Claire stared at her and looked to Elia standing at Kes’ rear. When Elia nodded, Claire handed over the stick.
“When was your last day off?”
“Day off what? M’lady, I really do not think—”
“I’m fine,” Kes reassured her with a smile. “A day where you didn’t come here to work? A day to rest.”
“We do not work on the Sabbath. That is all.”
“And is it just you laundering everything?”
Claire nodded and Kes fumed. What was the Earl of Scarborough running here? How could he expect one person to do all this? When she complained to Elia, the head maid informed her that Edith, the other laundress, had died of a fever three months ago.
“Three months!” she seethed.
“Oh, but, m’lady,” Claire cried. “I do not mind doing it all. I do not want anyone else cleaning the castle garments and linens.”
Was Claire crazy like so many others here?
“Why in the world would you not want help?” Kes asked beating a sheet. Then it hit her. Claire didn’t want someone else handling his things. Nicholas’ or someone else’s. That had to be the case.
“You can keep the things you want to wash and dry and give the rest to someone else. You would be the head laundress. What’s wrong with that?”
Claire grinned. “Nothing at all. I would like that.”
“Then I shall speak to Lord Scarborough about it.”
Elia came to stand close while Claire began to fold the other clothes she’d dried. “Do you presume that Nicholas does as you ask?”
Kes had to be careful. She liked Elia and didn’t want to step on her toes. “He has avoided me all morning and yesterday, as well. But I will find him today and speak to him about this. He is an intelligent, compassionate lord—”
“He’s intelligent, aye,” Elia agreed. “But not always compassionate.”
“He will do as I ask,” Kes smiled at them both. “I have something to bargain with.”
“Oh?” Elia raised her dark brow. “What is it?”
“A cupcake. I saved him one last night. Once he heard the king was returning, he left to his duties. But I hid one away in the hopes that he liked them.”
Elia tossed her a furtive smile. “You are thoughtful toward him.”
Kes shrugged. “He put a roof over my head and food in my belly. An extra cupcake is the least I can do.”
“Hmm.” Elia gave her a curious look. “My dear, do you still not remember where you came from?”
Oh, Kes wanted to tell her. She couldn’t. The threat of burning at the stake was very real here.
“I remember bits and pieces. I…I think I remember my father. I…” She sniffed and bit her tongue to stop her tears from falling. She hadn’t meant to think of her father. “We were very close. He raised me. Still, I wish I would have called him more last week.”
“Called?” Claire asked, listening while she folded.
Kes’ blood drained. She didn’t know where it went but it left her head, her face, her lips and made her feel dizzy.
“You are pale,” Elia said taking her arm. “Here, sit.”
“No. I’m ok.” She looked up at Claire. “My father lives a few houses away in our village. We called on each other frequently.”
“You will see him again, my dear,” Elia promised. “If anyone can find them, ’tis Nicholas.”
Oh, how she wished it were true. She wondered, while she turned the wash bat and scrubbed the castle linens, if Sir Nicholas, Earl of Scarborough, would go with her. Why would she want him to? He would never fit into her world with her friends.
That is if she ever got back. She’d asked every woman in the castle if they had a brooch with the name Pendragon on it. None did.
Elia was busy with Claire, so it gave Kes time to think about her brooding rescuer—and what he was doing in front of her door yesterday.
She had been returning from sewing in the public solar with Elia and some of the other women who lived here. She wanted to change and go help Cook in the kitchen. She’d seen her knight as she turned the corner in the hall. She’d backed away into the shadows and watched him. He looked tormented pacing before her door. What was he going through? She’d known he’d had a difficult morning. Was it because of her? Or something else? She had been tempted to go to him as he raked his fingers through his hair.
She hadn’t because he was most likely no different than what she’d left behind. Maybe worse with his antiquated (to her anyway) ideas. She’d sworn off men anyway, at least for a little while. She needed a break after Brian McGill. What was she doing thinking of Nicholas de Marre in any sort of intimate or romantic way?
But seriously, who could blame her? He was a knight! In armor! He wielded a real, very big, very deadly sword. His naturally provocative smile was unfortunately almost nonexistent, but he’d bestowed it on her a few times now. It was only slight, but still dangerously alluring. If he ever decided to flirt with her, she had no chance against him.
Kes had learned that grapevines worked the same way in every century. And that kitchens were the best place to find them.
Her cupcakes had baked while she learned that Margaret, Lady Adele’s maid, fancied Sir Nicholas.
Kes didn’t think the feeling was mutual. Especially when the maid glared at him at his own table last night. The smile he aimed at her was more like a weapon. Its beauty was meant to entrap and paralyze while he landed the final sting. And the sting? It wasn’t a word. It was him turning his attention away. He hadn’t so much as glanced at Margaret for the rest of his stay
