It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim. Bushels of marjoram and stringy roots of lovage hung from a length of twine stretched between the roof beams. The hind Einion had killed smoked over the hearth on a spit, and I caught the pungent scent of wild garlic mingling with the earthy char of mushrooms. Suspended from a hook above the fire, an iron pot of broth was simmering.
Hedwenn stood with her strong back to the door, bent over a wicker basket of whortleberries. “Ah! Here you are, back home!” She straightened with a grin. “Come here and I’ll feed you.”
“Nay, Hedwenn. I’ve come on another errand.” I paused. “Well. Perhaps just a bannock.”
“A bannock, then.” She beamed and plundered a warm bannock from a cloth-lined basket beside the hearth. It gave off little crumbles as she pulled it apart, dunking it into the pot of broth before offering it to me.
“Hedwenn,” I moaned as I stuffed it in my mouth. The juices trickled down my chin. “Why must I ever leave you?”
She flushed with pleasure and handed me a linen to wipe my beard. “Ever the flatterer.”
I glanced round at the bustle of servants, and an unfamiliar woman caught my eye. She sat at the table near the wall, half-hidden by the dim light of the kitchen house. Her long brown hair was tied back but had slipped from its plait, further obscuring her face. Her fingers were short and slim, her collarbone fine. How curious. A new servant. Quite possibly a pretty one.
I nudged Hedwenn, squinting into the poor light. “Who is that?”
Hedwenn lowered her voice. “She’s just come from the quay. Been here a for’night. Rhiwallon brought her.”
“Brought her from where?”
“Don’t know. Won’t say. She doesn’t talk much. But she’s a good worker and fine enough help, aren’t you, love?”
The woman straightened, pushing the hair from her eyes with the back of her hand. Her eyes were blue as a dunnock’s egg, rimmed with dark lashes. Hedwenn must have seen the look upon my face because she planted herself firmly between me and the servant, crossing her arms over her bosom.
“I need more help than Pendragon’s allowed me, Lailoken. And you can tell him I’ve said as much! My back’s been painin’ me. And my eyes—”
“Hedwenn. You’re a treasure, and you shall have all the help you deserve,” I said, craning my neck to get a better look at the woman. “But I’ve come on an errand of particular import, and I’ve a feeling about this one.”
“Eira.”
I was taken by surprise when the woman spoke—her voice was soft but firm, and there was a richness in her tone that belied her age, for she didn’t appear to be older than twenty winters.
“Pardon?” I said.
“Eira is my name.”
Snow, it meant, in the tongue of the Britons. And it was fitting, for her skin was smooth and pale. But the look upon her face made it clear she did not appreciate the flippant way I’d referred to her.
“Eira. Very well.” I offered my most disarming smile. “I have need of a nursemaid for my niece. She is eight winters. You have been here only a fortnight, but I am certain you’ve heard of her arrival. She has left behind her family, and though I am her uncle, it seems she could use a companion. I fear she is most lonely.”
At the mention of Angharad, Hedwenn flapped her arms, birdlike. “Aye, goodness me, Angharad! Don’t think I’ve forgotten. I’ve put aside some sweets for her—I baked them off just this morning.” She took my elbow firmly in hand and drew me toward a little parcel set aside on the table.
“You’re trying to distract me, Hedwenn. It won’t work. It’s Angharad I’m thinking of. You must see my reason.”
Hedwenn put a pudgy hand to her hips. “M’lord. Surely you can’t mean to have a servant girl as your niece’s companion.”
“Why ever not?”
She cast about for a reason. “Well, for one thing, they’re not always trusty. Letting her into the hall when she’s been here not one moon?”
Across the room, Eira stiffened.
I studied her. “She seems trusty enough. After all, you’ve got her preparing Pendragon’s dinner.”
“We’ll seek out someone more fitting on the morrow,” Hedwenn assured me. “I shall find you the perfect lady, one far better suited to keep company of a wee princess from Strathclyde.”
“Perhaps I’ve already found her.”
Hedwenn glanced at Eira, dropping her voice to a whisper. “M’lord.”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s only I don’t think it’s fitting to bring a woman from the kitchens into the main hall. And this one… I won’t say she’s trouble, but she has a tale, I can promise you that.”
“Servitude is no easy life. All servants have a tale.”
“What I mean to say is, I’d be lyin’ if I didn’t tell you I feel motherly is all.” Hedwenn clutched her apron between her hands. “ ‘Bring me a sturdy young boy with a strong back,’ I tell Rhiwallon. And he come back with this one! I muddied her up best I could, but the men have been sniffing round her like a pack o’ wolves. You’re a fool to think you’re the first.”
I bristled and nearly asked Hedwenn which men had been sniffing round, but we’d all had girls from the kitchens, hadn’t we? “Best not to task Rhiwallon with picking the servants next time, I’d say.”
But I couldn’t rightly blame Rhiwallon. There was something striking about this woman. Had I seen her, perhaps I would’ve bought her, too.
“Look, Hedwenn, don’t fret. I’ve heard your words. I only wish to speak with her.”
Across the kitchen house, the woman—Eira—was chopping root vegetables with renewed vigor, but I could tell she was listening.
“I won’t trouble you,” I said. “I only mean to speak to you is all.”
“Then speak.” She returned her eyes to her task.
“I… er…” Damn it all, she flustered me. I frowned, mastering myself. “I wonder, do you… enjoy your work in the kitchens?”
She did not stop her slicing, only glanced up as if I’d gone completely mad. As if any servant truly enjoyed his or her position. It was protection. Labor. Survival.
“Forgive me,” I began again. “What I mean to inquire is, have you any knowledge of children?”
At this she ceased her work, setting aside her knife. “Aye. I suppose I do.”
“What sort?”
She swept the vegetables into a waiting basket. “I was eldest of five.”
“And do you like them? Children.”
“I do.” Her answer was swift. Earnest.
I considered her a moment. “Very good, then. You’ll come with me. We shall get you cleaned up, and I’m certain Angharad will be eager to meet you.”
Eira frowned but stood all the same, brushing peels of parsnip from the coarse brown fabric of her dress. By now all the servants in the kitchen were watching. They’d envy her now, if they hadn’t already. They’d be spiteful. Hedwenn was not wrong—there was a reason we left servants in their places. Perhaps I was being selfish to want this woman to serve a purpose of my own. But I thought of the men. If what Hedwenn said was true, Eira would be safer as Angharad’s nursemaid than here in the kitchens. Under my protection, the men would not take such liberties in pursuing her. Besides, if she was not a match, I’d simply return her to the kitchens. No harm done.