Lord of Misrule (Below the Salt #8)

Chapter 4

T he next day was Christmas Eve, and there was still so much to be done. The main meal was set to take place today right after Mass. The holiday celebrations were now in motion. Tolin walked swiftly toward the kitchen, his squire following close on his heels.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” asked Tolin, using his hand to block a yawn. “I told you that I wanted to get up early today.”

“I know, my lord, and I did wake you just like instructed.”

Tolin stopped in his tracks and turned to his squire, his hands on his hips. “This is early?”

“Mayhap not for most people who wake before the rise of the sun, my lord,” answered his squire. “But for you, Lord Tolin, yes, this is very early indeed.”

“I see I will need to be more direct with my instructions from now on.”

“My lord,” said Emeric, hurrying across the great hall to join them. “I’m afraid the head baker, Arvid became ill last night. It was very unexpected, indeed.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Tolin kept walking. “Tell him I need to meet with him to give him instructions for everything I want regarding the Christmas feast. I’ve already spoken with the head cook, but need my bakery requests heard as well. We are short on time. I have a few changes I need to go over with him before I head to Mass.”

“But my lord, I’m afraid that is not possible.” Emeric was in charge of the household but acting odd today, looking twice as worried as usual. Tolin needed people he could count on in order to bring his festive plans to fruition. Somehow, Emeric didn’t seem like a good choice at the moment to make this happen.

Tolin needed to set things straight. “I am Lord of Blake Castle until the return of my father. Tell the head baker that I don’t care how ill he is, it is Christmas Eve and there is so much to be done. He can rest after Twelfth Night. I want to see him in the kitchen in ten minutes, and that is an order.” He turned to leave.

“I’m afraid Arvid is dead, my lord.”

Tolin stopped in his tracks, hoping he’d misheard the steward. He slowly turned to face the man.

“What did you say?” he asked, already feeling a sense of doom washing over him. All Tolin’s plans for the best sweet treats in England were riding on the expertise of the head baker. Today was Christmas Eve. This was of vital importance. His hall would be filled with people soon, all expecting a stupendous Christmas dinner along with exquisite desserts. He needed that head baker to finish off the meals with exciting sweets or this wasn’t going to go as planned.

“Arvid died in his bed as he slept, my lord,” continued Emeric. “The healer said it looks as if the man had a bad heart, but he can’t be sure.”

“This cannot be happening.” Just as he said it, two men walked by carrying a stretcher with a body atop it. The dead one’s face was covered. “Wait!” Tolin called out, hurrying over and pulling back the sheet to reveal the dead man’s identity. Sure enough, it was the head baker. He had truly died, and with the death Tolin’s aspirations of presenting the best and most elaborate baked goods for Christmastide died with him. Kit popped into his mind. She was a baker and good at it. But she came from town. She’d never worked with servants from the castle. Nay, he decided, she was here as part of a punishment. He couldn’t reward her after what her son was accused of doing.

“Did you want us to put down the stretcher?” asked one of the men carrying Arvid.

“Nay.” Tolin covered the dead man’s face back up. “Get him out of here anon. And go quickly. It is best that his death stays quiet for now. Or at least until I figure out what to do now that he is gone.”

“Shall we bury him, my lord?” asked the second man whom Tolin recognized as the gravedigger.

“Yes. The ground will be frozen, but use pickaxes and warm the earth first with fires. Just get this man buried and out of my sight.”

“Aye, my lord.” The men carrying the body left.

“Don’t you think that was a little cold-hearted?” came a woman’s voice from behind him. Tolin turned to see Kit and her son standing there watching him.

“Cold-hearted?” Tolin raised a brow. “The man is dead, my dear. I hardly think he’d take offense to anything I’ve said.”

“I’m sure the man has family. They’ll want to mourn his loss,” she continued. “They deserve a little compassion at a time like this.”

“Nay, he didn’t, so no, they don’t. Arvid had no one, so don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Tolin felt frustration sweep through him. This woman was not making his worries any less.

“Well, shouldn’t there at least be a ceremony for his burial?” Kit continued to press the issue. “I’m sure he had friends who will miss him.”

“It is Christmas Eve,” he told her. “His body will be buried, but any kind of actual funeral will have to wait until after Twelfth Night.”

“So, it seems the festivities are more important to you than a man’s life?”

Tolin was about to reprimand her for speaking this way to a noble when Emeric interrupted.

“Excuse me, my lord,” said Emeric. “But the servants in the kitchen will be needing instructions. Who will lead them regarding the baking for the Christmas feast?”

Tolin’s eyes swept over to Kit and he released a deep sigh. There was no other choice. He had an idea and hoped to hell this would work. “There is a new head baker as of today.”

“There is?” asked Emeric.

“Yes. All of you, follow me. I am going to address the kitchen help.” He made his way to the kitchen with his squire, his steward, Kit and her son following. He stepped into the room where all the servants seemed to be in a dither, needing a leader, upset about Arvid’s passing.

“Attention, everyone,” said Tolin, raising his voice as well as a hand in the air. The kitchen servants became quiet, venturing closer to hear him. “It has been brought to my attention that Arvid passed away peacefully in his sleep.”

Murmurs went up from the bystanders.

“Although this is a sad occasion, the mourning for the man will have to wait until after Twelfth Night. It is Christmastide and plans need to be carried out.”

“Tolin, I heard about the head baker.” Rook walked into the kitchen with Brother Ruford at his side. They were the last people he wanted to see right now. Raven entered right after them, not saying a word.

“That’s right,” Tolin answered. “It is a misfortunate situation, but being Christmastide things must continue as planned.”

“Then you need to appoint a new head baker anon,” Rook told him. “The great hall will be filled with people soon expecting the normal Christmastide treats.”

“I was just about to do that,” Tolin remarked.

“Who is it?” The monk looked around the room. “It needs to be someone who will carry out your orders as well as be able to act swiftly in an emergency such as this. Someone who is as proficient as Arvid was at turning out the delicious baked goods.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” said Tolin. “That is why I have chosen a new head baker who will not only fill Arvid’s shoes but make the Christmastide celebrations the best that Blake Castle has ever had.”

“Well, who is it?” asked Raven. “No one can bake like Arvid could.”

“The castle’s new head baker is none other than the owner of the village bakery. Kit Baker.” He held out his arm as he announced it. The room became silent while Kit’s jaw dropped.

Kit couldn’t believe that Tolin had just put her in such a horrendous situation. He announced her as the castle’s new head baker and she didn’t like it in the least. She was only here until Twelfth Night to work off her son’s debt. He made this sound like a permanent position.

“Her? The girl from town is the castle’s new head baker?” asked Rook. “Really, Tolin.”

“You can’t be serious,” said the monk, shaking his head. “She knows nothing about the castle’s kitchen. She won’t be able to carry out the task.”

“The mother of the thief?” asked Jarvis. “She is the new head baker?”

“We don’t even know her,” came a comment from the servants.

“She doesn’t belong here,” came another lone voice from the crowd.

“Quiet!” shouted Tolin. “I will not hear another word about it. You will all get to know her quickly. She will take her orders from me, and you will carry out the orders she gives you regarding all the bread and castle’s baked goods. Now get back to work. Everyone. There is a Christmas feast to prepare and I expect it to be up to my high standards.”

Kit found herself so shocked that it took a moment for her to even respond.

“My lord,” she said, her mouth feeling so dry that she could barely swallow. “I need to talk with you.”

“Emeric will show you around the kitchen,” said Tolin.

“But I need to speak to you about this new position.”

“We will talk later. We are already late for Mass.” He looked at his siblings and the monk and nodded. “Let’s go.”

They started to leave the kitchen, and Kit took her son’s hand and followed. Tolin noticed and stopped, turning around slowly.

“Where do you think you are going?”

“To Mass of course,” she told him. “It is Christmas Eve. I will just stop at my room to get my sister first. We’ll collect her husband when we go to the stables.”

“Nay, you won’t. None of you are going to the church. You are staying right here.”

“What? Why?” she asked.

Rook cleared his throat. “I’ll find Daegel and wait in the courtyard for you. Rose should already be there by now wondering where I am,” he said, speaking of his wife.

“I’ll join you,” said Raven. “But first I must fetch Jonathon from the smithy.” Raven spoke of her husband. Kit had met the nobles’ spouses yesterday and thought they were kind people. It surprised her that they were commoners who married the nobles of the Blake family. She liked the idea that rules had been broken where true love was involved.

“We’ll be right there,” Kit called after them, but Tolin’s dark gaze made her realize she really wasn’t going. “Do you mean to stop me from attending Mass with my son?” she asked. Parker stayed silent at her side.

“The servants don’t attend Mass during Christmastide,” he told her. “They stay and prepare the meal so it will be ready upon our return.”

“But I’m not a servant,” she reminded him.

“Not normally, but for the duration of your son’s sentence, you are. Now go to the kitchen and find Emeric. He will tell you all that you need to know. I’ve left him with my instructions.”

Kit watched in frustration as Tolin left the great hall without her. This would be the first Christmas that she and her son didn’t attend Mass. An emptiness gnawed at her gut. This wasn’t at all how it was supposed to be.

“So, we don’t have to go to Mass, Mother?” asked Parker with a big smile on his face.

“Don’t look so happy about it,” she scolded. “As soon as we get home you will attend extra Masses to make up for it.”

A big white dog ran across the great hall and up to Kit, jumping on her and licking her face.

“Down!” she commanded, pushing the hound back to the floor.

“Hello, doggy,” said Parker, throwing his arms around the dog’s neck in a hug. Parker giggled as the hound licked his face next.

“Parker, put that dog outside and meet me in the kitchen. I am going to collect Brenna. We have a job to do.”

“I don’t want to work, Mother. I want to play with the dog.” Parker ran around in circles and the dog barked, jumping and playing with him.

“This is your sentence, Parker, and the reason why we are even here. You need to work in the kitchen to make up for stealing.”

“I didn’t steal nothing, Mother. I told you that.”

“Anything,” she said under her breath. “I know, sweetheart. But until we convince Lord Tolin of that fact, I’m afraid we will be nothing more than his servants from now until Twelfth Night.”

“Servants?” asked the boy. “I don’t want to be a servant. I want to go home.”

“Me too,” she said, pulling her son against her, running her hand through his hair. “Me too.” The hound laid down and whimpered, putting his nose between his paws, seeming to feel her sadness.

“This is going to be the worst Christmas ever,” cried the boy.

“Nay, don’t say that.” She held her son to her, feeling like crying. She was now a servant, her son was falsely accused of stealing, her sister was about to birth a child, and they were most likely going to all be homeless soon when she lost her business. How could things get any worse? “Everything will be fine,” she told her son, trying to stay strong even if she didn’t believe it. Something was going to have to change because Kit would not allow her life to crumble like this. She’d worked too hard to have everything taken away from her and would do whatever she had to in order to get it back. Yes, she decided, she would go along with Lord Tolin’s sentence, but he would be sorry he ever brought her here to begin with. Because Kit was going to beat the cur at his own game or die trying.