“Let her recall how much I hate it when someone belches at the table or lets food collect in his beard when he eats,” Margarete said bluntly. “Give her the wisdom to choose me a clean and orderly lord who bathes weekly and will not object to keeping several laundresses.”
“Notre Belle Dame”
—Lisette added fervent petitions with one eye trained her way—“help our Chloe to see that sometimes what is best for us is not the most obvious. Sometimes we of hot blood must be paired with a calmer, more temperate mate … one who can absorb our fiery passions, and in so doing, cool and sanctify our tempestuous spirits.”
The prayers may have been addressed to Heaven, Chloe realized, but they were aimed squarely at her. Her sisters expected her to let their wishes influence her judgment. And she would have been more than pleased to oblige
if it were up to her alone.
She smiled weakly at them, climbed between her blankets, and as Helen blew out the lamp and darkness settled over the chamber, sank into a full-blown panic.
Things had gone rather well until Sir Hugh interrupted and the king decided to subject her to
his
wretched judgment. Knowing the contempt in which he held women—and especially her—she could only imagine what sort of husband he would select for her. Then it occurred to her that he wouldn’t be able to select just anyone; her husband had to come from a list of five unwedded noblemen. She relaxed slightly. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. The king seemed to think they would make desirable wives. He surely wouldn’t choose to give them to men who weren’t deserving in some way.
She was yanked back to the edge of her nerves when she recalled that he was required to judge her based on her own nonexistent “wife test.”
Now she had to come up with one.
Out of the whole cloth of her own mind.
By morning.
“Holy Mother, Almighty Father, Beloved Son and all the Blessed Saints”—she privately petitioned Heaven through every possible avenue—“help me to think of something with which to ‘test’ them. And if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could you give Sir Hugh a few ugly boils, a nonfatal fever, or a galloping case of the scours to keep him out of the way?”
Heaven, it seemed, was rather selective about the petitions it chose to grant the next morning.
After a long and fitful night Chloe awoke with a clear head and a handful of inspired requirements for a “wife test.” She was feeling quite hopeful about it, until she descended the stairs to the chapel for morning prayers with her sisters and came face-to-face with Sir Hugh’s tired but nevertheless healthy scowl. Sir Hugh, after an equally tumultuous night, had finally purged his accumulated guilt and emerged from his penance determined to rid himself of the duke’s offspring once and for all. He was feeling good about that resolve until he heard a murmur moving through his fellow attendants at morning mass and looked up to find Chloe of Guibray and her hoard of virgins invading the chapel where he had taken refuge against them.
Father Ignatius looked up from assisting his bishop in making preparations at the altar to behold Sir Hugh of Sennet staring irritably across the chapel at five of the freshest, comeliest young maids he had seen in years. Without a doubt, the Duke of Avalon’s daughters. Castle gossip was raging about them. Four of the five took no special note of Sir Hugh’s presence, but one of the maids bristled at his scrutiny and stared back at him. So hotly, in fact, that the air between them approached the flashpoint of combustion.
Years of experience with the vagaries of human desire led the priest to the unerring conclusion that
she
was the one who had awakened in Sir Hugh that most unwelcome strain of carnality. He smiled to himself.
As the echoes of the benediction and dismissal faded in the stone chamber and the participants filed out of the chapel, Father Ignatius scurried down from the altar to slip out the side door of the chancel. Down a little-used passage, he emerged directly into the main yard and watched the king’s party emerge from the chapel and head for the great hall. He hurried across the courtyard, and once England’s chief parishioner was seated at the high table, breaking his fast, the canny Father approached his chair from the side.
“I had a most interesting night at confession, Your Majesty,” he murmured as he bowed and kissed the king’s hand.
“An interesting night for you makes for an interesting morning for me,” the king said, smiling behind the cup of morning ale he held.
“I noticed Sir Hugh of Sennet seemed distracted during chapel,” Father Ignatius continued. “I know he has been
greatly burdened
of late and so watched to see what or
who
might be responsible. There was a young maid in the chapel … one of the Duke of Avalon’s daughters, I believe … who claimed the Almighty’s share of Sir Hugh’s attention during mass. It gave me cause to wonder, considering my busy time at confession last evening …”
The king sipped his ale and smiled.
“I share your concern, Father. I, too, will watch to see what might afflict our beloved knight.” The priest withdrew, and the king mulled over the priest’s words until he spotted Sir Hugh charging through the main doors and heading straight for the ale. Some moments later Avalon’s daughters entered, and he visually searched them, one by one, wondering which had managed the prodigious task of making monkish Sir Hugh look with passion upon a woman. It could have been any one of them; there wasn’t a toss-back in the bunch.
He chuckled privately. This daughters-for-ransom business just got better and better.
After a few moments he leaned toward the Lord Treasurer, Bromley, who now occupied the chair to his right.
“Of late, the Earl of Sennet has plagued me with petitions about his son. He wants the lad wedded and heired before another disaster befalls his line.”
“Can’t say I blame him.” Bromley shook his head as he took another mouthful of cold pasty. “He’s lost two fine sons before getting an heir out of them. The one he has left is downright monkish. I’d be beside myself, too.”
The king rubbed his chin as he watched Hugh toss back his ale, square his shoulders, and stride across the hall to where the maids were breaking their fast. Every aspect of the strapping knight’s demeanor declared hostility toward the maids he was now required to attend. The king beckoned the head of his household guard, and as the soldier bent to listen, he lowered his head to hide his words from whomever might be watching.
“Summon the Earl of Sennet to court. Tell him I would hear him present his frequent petition in person.”
Hugh stopped behind the seated maidens with his arms crossed and his legs spread and braced.
“Can you not break fast a bit faster?” he asked.
“Beg pardon?” Chloe of Guibray turned on her seat to look up at him.
“We must begin this ‘test’ of yours straightaway,” he declared. “The king has agreed that we may offer our slate of pairings earlier, if we wish.”
Chloe forced down the mouthful of bread she’d been chewing and rose. Behind him a veritable sea of faces was trained intently on them … including one at the head table wearing an ornate gold coronet.
“I have said quite plainly that the test will take a week.”
“Nonsense.” He jammed his thumbs into his belt and stared disdainfully at her. “What is the first task?”
She could feel his impatience churning the air between them, and for a moment it daunted her. But only for a moment.
“Our first task, after taking nourishment, is to see that my sisters and I meet the men King Edward has selected for us.”
“Easy enough.” He turned and beckoned. Sir Graham and three other freshly shaved young noblemen sprang up from a bench against the far wall and adjusted tunics, belts, and sleeves as they approached. Three of the four, including Sir Graham, had hair cut in the bowl shape that identified them as knights. The fourth, who was slightly older than the others, had the build and carriage of a knight but had neatly trimmed longer hair. As they arrayed themselves before Chloe, and the other maids abandoned their food to rise and collect around her, the noise in the hall lowered noticeably.
“Graham of Ledding, you already know.” Sir Hugh made a desultory motion in his friend’s direction, then continued in a perfunctory tone. “Jax, heir to Louden-Day …” The tall, lean young lord with a superior air and eyes the color of winter frost made a quick, exquisitely controlled bow. “William, Baron Chester.” The roan-haired fellow was of unremarkable stature, but had vivid, twinkling eyes and a handsome mouth that seemed to be tickled at the corners by impish impulses. “And Simon of Cornwall, Earl of Candle.” The new earl was just passing thirty … robust of frame, refined in manner, and elegant of dress.
Then he pointed at each of the maids in turn.
“Alaina, Helen, Lisette, and Margarete.” When she glared purposefully at him, he corrected his presentation. “Lady Alaina, Lady Helen, Lady Lisette, and Lady Margarete.” When she crossed her arms and intensified her glare, he jerked a thumb at her. “And this one is Chloe.
Lady
Chloe. My lords, your ladies. My ladies, your lords.” He turned to her. “What next?”
“There are so many people here.” Chloe looked at the faces turned on them, then at their guide and chaperone, who had reluctantly abandoned her food. “Lady Marcella, is there not a place where we can be out of the common eye?”
The old lady thought for a moment, then nodded. “Perhaps the queen’s courtyard. With her due to be taken to childbed any day, she prefers the comfort of her chambers. Her Majesty won’t mind if you met there each morning.”
“I know the place.” Sir Hugh looked at the husbands. “East of the tower.”
There was no need to suggest that the noblemen act as escorts. Each man eagerly offered one of the maids his arm. It was only then that Chloe realized they were one husband short.
“The Earl of Ketchum isn’t here yet,” Hugh said, seizing her elbow and dragging her along after the others. “The king had to send for him.”
“Oh? Then, perhaps we should wait to begin—”
“Ohhh, no. We’re going to get this ‘test’ done. I want you safely wedded and bedded and out of my—” He halted and started again.
“The lot of you …
safely wedded and out of my hair.”
She looked up and found him reddening.
They emerged from the hall into a beautiful late spring morning. The air was fresh, and the sun was warm on their shoulders. The courtyard nestled between the great round tower and the curtain wall on two sides and was accessed through archways on the two others. It was paved in the center with large, flat stones and was planted around the edges with pear and plum trees trained against the walls. Around the trees were irregularly shaped beds planted with all manner of flowers. The crocuses and hyacinths were just fading, the honeysuckle, heart’s ease, and blue iris were coming into full bloom, and everywhere there was the promise of a bountiful crop of roses, lilies, lavender, and hollyhocks.
Strolling around the lovely courtyard, ignoring Sir Hugh’s impatient noises, Chloe was brought up short by a score of expectant faces peering at her through one of the arched entries. As she turned back, she spotted a number of heads sticking out the long, narrow windows above them. Women’s heads. The queen’s solar overlooked the courtyard, Lady Marcella informed her.
“So.” Sir Hugh’s forbearance seemed to be wearing thin. “What now?”
“Firstly, each of our husbands-to-be will recite for us their favorite poem, epic, or oration,” Chloe declared and braced for their reaction.
“What?” Sir Hugh’s incredulity was echoed by four other voices as the men crowded behind him. “You cannot be serious.”
“I assure you, I am.”
“I thought this was to be a
wife
test.” Sir Graham spoke for the male contingent, who nodded and muttered under their breaths.
“Oh, it is. I assure you.” She had to work to maintain an authoritative air. “We must learn something about you in order to know how to best match you with a maid.” She asked her sisters and Lady Marcella to seat themselves on the nearby benches, then turned back to the men. “Now, my good lords and gentle knights, who will be first to prove both his memory and his courage?”
It was a challenge they could not fail to meet … not with half of the court hanging out of windows and peering through the archways at them. The others shoved Sir Graham forward and quickly retreated to an opposing bench.
After an awkward moment he began to recount a rhyming story from his youth. Despite a number of lapses and restarts, he was able to convey a tale of two stalwart brothers, representing vaunted heroism and unsung service, who proved that both fates were noble, even indispensable in human society.
Then solid, dignified Simon, Earl of Candle, recited a short piece from Seneca on the qualities of a good ruler; the elegant Sir Jaxton rattled off a number of couplets in extravagant praise of Beauty; and William, Baron Chester, recited a rhyming verbal calendar of tasks for good stewardship on an estate … which included a number of lines about livestock and spring that made the men smirk and the maids glance at each other in puzzlement.
As they finished, a hum of opinion could be heard buzzing from the gallery of onlookers that had collected on the top of the wall and around every exposed bit of courtyard.
“That’s done.” Sir Hugh pushed to his feet. “What next?”