Twice-baked Bread

Cook eyed with doubt the foodstuffs lying on the kitchen table. She trailed her inquisitive gaze over Dochia’s face mask, doublet and breeches.

Eggs, oil, sugar and flour waited on the table. A flagon of precious vanilla and a box with salt of hartshorn were the object of Cook's undivided attention.

Cook snorted, pulled a chair and sat at the table, tapping her foot.

Dochia removed her leather gloves and washed her small but callused hands. She took a bowl from the open shelves. She added the eggs, sugar and oil and started to mix them.

Duncan gave her a manly pat on her back, causing the mix in the bowl to slosh and spill on the spotless table.

He raised his hands and backed at the simultaneous looks of mutiny from Dochia and Cook.

Dochia measured and added the vanilla and the salt as Cook frowned and tapped her fingers on the table.

She whisked the mix briskly and added the flour. She then arranged the soft dough into flat loaves on a metal sheet. Cook swatted a fly away from the dough and Dochia smiled, grateful for her help.

Cook was silent while the dough cooked, however, she stopped tapping her foot and fingers.

She watched with interest as Dochia cut the fluffy bread into half inch slices and arranged them on the sheet.

"Don't you need to stock the fire?" Cook asked.

"No, the paxamas need to slowly dry on low heat." Dochia smiled.

Cook grimaced as she sunk her teeth in the biscuit.

"They're tough enough to make good trenches. Does he fight as well as he cooks?" Cook grinned in appreciation.

Duncan shrugged. It was one of those questions a man shouldn't answer, not with his wife within earshot, that is.