Free A Rose in Winter by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

fumble with the buttons of his breeches. "I didn' know you were here..."
    Lord Talbot struggled to appear an understanding guest. A slight tic at the corner of his moustache was the only betrayal of his true feelings. "I trust you are feeling well, Farrell."
    The young man licked his lips as if an abiding dryness burned his mouth, and he grasped his shirt together over his sagging breeches when he caught Erienne's glare. "I just came down for a drink..." He cleared his throat as her eyes narrowed warningly and added, "of water." He saw the steaming pot in the fireplace. "Or maybe some tea."
    He was gaining some degree of control and knew full well the duties of a host. "Erienne," he assumed an instructive tone, "would you be so kind as to pour us some tea? I'm sure Lord Talbot has been dying of thirst." His own thick swallow added his unspoken endorsement to the statement. He started to clear his throat but ended in a hacking cough. "A man needs a good warm brew to clear his gullet on a cold morning."
    For once the sister was grateful for her brother's presence. "Farrell," Erienne said, smiling sweetly as she obeyed, " 'tis well past the noon hour."
    Lord Talbot's irritation with Farrell was supreme, but he could hardly order the young man from the room so he could feast his eyes on the sister. It was obvious the brother intended to stay and impress his guest with his manners, but knowing the limits of his temper, Lord Talbot decided a tactful retreat at the present moment would be wise. After all, he had a great deal of thinking to do about the mayor's daughter before he launched into any positive action.
    "I shan't be staying for tea," he announced, his voice curt and agitated. "My daughter will no doubt be wondering what is keeping me. Since I must leave for London in the morning, I will see your father when I return. I'm sure the matter will keep."
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Three
    FODDER would be anything but plentiful in the approaching months of winter, thus herds and flocks of sheep, pigs, geese, and the like began to flow into the cities and hamlets, where they would be sold at markets or fairs. Drovers prodded the animals onward, while dust roiled up in clouds around them. Though on a considerably lesser scale, the sight was as familiar in Mawbry as it was in York or London, for only a fool ignored the need for storing provender for the frigid weather ahead.
    Erienne sought to bolster the family larder with the purchase of a small pig, the best her meager coins would buy. She could not bring herself to slaughter it, but she scratched out a few more shillings for the wandering pigsticker. The evening before he came, Avery grumpily declared the preparation of food to be woman's work and, fearful that his lot might fall to labor, took himself and Farrell off to Wirkinton for a day of "meetings," as Avery put it.
    The busy butcher arrived with the dawn, and Erienne fled into the house until he had accomplished his work. She had readied the hot grains to make black pudding, but since it was not one of her favorite dishes, it was a laborious task requiring a stern stomach. She found stripping the intestine for sausage casings no less trying. Long slabs and larger portions of meat were packed in a barrel with layers of salt while she continued to cut away the fat from other pieces. Once the meat was trimmed, it was weighted down in the barrel with a stone, and the whole filled to the brim with a salty brine for the curing.
    Behind the cottage in an open-sided hut used for like purposes, she built a fire, hung a kettle, and began trying down the fat for lard. The tiny bits of meat that clung to the chunks of fat floated to the top and had to be skimmed off, lest a scum form with them and spoil the lard. But when cooled on a cloth, the cracklings provided a tasty, crunchy tidbit to chew.
    The hound from the neighboring cottage eyed her wistfully and, when her back was turned, wiggled under the fence and boldly approached.