Page 77 of Luthias

“Let’s see, what did fourteenth century ladies do... I don’t really cook much, and my sewing skills are strictly at button-replacement level. I’m pretty good at laundry and cleaning.” She saw his expression. “Oh, right, they’re both kind of a nightmare in this time. Probably wouldn’t be good for me to get in the way of your housekeeping staff, either.”

“Do you embroider, or paint?” When she shook her head he sighed. “’Tis naught more ladies do, other than give their husbands bairns.”

“Ah, pregnancy isn’t an option.” She felt like fanning her face, which had suddenly grown blazing hot. “The only skills I have that would really be of practical use in your time is restoration and conservation. I’ve worked with a lot of old weapons,” she added when he gave her a blank look, “so maybe I could help out by inspecting your armory and seeing if anything needs repairing, sharpening, and that kind of thing.”

He gave her a measuring look as he stood up. “You wish to see the Fire Sword again.”

“I wouldn’t mind a closer look,” Emery admitted. “It brought me here, so maybe I can get more clues as to why from it. It’s a time travel device, too, so who wouldn’t want to check that out? Plus Camdyn and I are pals––ah, friends––now, so if you take me to the forge I don’t think he’ll be mad.”

A knock came at the door, and he looked over as two women carried in trays with food and drinks. “We’ll first feed you, Mistress Parker.”

Emery discreetly watched the serving maids, who bobbed after they set the trays on the low table by the hearth. They wore cream-colored linen veils over their hair, and pinafore-type aprons over their woolen gowns. Both gave Emery’s outfit a rather startled look before they curtseyed again and left.

She felt self-conscious now. “I must look really strange to everyone.”

“As we to you,” the laird told her.

Because the table was so low Emery sat on the floor, and after a moment Luthias did the same. Large bowls of steaming stew and grainy bread seemed to be the main course, along with a cup of brown-colored liquid, a plate of something like rice cakes, and a pot with some kind of dark fruit preserve with a little knife. The only utensil provided was a small wooden spoon.

“Let’s see, we’ve got pottage, right?” When she touched the bowl he nodded. “Bread, bannocks, jam and...fruit juice?” She wasn’t sure about the drink.

“Mead.” Luthias watched as she tried a sip and grimaced. “’Tis too sweet?”

“No, it’s really nice. I just don’t drink that much. But hey, if I get a cut somewhere, I can certainly use it as a disinfectant.” She blew out a breath as she carefully put down the cup and spread some jam on an oat cake before she sniffed it. “Blueberry jam?”

He smiled. “Blackberry.”

The pottage turned out to be mostly root vegetables and herbs with a few chunks of white fish in a savory broth. While heavy the bread tasted delicious, like the best honey-whole wheat Emery had ever tried. She could have eaten an entire loaf by herself in one sitting.

“This is wonderful,” she told him after she finished another slice. “If someone will teach me how to make it, I’ll steal the recipe before I go home.”

“You’re as a bairn when you eat.” The laird reached over and brushed some crumbs from her lips. His fingers lingered for a moment before he drew back his hand. “When I carried you from the armory I reckoned you underfed.”

“I usually forget to eat––I do,” she added at the look he gave her. “You know what it’s like when you get caught up in what you’re doing. You don’t want to stop for things like food and sleep. I really love my work.

“Aye,” Luthias said softly. “So you do.”

The way he was looking at her made Emery suddenly feel very self-conscious, and she hurried to change the subject. “So, tell me about you. How long have you been the MacRoss laird?”

His expression became instantly shuttered. “The clan chose me after my sire died.”

“You’re pretty young to be a laird, right?” As he shrugged she realized something odd about him and his men––she hadn’t seen anyone among them who looked older than twenty-five or so. That wasn’t entirely unexpected, as the average lifespan during the Middle Ages was only about thirty-three years, but all of the MacRoss appeared quite healthy, too.

“What ’tis your age?” Luthias asked.

“I’m twenty-eight. I know, I look younger,” she said, making a face. “So do you. I’m not older than you, am I?” He shook his head, but didn’t volunteer his age. “How old were you when you became laird?”

“One and twenty.” He got to his feet and held out his hand. “Shall we go to the forge now?”

Emery nodded, but as she walked out of the chamber with him she had the strangest feeling that Luthias had just lied to her.

Chapter Five

“Eventide, my lord.” The plump, smiling maid who entered Callum’s chamber brought a pail of steaming water to add to his tub. She looked too clean, and smelled of rose water. “Shall I stay and help you wash?”

“No.” He looked over at the wench, whom he finally recognized as one who cheerfully serviced any Carack in need of relief. Even now he felt an unwelcome surge of need. “Who sent you to me?”

“The night steward, my lord.” She gave him a hopeful look, but when he didn’t say more she bobbed and turned to leave.