by Katy Baker
"That's settled then!" Gretchen said. "Where should I start?"
IT TURNED OUT THAT the kitchen was a little empire in itself and Isabelle was definitely the empress. There was a series of different rooms designed for different processes. A cold room for preparing meat, another for dairy products and making cheese, another housed the huge ovens, and then the main kitchen full of long wooden tables standing in rows. Gretchen took it all in, feeling a tingle of excitement.
This, she could do.
A team of under cooks were busy doing all sorts of jobs. In one corner two lads were peeling vegetables for the midday meal whilst over by the ovens three girls were baking pastry-like things that the warriors took out on patrol with them.
"So, what do ye think?" Isabelle asked.
"It's fabulous!" Gretchen said. "I don't know how you manage to keep track of everything."
"I dinna!" Isabelle laughed. "Organized chaos, that's the best way to describe this place!"
"Chaos is the word," said one of the girls baking the pastries. "Although I'm nay sure I'd add the word, 'organized' to it!"
"Och, get on with ye, Louisa!" Isabelle said, rolling her eyes. "Ye'll give our guest a poor opinion of us!"
The girl, Louisa, laughed and turned back to her work.
Gretchen was struck by the easy camaraderie and realized this was instigated by Isabelle herself. She was friendly and easy-going and although she could bark orders when she needed to, she seemed to lead by example. She took Gretchen to a long bench where bowls of flour, salt, butter and yeast had been laid out. Gretchen looked at the ingredients and then back to Isabelle.
"I'm guessing you want me to bake some bread?"
"Ye do know yer way around yer ingredients! Aye. The loaves need baking for tonight's supper. We'll need around a score to feed everyone. Do ye reckon ye could do that?"
"Just pass me an apron!"
Gretchen washed her hands, put on the apron Isabelle handed her, and set to work. She soon lost herself in the act of preparing the dough. Once it had risen nicely she kneaded it into round loaves and popped them into an oven to bake. She looked at her bench and realized she had some ingredients left over. A thought struck her and she made her way into the pantry and gathered some extra ingredients. Isabelle had told her to help herself to anything she liked after all. She returned to her workbench, mixed all the ingredients together in the bowl and then spooned the mixture into a baking dish.
Isabelle approached and looked over Gretchen's shoulder. "What's that ye are making?" she asked. "I dinna think I've seen the recipe before."
Gretchen tapped her nose. "You'll see."
She carried the dish to the oven and popped it inside. They didn't have timers in this century so Gretchen kept a close eye on her creations. The bread was ready first. She pulled the loaves out of the oven using a wide metal paddle then set them on wire racks to cool. They looked good, even if she said so herself.
"My," Isabelle breathed, looking them over. "I couldnae have done better myself. Ye have some skill, lass, and no mistake. I don't suppose ye are looking for a job?"
Gretchen smiled. "Afraid not. I’m not sure how long I'll be staying but while I'm here, I'd love to help out some more."
"And we'd be happy to have ye," Isabelle said.
Gretchen nodded her thanks and returned to the oven where her second creation was almost finished. She set it on a wire rack to cool and covered it with cloth—she didn't want the kitchen staff seeing it yet. She fetched some butter, honey and milk from the pantry and set about making some honey butter-cream. When this was finished, she pulled the cloth off her creation, checked it was cool enough, and spooned the butter-cream over the top, arranging it into a peaked design.
"Elevenses are up!" she called.
The staff stopped what they were doing and gathered around her bench.
"What's that?" Louisa asked.
"This," Gretchen said, pointing to the large round cake sitting in the middle of the bench, "is a carrot cake."
"Carrot cake?" Louisa said. She sounded a little dubious.
"No doubt the family will enjoy it," Isabelle said.
"This isn't for the family," Gretchen said. "This is for us. We've worked hard all morning. I thought we deserved a treat! Louisa, pass me that knife will you?"
She cut the cake into slices and handed them around, making sure everyone got a bit. Louisa sniffed her piece then took a big bite. Her eyes widened.
"That's lovely!" she said with her mouth full.
"Where did ye learn this recipe?" Isabelle asked, munching away on her slice. "I'd never thought of mixing the ingredients ye have."
Gretchen shrugged. "It's a common recipe in my time. Um, in my, home I mean. Do you like it?"
There was a chorus of approval.
Isabelle put her arm around Gretchen. "I think the good Lord was smiling down on me when he sent ye to be my under-cook today."
Gretchen smiled back. It felt good to be useful.
A sudden commotion by the door caught her attention. The kitchen staff backed away and either bowed or dropped into curtsies. A man strode into the kitchen and halted, looking around with a scowl. It was Merith's stepson, Richard de Clare.
Isabelle's expression changed. The smile slid off her face and was replaced instead by wariness. She stepped towards the man and dropped a curtsy. "How may I help ye, my lord?"
Richard de Clare's eyes flicked over the gathering and his scowl deepened. His eyes settled on Gretchen and a predatory look came into them.
Isabelle cleared her throat. "Did ye need something, my lord?"
"There is no mead in the great hall," he grated, tearing his gaze from Gretchen. "My men are thirsty and I expect food and drink to be available when we want it. Now I find this. You lazy whelps standing around doing nothing. My stepmother will hear of this."
"Doing nothing?" Gretchen snapped before she could stop herself. "Are you blind? These people have been working their fingers to the bone all morning!"
There were little gasps from some of the kitchen staff and they backed away, leaving Gretchen facing down Richard de Clare. His eyes narrowed and rather than anger flashing in them, Gretchen saw something else, something that sent a shiver down her spine. She saw desire.
"Well, aren't you the feisty one?" he said. "Perhaps it's usual for women to speak so in your homeland so I will forgive your insolence this once. However, regardless of your customs, it is not seemly for a lady to do servants’ work. You should be upstairs with the other women, doing needlecraft. My stepmother is too indulgent. First she lets her sister walk around wearing breeches as if she's a man, and now this. I will speak to her."
Isabelle stepped forward before Gretchen could reply. "My apologies, my lord. I’ll have mead and food sent up right away."
"See that you do." Then he spun on his heel and strode out of the kitchen.
As the door closed behind him Isabelle let out a long breath. "Phew! I thought he'd never leave!"
"What a horrible man," Gretchen said. "Didn't anyone ever teach him manners?"
Isabelle placed a hand on Gretchen's shoulder. "Whilst I thank ye for standing up for us, ye shouldnae have spoken to him like that. Richard is a powerful man and now he's noticed ye."
"He's a bully," Gretchen said. "Don't worry. I've met men like him before. They're just bluster."
"I hope ye are right, lass," Isabelle said. “I hope ye are right.”
But there was worry in her eyes.
Chapter 9
ONE OF THE CHILDREN stuck his hand in the air. He looked to be around five years old and had a great mop of unruly brown hair and pink cheeks.
Jenna, who was seated by Gretchen’s side at the front of her solar with a gaggle of children sitting at her heels, nodded at him. “Yes, James?”
“Is it true we’re going to war?” the boy asked.
Jenna glanced at Gretchen, a concerned look on her face. Over a week had passed since Gretchen had arrived at Dun Carrick
Yet despite the easy companionship, Gretchen felt uneasy. A cloud hung over the Murray clan. And it seemed the children were not immune to its effects.
“Och, get on with ye, James!” Jenna said. “Wherever did ye hear such a thing?”
“My da told me!” James replied. “He says the MacFarlanes are coming for us and that they’re all giants who breathe fire and eat children for breakfast!”
Jenna pressed her lips into a flat line. “Did he now? Well, I shall be having words with yer da when I see him! He shouldnae be filling yer head with such nonsense. There’s nay such thing as giants, fire-breathing or otherwise. Now, let’s get back to learning our letters shall we?”
But it was no good. James’s question had set the other children off and they began babbling about giants, swearing they’d seen the creatures out in the woods. Gretchen shared a smile with Jenna who rolled her eyes.
“We’ve done it now,” Jenna whispered to Gretchen. “We’ll nay get any sense out of them for the rest of the morning! Ye just wait till I lay my hands on James’s da! Nay doubt he said those things to make James behave but he should know better than filling his lad’s head with such things!”
Gretchen nodded. “They’re not going to believe us now if we tell them nothing’s wrong. Children aren’t stupid. They can tell when things aren’t right. We need to allay their fears somehow. Hang on, I’ve got an idea.”
She stood and held up a hand for silence. “Listen to you all prattling on!” she said. “Anybody would think you’re scared of these giants! Surely not? Everyone knows how to deal with giants, don’t they?”
The children stared at her, wide-eyed. Then James asked hesitantly. “How do ye deal with giants, Lady Gretchen?”
“You mean you don’t know?” Gretchen asked in mock surprise. “Well, I’d better tell you. Then, if any of these giants do come calling, you’ll all be able to scare them away, won’t you?”
The children nodded enthusiastically. Gretchen seated herself on the chair at the front of the class.
“I’m going to tell you a story of how a boy beat a giant just like the MacFarlanes. It’s called Jack and the Beanstalk.”
The children listened avidly as she told them the tale. They gasped in all the right places. They cheered in all the right places. When she was done she hoped she’d restored a little of their courage.
“So you see,” she concluded. “Giants are nothing to be scared of.”
“And we’ll hear no more frightened talk from ye all, will we?” Jenna said, “Ye are all strong Murray children who aren’t afraid of giants or MacFarlanes are ye?”
There was a chorus of cheering.
Jenna laughed. “That’s better. Now, be off with ye. And dinna forget to practise yer letters. I’ll be testing ye on them when I see ye next. Good day to ye all.”
“Good day, Lady Jenna,” the children chorused in unison.
When they’d filed out the door Jenna sighed and squeezed Gretchen’s hand. “Thank ye for that, dear. Tis an awful state of affairs when we canna protect our children from the horrors of the world.”
“Has there been any more news?” Gretchen asked.
Ewan went out on patrol every day and every day he returned with no news of the MacFarlanes. He’d detected no new raids, no scouts crossing the Murray borders.
“Nothing,” Jenna answered. “We’ve seen no activity from the MacFarlanes and had no word from MacGregor either. This waiting is the worst. If something is gonna happen I’d rather we just got on with it.”
“Well,” Gretchen said, shrugging. “No news is good news as they say.”
But she shared Jenna’s worry. The last thing she wanted was for any of her new friends to be put at risk. And then there was Darcy. So far, there had been no sign of her friend. How was Gretchen supposed to find her if the land was beset by war?
“I’d better be going,” she said. “Isabelle will want me in the kitchen.”
Jenna’s green eyes fixed on Gretchen and she smiled. “Ye are a hard worker, my dear, but ye are our guest. Ye dinna need to do so much.”
“I prefer to be busy,” Gretchen answered. “It makes me feel useful. And besides, you’ve all been so kind and welcoming, this is the least I can do to repay you.”
In truth, keeping busy helped her forget. Helped her forget that she was thousands of miles and hundreds of years from home, on a mission she didn’t fully understand, searching for somebody who didn’t seem to want to be found.
Jenna patted her hand. “Ye are a fine bonny lass, Gretchen. I’m mighty glad my nephew brought ye to us.”
Gretchen smiled at her. “I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”
She left Jenna in her solar, made her way down the tower stairs and out into the bailey. It was busy outside with many coming to the great hall for their midday meal. By the gates a group of riders were just dismounting, their horses lathered as if from a long ride. Gretchen’s heart sank as she recognized the lead rider. Richard de Clare.
She ducked her head and hurried away but he saw her and shouted, “Lady Gretchen! A word please!”
Gretchen didn’t break stride. Pretending she hadn’t heard, she rushed around the side of the keep and into the fenced off area where kitchen deliveries were taken. The small courtyard was empty. She picked up her skirts and hurried towards the door but suddenly footsteps echoed behind her. Someone grabbed her wrist and she spun around to find herself looking up into Richard de Clare’s face.
“Did you not hear me?” he snapped. “I said I wanted a word with you.”
“Sorry,” Gretchen forced out. “It’s pretty noisy in the courtyard today.”
He frowned but released her hand. “I came to apologize,” he said. “I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot. Can we start again?”
Gretchen didn’t reply. An apology was the last thing she’d expected from him. He’d threatened to go to Merith and stop Gretchen from working in the kitchens but so far nothing had come of his threat. What was he up to?
“We have much in common, you and I,” he went on. “We should be friends, allies.”
Gretchen stared at him. “And what exactly do you think we have in common?”
“We’re both outlanders,” he shrugged. “Outsiders. We both know what it’s like to be amongst strangers who don’t understand our ways and customs. It’s not easy being an Englishman here. These people are, how should I put it? Less...refined than I’m used to. I’m sure it’s equally hard being the only...what do you call yourself? American?”
He stepped closer and Gretchen stepped back but found herself pinned against the kitchen wall. Richard de Clare laid his palms flat against the wall to either side of Gretchen’s head. He was so close she could smell his sweat.
“Everyone needs friends,” he said. His voice had gone low and husky and his breath was hot against her cheek. “I could be a friend to you.”
His eyes roved up and down her body, leaving no doubt as to his meaning. “Think on it. I always get what I want in the end, one way or another.”
Then he turned and strode away, disappearing around the corner of the keep. Gretchen pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm her furiously beating heart. She pulled several breaths through her nostrils and only when she felt calmer did she make her way to the kitchen door and pushed inside.
Louisa looked up from her workbench as she entered. A look of alarm passed across the girl’s face. “What happened to ye?” she asked, hurrying to Gretchen’s side and helping her onto a stool. “Yer as pale as milk.”
“Nothing. I’m fine,” Gretchen mumbled.
“Ye dinna look fine,” Louisa said. “Should I fetch Lady Jenna? Mayhap ye’ve caught the same illness that Isabelle’s abed with.”
Gretchen shook her head. Jenna would ask questions and Gretchen would be duty bound to tell her the truth. Things were delicate between Ewan and Merith. He was still trying to re-forge his bonds with his family. If he stormed in, threatening Richard—as he no doubt would if he found out—those bonds could be shattered all over again. No. She wouldn’t do that to him. She would say nothing of her run-in with de Clare and do her best to keep out of his way. After all, as soon as she found Darcy she’d be leaving, wouldn’t she?
Then Louisa’s words sank in. “Hang on, did you say Isabelle is ill?”
“Aye,” Louisa said. “She’s abed and unlikely to leave it today. She sent word to say ye are in charge of the kitchen while she’s out of action.”
“Me?” Gretchen squeaked.
“Aye. Is that a problem?”
Gretchen looked around the kitchen. Everyone had stopped their work and watched her expectantly.
What’s wrong with you? Gretchen asked herself. Haven’t you always wanted to run your own kitchen? Yes, but being in charge of feeding an entire clan in sixteenth century Scotland isn’t what I had in mind!
She closed her eyes and pulled in a breath. She pushed Richard de Clare from her thoughts and focused on the people watching her.
Rita, her mentor, had once shown her how to cook a very special dish. One whose recipe had been passed down through her family for generations. Gretchen doubted the Murray clan would have tasted anything like it. Well, perhaps it was time to widen their tastes.
“Right,” she said to Louisa. “We’d better get started hadn’t we? We’re going to make Isabelle proud of us by cooking a very special dish for tonight’s dinner.”
“Everyone over here!” Louisa bellowed. “Lady Gretchen is about to give us a lesson in cooking American food!”
“It’s Spanish actually,” Gretchen corrected as the kitchen staff gathered around the table. “I’m going to teach you how to make paella.”
EWAN SWUNG HIS LEG over the saddle and dropped to the ground. Pulling the reins over the horse’s head, he handed them over to a stable boy who led the horse away. He stretched and let out a long sigh. His muscles were aching from a long day’s riding and he was hungry enough to eat an ox.
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