To Love Again - Bertrice Small [38]
“Thank you, lady; my horse has been taken care of by your grandfather’s servants.” He drained the goblet and handed it back to her with a dazzling smile. His teeth were large, white, and amazingly even.
“More?” she inquired politely. He had shoulder-length yellow hair. She had never seen hair naturally that color before.
“Nay, it is enough for now. I thank you.” Dazzling blue eyes, the blue of a summer’s sky, looked into hers.
Cailin blushed. This man was having the oddest effect on her.
“My name is Wulf Ironfist,” he told her.
“It is a ferocious-sounding name, sir,” she answered.
He grinned boyishly. “I gained it as a mere stripling because I could crack nuts with one blow of my fist,” he told her, chuckling. “Later, however, my name took on a different meaning when I joined Caesar’s legions in the Rhineland, where I was born.”
“That is why you speak our tongue!” Cailin burst out, and then she blushed again. “I am too forward,” she said ruefully.
“Nay,” he said. “You are blunt, honest. There is no crime in that, Cailin Drusus. I like it.”
Her cheeks warmed at the sound of her name on his lips, but her curiosity was greater than her shyness. “How came you to Britain?” she asked.
“I was told there is opportunity in Britain. Land! There is little unclaimed land left in my homeland. I spent ten years with the legions, and now I would settle down to farm my own land and raise my children.”
“You are wed, then?”
“Nay. First the land, and then a wife, or two,” he told her in practical tones.
Cailin smiled shyly at Wulf Ironfist. She thought the Saxon quite the handsomest man she had ever seen. Then, remembering her duties, she said, “You must excuse me, sir. With the lady Ceara gone, the kitchens are in my charge. My grandfather is very fussy about his meals, and he likes them piping hot. Stay by the fire and make yourself comfortable. I will send for Berikos to let him know that you have arrived.”
“My thanks for your kindness and hospitality, lady.”
Cailin hurried from the hall, and directed the first male servant she saw to go and fetch his master. Then she returned to the kitchens to oversee the final preparations for dinner, requesting that pitchers of wine, ale, and honeyed mead be made ready for the evening’s meal. She tasted the pottage, and directed the cook to add a bit more garlic. The beef sizzled and spat over the fire. It smelled wonderful.
“I sent a man down to the stream to look in the fish trap, little mistress,” the cook told her. “He found two fine fat perch. I’ve stuffed them with scallions and parsley, and baked them in the coals. Better to have too much than too little. I’m told the Saxon is a giant of a man, and he’s had a long ride. He’ll have a good appetite for his supper, I’m thinking.”
“Will there be enough, Orna?” Cailin fretted. “Berikos will be angry if he thinks we’ve slighted his guest. I’ve never had to prepare for a person of importance before. I don’t want to shame Ceara, or the Dobunni.”
“There, there, little mistress,” the ruddy-cheeked cook soothed the girl. “You’ve done well. A nice thick pottage, beef, fish, vegetables, bread, cheese, and apples. ‘Tis a very good meal.”
“Have we a ham?” Cailin wondered aloud, and when the plump Orna nodded vigorously, Cailin said, “Then let us serve it as well, and boil up a dozen or more eggs. And pears! I’ll put pears with the apples. Oh, please be sure there is plenty of bread, Orna.”
“I will see to it,” Orna said. “Now go