Chapter 21
For a second, when he opened the door to the kitchens, John thought he might escape without incident. The long stainless steel tables were covered with nearly empty bowls of porridge or eggs, plates holding a scattered few slices of toast or Welsh cakes rich with currants and spices.
A dizzying array of small condiment jars and bowls still held the remains of sugar, cinnamon, or walnuts. Three of the sparkling cut glass jars that always held fragrant honey from Fiona’s kitchen and flower garden bees were almost scraped dry.
John’s stomach growled at the heady, rich aromas, even with food gone nearly cold. What he really needed would lead him right into the trouble he wanted to avoid.
Several of Branwen’s relatives, mostly women, lingered near a long coffee and tea table agai
