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Rowan wove her away around the innkeeper as he poked his head back out of the kitchen door. Her serving tray was empty and she was after another load of filled platters for the hungry breakfasters who were making their way into the common room. Primrose, she noted, had sidled up close to Cela and seemed to be whispering something in the older woman’s ear.
Now what was that all about, she wondered. Who didn’t she want hearing what she had to say? And for that matter, what was such a secret that it couldn’t be said aloud in the kitchen, among friends? Rowan’s brow furrowed as she considered the questions and their possible answers.
Hmmmm . . . my granny would say those two are thick as flies round a honeypot! she thought to herself.
She flicked her eyes away from the two conspirators, smoothing out the questioning lines in her face, and fixed her gaze on the platters of eggs and bacon and baskets of biscuits set out on the table. With quick movements she deftly piled a number of platters on her tray and hoisted it up to her shoulder, to balance there as well as on the fingers of her right hand.
‘You know,’ she said, stuffing a few extra forks in one of the deep pockets of her apron. ‘Didn’t Will say he was going to work on the roof of the stable today?’ She looked from one to the other for confirmation. ‘Well, maybe when we’re done with breakfast, one of us ought to pack up a little basket for him – for his second breakfast and lunch, too. I’m sure he’ll be busy and won’t want to make time to clean up and come in. What do you think?’ She grinned impishly in Primrose’s direction. ‘In fact, we could take turns with the delivery – one of us to take one meal and the other to take the next.’ She readjusted the load on her shoulder in preparation for going back out to the common room.
‘What do you think, Primrose?’
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