Chapter 10
Kallen opened her eyes and found herself in the dark but for the tail end of a fire glowing in the grate. It took her a moment to adjust to her surroundings, and then she remembered they had stopped at Lord Percival’s estate on their way to Mangeron.
She pushed aside the bed curtain and stepped down from the bed. Before she could fumble about in the dark to find a candle, the door opened. Lady Percival’s silhouette appeared in the doorway.
“Have a good nap, my dear?”
She smiled. “Yes, quite pleasant, thank you.”
Kallen thought it best to keep to herself how Lady Percival’s revealing words of Griffith’s past actually haunted her efforts to fall asleep. Only her extreme fatigue finally brought the much-needed slumber for far too short a time.
Her hostess moved across the room and stirred the dying embers in the fireplace. She lit a candle and gestured for Kallen to come closer.
“Here, I’ve brought one of my daughter’s gowns she left behind on her last visit. It should fit you perfectly.”
“But won’t she mind?”
Lady Percival laughed. “She’ll never see that size again. She’s bred twins once and is with child again. I doubt she’s even missed it. You are welcome to it. I’d like to see the gown worn and get some use from it. ‘Tis too pretty to waste.”
Kallen reached out to stroke the luxurious velvet. The kirtle was a dark midnight blue trimmed in silver around the cuffs. A matching surcoat went over it.
“Why, I would feel like royalty in something so rich,” she proclaimed.
“Then try it on. You shall be queen at least for this day. Or night, I should say.”
Kallen slipped into both pieces and stepped back, looking to the noblewoman. “Does it seem—”
“’Tis lovely you are, my dear girl. All our men shall fall madly in love with you. You should brush your hair again and you may borrow one of my circlets or veils.”
They adjourned to the solar, where Lady Percival handed Kallen a circlet. Kallen had never worn one before and stared at it.
“What, those nuns had no pretty circlets? Here, let me adjust it for you.” Lady Percival anchored it atop Kallen’s head. “You are beautiful.”
Kallen felt like a queen. Her old, plain clothes set aside, she was now garbed as one of the nobility. She hoped Lady Percival spoke the truth and would let her keep the beautiful clothes. She would wear this to Mangeron and make her uncle and his people proud of her.
“Come, we don’t want to miss out on the feast,” the older woman urged.
Kallen followed her hostess downstairs to the great hall.
A large candelabrum stood in the center of the hall, lit with a hundred or more gleaming candles.
The fire also burned brightly. The room held more people than Kallen had seen gathered at one time.
Their boisterous talk almost made her flee the room.
A hand touched her elbow and held onto her. Kallen turned and saw Sir Griffith standing next to her, wearing a tunic of dark hunter green. Her heart skipped a beat at how impossibly handsome he looked.
Griffith smiled down at Lady Kallen, who seemed transformed in a surcoat of deepest midnight, her hair hanging loosely about her shoulders, the silken tresses calling to him to stroke them as before.
Griffith shrugged off such poetic thoughts.
Poetry had no part of his soul anymore—but Kallen de Mangeron’s beauty did take his breath away.
“Would you care to be escorted to the table, my lady?” he asked. “The feast is about to commence.”
She nodded, and for once Griffith thought the cat had her tongue. Usually, she was talkative. And yet this quieter Kallen appealed to him as much as the other did.
As Griffith led her to the head table, he noticed the appreciative glances of many men studying her as they passed. Lady Kallen seemed oblivious to their stares. He gritted his teeth. He would take special care tonight not to let her stray far from his side.
He seated her and slipped into the spot next to her. A servant appeared and poured them cups of spiced wine. Lady Kallen took a sip and wrinkled her nose.
“’Tis very strong,” she remarked before she coughed gently. “You may have mine if you wish.”
“Do not worry, my lady. Plenty of food will match the drink. I shan’t let it go to your head.”
Immediately, servants with trays came by each trestle table, setting a chilled soup and salad in front of the celebrants. Lady Kallen began with the soup, exclaiming how delicious it was, and attacked it with gusto.
“We rarely ate salad at the convent,” she told him, “much less with such sweet eggs. What are these?”
He grinned. “Those are hard-boiled eggs stuffed with a honey and mustard blend. A wonderful treat and one of my favorites.”
“I’ve never tasted anything so divine.”
“If you have a taste for sweet things, then try these.” Griffith pointed to the bowl of nuts.
She picked up one and studied it speculatively. “Could this be an almond?”
He nodded. “One that has been dipped in sugar and baked. “Try it.” He popped one into his own mouth and sighed. “Food for the gods.”
Lady Kallen followed suit and smiled as she crunched the sugared almond. “’Tis wonderful indeed,” she exclaimed.
“You mentioned the nuns did not celebrate many feast days.”
A shadow of sadness crossed her face. “No, the former abbess was very strict. We always offered prayers for the saints, but our meager fare rarely changed. We ate a lot of boiled cabbage and beans and bread, sometimes accompanied by meat. Cheese upon rare occasions. Mother never, ever allowed sweets. The abbess frowned upon them as being sinful.”
Griffith’s heart ached for this young woman. He thought of the countless times he’d partaken in sweetened foods, something he took for granted. “No wonder you enjoyed the almonds. I can’t wait for you to see what the last course will be.”
Lady Kallen considered all the food before them and turned back to Griffith. “You mean more food will come?”
He laughed. “’Tis a feast, my lady, several courses in all. This is but the first. Feasts start with light dishes that are easy to digest. Then heavier items will be served, followed by many sweets. You may stuff yourself as a fatted goose. ‘Tis the way to show our hosts your appreciation.”
She caught Lord Percival’s eye and smiled. Their host returned the smile and raised his cup to her.
As she looked back at him, Griffith offered her a piece of cheese that he sliced with his knife. “You’ll find the servants will bring a different kind of cheese between courses to clear our palates.”
“I can’t imagine more food. This is already so plentiful and filling.”
“Then let me take your mind off it if you wish. Do you know any of the history behind All Hallow’s Eve?”
“Nay, my lord. The first I’ve heard mention of the term was when your men spoke the name.”
Griffith shaved another piece of cheese from the small round and handed it to her.
“The Church does not like to remember that this festival originated with Samhain. The ancient Celts recognized this day as the start of their New Year. Sometimes they referred to it as the Feast of the Living Dead. The Druids believed that souls never died. Instead, they would be recreated in a new baby or in an animal, depending upon the type of life a person led.”
Lady Kallen shivered. “I would hate to come back as a rat, filthy and forever despised.”
“I doubt you would. You seem much too nice. Mayhap a cuddly kitten or a sweet ewe? That I would believe.”
She blushed. “You tease me again, my lord.”
A servant interrupted their conversation, bringing the main course.
“Beef, pork, mutton, pickled carrots, and pears.” Griffith pointed each item out to her. “And the best is yet to come.”
“Tell me more about Samhain.”
He chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “Well, the Druids thought sins could be expiated through gifts or sacrifices to Samhain. ‘Twas fairly grisly. They burned horses and black cats and even imprisoned men in cages of wicker and thatch, feeding them into a large bonfire.
“The bonfire was to guide good spirits on their journey and banish the evil ones. Eventually, the Church turned the day into one of their own favor. All Hallow’s Eve is to recognize the blessed dead, those made holy—or hallowed—by their obedience to God.
Christians are to welcome the dead souls visiting from Purgatory.
Many will visit where their family is buried and clean the weeds from the burial plots.
Tomorrow, some may even picnic next to their dead. ”
“I am amazed by this,” Kallen shared. “Mother Superior and Savina never mentioned this day.”
“’Tis probably its roots in Celtic lore, no doubt, that caused their silence.
It has turned more into a day to celebrate, though some still fear the dead that might return.
I’ve been to Scotland where they drink a special brew on this night to ward off those spirits that slip past the bonfire.
The Scots and even the Welsh try to keep evil witches away on this night by hanging horseshoes over their doors. ”
Griffith took a deep swig of the wine. “All that talk makes me thirsty.”
“I enjoyed hearing about it, my lord.”
Suddenly, her gaze strayed from his. He turned to see what distracted her.
“I see the solteties are arriving,” Griffith said.
“The what?”
“The solteties. The special sweets created for a feast such as this. Some are made of a sugar paste in the shape of flowers, hearts, or cherubs. I guarantee you, my lady, you will learn a fondness for solteties.”
A servant appeared at their table and placed a variety of solteties in front of them. Griffith thanked her and pointed one out to his companion.
“Try this one. ‘Tis a sweet little cherub.”
Lady Kallen examined it with distrust. “’Tis more art than food. Mayhap I shouldn’t.” She turned away from the sweets.
“Nay, you shall like it more than anything we’ve partaken of this night. Please try one.”
Her face betrayed that she still had doubts, so Griffith picked up the sweet and brought it to her mouth.
“Open, my lady. Have no fears.”
She opened her mouth slightly, and he brought the cherub to her lips. She bit off the tiniest of pieces. A low moan escaped her lips.
Griffith eased the rest of the sweet in, his fingers grazing against her perfect mouth for a quick moment.
The contact made him go weak with sudden desire. His mouth grew dry. His heart began to race as he watched Lady Kallen savor the delicacy with eyes closed. She let out a heavy sigh.
Her eyes opened, a bright light shining in them. “That was heaven on earth.”
Griffith stammered, “You have... there’s a bit of…”
She frowned at him in confusion.
Swiftly, Griffith brushed the corner of her mouth with his thumb, removing a bit of sugar glaze. The touch brought a quick thrill to him again. Lady Kallen appeared puzzled, as if she couldn’t quite figure out the answer to some problem.
They stared at each other a long moment before Lord Percival boomed, “And for the head table, here’s Cook’s greatest masterpiece.”
Griffith dragged his gaze from Lady Kallen’s and saw a large platter covered with impressive details.
“Why, ‘tis a fish!” she blurted out.
Percival chuckled. “’Tis shaped like a fish, Lady Kallen, but a hundredfold more tasty than one.” He motioned for the dish to be cut. Soon servings were placed at each trencher.
Lady Kallen eyed her piece of the fish suspiciously. Griffith hid a smile.
“Go ahead,” he encouraged. “Take a bite.”
She hesitated and then plunged in. One bite told the story. “’Tis a spiced cake! I heard the men talking about this earlier.”
He took a bite and chewed, taking a calming breath before he answered her.
“Yes. Some cooks have practiced for years to create exotic solteties. They will take a common shape and disguise the dessert within. Many take the shape of humans and represent a particular saint, famous warriors, even the king himself.”
Lady Kallen eagerly consumed the delicacy. “You were right, my lord. I fear I will grow quite fond of sweets.”
She grinned mischievously and leaned toward him, as if to share a confidence. “If ‘twere my castle and my feast? I would start the celebration with the solteties.”
Griffith let his smile shine. “Then you would be a very popular hostess, my lady.”
“’Tis time to bring in the apples,” Lady Percival declared, her voice ringing through the great hall.
A quick curse slipped from his lips. “Not the damn apples.”