Cuthbert Aldred

With Shadow in tow, Wynter returned to the kitchen shortly after. She’d taken Gaz’s advice and left her bow and sword locked in the far room. The key nestled safely in the pouch attached to her belt, along with the coin’s she’d collected during her trips to Whire village.

She had pulled off her outer layers, and wore her new favourite dove grey shirt and dark blue leggings that hugged the curves of her legs before vanishing into her sensible leather boots. From the fabric she’d bought from Kat, she’d started making a simple dress with the patterned blue fabric, so for proprietary wore the finished corset, laced down each side. It had wide straps that covered her shoulders. Her hair was pulled back into a braid that coiled into a bun at the back of her head. Although she felt uncomfortable without her sword, she kept a long knife attached to her belt.

Stepping back into the kitchen, she was reminded of the intense heat. Shadow hopped out of her arms and bounded across to the fire where Lore fussed over him, directing him to an empty basket beside the door.

Wynter rolled her sleeves up, washed her hands and waited for instructions.

Lore looked her over again, as though just about remembering she was there. The woman gave a long suffering sigh, rolling her brilliant green eyes.

‘You have Ladies hands. They’re not hands used to scrubbing or cooking’ Lore moved around the kitchen, peering into the various bubbling vats. Wynter followed her, dodging the strings of onions that trailed from the rafters. The smell of delicious cooking was overpowering. ‘I don’t have time for someone to be in my way. You’d be better out there,’ she waved a wooden spoon at the door leading out to the tavern, ‘enjoying your evening.’

‘I’ll do what I’m told,’ Wynter assured her, ‘I won’t get in your way.’ She suspected that Lore would send her out to the tavern, at the slightest provocation.

Lore groaned and handed her the wooden spoon, ‘keep stirring,’ she ordered, ‘you can’t get that wrong. I don’t want the oats sticking to the pan.’

‘Got it,’ Wynter positioned herself in front of the bubbling pot. It looked almost big enough to stand in. It was filled with chopped vegetables, oats and broth along with strips of shredded meat. It smelt divine. Her mouth watered and she quickly reminded herself to stir.

Lore glanced over her shoulder before going about her work, rolling out a pastry on the surface. Soon, she called Wynter over to peel and chop apples, with a stern warning to keep stirring the pot whenever she could. Wynter obliged, eager to remain hidden in the kitchen.

Every so often, Gaz would appear and shout an order to Lore. The woman would then seem to dance around the kitchen, pulling together a plate of bowl of food that she left on the side. Gaz would then return, whisking the trays out of the kitchen.

Wynter was quickly stirring the pottage when he returned with a tray laden with empty plates and set them on a table.

‘You can wash those,’ Lore announced without skipping a bit. Wynter nodded, finding that she was enjoying the constant activity and the simple tasks that she was asked to carry out. Shadow had curled up beside the door, fast asleep.

She gave a final thorough stir of the pottage before kneeling down, plunging the first stacks of dishes into the steaming water. Hissing as it turned the skin of her hand and forearms red. She felt Lore watching her, and determined, carried on. With the dishes all stacked Lore directed her back to stirring. The older woman had never stopped moving, commanding her kitchen with formidable efficiency.

Until the noise beyond the tavern door was raucous and the orders for food started to lessen. Lore kicked aside the logs from the fire, letting the pottage simmer as she started to clean down the kitchen and as if by a miracle all the dozens of pots, pans and cleaned dishes started to vanish back into their boxes and cupboards.

‘What happened to your usual girl?’ Wynter finally had the time to ask as she started drying up the cutlery that had been returned. Her sleeves were rolled up and she stood beside the open window. Her forehead was damp with sweat, the heat from the kitchen and standing over the fire had been constant.

‘She had a disagreement with one of the regulars that visits just for the dances,’ Lore scowled, ‘she won’t be returning for any more nights when we have dances.’

Wynter wrinkled her nose then, ‘seems that it’s your busiest night,’ she observed. Gaz peered around the door, calling out an order for three bowls of pottage. Without skipping a beat, Lore was beside the fireplace, ladling the warm stew into bowls. She set it down beside the door and moved to join Wynter at the bucket used for the dishes, taking up a towel of her own.

‘I’m hoping we can convince her back,’ Lore sighed, ‘it takes time to fill jobs in the village. We rely on strangers moving to Whire,’ she let out a bitter laugh, ‘it doesn’t happen often. Some of the children might grow old enough to work here, before newcomers move in.’

‘The regular patron,’ Wynter frowned, setting out all the shining knives and forks on the side. ‘Was he offended by her?’

Lore stared at her then, ‘you’ve a ladies hands, and now the naivety of one,’ she shook her head. ‘No,’ she replied, blunt. ‘He wasn’t offended by her. In fact he liked her a little too much.’

‘She refused his advance?’

‘Any woman with half a brain would refuse Cuthbert Aldred. It doesn’t stop him trying to push his advantage,’ Lore hissed.

‘So why is he not sent away? Why isn’t he banned?’

‘Because Gaz alone can’t enforce it, he can’t take on Cuthbert and the half dozen idiots that climb up the mountain to enjoy the mid-moon dances - and we can’t afford to lose their coin. You might have noticed, but there’s not many outsiders that come to Whire.’

‘Could you petition the Prince?’ Wynter wondered, shocked by the laughter that followed. Lore bent double, leaning over the counter before scooping up the knives and forks, whisking them away.

‘I don’t see what’s so funny,’ Wynter set her shoulders back, frowning at the woman. ‘It’s your right to take grievances to the local governor. If Cuthbert or others are acting badly in the Prince’s region, then he should take action. At the least consult their overlord?’

Lore shook her head, ‘we don’t do that, Miss Bella,’ she sighed, ‘we don’t take out grievances to the Prince. Not if we want to live. White isn’t like other villages…and you’re not like the other strangers that sometimes find themselves here.’

Wynter already regretted her curiosity and her desire to probe. But her heart skipped a beat when Lore picked up the last of the dishes and put them away, then turned with her arms folded over her chest.

‘So why are you here? If you’re not local to Whire, then you’re running from something.’

She swallowed, looking down at her sud covered hands, wiping them slowly on the damp they’d been using to dry the dishes.

‘Come on now girl, you’re far too easy around Gaz to be a dainty little maiden. I don’t know any unmarried girls in Whire who’d be brave enough to step into the tavern like you do. Huntress and all,’ Lore raised an eyebrow.

Shadow looked up from his basket, giving a soft whine.

‘Oh hush,’ Lore moved over, kneeling so that she scratched the back of his ears, ‘I’m not grilling your mistress, I just want to know if hers is the kind of trouble that can be outrun, or not.’

Wynter looked away again, folding up the towel and setting it neatly down on the surface.

‘So what is it? Family, friend or lover? Money or some other vice that’s pulled you into debt? It doesn’t look like you indulge in drink or powdered delights…so what is it?’ Lore persisted and Wynter looked around at the woman.

‘A lover,’ she admitted and took another breath. Was it easier to breathe? It felt strange to admit it out loud.

‘Not the kind of trouble you can out run then,’ Lore sighed and straightened up, collecting Shadow. She offered the puppy over to Wynter.

‘No,’ Wynter exhaled, ‘no I don’t think it is.’

The door slammed open, making them both jump and Shadow yelp.