are the lady of the castle. He needs your guidance. And then afterward, you can see about cleaning up the mess you complained about last night. I’ve got laundry. It backs up and Norval doesn’t always deliver it to the wash woman in a timely fashion. There are a few rips I’d like you to mend and some darning. You’ll understand what to do when you see it.”
“You want me to darn?” she repeated, still sleepy.
“You do know how to use a needle and thread, don’t you?”
Anne nodded.
“Then yes, I do.” He walked toward the door. He stopped. “Oh yes, I invited Fang Mowat to go with me to the other side of Wick to look at some sheep. He’s bringing his sons and they’ll all be here for breakfast in”—he shrugged—“say ten minutes.”
With that, he was out the door.
“Ten minutes?” Anne squeaked.
Aidan popped his head back in. “Fang has nine sons. They’ll all be here. They like their mutton well done.” He left again.
Anne thought she would swoon. “Thirteen for breakfast?” She started searching for her clothes sack in the mess of sheets, covers, and furs.
Chapter 6
Anne searched for what few hair pins she’d owned but they had been lost in the coach accident. It was disappointing. She would have liked to pin her hair high on her head and sweep regally down the stairs like a countess.
She compensated by tying her hair up with the blue ribbon, throwing a dress of sea foam green muslin trimmed in lace over her head, and hurrying downstairs to the kitchen, where she discovered Aidan hadn’t been jesting. The room was full of men. Hungry men. They milled about in the way men do when it is time to be fed and they are waiting.
She recognized Fang Mowat. The gray-haired man stood out in the midst of what seemed an army of tall, strapping, handsome young men. His sons ranged in ages from the early twenties down to eleven, and each had a head of red hair of varying shades.
The dogs were there, too, weaving in and out of people’s legs, looking for a scrap of food or a friendly pat. The smallest charged up to Anne, wagging his tail so hard it shook his whole body.
Aidan shouted for their attention. “Everyone, this is Anne, my countess. She will see to breakfast. Won’t you, darling?”
Darling? Anne looked at his handsome, smiling countenance and knew he was up to something; she just didn’t know what. “I’ll check with the cook.”
“Good, because Fang and his boys are starving.”
Fang himself stepped forward. “Good morning, Lady Tiebauld,” he said respectfully, his hat in his hand. “I thank you for inviting me and my boys for breakfast, especially on such short notice. Gives my Bonnie a bit of a break. Takes her a good long time to feed this horde, meal after meal.”
Anne smiled her response. She was on to Aidan’s trick. Did he think she would swoon or throw a fit? Or demand to return to London?
She’d show him. She’d serve the best breakfast Fang Mowat had ever had in his life. But first, “Aidan?” She motioned him closer to whisper in his ear. “Where is the kitchen?”
Oh, he loved that. His eyes danced with anticipation. “Let me show you.” He took her arm and guided her across the room to a side hallway. They went out a door onto a small landing leading to a cook house.
Aidan banged on the door once and pushed his way in. “Roy, look lively, now. The mistress has arrived.”
Anne gagged at the condition of the kitchen. If she’d thought the great hall was bad, the state of the kitchen exceeded it a hundred times over.
The air smelled of cooking onions along with a dozen other different odors, some pleasant, some decidedly not. She covered her nose and looked around in horror. Dirty dishes were piled everywhere. A haunch of venison had been leaned against the table like a walking stick set aside. The meat dripped into a pool around it on the floor.
But the cook appeared the worst of all. Roy wore a dirty shirt over the breeches from the night before. In the daylight, stains of dried blood and whatever else could be seen clearly. His feet were still bare, but his hair was greasier, if such a thing were possible. He glared from his place behind a chopping block table.
“Why’d you bring her here, laird?” Roy asked rudely.
“Roy, she is my wife,” Aidan said patiently. “She is