Haven #3
All eyes turned toward the high table as Lord Haddon stepped onto the dais and raised his hand.
“The plague has escaped London’s nets and has struck Nottingham,” he announced without preamble. “Upon pain of death, the gates of Haddon Hall shall remain sealed until I give the order otherwise.” He paused, surveying each group of tables in turn, and then added, “May God have mercy on our souls.”
A buzz of concern greeted this statement, but quickly subsided as a frail, pregnant woman appeared, the gem-studded hairnet that covered her dark brown locks glittered in the candlelight like miniature stars.
Yards of rich, red velvet fell in graceful folds over her prominent belly as she stepped up to Lord Haddon’s side and looped her arm through his.
From the possessive manner in which he placed his hand over hers, ‘twas clear she was a lady beloved.
“There’s naught to fear,” Lady Haddon assured the hall’s occupants in a soft voice.
“The queen’s men will stop the plague with methods tried and true.
We’ve victuals and fine company aplenty.
Eat your fill and rest with an easy heart.
We’ve weathered this before, have we not?
The danger will pass right quickly enough.
” With a warm smile, she added, “Though ‘tis the evening, and we’ve had so little notice, the kitchens have prepared more than our usual evening fare. Let the feast begin.”
As the lord and lady of the castle took their seats, the voices in the hall resumed and the feast began in earnest.
Serving women filed in through the kitchen door in the corner behind the dais, bearing aloft steaming platters of sage stuffed piglet, carrot and parsnip pie, sweet almond cakes, and honeyed pine nut toasted bread.
The children began to drool, and Moll caught herself, as well, as the platters paraded through the hall. Then, an army of servers arrived, filling their table with more food than Moll had ever seen in one place.
They watched as Taran picked up the knife and began carving the meat.
The savory scent teased her nostrils. She hadn’t tasted roasted meat in several years, not since she’d snitched a bite from the innkeeper’s kitchen where she’d worked as a serving maid in Wales—before her father had yoked her to Thomas. The thought of the man darkened her mood.
Then, to her surprise, Taran turned to her first and slid the choicest cut onto her plate.
Moll blinked, taken aback by the courtesy.
“Eat, lass,” he said, then turned to a nearby serving woman holding a pitcher in each hand. “Mead, for the lady.”
A pewter goblet appeared by Moll’s hand. Honeyed mead. The thought alone made her gag. She’d tasted it only once before—on her wedding day.
She looked up to see Taran watching her curiously. Heavens, but the man had the eyes of an eagle. Did he miss nothing? She didn’t answer his unspoken question and turned her attention back to her plate instead.
The wine and mead flowed. Delicacies she’d never tasted appeared on her plate.
She ate her fill and then some, finishing with a poached pear topped with a brandied fig and Portuguese wine.
‘Twas stronger than she’d ever yet tasted, but as with the rest, she drained her goblet.
Who knew when she’d ever eat this well again?
After a time, the minstrels played, sending the soft strains of the lute through the hall.
‘Twas only when her eyes felt heavy that Moll realized the coil of tension present inside her for over a year or more had strangely melted away.
This time, she was certain ‘twas the miracle of the wine.
‘Twas no small wonder that men and women succumbed to its charms. Now, if only she could sleep, she could die in peace, a life fulfilled.
“Moll, is it?”
The sound of her name made Moll jerk, but ‘twas near impossible to lift her lashes. She felt as if they had anchors, weighing them down.
At last, she succeeded and focused on Lady Haddon standing at the end of the table. She was even younger than Moll had at first thought, but her large, brown eyes seemed aged beyond her years. A deep sadness lurked there, a sadness that spoke of suffering despite the smile on her face.
Taran was already on his feet and straightening from a bow. “My lady.”
Realizing she still sat, Moll lurched to her feet, but her mind felt groggy and her body heavy and awkward. Had the spirits affected her that much? Startled, she reached for the table to steady herself, but Taran’s strong arm was there first, firm under hers.
“Oh, do sit, please, Moll,” Lady Haddon insisted with a silvery tinkle of a laugh. “I understand well how the feet and back ache.” She dropped a hand lightly over her swollen belly. “’Tis a blessing to have another mother here, in these trying times.”
Moll stared, her thoughts muddled with wine and confusion, and then recalled the pillow still strapped about her waist. “To be sure, my lady,” she agreed. Abruptly, she sat back down on the bench, finding her thoughts slow and her wits strangely dull.
“I’ve two months more,” Lady Haddon confessed with a shy smile. “I admit, I’m nervous about the birthing. It’s my first, but you’ve so many…I would you visit me and share a secret or two?”
An awkward silence fell, then realizing the lady had asked a question, Moll blurted, “On birthing?”
Lady Haddon’s lashes fluttered as she nodded.