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Authors: Candace Robb
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between the house and Murdoch’s kitchen. She shook herself as she stepped across the stone threshold. The room was unoccupied, but a pot of broth simmered over the fire circle in the middle of the room and from the oven near it came a welcome warmth and an equally welcome aroma of fresh bread. Margaret walked slowly round the room, looking for a sense of her uncle in it. The wattle and daub walls had been much repaired, with patchwork plaster from which radiated hairline cracks, and watermarks where the walls met the slate roof. A boarded-up window on the wall opposite the oven hosted a vine that twisted in through the slats and disappeared into the roof. The remaining window was on the wall with the door, looking out on the chambermaid’s cottage and the tavern kitchen, not toward the tavern. Dried herbs hung from the rafters. Roots were stored in a shallow pit beneath a trapdoor far from the fires. This had not been fixed up by the same hand as Murdoch’s bedchamber. There was no feel of a woman here.
“Bring that lopsided pot over for these, would you?” Murdoch stood in the doorway with an apronful of dried apples.
Margaret found the pot, held it for the tumble of fruit.
Murdoch took the full pot from her, carried it to a trestle table. “Is your curiosity about my kitchen satisfied?” He picked up a knife, turned his back to Margaret, and began to core.
“You wield that knife so well. I cannot recall Father ever picking up a knife in the kitchen.”
“Nor did your mother, I would wager. Too busy with her prophecies.” He sounded angry.
Margaret thought he still fumed about Celia’s washing. “I’ll not allow Celia to wash up above again.”
“It was my fault,” he said, surprising her. “I had forgotten Roy would likely be unfriendly.”
“You could predict he would not like Celia?”
Murdoch shook his head. “Women. He was unfortunate in loving Belle, the chambermaid. She went off with a man who offered her safety to the north.”
“And Roy blames all women?”
“He’ll mend in time.”
“You’ve been unable to find another chambermaid?”
“Aye. You have complaints about the bedchamber?”
“No. I thought that if you or someone else would show me the guest chambers, and where you keep mops, rags, brooms, and buckets, I could be of use to you.”
“As you can see, I am busy.”
They were dried apples and could keep. Unless he meant to toss them in the pot. But what was in there did not smell like it would mix with the fruit.
“Then let me help you with the apples.”
“Sweet Jesus.” He threw down the coring knife. “Can a man have no peace?” His eyes glared beneath the uneven brows.
“I would like to help.”
Murdoch stirred the pot, took off his apron. “Come on, then. I see you must not be idle.”
He hurried her through the rain to a lean-to on the corner of the tall house across the alley from the tavern. Opening a poorly fitted plank door, he stepped aside to reveal a collection of sorry-looking brooms, buckets, rags (she was certain they were home to a nest of rats or mice), and a ladder.
“Roy keeps the soap.”
Murdoch closed the lean-to, slogged through a puddle to a short stairway leading up to a door that opened on to the first floor.
“This house is part of the inn?”
“A y e .”
“What is down below?”
“A storeroom.”
The landing above the stairs was broader than in the other house.
“Three rooms up here,” Murdoch said, opening the first door. It was larger than either of the guest chambers next door, with two beds and a shuttered window facing the backlands. A wall of wattle hurdles separated one room from the next so that the shape of the room could easily be changed. The second room was also configured to be large, with many pallets and a tiny window high up, shuttered also. The third was a smaller room with a
“Bring that lopsided pot over for these, would you?” Murdoch stood in the doorway with an apronful of dried apples.
Margaret found the pot, held it for the tumble of fruit.
Murdoch took the full pot from her, carried it to a trestle table. “Is your curiosity about my kitchen satisfied?” He picked up a knife, turned his back to Margaret, and began to core.
“You wield that knife so well. I cannot recall Father ever picking up a knife in the kitchen.”
“Nor did your mother, I would wager. Too busy with her prophecies.” He sounded angry.
Margaret thought he still fumed about Celia’s washing. “I’ll not allow Celia to wash up above again.”
“It was my fault,” he said, surprising her. “I had forgotten Roy would likely be unfriendly.”
“You could predict he would not like Celia?”
Murdoch shook his head. “Women. He was unfortunate in loving Belle, the chambermaid. She went off with a man who offered her safety to the north.”
“And Roy blames all women?”
“He’ll mend in time.”
“You’ve been unable to find another chambermaid?”
“Aye. You have complaints about the bedchamber?”
“No. I thought that if you or someone else would show me the guest chambers, and where you keep mops, rags, brooms, and buckets, I could be of use to you.”
“As you can see, I am busy.”
They were dried apples and could keep. Unless he meant to toss them in the pot. But what was in there did not smell like it would mix with the fruit.
“Then let me help you with the apples.”
“Sweet Jesus.” He threw down the coring knife. “Can a man have no peace?” His eyes glared beneath the uneven brows.
“I would like to help.”
Murdoch stirred the pot, took off his apron. “Come on, then. I see you must not be idle.”
He hurried her through the rain to a lean-to on the corner of the tall house across the alley from the tavern. Opening a poorly fitted plank door, he stepped aside to reveal a collection of sorry-looking brooms, buckets, rags (she was certain they were home to a nest of rats or mice), and a ladder.
“Roy keeps the soap.”
Murdoch closed the lean-to, slogged through a puddle to a short stairway leading up to a door that opened on to the first floor.
“This house is part of the inn?”
“A y e .”
“What is down below?”
“A storeroom.”
The landing above the stairs was broader than in the other house.
“Three rooms up here,” Murdoch said, opening the first door. It was larger than either of the guest chambers next door, with two beds and a shuttered window facing the backlands. A wall of wattle hurdles separated one room from the next so that the shape of the room could easily be changed. The second room was also configured to be large, with many pallets and a tiny window high up, shuttered also. The third was a smaller room with a
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