The Marriage Test

by Betina Krahn

  “The same, Your Worship.” The count nodded to the churchman.

  “You say you are willing to compensate the convent for the loss of this cook’s services?” The bishop sought clarification, setting his wine cup aside.

  “Most generously.” The comte turned to Sir Axel to retrieve a sizeable leather bag that produced seductive clinking sounds as he jiggled it.

  The sound of coins clinking produced a prim little smile on the bishop’s face. “Well then, Reverend Mother, I believe you must listen more carefully to the good count. After all, the convent has certain fiscal responsibilities …”

  Which were desperately in arrears. The convent hadn’t paid its tithe to the cathedral since before the English invasion, nearly two years ago. The coin in their coffers had been drastically reduced by the payment of dowries that accompanied five brides sent to England last year as a part of the Duke of Avalon’s ransom. It was the duke’s gratitude for that show of loyalty that had prompted this feast in the first place. He was their protector, their patron, and just now—the abbess saw—he was their only hope of holding on to the cook who had made the life of the convent contenting and harmonious in recent years.

  She appealed to Avalon with a frantic look.

  “The abbess is well aware of the convent’s responsibilities, my lord bishop,” the duke said in response to her prodding. “But she also knows the convent’s needs and requirements. I would be inclined to defer to her judgment in such matters. If she says the cook must stay—”

  “Is it true that this cook has not yet taken religious vows?” the bishop demanded of the abbess, clearly nettled by the duke’s interference.

  The abbess looked from the duke to the bishop to the kitchen stairs, where Julia stood with eyes as big as goose eggs.

  “She has not, my lord.” The abbess’s gaze on Julia was hot enough to melt iron. Numerous times the abbess had urged her to take vows and don the order’s official habit. Each time Julia had stalled and evaded and demurred, which was so unlike her that she might as well have shouted her refusal to the rooftops. After this, the abbess would cut her hair and stuff her into a habit before the sun set! “But she will take them as soon as it is humanly poss—”

  “Then, I cannot see any impediment to granting the count’s request,” the bishop said, folding his hands at his waist so that his great ring, the visible symbol of his authority, was prominently displayed.

  “Then look harder, Your Worship,” the abbess said more sharply than was politic. “There is more at stake here than a bag of silver.”

  “Gold,” the count corrected, drawing murmurs and exclamations from the collected residents of the convent, many of whom lurched to their feet.

  The abbess shoved her hands even farther up her sleeves.

  “It matters not whether it is silver or gold. Our order’s resources—like those of the Holy Mother Church—are not for sale. We are merely caretakers. We have no right to barter away that which belongs to God.”

  “And yet, you manage to provide noblemen with brides from the ‘resources’ of your convent,” the count said in an even tone, “for a price.”

  “A donation.” The abbess dragged clenched fists from inside her sleeves. “The men fortunate enough to find brides among our charges recognize their good fortune and make a donation to our work in gratitude.”

  “You sell brides.” The count leaned forward with a glint of challenge in his eyes. “How is that different from selling a cook?”

  “We most certainly do not sell—” The abbess turned to the sisters of the order to support her statement and found them and the girls and maidens in their care watching the confrontation in deep dismay.

  “It is time for Vespers,” she announced abruptly, and with an authoritative sweep of an arm, she ordered the assembly to exit through the far door. “Everyone into the chapel and onto their knees!”

  As the ashen sisters ushered their charges out, no one had to ask the topic of the prayers they were being commanded to raise. There wasn’t a soul in the convent who wasn’t horrified by the prospect of losing Julia of Childress’s food.

  “You, too, Julia,” the abbess commanded. “Out!”

  “But—”

  “Silence!” The abbess cut off her protest. “Go.”

  Chapter Five

  It was an outrage, Julia muttered furiously to herself, being excluded from a volatile confrontation where her fate was being decided. She exited behind the last of the sisters and maidens headed for the chapel, only to dart to the side of the door and inch back to the opening to see what was happening.

  “Your petition is denied, Your Lordship.” The abbess ignored the bishop’s strangle of surprise. “I must ask you to take your men and leave our convent grounds straightaway.”

  The count’s response was to spread his feet and set his hands on his waist.

  “If I leave these walls without a cook, I will go no farther than the outside of your gate. There I will remain—camped with a score of men at arms—until you relent and give her to me.”

  “That will not be necessary, my lord count.” The bishop rose with a face like a storm cloud. “There is no reason to deny you the services of a fine cook and the convent a chance to make good its obligation to the greater church. After all”—he speared the abbess with a furious look—“a cook, even a fine cook, can be replaced.”

  The abbess turned on her arrogant superior in a righteous fury.

  “A cook may be replaced, you say … but what of a vocation? What of a commitment to God Himself? Would you deny our good cook the opportunity to pledge her love and service to God alone?”

  Julia, listening at the edge of the door, nearly choked on the unuttered cry of protest that welled up in her. She had no desire to take vows! It was the abbess’s desire that she forego all hope of her own home and hearth to bind herself forever to the convent’s grates and griddles!

  The hypocrisy of it. The abbess defended her right to choose her God-given vocation, while intending to deprive her of that same right the minute the duke and bishop were gone! It was all she could do to keep from stomping back into the hall and—

  What? Agreeing to go off into utter servitude with this arrogant beast of a lord who wanted her enough to pay a goodly sum of gold for her, but clearly considered her no more than a commodity to be bought and sold?

  “That is not a matter to be taken lightly, Your Worship,” the duke rose to insert himself into the thickening fray. “If the cook has pledged herself to the religious life, then such a choice must be honored by the church.”

  The bishop shot a glare at the duke. They both knew, as did the abbess, that there was often a wide gap between the church’s standards and actual practices. Vows and pledges to the church were considered inviolate … unless the church’s interests were better served by negating or absolving them.

  “Why is this cook so important to you, Your Lordship?” the duke asked.

  “If I may, seigneur …” The tall, lanky Sir Greeve edged into his lord’s sight, seeking permission to speak and was given a dark look, then a nod. “Our lord is afflicted with a rare condition that renders most ordinary food unpalatable to him. He has searched far and wide for a cook who can prepare food that allows him to eat normally.”

  “You cannot know the hunger and the anguish he must bear, Your Grace.” Sir Axel lowered his voice to a confidential tone. “He hides his suffering from the world.”

  “So. Allowing him to take the cook would be an act of charity as well,” the bishop declared, eyeing the bag of gold nestled in the comte’s hands. “A sacrifice made for the good of this poor man and the glory of the Almighty.”

  “I will not allow it.” The abbess faced the bishop in full defiance. “Infirmity or not, he’s gotten this far without our cook …”

  Julia was riveted to the sight of the formidable reverend mother defying both the wealthy count and their venerable bishop on her behalf. Her heart felt like it was beating in her throat. She
would never have guessed that the abbess would risk bringing down the wrath of the Holy Church upon the convent in order to keep her. But, the warmth that thought cause to bloom in her chest quickly cooled. If only it were Julia herself the abbess feared losing, instead of Julia’s food.

  She peered around the dining hall, remembering the many expressions of praise—all aimed at the Almighty—her food had elicited from the abbess and sisters. She scowled. Not that she begrudged the Almighty His share of the credit, but it wasn’t as if He had stood in the kitchens for hours on end, being roasted over sizzling griddles and spattered by hot skillet grease, and getting blisters from turning spits …

  The count took an abrupt step toward the abbess … the duke’s men were on their feet in a wink … the bishop drew back in outrage … and the duke jolted between the contentious parties with his hands raised.

  “Stop!” Avalon commanded, inserting both himself and a chord of reason into the escalating conflict. “There must be a way to settle the matter without resorting to threats and sieges.” He swung a forbidding gaze from count to abbess to bishop, and after a moment shoulders eased and fists began to relax.

  “Clearly, some compromise is called for. The count needs a cook and is willing to compensate the convent handsomely for their cook’s services. But the cook must be allowed to follow her cherished vocation within the church.” He looked to the abbess, then the count, then the bishop. “Then, let the cook go with the count for a term of service … after which she will return to the convent and take up her vows.”

  “And how does that help me, Your Grace?” the count said irritably.

  “It will give you time to set your kitchen in order.” The duke scrambled to make it sound reasonable. “You will have the cook’s food to eat while she trains another cook in her methods.”

  Julia’s entire body was atremble with fear and expectation. Would they honestly consider sending her off with that duplicitous beast? A count who disguised himself in rags and stole food from a convent kitch—

  Oh. She blinked. He hadn’t been there to steal the food, she suddenly realized; he’d been there to taste the food and decide whether the cook was worth acquiring. So that was why the wretch had asked so many questions about her.

  “Unacceptable,” the abbess announced, eyeing the powerful count. “Once he has her at his home, in his kitchens, what guarantee do I have that he will ever return her to us?”

  The count took visible umbrage. “If I agree, you will have my word.”

  “Which I have no reason to trust,” she responded furiously.

  “But you do trust the duke’s word,” the bishop put in with a taunting smile. “Our good duke would undoubtedly be willing to act as guarantor of the cook’s safety. Wouldn’t you, Your Grace?”

  “And her virtue?” the abbess demanded. “If she is to return to take her vows, her gifts to God must not be sullied. What assurance do I have that she would be safe from vile interference?”

  Alarmed, the duke looked to the count, who—to his credit—was keeping his temper mostly in check in the face of assertions that he might be remiss in protecting the cook’s person … perhaps intentionally so … to prevent her from taking vows.

  “You would have the duke’s personal guarantee,” the bishop put in, glaring with spiteful pleasure at Avalon. “He has men at arms. If anything untoward should happen, he would be obligated to avenge the wrong. Would you not, Your Grace?”

  The duke swallowed hard, assessing the count’s presence and strength and trying to think of what he’d heard about Grandaise. His only recollections dealt with Grandaise involved in some sort of feud and going hot and hard into battle. The last thing he and his still-recovering estates needed was the expense of mounting a small army to travel south and go to war over a cook’s virtue! The wretched bishop was punishing him for interfering in a matter he considered to be entirely under the church’s authority.

  “You would do that for us, Your Grace?” the abbess asked, her expression pleading. He had once turned to her for help as she now turned to him. It was impossible to refuse her.

  “I would.”

  “Well then, it is settled,” the bishop said with taunting good spirits, eyeing the bag of gold. “Except for the amount of payment and the term of service.”

  “Six months,” the abbess proposed.

  “Two years,” the count countered.

  “One year,” the duke trumped the negotiation, staring down both contending parties. “And half of the contents of that bag.”

  Half a bag of gold, Julia thought. For one year of her cooking. She clutched the edge of the door frame, staggered by the realization that an abbess, a bishop, a duke, and a count had just engaged in heated bargaining over the rights to her future. The doors and windows of her world blew open and the wind of changing prospects took her breath for a moment. She gasped and clutched her throat, forcing herself to inhale and exhale sensibly.

  Someone wanted her. For her cooking, true, but it was a start. And once away from the convent, in a wealthy nobleman’s house, she would have a chance to see more of the world and look for a future of her own. After all, there would be knights and retainers and friends and neighbors. He would want richer food, so she would have to travel to spice markets in nearby towns and cities to procure supplies … which meant more opportunity to meet potential husbands.

  Her excitement at the possibilities opening to her totally eclipsed, at first, the fact that all of this was being decided without consulting her.

  Peering around the door frame again she saw the count nod and hold out the money bag, which the bishop quickly commandeered.

  “Now if you will summon my new cook, we will be on our way,” the count said to the abbess, watching the bishop sail out of the dining hall to divide the coin.

  “I’m afraid you will have to wait until tomorrow to take our cook from us,” the abbess said grimly, stiffening. “She will have preparations to make and must see that her duties are properly reassigned.”

  “Then I must at least speak with her,” the count insisted.

  “She is at prayer just now,” the abbess declared, looking to Sister Archibald, who nodded and hurried across the dining hall and out the door toward the chapel. “As will we all be, shortly. We must pray that the beloved Queen of Heaven will watch over and protect our dear cook, and will keep us all from starving to death in her absence.” She drew herself up to her full, intimidating height. “Sister Rosemary will show you out.”

  On the colonnade, just outside the door to the dining hall, Julia intercepted Sister Archibald, pulled her aside, and pressed fingers to her lips. When the old sister saw that it was her, she gave a huff indicating “I’m not surprised” and scowled at her. But Sister Archie could never stay irritated with her for long.

  “Ye heard, I take it,” the old nun said quietly, folding her arms.

  “I did. I’m sold to this count and have to go with him and cook for him for a year.”

  “Then, ye must come back and take vows.”

  “And what if I don’t want to go, or to come back and take vows? It seems to me everyone gets something out of this bargain except me.”

  Sister Archie pulled in her chin and studied Julia’s face for a moment.

  “Selfishness is a grave and slippery sin, child. Ye must think about the good ye can do in this world instead of the good ye can get out of it.”

  “Following Reverend Mother’s example?”

  Archie sighed. “The abbess has responsibilities and has to make hard decisions, betimes. But her first thought is always th’ welfare of the convent.”

  “The abbess thinks of the convent, the bishop thinks of his new cathedral bell tower, the duke thinks of his obligations, and the count thinks of his stomach. But, does anyone think of me?” Julia straightened and, caught in a sudden crush of vulnerability, looked to her favorite sister with moisture springing into her eyes. “Has anyone ever thought of me?”

  “Ah, Julia.”
Archie’s eyes glistened, too, in the dim light. She put her arms around Julia and directed the girl’s head to her broad, motherly shoulder. For a moment they stood in silence, one filled with need and the other with regret, both knowing the time for truth had come.

  “God thinks of ye, my girl. And so do I.” She drew back enough to cup Julia’s cheeks in her gnarled hands. “That’s why I must say, go, child. Use yer gifts to gladden hearts, and soothe bellies, and make a place for yerself in th’ world. Find yerself a husband and make a family, if that’s what yer heart desires.” She smiled softly through prisms of tears. “I’ve always believed the Lord gives us desires just as he gives us the means to fulfill ’em. And He’ll use the desires o’ our hearts to lead us, if we’ll let Him. Follow yer heart, Julia. And in whatever ye do, ask th’ Lord to be yer guide.”

  Julia tightened her arms around Archie and received those words into her core as the heartfelt blessing they were meant to be. When she stepped back, they both had wet faces, and Archie reached into her sleeve for a handkerchief to dry their tears.

  “Now, let’s get to chapel before Reverend Mother does. I ate too much to have to listen to endless lecturin’ on th’ requirement of obedience tonight.”

  Late that evening the abbess sat in her private solar with her assistant and dearest friend in the world, Sister Archibald. On the writing desk between them sat a flagon of spiced wine brewed specially for them by Julia … the last “evening treat” Julia would prepare for the abbess and the old sister.

  “She didn’t throw herself onto her knees and beg to stay … didn’t rail about how high-handed and unfair it was … didn’t tremble or burst into tears when I told her that she was leaving,” the abbess said, still troubled by Julia of Childress’s uncharacteristic display of equanimity.