Page 150 of Historical Hotties
He moved from his post by the door, eyeing her. “What is your wish, my lady?”
Carington wiped at a stray lock of hair with the back of her hand, gesturing to the pile of massive sacks lined up neatly near the hearth.
“The barley,” she said. “Please open a sack.”
“And then what, my lady?”
“Dump it into this vat. We are going to cook it.”
“Cook it?”
She looked at him then, annoyance on her face. He read her expression and immediately went to the sack without further delay. It was very heavy, but he was very strong; bringing it over to the women, he held it while Carington ripped the stitching in the top. When a small opening was created, he flipped it over and dumped the entire thing into the pot. Dust from the grain billowed up and Carington sneezed several times.
“Do I dare ask what is going on in here?”
The trio of ale cooks looked up at the enormous man standing in the doorway. Creed’s shoulders were so wide that they went from one side of the frame to the other, filling the entire opening. More than that, he was sucking all of the air out of the room again. Carington could feel it from where she stood, only it did not intimidate her like it used to. She welcomed it. Creed’s expression was curious as he moved into the heated room, his gaze moving between Burle and the little lady.
Carington answered. “I am going to show yer cook how to make a honeyed fruited ale.”
Creed’s eyebrows slowly lifted, his eyes studying her intently. “You are going to make ale?”
She nodded, completely oblivious to the distain in his tone. “A recipe that has been in my family for generations. It is quite delicious.”
He shifted on his thick legs, crossing his arms as he continued to look at her. “You are going to make ale?”
Now she was catching his tone. She cocked her head curiously. “Aye; what is the matter?”
He could not believe she did not see anything wrong with domestic work. But, then again, things were quite different at her home. He knew her father was quite frugal, as she had told him. And he had also seen Wether Fair, a rather desolate keep with a big, dirty army and little else. It began to occur to him that perhaps she was well acquainted with domestic chores. The thought saddened him; such a lovely, intelligent lady was destined for finer things. He never wanted her to lift a finger again.
But he had to be careful with his words. He did not want to insult her when she clearly saw nothing wrong with what she was doing. He took a few steps towards the group until he stood next to Burle, but his eyes never left Carington.
“Nothing is the matter except that I have been asked to take you to town to purchase material for new clothing,” he said. “I thought you would want to go now. It is a fine day for travel.”
She blinked at him in surprise. “New clothing? Why do I need new clothing?”
“You do not need it, but Lady Anne thought you would like to have some new garments made.”
“Why?”
He was on two very touchy subjects and being very careful not to tip the balance against him. First the ale, now the clothing. As he had observed since the day they had taken her from Wether Fair, she obviously did not own any fine clothing. Even the dress she wore now, as much as it clung to her deliciousfigure, was faded and outdated. Either she did not care how she looked, which he could not imagine was the case, or she did not own anything finer. Lady Anne had noticed it this morning also and had mentioned it to him as he had passed her on his way to the chapel. He was under orders to finely dress her without offending her at the same time. It was a difficult task.
He held out a hand to her. “A word, my lady.”
Without hesitation, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her away from Burle and the cook. He took her outside, to a corner of the building where the kitchen met with the outer wall. It was quiet and out of the way, and he faced her in the shadows.
“First, lady, you are a guest of Lord Richard d’Umfraville and to refuse a gift of new clothing would be insulting to your host,” he said in a low voice. “Second, finely bred young ladies do not work in the kitchens. Although it is quite generous for you to share your recipe with the cook, I do believe that simply telling her what the recipe is and allowing her to do her job would suffice.” He could see the storm brewing in her eyes and he stepped closer to her, his big fingers finding her hand. He brought it to his mouth, his lips against her flesh as he spoke. “You are a beautiful, witty and intelligent woman, Cari. Allow us to treat you as such. Allowmeto treat you as such. You do not belong in the kitchen. You belong in a fine house with all of the luxury and protection I can provide you.”
Her emerald eyes went from flashing to soft in a moment. She watched him nibble on her fingers, her heart doing strange leaps against her ribcage.
“Well,” she said slowly, hearing the quiver in her voice. “Since ye put it that way, how can I refuse?”
He grinned, his lips still against her hand. “You cannot. And I thank you for your understanding.”
She shook her head at him, a knowing smile on her face as they both knew she had little choice. But she did not particularly care.
“When do we leave for town?” she asked.
“Immediately if you wish.”
