Keturah and Lord Death

“No, I don’t, foolish girl,” she said, smacking my hand. “There is not a one to be had in these parts, though I’ve heard one can be bought for its weight in gold in the Great Market. But if you love Lord Temsland and do not wish to disgrace him before the king’s messenger, then you shall serve!”

“Then I will ask the lord myself for a lemon,” I said stubbornly to Cook.

“Ask,” she said cheerfully. “And while you are at it, ask for half his holdings, an equally small thing.”

Gretta, Beatrice, and I were given heavy trays of trenchers to carry into the great hall. We were mournful at first, but when we saw the crowd, and saw that we would have a server’s close view of the messenger, Duke Morland, our hearts were cheered. The duke was dressed in turquoise silk, a man very different from Lord Temsland, who dressed in woolens and furs and had little time for much else but the hunt. Beatrice blushed when she served the messenger, and whispered to me that he smelled like a begonia.

The duke surveyed the feast before him, then smiled as one would who was served mudcakes by a little child. He concentrated on his food, chewing thoroughly, as if the meat were tough. Young John Temsland picked at his meat and ate nothing. Lady Temsland, too, ate lightly. Only Lord Temsland seemed to enjoy his food, licking his fingers and sopping up the sauce with Cook’s good bread, as if he were alone in the room, relaxed and unconcerned.

Lady Temsland and the duke exchanged pleasantries. As I served, I tried to attend more to the needs of John. I had not forgotten my gratitude that he had found me at the wood’s edge and carried me home, nor that he had promised me an interview.

“Keturah,” he said, smiling, when he saw that it was I who served him at table. “Are you well?”

“Well enough, sir,” I said, and returned his smile.

The messenger noted John’s kind words to me, a peasant, and frowned in obvious disapproval. John flushed at this and then said, with seeming care that Duke Morland hear him, “You are far too lovely to serve, Keturah Reeve, and too recently recovered from your adventure. Please, take off your apron and sit at table with us.”

“Oh no, sir, I …”

“It is my express desire,” he said, and I knew by his tone that I would anger him if I did not obey.

Numbly, I sat down at the table, but I did not remove my apron with its precious charm. Many villagers had gathered in the corners and shadows of the common room to see a messenger of the king. I could feel their eyes full upon me now, though I stared at the table and would not look up. Of all the eyes, it was those of the messenger’s, full of disdain, that I felt most.

Lord Temsland also seemed somewhat surprised, but he said nothing. The gracious Lady Temsland behaved as if everything was as it should be.

Gretta served me once, saying “Ma’am” with a little smile.

I stole glances at John. He had always been mischievous, but brave of heart. Though he was bucked off several times as a lad, he’d never learned to fear a horse and had become a masterful rider. Once he’d climbed a great tree and couldn’t get down. He had to be rescued by Cass Porter, and his father made him chop Cass’s wood for a month as punishment. John had done it in good humor, and had even chopped the wood another fortnight—as his own apology, he had said.

I confess that I ate little, instead holding the eye while I looked at the men in the crowd. Soon, though, I could not bear its quivering, and I took my hand away.

It was not until the pastries were all passed that Duke Morland stated the king’s business.

“The fame of your land reaches the king,” the man said in a voice loud enough to be heard throughout the hall.

The room fell silent. Tide-by-Rood, famous?

“I am honored, sir,” Lord Temsland answered in his deep, gruff voice. John, his mouth half-full of food, glanced uncomfortably at his mother.

The duke dabbed at his mouth, laid his napkin down primly, and leaned toward Lord Temsland. His voice was haughty. “The king has heard of the, ahem, great things you have supposedly done with this corner of the kingdom which he so generously gave you. He has heard”—here the messenger cast a dubious eye around the room—“that you have the best corner of all.”

Lord Temsland smiled broadly, stretched back in his chair, and put his arm on the back of his son’s chair. “Indeed I do,” he said. “The king was generous. There is no hunting anywhere as fine as in my forest lands.”