Chapter Eight
She did not suffer inactivity well.
Before noon, she was pacing for want of something to do.
Every maid in the castle seemed intent on feeding her until she burst. The well-meaning girls and women bore trays to her, all of them carefully laid out to please not only the palate but the eyes as well.
It was the women who were harder to send away with their dishes unsampled.
Lady Mary was spoilt enough to slash others’ effort without a care, yet Anne knew what it was to heat an iron on the coals.
She herself had carefully smoothed the wrinkles from linen napery in preparation for it being laid on a tray for the head table.
Extreme care had to be taken to ensure that no soot marred the fine fabric.
She’d burned her fingers a few times when the cloth wrapping the handle of the iron slipped or was too thin.
She was not callous enough to reject such offerings but her stays were growing too tight to bear.
She froze as she turned to face yet another lowered head. Deception or not, she was finished acting contrary to her nature.
“I believe it’s time for me to meet the cook.”
The maid lowered herself. “I’ll fetch her straight away, Mistress.”
“Nay, no. I believe the woman should be busy, what with the noon meal so close to serving. I will follow you to the kitchen.”
The girl looked unsure. Her teeth appeared, pressing into her lower lip.
Anne refused to be swayed. Just the mention of going to the kitchen had started her thinking.
Yes, she was done being idle. She could not be Mary, didn’t know how to act as her half-sister.
It was much better to be herself. At least that way, she would not be stumbling over mistakes every other hour of the day.
“What is your name?”
“Ginny, Mistress. I greeted ye this morning.”
“I recall your face now. Do be kind and show me the way to the kitchen. It is time for work now that all of these wedding traditions have been seen to.”
Ginny beamed at her, clearly approving of her work ethic. “We didn’t know exactly what ye might be expecting.”
The maid hesitated, her mouth closing as she stopped mid-thought.
“Because I’m English, you mean.” It was a fact.
The coming secession would change hundreds of years of battling between the two countries.
Some questioned Elizabeth Tudor’s decision not to marry, but Anne saw the benefit of it.
Was not peace worth one woman remaining unwed?
She had been one of the best monarchs in history, cultivating a richer economy.
Who was to say Elizabeth hadn’t decided long ago that remaining a spinster was a path to a better future for her people?
The queen had often said she was married to her subjects. Anne could see the wisdom in it.
Anne followed Ginny. They walked through the circular eating hall she’d supped in last night.
The tables were empty now, the floor swept clean.
The scent of roasting meat drifted from the kitchen.
In back of the tower was a building with a slopped roof.
Five huge fireplaces were built along the outer wall.
There were also ovens between them, iron doors covering them.
Long tables ran the length of the building, thick, wooden tables that bore the marks of use.
One end was dusted with flour. Two women worked large lumps of dough there, their chemises rolled up past their elbows.
They looked up, watching her enter, but never stopped kneading. But their motions slowed down.
“This is Bythe. She’s the head cook.”
The woman was formidable. Age didn’t mark her face but confidence did.
Bythe nodded respectfully. A strip of linen was wound around her head.
Only a tiny hint of her dark hair peeked out at the edges.
Her forehead was shinny with perspiration.
The end of her nose was slightly red from leaning into the fire pits.
Her forearms were bare too. A large apron was pinned to the wool of her bodice as well as being tied around her waist. She wore a strip of tartan over one shoulder that draped down her back.
In fact all the women did. The plaid was the same weave of colors the men wore in their kilts.
“Welcome, mistress.”
Bythe was clearly uncertain as to what to do with her.
Anne offered her a calm smile before looking at the table closest to her.
Fresh fish lay on it, their scales still shiny with water.
The lenten season had begun and good Christians dined on fish.
Two large bowls stood ready for cleaning, a large knife lying nearby.
Several smaller bowls were neatly set out awaiting the fish, holding spices of salt, rosemary, pepper and even nutmeg.
“I see you are very confident in your position, Bythe.”
The cook’s expression flickered with a hint of relaxation. Anne unbuttoned one sleeve at her wrist, folding the fabric back along her forearm.
“Yet there is always work for another set of hands in any kitchen.”
The rest of the work slowed to nearly a standstill.
Anne reached for the knife, hefting it in a firm hand.
She grasped a slippery fish with the other, not a hint of hesitation in her.
With a few skilled slices, she cleaned it, removed the bones carefully, inspecting the skeleton to make sure she had them all.
She felt the weight of every set of eyes on her.
But that was something she could thank Philipa for teaching her.
How to keep her back straight under pressure. She would not falter.
She finished the fish without looking away from her task even once. Laying the meat on a clean tray between cleaning bowls and the ones holding the spices, she reached for another fish.
“I see yer mother taught ye yer way around the kitchen, Mistress.” Bythe took up another long knife. With a quick slice, another fish was well on its way to being ready for cooking. “Since I heard ye were at yer English court for some years, I’m pleasantly surprised to see ye so practiced.”
Anne laid another fish on the tray. She didn’t want to outright lie by claiming that she’d worked in the kitchens at court. Yet she had to find some answer.
“I was sent to the kitchens at Warwickshire when I turned eleven.” That much was true.
Bythe nodded. “My mother worked her entire life at this table. I turned pastry on it when I still needed a stool to see over the top.”
Work resumed around them but not the conversation.
The others were listening, waiting to judge her character.
She was their mistress, yet English. There were many who didn’t think the two could coexist. More than one English bride had spent years in her chambers, remaining a stranger even as she bore the next generation.
She did pity her half-sister that fate. With Mary’s vanity and spoilt nature, she would have been bitterly unhappy at Sterling.
I like it though.
It was another one of those unexpected thoughts. They were coming more often now. Maybe her mind was becoming soft. She’d heard about prison breaking first the personality of its victims and then the body.
She mustn’t think about such a fate.
With a stiff back, she began spicing the fish.
There was much to do and Anne dedicated her attention to the tasks.
There was a sense of security in doing the things that she would have been doing if she were still at Warwickshire.
She kept her mind away from the fact that she hadn’t slept behind the kitchen.
But her body refused to forget that she’d spent the night with Brodick.
Heat whispered over her skin. Need awakened from places that two days past she’d never noticed she might feel.
Such as the skin on her thighs. Gooseflesh spread up her arms with the recollection of the way Brodick stroked it.
His hands were large, the skin suffused with heat.
Her blood ran warmer, her heart beating faster. Even sore, her passage began to clamor for another taste of his hard flesh. She failed to understand how being impaled could feel so good.
Yet it had.
Her lust had truly opened Pandora’s box because now she craved more. She could feel the insanity flowing along with her blood. It unleashed a desire to be stripped bare like Brodick had taken her. No clothing to separate them.
And just as any lunatic at Bedlam, she was cheerful in her insanity. Her lust was welcome because she knew what delights were to be gained by feeding it.
She would adore a babe.
That idea sobered her, washing her fever aside. It was the secret of her heart, the desire for a child. Living under Philipa had robbed her of that joy. She’d buried it deep down inside her to avoid the pain of watching her friends grow large and round with child.
Brodick wanted a child from her.
Temptation urged her to take the chance offered her. Conceive and let the details be damned.
It might be she that ended up cursed if she did. Setting her thoughts to remaining childless, Anne forced her cheerful ideas of a babe back down to where she’d buried them.
She would not find happiness here. Such a reward couldn’t possibly result from so ill a deception.
Yet that did not stop her from lamenting.
“I have heard a most interesting rumor.” Cullen was in full teasing form. Brodick rolled his eyes. He was more interested in finding his wife, but that only made him grimace. Enjoying her was one thing. No man needed to be drawn to a woman when there was work to be done.
Cullen smirked. “It seems yer wife spent the day in the kitchen.”
“Doing what?”
“Ye sound mighty suspicious for a man who had his doubts about his bride’s purity proven so recently.”
“Dinnae play with me, Brother. Someday soon ye’ll marry and I’ve a fine memory.”
A hint of contriteness covered Cullen’s face. “Och well, I forget that ye cannae stand for a wee bit o’ teasing. Ye buckle like a moist reed.”
“Cullen…”