Read Online Malia Martin by Her Norman Conqueror - Free Book Online Page A

words obviously came automatically, for the man looked as if his own mouth had turned traitor on him. He scowled once again, pursing his lips.
    “And I ask you to relay my words of comfort to them.”
    “Hmmmpf.” Cuthebert had regained his sullen demeanor. He turned his attention to his book still in the hands of Cyne. “I shall have the tome now.” He put his hand out, lifting it a bit and wiggling his fingers to get Cyne’s attention.
    Cyne turned his gaze from the book in his hand to the scrawny old man in front of him. He looked from the book to the man’s spindly fingers, then back to the book. Cyne smiled finally, nodded, and dropped the book.
    Cuthebert made a crashing dive to save his precious volume from hitting the floor and ended up in a bony mass against Cyne’s legs.
    Aleene’s lips twitched, but she bit her lower lip mercilessly and snagged Cyne’s arm. “Come Cyne, I must see that dinner is being prepared.” Her husband gently stepped over Cuthebert, flashed another beguiling smile at the man, and allowed Aleene to draw him outside across the inner bailey to the kitchen area.
    A servant, stripped to his braies, hunched over the fire and stirred something in a great pot. Berthilde, her fondness for being in charge showing in each gesture, directed a young girl in the finer points of plucking a chicken. Aleene wrinkled her nose at the several flavors in the air, some not so appetizing, and deduced that blood pudding would be on the menu that day. She had never harbored a liking for blood pudding. “All goes well, Berthilde?”
    Berthilde glanced up from her lecture and nodded. “Aye, milady. I have everything in hand.”
    “Of course.” Aleene sidled further away from the boiling cauldron and its pungent odor. “I would like to lay new rushes, Berthilde. Have Gwen sweep out the Hall and my chambers.”
    “Yes, milady.”
    “And the privies need to be cleaned out. Advise Wat to do so as soon as possible.” Again, Aleene scrunched up her nose. “I could smell them this morning as I went to chapel.”
    A slight smile touched Berthilde’s lips, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening slightly. “I, also, milady.”
    “I shall be directing the candle-making until dinner.” Aleene stopped when she felt someone nudge her elbow. Looking around, she encountered the wide grin of her husband. Her own lips twitched, wanting to smile back, but she furrowed her brow to keep such a thing from happening. “What is it, Cyne?”
    He stood a little straighter and held out his hand. A straw basket hung from his fingers.
    “It’s a basket, Cyne, to carry things in.”
    He nodded and put it closer to her face. Inside she saw one of the loaves of bread Berthilde had left cooling, a great hunk of cheese, and some of the dried, salted pork left over from the year before. Aleene blinked at the food, then stared at her husband. “That is one of Berthilde’s fresh loaves, Cyne, could you put it back please?”
    Impatiently, Cyne shook his head and nodded toward the basket again. Then he pointed out toward the wall of the castle.
    “Cyne, I do not have time . . .”
    “He wishes to have a picnic, milady, outside of the walls.”
    Aleene glanced at Berthilde. “A picnic?” She looked back at her husband. “A picnic?”
    His smile broadened, and he pointed again.
    Aleene shook her head with an exasperated sigh. “I have no time for this, Cyne. I must get to the candles, and you cannot go anywhere without me.”
    “Milady,” Berthilde interrupted. “I can oversee the candle-making.”
    “And everything else?” Aleene shook her head. “No, Berthilde, there is too much to do.” She turned to Cyne. “I cannot spend a day doing nothing.”
    His smile dimmed, his lower lip pushing out in a pout.
    Aleene rolled her eyes. “Deus, are you to cry next?”
    The lip pushed out further as Aleene heard Berthilde’s disapproving tsk.
    “But I shall miss dinner, and I really did need to speak with Aethregard.”