The Marriage Test

by Betina Krahn

  “Martin de Gies, First Knight of Verdun.” Sir Martin bowed stiffly.

  “And I am Sophie Marie of Verdun, daughter of Bardot, the Comte de Verdun.” Sophie lifted her chin and produced a dazzling smile. “If you don’t mind, Your Grace, we were just about to have our vows and future blessed.”

  Sophie pulled Sir Martin around to face the flustered Father Dominic, who managed to speak a quick but nonetheless heartfelt blessing. In that short interval the identities of the bride and groom and the implications of their wedding—here, at Grandaise—had bloomed in the duke’s agile and innately political mind. As soon as Sir Martin and Sophie exchanged the customary “kiss of peace,” the duke turned to Griffin with eyes as cold as winter ice.

  “What in hell are you up to, Grandaise?” His anger was palpable. “If you would keep your title, your lands, and the head on your shoulders … you will explain yourself to me. And your story had better be damned good.”

  Chapter Thirty

  The duke strode into the hall of Grandaise ahead of that mixed party, and immediately called for the doors to be closed to those not of knightly standing. Julia hurried along beside Griffin, wishing she could just escape to her kitchen and throw herself into preparing the meal that in the space of one day had already traversed an arc from “pleasant supper” to “wedding banquet” to possibly a “last meal on Grandaise.” But she knew her testimony might be critical to making the duke understand what had happened, and began to prepare herself for a spate of hostile and accusing—

  The duke stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to look at her.

  “You are the ‘Julia,’ are you not? The demoiselle at the center of this vexation?” Using the excuse of his office, he gave her a thorough looking over as she nodded. “My son still speaks of the hedgehog you made for him.”

  “I-It was a pleasure to watch him enjoy it, Your Grace,” Julia said, with a half curtsy and a helpless glance at Griffin.

  The duke saw the way she looked at the man he had come to confront and grew more stern. “It is claimed that the Comte de Verdun abducted you and that in order to get you back unharmed, the count was required to wed you. Did you hear Verdun make such a demand?”

  “No, Your Grace,” she said with an apologetic look at Griffin. “I was not privy to the negotiations that resulted in my marriage and my freedom.”

  “Who told you that you had to wed Grandaise?” the duke continued.

  “His Lordship.”

  “Of course he did … to shame my lord Verdun … by wedding his mistress instead of milord’s daughter right there at milord’s gate!” Sir Thomas charged, bursting to the front of that group of knights.

  “Either you were not there, boy,” Baron Crossan shouted, lunging through the crowd and caught in the nick of time by his son and Sir Greeve, “or you are a damnable liar! I saw and heard it all. Verdun called out his priest and his swordsman and told Grandaise to choose between the two for the demoiselle. He could marry her or watch her receive the last rites.”

  “That’s a lie! The count would never murder a woman in cold blood!” Sir Thomas raged. “If Lord Bardot were here—”

  “He would face a wall of steel for his treatment of Lady Julia,” Axel shouted, reaching for the hilt of his blade and igniting a cascade of similar motions. Griffin grabbed Axel’s and Crossan’s arms to prevent them from drawing their blades just as Sir Martin grabbed his friend’s arm and demanded, “Think, man! For God’s sake!”

  The hall was suddenly a tinderbox of charges, countercharges, and blades just waiting to be unleashed. The duke stood in the center of that narrowly avoided melee, seeing firsthand the tensions he had come to quell and realizing that to reach the truth here, he would have to employ something considerably more facile and effective than the hammer of royal authority. Luckily he had lived long enough to know there was more than one way to get people to talk.

  “Lady Julia,” he said with calculated calm. “This kitchen Reynard has rattled on about for days … I’ve a yen to see it. Be so kind as to show it to me.”

  “O-Of course, Your Grace.” She looked up at Griffin with widened eyes. He frowned at the duke, clearly suspicious of this sudden change in strategy, but then nodded. “The kitchen is this way.”

  “The rest of you”—the duke gestured irritably to the assembly as he exited—“try not to impale each other while I’m gone.”

  With no little anxiety, Julia opened the upper kitchen door and escorted the duke onto the landing that provided a splendid view of the grandly proportioned chamber. She pointed out the specialized hearths, the ovens, the larder and doors and rope-operated lifts to the scullery. The hearths were glowing, the aisles were full of potboys and hall servers doubling as porters, and the work tables were ringed with women and young girls chopping, grating, and rolling. The intense activity and production were being shepherded by an apple-cheeked nun in full habit … who looked up and waved at them.

  “This is my chaperone, Sister Regine,” Julia introduced her when the duke reached the bottom of the stairs. Regine curtsied and bade the duke welcome without so much as a stumble. Then she clapped her hands and told everyone to stop gawking and return to their work … and miracle of miracles, they did.

  Julia led him by the hearths, explaining some of the improvements that made Grand Jean’s kitchen such a joy to work in, and then shared with him the menu for the evening’s meal … which now would be augmented by sweetmeats, wafers, and tarts in celebration of Lady Sophie and Sir Martin’s wedding.

  “This wedding today …” the duke mused, snitching a slice of fennel bulb from the table where greens were being prepared for the pot. “Why was the count of Verdun’s only daughter being wedded to Verdun’s First Knight in Grandaise’s chapel?”

  “That’s a bit of a story, Your Grace,” she said, watching the way the duke munched and swallowed and looked about for more.

  “I’m all ears,” he said, snatching a number of almonds.

  Julia led him to the bench just outside the door and shooed the duty-dodging potboys back inside. He waved her to a seat beside him and she began.

  “It started when I was abducted and taken to Verdun.”

  “Were you hurt in any way?”

  “Only my pride. Though being bound hand and foot wasn’t particularly pleasant. Anyway, the count had me locked up in a tower room and Lady Sophie sneaked in to my prison to see me. Feeling like fellow prisoners, we quickly became friends. She told me how much she hated the idea of marrying Lord Griffin—whom she believed to be a raging beast of some kind. I told her how wrong she was about him … and how handsome and strong and honorable he was. She apparently got the notion that I had fallen under his spell.” She looked toward the door. “Milord duke, are you thirsty? We have just brought up some excellent wine from the cellar.”

  “So, when Lord Griffin brought a force of men to demand my freedom,” she continued as the duke sipped his wine, “Sophie suggested to her father that the price of my freedom should be that Lord Griffin would marry me. It served her purposes, since she wanted to escape marrying him, and she believed it served mine. Your Grace, would you mind testing the cheese fritters? The first batch has just come out of the fryer.”

  The duke alternately blew on and munched on his golden lumps of savory cheese and herb dough.

  “Of course I can’t say I wasn’t pleased in some way. His Lordship is a deeply honorable man … fair-minded and generous and very manly.” She smiled at that. “And as to violating his arrangement with the convent … he tried valiantly to protect me and keep my ‘gifts to God’ intact. But—flawed and willful creature that I am—I was never meant for religious vows. I didn’t want to be a nun and Reverend Mother knew it. She wanted to keep me there as the convent’s cook because my food made for harmony among the sisters and maids. Good food will do that … make for good feelings and good relations. Sister Boniface used to say that there aren’t many problems that can’t be solved over a cup of wine and a fi
ne roast joint of meat. How about trying some of my baked buttered wortes and minces in vinegar, Your Grace? This is a new recipe …”

  The duke ate and listened and nodded, making encouraging “umhmm” sounds. She told him about Sophie’s flight from her father’s house and about Sir Martin’s daring appearance that morning. She confessed that she and Sophie had put Griffin in something of a corner, making him agree to protect his enemy’s daughter against her father. But, the count was behaving monstrously in trying to provoke Griffin and to marry his only remaining child off to a giant dumpling.

  “The main course is Chicken Ambrogino with Dried Fruit. Would you like some almond rice with that, too?”

  When the serving began in the hall, the duke suggested that she bring Lady Sophie back with her, so that he might have a word with her in private.

  Sophie was surprisingly shy, having never set eyes on a nobleman of such rank before. Julia brought her a cup of wine, and she warmed and began to answer the duke’s questions.

  “I told my father that if Lord Griffin wanted his cook back—I knew by then that she was his cook and not his mistress—that he should have to wed her. Later, when she sent for truffles and that book of recipes, I seized the chance to escape and asked for sanctuary here. I mean, can you imagine a lifetime of sleeping with one eye open, in constant fear that your husband might roll over and suffocate you? And Sir Martin is the perfect knight. My father hardly deserves to have such a strong and capable right arm.”

  “Your father has no son to inherit, does he?” the duke mused.

  “That’s why my father keeps trying to marry me off to some wealthy nobleman. So he can protect our lands from”—she looked around her—“from Grandaise. But Julia is my dear friend and the Beast isn’t nearly as beastly as my father seemed to think.” A new thought caused her genuine distress: “I only hope my father doesn’t try to kill Martin when he learns he married me.”

  The duke asked Sophie to send him Sir Martin when she returned to the hall. It proved to be a difficult interview for Martin de Gies, who struggled with his loyalty to both his lord and the truth. In the end, he confessed to the duke that his lord had indeed coerced Grandaise to wed Julia under threat of violence … though the beheading threat was meant just as a coercive ploy.

  “Damned dangerous ploy,” the duke declared irritably. “Tell me, de Gies … why did you come to Grandaise alone to reclaim Lady Sophie?”

  That was difficult for Martin to explain without exposing Sophie’s scandalous behavior. He was able to say that he knew Sophie was impetuous and that her father was already furious with her intractable attitude. He hoped to convince Grandaise to cooperate and to return her to Verdun before the count realized she was missing. But time dragged on and when confronted with the demand that he wed Sophie, who would not leave otherwise, he felt he had no choice. Matters were growing worse by the day. He believed if he didn’t get her home straightaway, there would be bloodshed between the houses.

  Looking back, he could see that he hadn’t showed the wisest of judgment.

  “Well, now you have a chance to redeem your judgment,” the duke declared testily. “You must refrain from making Lady Sophie your wife in earnest. If the marriage may be annulled, the situation may yet be saved.”

  Sir Martin took the suggestion as the command it was, and nodded manfully. But as he walked back to the hall he looked like a man who had just wrestled a badger and lost.

  Next Baron Crossan and the duke shared a full cup of wine as the baron related what he had seen and heard before and since his arrival. “Verdun’s a treacherous old goat. I was there, I saw it all. He tried to make it look like Lord Griffin was the one who broke the truce, but it was him all along. Thank Heaven our wise king has seen the falseness of his nature and sent someone to search out the truth. Say, are you going to eat that fritter?”

  Lastly, the duke called for Griffin to join him on the bench beside the kitchen door. They shared almond cakes with cherry sauce, hot spiced nuts, stuffed dates and figs, and wafers dipped in blackberry confit … while the duke quizzed him on the details of the two weddings and his abysmal failure as a guardian of young females.

  “In wedding the cook you vowed to protect,” the duke declared, “you have broken your word and insulted both church and state.”

  Griffin nodded grimly. “The fault is entirely mine, Your Grace, for trusting that Verdun would deal with me honorably and abide by the truce. For not keeping Julia under lock and key for the balance of the year. And for not having the strength of will to keep her at bay once the vows were spoken. I truly intended to seek an annulment and allow her to return to the convent.” He propped his elbows on his knees and stared off into a memory. “I lasted all of a week. Once she started cooking … Sweet Jesus, what that woman can do with a truffle. A man doesn’t stand a chance.”

  After a bit more wine, the duke and Lord Griffin sauntered around the great hall to the main doors. They heard raised voices in what sounded like shouting and rushed inside to find the voices were raised in song, not conflict. At the head table sat Sir Martin and Sophie, bound together with a garland of flowers, enduring rounds of ill-sung bridal songs with nervous grace.

  All around the hall, faces were wine warmed and merry, and even the contests and wagers between knights, which often grew contentious, had a genial tone to them. The duke strolled through the hall, watching and listening. Over and over, he heard comments about the fritters, the chicken ambrogino, the almond cakes, and even the buttered wortes and minces.

  A fleeting recall of a comment Lady Julia made left him scratching his head and trying to call it back again. Something about food and … relatives … or music … or something. He sighed. He’d remember it in the morning. He quit the impromptu wedding feast to trudge up the stairs to the lord’s chamber and fall asleep the instant his head touched the pillows.

  * * *

  The harmony, camaraderie, and good relations that dampened the tension in the hall during supper evaporated the next day with the morning dew. The night’s respite had also laid to rest the duke’s food-sweetened approach to gathering testimony. He announced to the hall over breakfast that he would be questioning more persons on the accuracy of the accounts given heretofore. And as soon as he downed the last swallow of his morning ale, he began with Axel and Greeve.

  Then midmorning, shouts came from the sentries on the west walls: a force of men riding hard on Grandaise. Alarms rang continuously as the folk of the village streamed through the gates and Grandaise’s guardsmen rushed to take up positions on the walls. It wasn’t long before word came down from the lookouts that the force, as expected, rode under a banner of red and white.

  Griffin grimly donned his armor and sword and shouted orders to his knights and men along the walls. He exited the hall into the midst of the villagers streaming in to take refuge within the walls and sent to the armory for weapons with which to defend themselves.

  “Grandaise!” The duke hurried to confront Griffin. “I’ll have no blood shed this day, is that clear? I shall meet Verdun outside the gates with my men and deliver the news of his daughter’s marriage.” The duke’s fleshy face was filled with resolve. “Close the gates behind me. And if you value your life, you’ll see that no ‘stray’ arrows are loosed.”

  Griffin studied the duke’s face and realized he had no choice but to comply. Only through a direct confrontation of his own would the king’s noble emissary begin to understand how treacherous Verdun could be. He nodded and escorted the duke to the gates.

  By the time Verdun and his knights arrived at the gentle slope approaching the front gates of Grandaise, the duke stood outside the closed iron gates, flanked by Sir Thomas de Albans and the captain of the king’s men. The duke had prevented Sir Martin from joining them, insisting that it would be best for the bridegroom to remain inside the walls until the count’s reaction to the marriage was known. Behind them and stretching out along the wall on either side was a rank of purple and whit
e—a score of the king’s men—weapons at the ready. To the duke’s left, farther along the wall, stood a collection of tents flying the king’s banner. The duke had ordered the royal guardsmen to camp outside the walls, to maintain a royal presence separate from his person, outside the walls of both combative houses.

  Now the wisdom of that strategy became clear. As Bardot of Verdun came thundering up he faced the burly duke, and a handful of knights—including one of his own, and a rank of soldiers bearing the purple and white tabards and the insignia of the king of France. As the duke intended, it appeared that the king of France had inserted himself into the conflict.

  “Bardot of Verdun!” The duke called as the rider at the head of the force slowed and raised his hand to halt the column. “Come forward to talk!”

  Another motion of Verdun’s hand sent the men behind him spreading out into battle lines on either side of him. In the prickly silence that followed, Verdun studied the royal banners, the presence of royal guardsmen, and the barrel-chested figure wearing a coat of arms indicating ducal rank. Then his gaze fell on his own vassal, approaching.

  “It is the Duke of Avalon, seigneur,” Thomas de Albans said, striding forward to greet his lord. “Sent from the king to investigate the troubles. He has news of your daughter and insists you come and talk with him before moving further against Grandaise.”

  Verdun chose a handful of men to accompany him and dismounted. He ordered his men to stay alert, then approached Avalon.

  “The king sends greetings, Verdun,” the duke declared loudly enough for all to hear inside and atop the walls of Grandaise. “And a command that you render unto me as his emissary all possible aid in resolving the conflicts between your house and this one.”

  “Then you should know, Duke, that Grandaise has my daughter within his walls … and I intend to retrieve her.” The count’s hand went to the hilt of his blade and his men reacted instantly, reaching for their weapons.

  “Hold there!” the duke roared, taking one threatening step forward. “If you draw that blade, you’d better be prepared to shed my blood with it and make yourself an outlaw to your king!” Behind him, the king’s captain and men were matching Verdun’s men, hands on hilts and lances ready. After a moment his words had the desired effect; Verdun eased his hand from his sword.