Coulter, Catherine. Rosehaven / Catherine Coulter.

“That is enough, Hastings. My eyes are a simple blue, not a Moorish black. I wish a good meal to sustain me. Then I will see to my duty.”

A duty. She was naught but a duty. It was disheartening. She had watched him stride from the great hall, drawing on his gauntlets as he walked. Trist was nowhere to be seen.

Well, he would get an excellent meal. Hastings rose and wiped the dirt off her hands. She went to the kitchen to see MacDear. It was a large chamber attached to the keep. It was always hot, what with the fireplace

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I

an

d the three ovens billowing out their heat into the room. Allen, one of

1 cDear’s helpers, was taking fruit pies out of the oven. Nan was chop-

• herbs from the garden to make sauces for the beef and pheasant. A

• t of beef was on a spit, turned by Hugh to cook evenly. MacDear was bellowing and sweating, as always, no matter the season, no matter how hot or cold it was outside.

She heard MacDear suddenly laugh his big, booming laugh and saw that Eloise was smiling. Excellent.

“Is this saffron I taste, MacDear?”

She lifted a spoon again to taste the stock from a roasted capon. It was thickening nicely.

“You think it is, Hastings?”

“Aye. I know, next you will say that mayhap I am right. You vex me, MacDear. Ah, Eloise, you are learning to separate the egg yolks and whites. You are doing it well.”

“Allen, you miserable whelp, you nearly dropped that peach pie. By Saint Thomas’s nose, I’ll clout you, boy!”

Eloise turned as colorless as the egg whites she had separated into a wooden bowl. Allen just tossed MacDear a cocky grin, but he was watching more closely now. He was shoveling ashes out of the open oven so he could put in more pies.

“Ah, little one,” MacDear said before Hastings could open her mouth, “don’t fear that I’ll clout you. It is just the spittle cock boys who need threats and roaring, never lovely little peahens like you.”

“Aye,” Hastings said, coming to stand beside Eloise. “MacDear never even yelled at me when I was young. He waited until I gained my adult years. Don’t fear him, ever. I see you are making barley bread. I spent hours mixing the dough, Eloise. MacDear is a stern taskmaster. I will leave you now. The smells make me so hungry I would eat my dinner now were I to remain.”

She met Severin when she went into the great hall. It was already filled w™ men-at-arms, squires, servants, children, and four wolfhounds,

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Edgar, the leader of the four, chasing a stick a little boy threw for him The noise was deafening. Everything was normal. She smiled. It was difficult to believe her father had died but a week ago.

She tried to mourn him, she truly did, and she did say prayers for him, but in her heart there was little regret, for in his life he’d never paid her any heed, never showed her any particular fondness, clouted her when the mood struck him or, more likely, when the ale wasn’t to his liking.

She said to Severin even as she grabbed up her skirts when Edgar the wolfhound bolted toward her intent on the stick that had landed just beside her, “Eloise is with MacDear in the kitchen. He is showing her how to make barley bread. Are you hungry, my lord?”

He looked down at her. “Aye, mayhap I am. You have not yet attended me in my bath. Will you do so?”

She’d seen him naked for the past three nights. “Aye, if that is your wish.”

“Go to our bedchamber and await me.” He turned away from her »i then to speak to Gwent. Hastings went to her bedchamber. No, now it

was their bedchamber. She called Alice to fetch her bathwater. She waited, and waited more. She turned to the bed and saw a lump beneath the covers near Severin’s pillow. She lifted the covers and pulled out the jar of creaflwheM used that first night. He’d remembered. He had thought about it and decided not to take any chances that he would hurt her again. Perhaps, she thought, as she replaced the cream, he did care, a bit. Mayhap it would be nice, this mating.