Page 69 of Thus with a Kiss I Die
“You discussed his early life?”
“He was praying for his mother, who is ill.” Cal couldn’t be jealous of a monk, could he? “Is there aproblemwith Friar Camillo?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Because Barnadine introduced him into the house and Friar Laurence likes him.”
“True.” Cal was agreeing with me, but he was clearly not backing down from . . . whatever stupid stance he had taken.
“If you think I should be warned about him, please say so.” I was still miffed . . . or miffed again.
Princess Isabella watched us lob conversation, challenging back and forth, as if we were in a ball court. “Cal, are you jealous because I said Friar Camillo is handsome and charming? You’re not handsome, but you can be charming.” In a doubtful tone, she added, “Sometimes.”
I confess, I smiled in mockery. “When you put yourself out.”
CHAPTER36
Cal drew himself up into his most haughty, princely posture. “If I seek insults, I don’t need to converse with you two. I could sit with my men.”
Princess Isabella giggled.
Slightly mollified, I laughed out loud. “Your men’s complaints will have diminished significantly due to their full bellies.”
“That brings us to my second issue. You replaced my cook with the Montagues’ discarded cook? Who is lame and skinny?” For a man who enjoyed a good meal, thanks to me, Cal behaved like an ungrateful churl.
Mollified vanished in a flash of rage and indignation. “She is not lame! She has been early stricken by a challenge that faces the elderly.”
“She’s skinny,” he said. “I want a cook who’ll sample the food, not leave for me to discover it’s been poisoned.”
I wound up for a snap-his-head-off rebuff, such as I’d given Marcellus. “Mark my words, with her expertise, she’ll make your kitchens the envy of Verona. Ladies will try to bribe her to work for them, but she works only for the Montagues. Only for us!” I pointed my thumb at my chest. “For that you can be thankful. And—”
“Va bene,”he said.
I almost staggered when he knocked the prop of indignation out from under me. “What?”
“If you’re going to make such a sweeping change in the household, I want to know you’re passionate about it. The soup is good, too. Thank you.”
Rather than pick up the iron pot and swing it at his head, I took my basket, swirled around, and hurried to Nonna Ursula’s side.
As I did, I heard Princess Isabella chide, “Cal, the prince of Verona should never be so ungracious. Rosie has saved us from starvation, and our new cook has already transformed our kitchen into a place of glorious appetite.”
I didn’t bother to hide my grin. The child had found her woman’s voice.
I could see that the onset of night made Nonna sink more heavily toward the moment when life must end, and hurriedly I plucked up the mint and crushed it under her nose. Speaking loudly and slowly, I said, “Smell that, Nonna Ursula. Of what does that remind you? For me, it’s hot summers in the garden, the sun on my hair, picking mint to be crushed with wild strawberries. And this.”
She didn’t stir. Nothing on her face changed.
I replaced the mint with crushed oregano. “Imagine this stuffed beneath the skin of a roast goose, flavoring the drippings.”
“Rosie . . .” Cal put a gentle hand on my shoulder. “She can’t hear you. Even when she was alive, she couldn’t hear well, and now—”
I shook him off. “Lemon balm, so bright and lively brewed in a tea with chamomile!” For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of life cross her face. But before I was sure, it had disappeared and she was as she’d been before. Probably my own desperate desire made me see things that weren’t there.
I waved a dried frond of lavender under her nose.
Princess Isabella had joined us. “She hates lavender. Violently. She says it smells like mildew and it makes her sneeze.”
“Really?” Hm. In my mind, I could see Nonna Ursula rousing to bat it out of my hand.
