable and awkward, he leaned against the counter. "I… ah… picked up some bread at the baker's." When she just nodded, he winced. Still pissed off at him. "I also picked up this." He called in a box, set it on the table near her, then stepped back. When she opened it, her lower lip trembled.
Hell's fire. Being whipped didn't hurt this much. Chocolate fudge was the bribe when it came to being forgiven for doing something stupid and male. At least, it usually worked with Jaenelle and the coven. He knew Marian liked fudge because she'd bought some from that same sweetshop in Riada, but she wasn't giving in enough to even taste it.
Looking around the kitchen, he spotted the kettle. "You made stew."
"Actually, your father made the stew," Marian said. "He showed up a little while after you left."
Lucivar clenched his teeth. Well, wasn't that just fine and wonderful? If he'd offered to help make the stew, she would have snapped at him. But his father could walk in here and make the damn thing without so much as a yip out of her. And, damn it, he was not going to be jealous of his own father. Of course he was. "You let him make the stew."
"I didn't let him do anything," Marian said, sounding testy. "One minute he was criticizing you for getting me upset and the next he was making the stew. I think."
"You think?"
"I don't care if he's your father, he had no right to criticize you about what you do in your own home. And when he gave me the carrots to cut up…"
"Wait." Lucivar raised a hand. "He gave you the carrots?"
Marian bristled. "What's wrong with that? I'm perfectly capable of cutting up a few carrots."
He held up both hands in a placating gesture. She did get feisty when she was riled. "I didn't say there was anything wrong with it. It's just not the vegetable I would have given a woman who was holding a sharp knife and was pissed off at men."
When she gave him a blank look, he decided to move the conversation along before she figu
red out what he meant. "So you cut up the carrots and… ?"
"And I was so annoyed with him, I didn't pay attention to what he was doing, and the next thing I knew the meat was cooking and the rest of the vegetables were ready to go in when it was time." She frowned at the mug. "And he made this brew for me."
Lucivar waited. "So what did he say about me?"
She shrugged. "Doesn't matter. He didn't mean any of it. He told me so after he made the stew."
He didn't appreciate being criticized, but wasn't it interesting that it had annoyed her enough that she hadn't paid attention to what was going on in her own kitchen?
"But then he said…"
Lucivar studied her. She looked so baffled. "What?"
"He said if I wanted to be kind, I would let you make the biscuits… and let you fuss over me a little."
"I can make biscuits."
She shook her head. "You bought some bread."
Not sure how she'd respond to him, he moved closer to her and ran a hand over her hair.
She looked up at him. "Why did he do that?"
"Make the stew?" He leaned over and kissed her forehead, hoping she'd take it as a friendly gesture…and wanting to kiss her in ways that had nothing to do with being friends. "He's a Warlord Prince. I guess he couldn't stand seeing you work when you were hurting." He eased back a little to look at her. Her eyes held a female awareness of a male that eased one kind of tension in him and created another. "So. Are you going to let me fuss a little?"
"I've never been fussed over before."
He smiled. "Think of it as an adventure. It will be easier that way." And until someone, like Jaenelle, told Marian the rules about fussing, he was going to make the most of his hearth witch's ignorance.
FIFTEEN
Marian crouched behind the shelves of dishes and glassware. How soon before the shop's proprietor remembered he had another customer and started wondering what she'd been doing all this time?
She wasn't hiding, exactly. She just didn't want to deal with that Roxie woman. Thank the Darkness she'd been examining some plates on the lower shelves when Roxie walked into the shop. There'd been no mistaking that voice, and one quick look had convinced her she didn't want to meet Roxie when she couldn't slam a door in the woman's face. But having spent the past hour carefully making her selections, she was not leaving without her cookware, which was stacked on one end of the large wooden counter that ran across the back of the store.
