Chapter Eleven

Forgive others, not because they deserve forgiveness, but because you deserve peace.

~Jonathan Lockwood Huie

Once in the privacy of her room Kit checked around, making sure nothing had been harmed, after which she made sure to secure her rifle.

The rifle was a gift from her father. A Winchester Model 94 Trails End, fashioned to look like the rifles did in the old days. Old days for her, not where she was now in the 1100s. What do I consider where I am now? Beyond ancient? The rifle had a full eleven round magazine capacity, and hers was done with .357 cartridges.

She made sure that it was locked down and then stored it by her bag. She did not want someone to mistakenly get hurt. It would be just my luck to do something to change history and get stuck by in this time.

A shudder ran through her body with the thought of where she was. She just shook her head; her time of thinking that, perhaps, it was nothing more than a dream had swiftly run its course, and she couldn’t hold onto that fantasy, any longer. She sat on the bed and took several deep breaths. Paused for a few then did it, again. Desperate to blow off some tension, she wondered whether to run or work out. Perhaps work in the stables. Hell, even the kitchen, just do anything to take her mind off what she was experiencing.

Kit sat in her room, thoughts jumbled and racing. Marcus was creating emotions she’d thought only existed in those sappy romance novels, ones she liked to read on occasion. Nothing in those was real, but here, she was feeling the “jolt of electricity” at a single touch. Who knew? Romance was for real. Not sure what she was supposed to do, now, she checked around her room a bit more. Not that it took her long for, despite the size of the chamber, it was sparse.

After the room was explored, she decided to no longer ignore her rumbling belly. Kit reached into her pack and grabbed some jerky. Eating it, she headed downstairs to check out a little more of the castle. Most of the servants got out of her way and avoided her gaze. She didn’t blame them, but at the same time, she was wishing for a bit of conversation.

By smell, she located the kitchen. Kit tried, barely succeeding, to conceal her horror at the mess. Oh, sweet hell, they actually cook food in a place like this. No wonder people didn’t live long. She gazed about for the person in charge. The kitchen area was atrocious. Dirty pots and pans everywhere, and grease and other filth just lying around. Her stomach heaved and churned at the sight. She was no longer hungry. In fact, I think I could do with never eating, again. The jerky she’d had did not want to stay down.

Kit saw an older woman others looked to, went up to her and waited to be noticed. Jesus, even her hands are disgusting. Do they even wash them here? Oh, sick. I can’t even begin to contemplate what’s beneath her nails.

The woman looked at her and snapped, “What? What do you want?” At least, the woman spoke English.

“I was wondering if there was a glass I could use to get a drink?” Glass, maybe that’s not the right word. Mug. Cripes, all this nastiness is throwing off my game.

“A glass?” Quickly combing her memory for another word, Kit amended her statement. “Something to drink out of. A tankard, mug.”

The woman picked up one that was on the side of a table and handed it to her. As she took it, Kit noticed it hadn’t been spared the mess surrounding the rest of this place—it was hideous. Oh, gross. Her stomach churned once more at the sight of all the bugs and other things floating in it. No fucking way I drink out of this.

“Water is over there.” The dirty hands pointed toward a bucket.

Not sure how to approach this subject, Kit asked, “Where do I wash the cup afterward, and where should I go to fill up the water that I took?” Maybe it would soften the woman a little if she knows I’m willing to clean and replace what I took.

The woman’s eyes widened in surprise, and Kit recognized the hint of slight acceptance. I’ve gotten to her.

“Water is out there in the well. Washing water is over here. Mead is there.”

With a forced smile, Kit walked over to the washing water, finding it was lukewarm and not all that clean. She went to the bucket for drinking, she noticed that it had been sitting there for a while and things floated in it. This is the reason people back now don’t drink much water, and I don’t blame them, but I can’t drink mead or whatever the heck it is. Kit barely repressed a shudder as she wondered what to do. She knew she had a cup in her bag, but that would not be polite. Then again, in this situation, who gives a fuck about being polite? This shit is nasty. This is about me not getting dysentery or whatever they died of back here.

A loud crash snapped her out of her thoughts. The old woman had dropped a pot of vegetables on the floor. She attempted to pick them up, while the rest of the kitchen staff just stood by and watched as she struggled to get down on the floor. Not sure if they’re scared to help or just asses, but that’s wrong.

With a reprimanding glare for the others, Kit trotted over to her and stayed the woman with a hand. “Here, let me get that for you.” The woman looked up, surprise in her eyes. Kit swiftly gathered the spilled vegetables and placed them in the pot. “Would you like me to wash them off since they fell?” She waved a hand. “Never mind. I’ll go get some water from the well.” Kit swiped an empty pail, she looked at her asking, “Will this one be all right to get water?” Once she received a nod, Kit headed in the direction of the well.

Returning with the water, she discovered they were speaking French. Not letting on that she understood them, over all, she went about her task of washing the vegetables. An act she made sure to do very well.

Quickly finishing with that task, she asked, “Where do you dump dirty water?”

Another servant helped her with this question, and Kit got rid of it. At least, there are some forms of vegetables during now. Kit ignored the shocked gasps and murmurs in French as she saw to the task of refilling it with water from the well. They can say whatever they want, but if I’m here, I’ll be damned if I eat food from a place like that.

When the pot was full with clean water and heating on the fire, Kit looked to the woman who currently dealt with the now clean veggies. “Is there something else I can do to help? Washing maybe?” Scrubbing? Mopping? Getting you to wash your hands?

They spoke in stilted English, but for the most part, they made their point clear. She was welcome there; granted, they were a bit leery. I thought there was a hierarchy in the kitchens which created issues. Maybe they’re just all shocked by me.

After Kit got all of them to wash their hands, one woman brought her some freshly made bread and some cheese to eat. There didn’t appear to be anything wrong with it, so she took an exploratory bite. The food tasted good to her empty stomach. After they cleaned the platter, they got back to the work of preparing the dinner. Dinner production for the knights was busy and hard work. Kit stayed there the whole time, making herself useful. If the time ever came, she could use some allies in her corner.

During the entire preparation, Kit cleaned like she never had before. The mess was just too much, and there wasn’t any way she would be able to force food fixed in such a situation past her lips. Shameful how it is, the bread wasn’t bad, but damn, I’m worried about what it may do to me, and I don’t have enough jerky to last me more than two days.

A few servants started to assist when they realized what she was doing. With about half of them scouring, the place grew clean pretty fast. The other half continued on with getting ready for the evening meal.

The mess had Kit working like a woman possessed; she took it section by section. Her mom would have a fit over the filthy conditions the kitchens were she there. And, since her mom had passed that on to Kit, she had to do something about it.