Bride Behind the Mask

Chapter 4: Where is the Meat (Part 1 of 2)

Chapter 4: Where is the Meat (Part 1 of 2)

Amelia woke in a cloud of warmth and comfort. The soft bed furs wrapped her in a cocoon so snug she almost fell right back into her sweet slumber... until reality hit her like a slap to the face. Like the slap she'd bestowed upon Drake's face. She groaned into her pillow as images of the wedding ceremony and celebrations flashed through her memory and reminded her cruelly of her new status as a married woman.

But she wasn't just any married woman. She was also the Emira of Steersberg, and she had work to do.

It took her a long while to dress and fix her hair—wig, rather. Her movements were slow and unpractised, yet she couldn't bring herself to waking Marge, who was forced to sacrifice her sleep to help her lay out strings of firecrackers. This was all Drake's fault and he shall pay for it!

By the time she had readied herself and stepped out of the bedchamber, the house was still asleep. Well, not for long.

"COOK!" Amelia screamed as she rounded the hallway and headed down the manor's spiralling staircase. Several servants and guards, still deep in their sleep, laid along the cold stone wall of the stairs. She bent at the waist to grab at the collar of a guard and shook him until his eyelids slowly lifted. "Where is the cook?"

"Uhh..." the guard muttered, rubbing the sleep in his eyes. "In... in ze kitchens, miss."

Dropping the guard's collar, Amelia continued down the stairs and hallways, yelling "COOOOOOK!" with every dainty little step.

Already, the house was coming awake with the tired groans and confused murmurs of servants and guests.

Amelia's sure footsteps halted at the entrance to the kitchen as she took in the massive disarray of scattered bowls and pots. For such a wealthy lord, she had expected his manor to be better managed. She followed the rich smell of abundant wine to a sleeping giant, sprawled out on a pallet next to overfilled sacks of flour and rice.

She nudged his round belly with her foot. When he did not move, she bent down and screamed into his ear, "COOOOOK!"

The large man stirred and opened an eye. "Who are ya?" he grumbled sleepily.

"I am your new Emira. Are you the cook?" she asked, looking down at him with her hands on her hips.

He raised himself—mightily sluggishly—to a sitting position. "Aye, init that what ya just called me, miss?" He scratched his scalp of unkempt brown hair, confusion written all over his pudgy, bearded face. "What's a ladyship like ya gotta do wit' me this early in the mornin'?" he asked impatiently.

Amelia raised her brows in surprise at the cook's begrudging manner. In the household of a callous Southern lord, he might have just lost his head.

"Get up, you... uh. What is your name?"

Pushing himself to a standing position proved to be quite a mission for a giant with tubby limbs and a fat belly that got in the way. "'Tis Tom, miss." He chuckled when Amelia dropped her jaws at the sight of him at his full height. "What d'ya need?"

Amelia clutched at her skirt nervously as she craned her neck all the way to gaze into the laughing brown eyes of the seven-foot man, whose head almost reached the wooden beams of the ceiling. No Southern lord would be beheading this one. "Who plans the meals in this house?"

Tom walked right past Amelia, leaving her stunned in place. Seconds later, he brought back a long wooden bench in one arm and plopped himself down before her. "No 'un. I cook. They eat."

While some members of nobility might find Tom's lack of reverence discourteous, Amelia was glad she could now relax her neck. "If the daily meals are anything like the sort of food at the feast yesterday, I would like the menu changed," she demanded bluntly.