“Do ye think I want this?” Ian asked. “I would have kept him alive if I could. But now ye have me, yer new master. If ye dinna want me, I dinna wish to keep ye, Manning, where ye dinna want to be.”
He glanced at Kate.
“Aye, in fact, I do already have a new cook.” He gestured at her.
Manning turned to her with the same expression of wild fury, the knife pointed at her. He marched towards her, and Kate felt the urge to step back from him but resisted. He wouldn’t stab her. And Ian wouldn’t let him. She lifted her chin.
Manning came to stand right in front of her, reeking of sweat, onion, and meat on the verge of being spoiled.
“Who’s the lass?” He studied her.
“My name is Kate,” she said. “Ian hired me to cook.”
“Did he now?” Manning said. “Did ye plan to get rid of me while ye were in Inverlochy?”
“Nae, Manning,” Owen said. “I didna plan anything like that. The lass hit her head and lost her memory, but she remembered ye. Or rather, yer lamb roast.”
Manning cocked his busy eyebrow and studied her from tip to toe.
“I didn’t remember him, Ian. I remembered Crazy Mary.”
“I am Crazy Mary,” Manning said.
“Isn’t Mary a woman?”
“’Tis,” Ian said. “Long story. Fact is, ’tis who ye came here for, lass. Crazy Mary.”
“But…” She frowned, studying him, hoping for more flashes of visions or memories. But the bushy mustache and the bald head said nothing. She was seeing the man for the first time.
“I cooked your recipe, the roasted lamb. That’s what it’s called—Crazy Mary. I don’t remember where I come from or who I am, but I remember that recipe. So I assume it’s very important.”
Manning narrowed his eyes. “Ye talk strangely, lass. Doesna she, lad?”
Ian raised one eyebrow. “Aye, she speaks differently. But she isna the first person I met who doesna speak like you or me. Doesna mean she should be abandoned or left without help when she needs some.”
Warmth spread in Kate’s stomach as he said that. Oh, Ian… That he had her back meant so much to her.
“Nae,” Manning said slowly. “It doesna. But it means something. Something odd about her…”
He spun around and marched to the table.
“Ye want to work as a cook, lass?” he said and stabbed the cutting board with the knife. “Cook somethin’.”
Kate’s bravado disappeared into thin air. Cook something? What could she cook?
“The wee bread I ate from yer purse,” Ian said, as though reading her thoughts.
She had no idea who had made the sandwich and what it was made of…
Wait.
Sandwich. The word came to her mind easily, yet it wasn’t one they seemed to use here. Maybe now that her memories—or some version of them—had come back, she would remember more.
“Okay,” she said, and Manning looked confused. He probably didn’t know the word “okay,” either. She should stop using it. Why did she know so many words others didn’t?
She came to stand next to the table. “I don’t remember making that, but maybe I’ll remember something else.”
She ran her finger along the surface and shook her head. “But not until the kitchen is clean. I cannot cook in all these germs.”
“Germs?” Ian said.
Hm. Another word they had no idea about. “Yes, you know. Bacteria. Viruses. Salmonella. Listeriosis. Food poisoning.”
They watched her with blank faces, but as she said poisoning, both became alert and wary. “Mayhap she’s a witch and nae a cook,” Manning said. “Were ye casting a spell to poison the food?”
“Oh my God!” she cried. “I don’t remember much, but I can definitely tell you I’m not a witch. All I’m talking about is cleaning the kitchen. You’re not seriously working in this filth, are you, Manning?”
His face darkened and became dangerous. “’Tis a working kitchen, and I dinna have enough boys to clean it.”
Kate sighed. “All right. Well, you have me. Let’s clean first, and then I’ll see if I can make something.”
“’Tis nae to yer liking, lass, ye clean it. My food is fine whether ’tis clean or nae. Ye even heard of my lamb roast. I must be doin’ somethin’ right if strangers ken my cooking. Aye?”
She shook her head. “Sure. I’ll clean. Can you at least point to clean water, a bucket, and something to clean with? A cloth maybe?”
He removed the apron and threw it on the floor.
“Find all that yerself. I wilna lift a finger to help someone insulting my kitchen.”
Chapter 8
Ian helped Kate find the things she needed for cleaning and brought fresh water from the well into the water barrel.
He went out to take care of his father’s body and start the arrangements for the funeral. Kate found some lye soap and vinegar, which she knew from somewhere was good for disinfecting things. After a couple of hours, the kitchen was as clean as she could make it. She’d used most of the water from the barrel.
The drain for the dirty kitchen water was a hole in the wall and she wondered where it went. She hoped not into the loch.
Her hands and lower back aching, her head spinning, she sat down on the stool to take a breath. What could she cook?
She’d looked in the cauldron before and seen that several things were boiling there wrapped in linen sachets: vegetables in one, eggs in another, and pork in the third. She’d removed them from the boiling water when she’d thought they were ready. Now turnips, eggs, and meat lay on the clean cutting board staring at her expectantly.
She looked around. Herbs hung in bunches suspended from the ceiling. Fish hung drying in the corners of the fireplace.
She went to look in the pantry. There were more eggs, and vegetables lay there already drying up and partly spoiled. Sacks of flour stood in the corners. There was also a bit of butter, cottage cheese, and milk in clay jars.
The milk was probably unpasteurized…
Pasteurized?
That
