Page 52 of An Ill-Made Match

“Are Cuthbert and Fulco returned from the village?”

“Hours ago. We’ve tidied up a bit since then.”

“I can’t believe I was so tired,” she yawned. “Did Baxter put a blanket over me?”

“No,” said Roland dryly. “That was me. Baxter threw salt over you.”

“Salt?”

“It’s said to counteract malevolent beings.”

Eden digested this. “Boggart was not too harsh, after all,” she said darkly. Roland smirked, but said nothing. “Did Cuthbert re-stuff the mattress?” she asked, determined to fill any silence. Being cradled against his body like this was creating a false sense of intimacy, she just was not comfortable with.

“Yes. He used hay, and a good quantity of wool from the village.”

“I see. He is a very useful boy, is he not?”

Roland’s gaze flickered. “He can be, when it suits him,” he said cautiously. He shoved the door open on the second landing. “We have covered a fair few miles the last few days, likely more than you’re used to riding.” he reminded her. They were in the dining room, which had been tidied and swept out. The floorboards were now bare instead of strewn with dirty rushes, and the benches were arranged tidily around the tables. Four of the dogs were lying under the benches. Castor, Hector, Seth and the grey gargoyle one. They all raised their heads at their entrance, but did not make a sound. Roland strode right across to the table next to the fireplace, and deposited Eden there. “We’re about to eat,” he told her, and sat down next to her. Eden looked about the room in approval. The scuffed table looked a lot better covered in a plain linen cloth. It was already set out with heavy silver candlesticks and set with platters and goblets of pewter. Reluctantly, she reached for her cloak fastening. She should really take it off now, though she did not feel thus inclined. She wished she had her wool mantle with her. She had a lovely one in dark green that she would give her eye-teeth for right now. Doubtless it was lying unused in the bedchamber she used at Hallam Hall. She dropped the cloak from her shoulders and gave a little involuntary shiver. Lady Payne’s ice blue gown was not designed for warmth. As she was drawing off her mittens, the door opened, and Cuthbert sailed in, carrying a large soup pot, and a platter bearing two small loaves.

“It’s barley beef,” he announced, setting down the pot. “And there’s two types of bread. Maslin,” he said, referring to the darker rye and wheat loaf. “And Manchet,” which was the round white loaf. He sat down opposite Eden and started ladling the soup into the bowls as Roland poured the wine.

The door opened again, and in came Fulco, looking rather ill-at-ease and bearing a platter of fried cheese curds with some flat cracker-breads and a garlic dipping sauce. Once he’d set the dish down, he seated himself next to Cuthbert.

Eden perked up with surprise at the appetizing fare. “Did Baxter cook all these dishes?” she asked with surprise. For some reason she had imagined him to be a rather basic and unimaginative cook.

“Yes,” piped up Cuthbert. “Baxter says if you’re tricked into eating human victuals, you’ll be stuck in the human realm.

“Tricked? I’m ravenous,” said Roland, accepting his bowl of soup and tearing off a large hunk of bread.

“Oh, he knows you’re real enough,” continued Cuthbert blithely. “He just thinks you’re ensorcelled.”

Eden who was in the act of buttering her bread, put down her knife. “Is Baxter… sane?” she asked carefully.

“He’s alright,” said Cuthbert heartily. “It’s normal for folks to hold the old beliefs in the country.”

“He’s not going to throw salt in my face every morning or strike me with a birch wand?”

Cuthbert chuckled, but Roland didn’t look nearly as amused. “He’d better not,” said her husband with a heavy frown.

“He’ll calm down,” said Fulco awkwardly. “He’s not used to having people about the place. He’s gone a little peculiar, that’s all.”

Eden refused the soup, but helped herself to some of the fried cheese and dipping sauce. It was delicious, as were the crunchy crackers. Cuthbert watched her with approval.

“Baxter said I was to make sure you ate a little from every dish. He means to ensure you’re trapped here to keep Master Roland happy,” he quoted.

Roland’s brows rose at that, but he turned to Eden. “In that case, you’d better take a sip,” he said.

A week ago, she’d likely have refused the gesture, but now, Eden merely bent her head and put her lips to the soup spoon he offered her. The soup was flavorful. She could taste shallot, and parsnip as well as barley and the meat. “It’s good,” she said, with a nod.

Roland cleared his throat, and took a swig of wine. “In fairness, my father always kept a good table. Is that not so?” When no-one answered, Roland lowered his goblet. Eden looked across at Fulco who was the only one qualified to say. He was watching her intently. Oh no, did he think she was a faery too? thought Eden with misgiving.

Fulco flushed. “Oh aye, he was a great man, the old baron,” he said hoarsely, and started hastily tucking into his soup.

Eden relaxed, though she thought Roland seemed to tense beside her. He sat up straighter and plunked his cup down rather heavily. For a few moments, the only sounds were of chewing or swallowing and the clink of knives against trenchers. Cuthbert nudged the plate of cheese and crackers towards her and she helped herself, though she eschewed more of the sauce, of which a little went a long way. Roland, she noticed, ate three bowls of soup and at least half of the small dark loaf, before turning to devour what was left of the cheese. When that was gone, he had a large slice of the manchet loaf and dipped this in the garlic sauce for flavor. Cuthbert and Fulco both excused themselves and removed the empty platters, descending below stairs to fetch the next course.

“We’ll have to get some womenfolk up here and soon,” said Roland heavily. “You’re driving Fulco to distraction.”

“Me?” asked Eden, in surprise. “Why? What have I done?”