To Love Again - Bertrice Small [39]
Chapter 4
Cailin left the cook house and walked back to the hall. She hadn’t thought about joining her grandfather and his guest. She had taken to eating in the cook house since Ceara and Maeve had left. Brigit would not like it at all if she showed up this evening, but then Brigit could go to Hades, Cailin decided. Orna was right. She must take Ceara’s place. Cailin hurried to her sleeping space to change clothes. To her surprise, there was a small basin filled with warmed water awaiting her. She smiled. The servants were certainly united in their dislike of Brigit, and obviously determined that she should outshine Berikos’s young wife.
Cailin drew off her tunic dress and set it aside. Opening her small chest, she drew out her best gown. It was a beautiful light wool garment that had been dyed with a mixture of woad and madder. The rich purple color was stunning. There were gold and silver threads embroidered at the simple round neckline and on the cuffs of the sleeves. Ceara had given it to her at Lugh, and Cailin had never worn it. She bathed carefully, using a small sliver of soap scented with woodbine. When she had stored the tunic she had worn all day in the chest, she slipped the purple garment over her linen camisa. Corio had made her a pearwood comb. Cailin smiled as she drew it through the tangle of her thick russet curls. A simple fillet of freshwater pearls and chips of purple quartz decorated her head; Maeve’s Lugh gift to her.
Hearing her grandfather’s voice, Cailin hurried from her sleeping space and signaled the waiting servants to begin serving the meal. She took her place at the high board, nodding politely to Berikos, who bobbed his head slightly in her direction. When Brigit opened her mouth to voice what Cailin was certain would be a complaint about her presence, Berikos glowered fiercely at his wife, and Brigit’s mouth snapped shut before she uttered a single word. Cailin bit her lip to keep back her laughter. She knew it was not that Berikos had grown any softer toward her, but that the old man was wise enough to realize that Brigit could not direct the servants to his satisfaction. Cailin, he knew from Ceara, could.
Brigit sat between her husband and their guest. She gushed and flirted with Wulf Ironfist in what she believed was a successful effort to win him over to Berikos’s plans for the region. The young Saxon was polite, and more than slightly amazed by his host’s wife. He had heard the Celts were a hospitable people, but a man’s wife was a man’s wife. Every now and then his gaze would stray to Cailin, silent on the other side of Berikos. Her only words were directed to the servants, and she managed them well, he saw. She would make some man a good wife one day, if she was not already wed, and he somehow did not think she was. There was an innocence about her that indicated she was yet a maid.
Brigit noticed that the handsome Saxon’s attention was drawn to her husband’s granddaughter. A wicked plan began to form in her mind. She had so patiently bided her time these last weeks, waiting for the right moment to have the perfect revenge upon Cailin Drusus. Now she believed she had found that moment. Cailin had embarrassed her publicly before the whole village, and what was worse, Berikos had refused to discipline the wench. How those two old crows, Ceara and Maeve, had gloated over it, protecting Cailin from her wrath, but now they were out of the way. Unobtrusively Brigit filled and refilled her husband’s goblet, first with a rich red wine, and then with honeyed mead. Berikos had a strong head for liquor, but in recent years his tolerance had been lower than in his youth.
The steaming hot pottage was put upon the table along with the beef, ham, and fish. Platters of vegetables, cheese, and bread followed. In a burst of generosity, Berikos nodded his approval to his grandchild.