Children of the Sea 03 - Sea Lord

any of her business, but . . . “Wouldn’t it be more convenient to grow inside the walls? The herbs anyway.”
    “Aye. Emma planted some bits of things by the kitchen, years ago.” Griff smiled ruefully. “They are not doing so well now.”
    “By the kitchen?” Lucy frowned, picturing the outer bailey. “Not much sun there.”
    “You could move them,” Griff suggested. “In the spring.”
    Lucy jolted. Spring was months away. When she’d asked Conn for time, she hadn’t thought so far ahead.
    “Or now is good,” she said. Now was very good. Why screw things up? “Fall is the best time to transplant.”
    “Is it?” Griff’s dark eyes assessed her. “You might have a look, then.”

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    “I will.”
    Why not? Conn had told her he would be meeting with the remaining wardens through midday. One thing she’d learned growing up was that you couldn’t sit around waiting for somebody to pay attention to you.
    Conn cared for her, her comfort, her pleasure. It was just that he had other responsibilities to occupy him and she had . . .
    The back of her neck prickled. Very little.
    Time to do something about that.
    “Well.” She stood. “Thank you.”
    “Iestyn here will bring you your lunch,” Griff said.
    “I can get it. I’m usually very competent.”
    Griff and the boys regarded her with blank, male, uncomprehending stares.
    Lucy sighed. “I’m going by the kitchen anyway.”
    And by the great hall, she thought. Conn was in the hall. Not that she would actually get to see him, but even the chance proximity was enough to make her heart skip. Like she was ten years old again, pedaling her bike past Matthew Miller’s house, sweaty and breathless with anticipation.
    But when she approached the arch to the outer bailey, her footsteps faltered. She hadn’t actually walked this way since her encounter with the demon lord. The memory thrust into her mind, invasive, painful. She blocked it the same way that she had blocked Gau.
    “ He sensed that you were human and therefore vulnerable, ” Conn had said during one of their time-outs to talk. Last night? The night before? He rose to put more driftwood on the fire, the firelight sliding over his strong features. Lucy had pulled the covers over her breasts. She was cold without his warmth beside her—and even the memory of Gau made her shiver. Conn’s voice was deep, with an edge like an axe. “ Now he knows you are under my protection. He will not violate the sovereignty of Sanctuary again. ”
    Lucy was pretty sure she had protected herself last time, but she liked the way Conn’s concern made her feel. Safe. Cared for. Also, Conn was naked. The whole time he was talking, she was focused on the hard slope of his shoulders and the curve of his haunches as he stooped to the fire.
    She crossed the cobblestones.
    The long, low building opposite the keep was the kitchen, with the well beside it. Lucy didn’t see any raised beds or weeded plots, but creeping among the stones was a tiny-leaved plant she recognized as thyme and a taller shrub that might be sage, straggling in the shade. Near the kitchen door sprouted a clump of gray-green foliage with dried-up spikes. Lavender? She rubbed a velvety leaf between her fingers and sniffed. Marjoram. Good on chicken and fish. She would have to talk Griff into allowing her to take over some of the cooking.
    Planning a garden, planning meals . . . She was remaking her old life here, with Conn as the new center.
    Something about that thought struck her as not quite right. She pushed the feeling away and opened the door to the kitchen.
    The interior was dim, cluttered, and cool, more storeroom than kitchen. The air smelled of apples and onions, fish and peat. Shuttered windows admitted bars of light, revealing stone stained with smoke, shelves thick with dust, casks, bags, and barrels piled against the walls.
    Well. Lucy turned slowly. If she wanted something to do, she had come to the right place. As her eyes adjusted, she saw a long, wide table covered with what looked like treasures from a flea market, silver, crystal, and china. A wide open hearth and a cold iron stove anchored one end of the room. A deep trough with a pipe dominated the other. The walls were lined with open shelves.
    Lucy stepped closer and blinked in surprise at rows of cans. All sizes and shapes of tins and cans, labeled in all languages, with faded