The Angel Wore Fangs(33)
They jumped and scuttled off like scared rabbits.
“Ivar!” he called out to the young soldier standing in the doorway. “Gather together all the housecarls. We will meet here in . . .” He glanced down at the watch that he was surprised to see was still on his wrist. He was about to say, In two hours, but instead said, “After the first meal of the day.”
To others, he ordered the hearth ashes to be hauled and taken to the scullery for soap making, firewood to be gathered, all the platters and serving utensils to be taken to the kitchen for washing.
“Who is the head laundress?” he asked no one in particular.
“Edwina was but she has the ague and lies abed this past sennight,” one blowsy-looking wench told him.
“You take over then,” he told her. “I assume the bed linens and clothing are in the same condition as this hall. I want them all washed.”
“But . . . but . . . it’s winter, and . . .” Blowsy Wench protested.
He favored her with one of his glowers.
“If anyone wants to eat here, ever again, they better be working. The new rule, idle hands have empty stomachs.”
He turned then to see Andrea standing before the hearth watching him. She arched her brows and gave him a little salute.
“You!” he said, walking toward her, almost tripping over a dog bone buried in the dirty rushes. “Come with me to the kitchen and see what kind of mess we have there.”
“Is that an order, master?”
“No, that’s a request. With your cooking skills, perhaps you can assess just how bad things are food-wise and give me some advice for fixing things.”
“Are we staying here? What about my sister? I hired you to find Celie and bring her back to Philly.”
“Give me time to figure out what’s happening. Trust me, Andrea. I’ll help you and your sister as soon as I can. Will you give me that time?”
She nodded. What choice did she have? Something else seemed to occur to her then. “Everyone’s speech is so strange here, and yet I can understand. Why is that? Some magic vangel trick?”
He laughed. “No trick. Old Norse and Saxon English were similar enough in this time period that we could understand each other, somewhat, enough to get by. On the other hand, you probably shouldn’t be able to make any sense of medieval English.” Shrugging, he took her hand and was about to lead her from the hall when he looked back and noticed everyone gaping at them.
Halting momentarily, he tucked Andrea in at his side and announced to the room at large, “This is Andrea of Philadelphia. She is your new mistress.”
Then he gave her a kiss, a long one, before she could call him an idiot again.
Even while he was kissing her, and she was too stunned to smack him, he heard someone in the hall ask, “What is that strange smell?”
“I don’t know, but I like it,” another person replied.
He did, too.
It was coconut and peppermint.
Chapter 9
A miracle worker, she was not . . .
Although it was only midday, it was dark outside. They didn’t call this the Land of the Midnight Sun or Polar Nights for nothing. Andrea knew that bit of trivia because she’d checked on the Internet when Cnut had mentioned, at their first meeting, that he came from the Norselands. How’s that for hysterical irrelevance? Hey, with everything that’s happened to me today, I deserve a little hysteria.
Cnut, with a torch in hand, led her down a chilly, dark hallway toward the kitchen, which was presumably connected to this vast, sprawling building, but somewhat separate. Because of the fire hazard, she assumed. Even from here in the corridor, she could feel the heat of the kitchen cook fires up ahead. Otherwise, it would be as frigid as it was outside.
He stopped halfway and turned to her, “You’re angry.”
“No shit, Dick Tracy!” she said, using one of her father’s favorite expressions. She rarely used crudity, but this situation seemed to warrant it. He still held one of her hands, and she jerked it loose. “Of course I’m angry, you idiot. Why wouldn’t I be? Mistress? You think I’ll be your mistress, just because you kiss me? And it wasn’t even a good kiss.” Actually, it was a very nice kiss. Excellent. But he didn’t need to know that.
“That’s what has your braies in a twist?” He seemed surprised.
“My bra isn’t in a twist, and I’d rather you didn’t mention my underwear.”
“Not bra, braies. Like breeches, or long pants.” Then, he paused and cocked his head to the side. “It wasn’t a good kiss? Ah, I’m out of practice, I suppose. I could try again.”
He placed his torch in a wall bracket. There was darkness all around them, except for the light of the kitchen at the other end. She could see him clearly, though, in the torch’s circle of light that cocooned them. In fact, it gave off a bit of warmth.