Chapter 19
Shaw woke up in the great hall, having talked with Reed and Ross most of the night.
He’d fallen asleep sitting on his dais chair with his legs sprawled out toward the fire.
Ross sat on another chair with his head back, snoring.
Reed had his head down on the trestle table and his red kite that he’d brought with him hopped around the table, pecking at crumbs.
Leod was sprawled out atop the table in a prone position. His plaid rode up so high, his bare behind was showing.
A few of the lassies of the clan walked by, giggling and talking behind their hands.
“Get up, Leod,” said Shaw, reaching out his foot, kicking his brother’s leg. “No one wants to see yer hairy arse.”
“Mmmmph,” mumbled Leod, turning on his side, teetering on the edge of the table now.
“Why did ye convince Old Callum to let us bring back some of that hellfire whisky of his?” Shaw touched his forehead. “My head feels like it’s goin’ to explode.”
“Mmmmph, bfhmph,” said Leod with his eyes still closed. Shaw noticed him drooling on the table.
“Hey, stop that.” Shaw still had a metal tankard in his hand. He threw it across the table at his brother. It scared Reed’s hawk. The bird shrieked and flew away. Reed picked his head up and looked around.
“Och. I almost forgot where I was.” Reed yawned and stretched, and his bird came back and landed on his arm. “I’m goin’ to go find somethin’ to eat,” said Reed. “Do ye have any haggis?” he asked Shaw.
“I’m sure ye’ll be able to find some if ye look hard enough.”
Ross stirred on the chair, getting up, holding his head as well. “I think I’ll take a walk to the garderobe.”
The hall was becoming filled with the rest of the clan members, coming for the morning meal. He spied Baen across the hall and waved him over. Baen was to him what a squire was to a knight. He also called Shaw, my laird, even though Shaw told him he didn’t need to do that.
“My laird, did ye sleep in the great hall last night?” asked Baen.
“What does it look like?” Shaw said, fingering his split lip. It had stopped bleeding but still hurt like the devil.
“It looks like Leod has a new bed,” Baen observed.
Leod’s arm swung down off the table and almost hit a hound that was snooping around for crumbs. Still, he remained asleep.
“Leod, get up. We need the table for the meal,” said Shaw, pushing up out of his chair.
Still, Leod didn’t move. “Excuse me,” he said, stepping around Baen, walking over to the opposite side of the trestle table.
Usually, the tables needed several men to move them because they were so heavy.
Shaw was one of the only men of the clan strong enough to move it himself.
He gripped onto the edge of the table and took a breath and lifted it as high as he could.
Leod rolled off and hit the floor with a loud thump.
Shaw let go of the table and it banged back into place.
“All right, the table is free for the meal,” Shaw announced, brushing his hands together. Everyone gathered around and sat down, stepping over Leod as if he weren’t even there.
“What? What’s happenin’?” Leod finally sat up, rushes sticking out from all directions in his long, tangled hair.
“Everyone is awake for the day and ready for the meal,” Shaw told his brother. “Get yer drunken arse outta the way.”
“I’m no’ drunk.” Leod stood up quickly, brushing the rushes off his plaid. Then he stopped and moaned, one hand going to his head and the other going to the table to keep from falling. “Ye must have dropped me on my head.” He opened and closed his mouth a few times and made a face.
“Still think ye’re no’ drunk?” asked Shaw.
“Mayhap just a wee bit sodded, that’s all,” Leod answered with hooded eyes.
Leod pushed in between two attractive lassies of the clan, sitting down on the bench between them. They smiled at him and giggled.
“Ever been to The Broken Goat?” he asked with a wink.
Shaw shook his head and headed for the dais. But when a familiar, tantalizing scent drew his attention to the kitchen, he redirected his path and followed his nose.
“Thank ye for teachin’ me how to make yer faither’s favorite mushroom soup,” Spring told Colina. She stirred the huge, iron pot hanging over the fire, using her hand to wave the fumes over to her. “It actually smells good.”
“Of course, it’s good,” said Colina. “It’s my own recipe. I collected the mushrooms myself.” She yawned and stretched. “I just wish ye would have used the written recipe and no’ woke me up so early.”
“Yer faither didna come back to the bedchamber last night. I think he might be angry with me.” Spring peered into the pot, stirring as she spoke. “I just want to do somethin’ to make him happy.”
“I woulda been happy if ye let me sleep.” Colina yawned again. “The recipe is on the table. I’m goin’ back to bed. Ye just need to add the last few spices and ye’re done.”
“Wait,” said Spring, trying to stop Colina from leaving, but she was already out the door.
Spring’s eyes fell to the parchment on the table.
She hadn’t told Colina the reason she woke her was because she needed her to read the recipe.
“What are the last herbs and spices?” she asked aloud, looking at the scribbles written across the page.
It was no use. None of it made any sense.
Spring didn’t know how to read. She looked up to the other clan members hustling around the kitchen preparing the meal.
She thought about asking them but figured they probably couldn’t read either.
She also didn’t want them to gossip about her weakness. Nay, she wouldn’t ask them a thing.
Not able to remember everything she’d already put in the soup, she figured the more, the better.
If Shaw didn’t think it was flavorful enough, he would guess she couldn’t cook.
She wanted to impress him even if she really couldn’t cook.
She’d always been busy cleaning weapons and doing other physical chores back at her clan and too busy to learn.
Then again, she’d never needed to cook, so she hadn’t.
Spotting the jars of spices across the room, she put down the spoon and made her way past several clan members making bread.
She walked over to choose one or two of the spices.
Even though they were clearly marked, she still didn’t know what they were.
Choosing one that looked interesting, she popped the cork off the jar and sniffed it.
It smelled good. Not able to decide which herbs and spices to add to the soup, she scooped up all the bottles and headed back to the hearth with them in her arms.
She opened one jar and sprinkled in some red spice.
Deciding it might not be enough, she dumped the entire contents into the pot.
More flavor was sure to capture Shaw’s attention.
She knew he liked spice in his food. Then, one by one, she opened the jars and dumped the contents of all of them into the soup as well.
Wouldn’t Shaw be surprised and proud of her when he discovered that his favorite soup was waiting for him and she had been the one to make it?
“Spring. There ye are.” Shaw entered the kitchen, making Spring’s heart race.
She’d missed holding him last night and hoped he longed for her, too.
She picked up the large spoon and gave the soup one last stir.
She wasn’t sure if the spices had enough time to cook down yet, but she was too anxious to have Shaw try it and didn’t want to wait any longer.
“Shaw, I made ye a surprise.” She took the long, wooden spoon, balancing some mushroom soup atop it.
Blowing on it slightly to cool it, she carefully turned and held it up to his lips.
“Taste this,” she said excitedly. Her eagerness was probably her downfall.
She spooned the liquid into his mouth, and he jumped back and howled, spitting the soup onto the floor.
“Blethers, lassie, quit tryin’ to kill me with that vile potion. What is it?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
She must have done something wrong. “Was it too hot?” she asked, looking at the spoon.
“Aye, but that wasna the half of it.”
“It didna taste good?” Her heart sank. She couldn’t even look at him when she spoke; she was so disappointed.
“It didna,” he admitted.
Downfallen, she turned and stuck the spoon back into the soup, giving it another stir.
Curious to know how it tasted, she brought the spoon to her mouth.
Her eyes opened wide as she swallowed it down.
Her mouth and throat were on fire! She threw down the spoon and grabbed a tankard of ale from a passing serving wench, drinking it all down in two gulps.
“I’m sorry,” she choked out the words. “I must have put the wrong ingredient into the soup.”
“The recipe is right there,” said Shaw, pointing to the table. “Why didna ye follow it?”
With her eyes cast downward, her hand slipped into her pocket to palm her worry pawn. She should have answered him but she just couldn’t.
“It didna help the fact my mouth is still achin’ from last night,” grumbled Shaw, fingering his lip. She raised her head to see what he was doing. She had been so eager to have him taste her soup that she hadn’t even realized his lip was swollen and split open.
“What happened?” She ran to him, reaching out to touch his lip with a cloth she’d been using to wipe her hands. “Who did this to ye?”
He winced and pushed her hand away. “It happened last night when I went to the tavern with Leod.”
“Ye two were well in yer cups, werena ye?” she scolded. “That’s why ye didna come back to our bedchamber last night. Well, that’ll teach ye no’ to enjoy the drink so much.”
“It wasna that,” Shaw protested. “It was Gawl who gave me this little present.”
“Gawl?” She cocked her head and listened intently. “I dinna understand.”
“The Gunn Clan arrived at The Broken Goat and caused trouble.”