here to direct you.”
“I don’t need no directing,” he said, his burr rolling r’s.
“But she is the lady of the manor. The kitchen is her responsibility.”
“I’ve been running this kitchen, laird, since before the days you came. I’ve never needed direction before.”
“I realize that,” Aidan said soothingly. “But now we have a fine lady with us. From London. She will want to make improvements.”
Roy lifted the heavy knife in his hand and brought it down with a resounding whack on the hare he’d been dressing. He cut the leg off clean. “We don’t need no English opinions.”
“Oh, it is not opinions she’ll be giving, Roy,” her husband hurried to assure him, “but guidance.”
The cook’s eyes narrowed. “Guidance on what?”
Aidan turned to Anne as if soliciting her opinion, but answered for both of them. “Whatever she desires,” he replied easily. “Enjoy your morning, wifey. But don’t dally. Fang’s sons are hungry.” He was out the door before she could respond.
Roy slid his beady eyes in her direction. “I’ve been running my own kitchen since I was tall enough to stand at this chopping block.” He whacked off another rabbit leg for emphasis. “There’s naught you can teach me.”
Anne tried to appease the angry cook. “I don’t want to teach you.” She did want the kitchen clean, but thought it best not to broach that subject at this moment. “You continue what you are doing and I will watch.”
“Why?”
She stumbled for words and then quickly gasped, “I hope to learn something.”
He didn’t believe her but with a grunt let her know she could do as she pleased, provided she didn’t interfere with him. He proceeded to chop the rabbit meat into pieces, which he tossed into the bubbling stew pot.
Anne grew anxious. They were going to need help serving to so many guests. “Is Norval available?”
Roy had laid down his butcher knife and now wielded a wooden spoon like a scepter. He used it to point to a corner.
Anne followed his direction and discovered Norval asleep on some meal sacks. The old man was passed out cold. She tried to wake him with a hard shake, but to no avail. She slapped his cheeks. No response. She even pulled open an eyelid. He didn’t wake.
“Is he dead?” she asked Roy.
In answer, Roy picked up a bowl containing water and tossed it on Norval, splashing some onto Anne at the same time.
“What? What? What?” the old servant sputtered.
Deciding to turn the other cheek and handle Roy’s insolence with tolerance, she said quietly but firmly to Norval, “We have guests, and you are needed to serve them.”
The old man had to crawl to a stool for help rising. His knees cracked loudly, and Anne worried for him. “What do you need done?” he asked, his eyes still half closed. He was obviously under the weather from overimbibing the night before.
“We need to wash bowls and spoons,” she said. “You must fetch water.”
“You don’t need to wash those,” Roy countermanded her, nodding to the stack of dirty dishes. “There’s a sand box over there. The food on them is dry. Rub a little sand on the plates and they’ll be clean enough.”
Anne had never heard of such a thing, but Norval had. This was obviously the standard practice. He shuffled over and began preparing bowls for stew. She decided she didn’t think much of Roy’s method as she watched Norval clean bowl after bowl with the same sand.
Her appetite for breakfast vanished, especially as Roy used his spoon to take a slurping taste of the soup.
She directed her attention away from Roy and poked around a bit. She knew what a kitchen needed. Before her Uncle Robert and Aunt Maeve, she’d lived with a distant cousin who had considered her little more than a servant. What little cooking skills her mother had taught her were refined in Cousin Gen’s kitchen. She knew how to bake bread and that the loaves should be started in the morning…although she didn’t see any.
“Are you baking bread today?” she asked Roy.
He ignored her. Norval began setting bowls out on a huge wooden tray.
Roy’s insolence miffed Anne. She also knew she couldn’t continue to let it go unchallenged, especially in front of another servant. She walked over to the chopping block where he was cutting off turnip heads.
“I asked if you were baking bread today?”
The cook’s lip curled in derision. “No need. The laird won’t be here.”
“But I will be. Furthermore, he’ll be back this evening and expect something to