Viking Fire by Andrea R. Cooper Page A

the lye would burn so far into her skin that her flesh would melt from her hands.
    After eight buckets the trenchers were clean. Then she dipped them in buckets of fresh water. She rinsed her hands many times, but they continued to sting from the lye. Discarding the lye water into the dirt, she poured the potatoes in the buckets. After carrying them to the river and washing them, she hauled back the clean potatoes to the kitchens.
    Back inside she snatched up a potato. She sat on a stool and then used a paring knife to cut away the skins. She wished she could cut away this arranged marriage and discard it like the ugly skins on the potatoes.
    Her mind drifted to Bram. Did his wound heal properly? Would he have a scar? A blush crept up her neck thinking of his kiss again. His lips had been soft on hers, melting her resistance and penetrating her thoughts.
    She griped about being a fool and raked the blade across the potato skin as if she might do the same with her traitorous heart.

Chapter Seven
    A bustle of servants entered the kitchens surrounding the cook as she barked orders.
    When she saw the mound of potatoes waiting for peeling, she shouted obscenities. Then she thrust the remaining heaps to two servants. “My lady’s never done a lick of labor in her life. I should have known better than to think her to handle this.”
    The two servants bowed and then hurried to obey. They whispered and shot glares to Kaireen as slivers of potato skins flew around them.
    The evening grew into mass chaos for Kaireen. Constantly she tripped and knocked things over.
    When she turned the loaves of baking bread, three fell into the fire. An older servant sneered as smoke from the blackened bread choked the air.
    The cook clamped her lips shut until the edges were whiter than the flour caked on strands of her dark hair. She smacked her palm with a wooden spoon then shoved the spoon at Kaireen. “See if you can manage to stir stew without burning it.” She paraded to the doorway and then glanced at the guests who arrived in the great hall. “Good. Looks like thirty. Scrape the sides. Otherwise be a coat of burnt muck, hard to scrub off later.”
    Within minutes Kaireen’s arm ached from stirring the stew. When her muscles seized, she switched arms. How could a servant’s work be so draining when she had gone into battle against men, Lochlanns at that? Would her husband expect her to do all of this menial and exhausting work every time she displeased him?
    The cook yelled orders and servants scurried to do her bidding. Some servants gave Kaireen a slight smile of pity. Others smirked as if she deserved her punishment or more.
    After linen tablecloths were pressed, they were placed on the banquet tables. Knifes and cloth napkins positioned for each guest. A line of servants returned to the kitchens waiting instructions.
    The cook inspected Kaireen’s stew. “’Tis ready, thank the heavens.” A trail of juice dripped down her double chin. “But you stirred the pot not like I told you.” She laughed. “After tonight you will not make that mistake again.” She turned back to the line of servants. “Everything’s ready. No thanks to her.” She waved an arm at Kaireen, who fumed silently. “Grab two trenchers each, fill them and take them to our guests.”
    The servants bowed their heads and then moved in rhythm.
    Kaireen lifted the spoon and filled each trencher as the servants went by. Splashes of stew hit the stone floor. Globs of the liquid landed on the panels of her gown. At least the color matched.
    After a while she did manage to fit a trencher with a spoonful, but it splashed onto the servant’s livery. After the incident, the other servants held their trenchers at arm’s length.
    Bread, sausage, and ham completed the trenchers and carried to the guests. At last all of the trenchers rested on the tables and away from Kaireen. She doubted she would ever not appreciate another meal again.
    With a frown, she plopped on the