“Was the Bryndon to your liking?” he asked, lifting her into the saddle.
“It was. And so was the meal of goose filled with the delicious stuffing of grapes, garlic, cider vinegar, and parsley. Just thinking about it makes me hungry. Sir Adam, I never knew a knight could be such a fine cook, let alone a cook at all.”
“You have no idea of all the wonderful secret recipes I have collected throughout the years.”
“I will miss your cooking when you leave.”
“Is that all you’ll miss?” he asked, pressing his mouth up to her ear and nibbling on her lobe.
“I’ll miss not only your cooking but also you, Sir Adam. I wish you didn’t have to go. By the way, you never told me where you live.”
“Let’s just say I live in the moment and leave it at that.”
As they rode back to the castle, Eva wondered what Adam meant by that.
The meal that night was delicious as always, making Eva crave the presence of Sir Adam even more. He had served swan and it was the most amazing thing she’d ever seen. After cooking the bird, he had reattached all the feathers. He presented the swan to her in its most glorious form with its huge wings spread out as if in flight. She didn’t know how he managed to do it.
The great hall was decorated with many lit candles inside as well as out in the courtyard, since it was tradition to light the candles to guide the departed souls to the other side. There was also an empty trencher set at the dais on New Year’s Eve, symbolizing a place being set for the loved ones who had departed throughout the year.
“Did you send out the missive?” Lady Barbara leaned over and whispered into Eva’s ear. The earl wasn’t at the celebration tonight. His health had taken another turn for the worse and the healer was watching over him.
“Nay, not yet,” she whispered back, talking into her cup as she took a drink of wine.
“Why not?” complained her grandmother. “You are letting that wretched knight distract you and I don’t like it.”
Eva looked down to her trencher, pushing the Pescodde around with her spoon. She loved the taste of the peas and bacon, but her grandmother’s angry persistence made her stomach turn in a knot.
“I will do it when I get around to it,” she snapped. “And I’ll kindly ask you not to call Sir Adam wretched. He is the best thing that has happened around here in a long time.”
“He’s using you, but you are too blind to see it.”
Eva’s head jerked upward. “How can you say that? He has been nothing but kind and accommodating to me.”
“I don’t like him. There is something he is hiding and I will get to the bottom of it if it’s the last thing I ever do.”
“Leave well enough alone, Grandmother.”
“Nothing is well. Certainly not your father. But you don’t care about that, do you? All you care about is that knight who is seducing you through your stomach. If you didn’t like food so much, it wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Stop it!” Eva sprang out of her chair just as Adam approached the dais with a platter of freshly baked mince pies in his hand. They were made from minced pork and beef as well as currants, figs, and other dried fruits along with lots of cloves. This was one of Eva’s favorite holiday dishes.
“My lady, where are you going?” asked Adam. His eyes darted to her grandmother and then back to her.
“I’m going to my chamber.”
“But it’s New Year’s Eve,” he said. “There is still a lot to come. Did you know the Irish bang on their walls to scare off evil spirits on this night? And the Scots call it Hogmanay, welcoming First Foot – the first person to step over the threshold after midnight. A dark-haired guest is considered good luck throughout the year.”
“I don’t care about traditions from Ireland or Scotland, so if you’ll excuse me, Sir Adam, I am going to my chamber for the rest of the evening.”
“But you’ve yet to eat of the mince pie.” He picked up a palm-sized pie and held it out to her.
“I’m not hungry,” she lied, glaring at her grandmother who made her feel fat.
“Lady Eva, it is bad luck not to eat of a mince pie offered to you. You don’t want bad luck, do you?”
“Nay, I don’t.” She glanced at her grandmother once more when she said it. The woman was motioning with her eyes for Eva to leave to send out the missive. Eva didn’t want to leave. She was enjoying the meal and enjoying Sir Adam’s company even more. “You are right, Sir Adam. I will stay and eat my mince pie as is proper.” She sat back down and brought the pie to her mouth, ignoring her grandmother’s warning.
“Don’t forget, you need to make a wish when you take a bite,” Adam reminded her.
“I will.” She released a breath, closed her eyes, and bit into the mince pie. Her wish was for her father to be healed and also for Sir Adam to stay at Cavendish Castle. Forever.
Chapter 8
Milkmaids and the Feast of Fools
The next morning, Adam dressed as he spoke with Bryce. “Are you sure you understand what to do?” he asked, fastening his belt around his waist.
“Aye, my lord,” said Bryce, sitting up on his pallet at the foot of Adam’s bed. He stretched and yawned loudly.
“Well, let’s hear it. I don’t have much confidence you’ll remember a thing today since you were so far in your cups last night.”
“During the Feast of Fools, I am to dance with Lady Eva so you don’t have to.” He got up and blinked, holding on to the bedpost to remain steady.
“You’re being the biggest fool of all,” grumbled Adam, sitting down on the edge of the bed to don his boots. “It’s not that I don’t want to dance with her, it is so I can sneak away to check that missive in her chamber. Now, did you secure two costumes exactly the same for us, as well as hats and masks?”
“I did,” said Bryce, heading over to a travel bag. “Let me show you.”
“Good, good,” mumbled Adam, hoping the disguise would fool Eva long enough so that she would think she was dancing with him instead of Bryce. Once he returned from his mission, he would take his proper place and his squire would slip away. Eva would have no idea of what happened.
“Here you are. Did you want to wear yours now?” Bryce held up a dress as well as a wimple.
“What the hell is that?” Adam growled, getting to his feet and narrowing his eyes as he surveyed the dress.
“It’s the Feast of Fools,” Bryce told him. “The men dress like women and the women dress like men. We will be dressed as milkmaids today. I even secured wimples,” he said proudly, holding up a white wimple and then placing it over his head and dancing around like a wench.
“Ugh,” said Adam, not wanting to dress up like a girl. He needed to get down to the kitchen and had no time to look for another costume to wear, so he had no other choice. “What about our masks?”
“Right here.” Bryce dug into the bag and held up two eye masks that stopped just over the nose.
Adam sighed and shook his head. “Do you see a slight problem with that, Squire?”
“With what?” Bryce inspected the masks, holding one up to his eyes.
“This.” Adam walked up and gently slapped Bryce’s cheek.
“Ow! What was that for?” Bryce made a face and rubbed his cheek.
“You have no facial hair, Squire, and I do. Don’t you think she’ll notice?”
“Oh, you’re right.” Bryce rubbed his chin in thought. “I suppose I can try to come up with a fake beard. Perhaps I can sneak to the stable and steal some hair from the horses’ manes.”
“Don’t bother.” Adam walked over to the basin of water in the room and removed his dagger from his waist belt, holding it up to his cheek.
“What are you doing, my lord?” Bryce rubbed his eyes and yawned again.
“I am going to shave, you fool. If you don’t have facial hair then neither can I or our plan will never work.”
“Do you think she’ll notice?” Bryce scratched his armpit, then burped aloud and
continued to rub his fingers through his tangled hair.
“If she thinks you are me, I’ll be insulted. But for the sake of the plan, let’s hope she doesn’t notice a thing.”
* * *
Eva dripped the wax onto the missive to seal it, picking up her father’s signet ring with her other hand.
“I need to get to your father’s solar,” her grandmother announced, heading to the door. “He has been asking to join the festivities, although I am not sure he knows what he’s saying. I figured we could dress him up and if he acts like a fool, it won’t matter today. It’s good for the rest of the castle to see him once in a while or they are going to get suspicious.”
“People are already suspicious,” said Eva, pressing the crest of the ring into the soft wax. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep the steward from talking with Father. And I found Sir Adam by Father’s bedside the other day asking the healer a lot of questions.”
“You did?” Lady Barbara pursed her mouth. “I want Sir Adam out of here at once,” snapped Lady Barbara.
“Nay, he has to stay and cook in the kitchen until Twelfth Night is over.”
“Then if you don’t kick him out after Twelfth Night, I will. Now, don’t forget. Find the messenger and send that missive at once.”
“Aye, Grandmother,” said Eva, blowing on the wax to help it harden. Eva looked at the missive, feeling a knot in her stomach again. She had always done her grandmother’s bidding since she didn’t want to lose her home. Neither did she want her father to lose his title and lands. But how much longer could they keep up this charade? If the king discovered she was the one to forge her father’s messages, what would happen to her? This could be considered treason and she might very well be punished. Would she go to the stocks or hang by her neck? She didn’t want to die. But she did want to protect her father.
With one hand rubbing the back of her neck, she stared at the missive in her hand. Her grandmother wanted her to send it to the king. Part of her wanted to do so, but another part of her wanted to come out with the truth. She was confused and no longer knew what to do.
Before she had a chance to think about it any longer, a knock on her door jarred her from her thoughts.
“Who is it?” she called out.
“It’s the milkmaid, my lady,” answered someone who sounded like a man but with an odd, high voice.
“The milkmaid?” she said to herself, not understanding what she’d be doing at her door. Curious to know, she decided she needed to find out. Eva opened the lid to the chest and closed the missive inside. Then she picked up her skirts and hurried over and opened the door.
“Yes?” she asked, surveying the ugly, big-boned woman with drooping breasts. The stranger wore a wimple covering her head and a mask over her eyes.
“Can I escort you to the Feast of Fools?” asked the woman, her voice sounding oddly familiar. Eva looked down to see the gown stopped just past the woman’s knees. She had very hairy legs and wore a pair of men’s shoes. It wasn’t a woman at all!
Eva started laughing. “Oh, nay, I’m afraid not. Sir Adam is escorting me to the Feast of Fools today.”
“It’s me,” said Adam, raising his mask so she could see his face.
“It really is you.” Eva reached out and ran her fingertips over his smooth cheek. “I thought you were handsome with the beard and mustache, but I like the clean-shaven look even better.”
“Why aren’t you ready to go?” Adam’s eyes scanned down her body.
“I am ready.”
“Where is your costume?”
“I will attend the festival, however, I will not wear a costume.”
“Why not?”
“I’m sorry, Sir Adam, but I do not believe in such tomfoolery even if it is custom.”
“Oh, so you don’t like to deceive people by making them think you are someone else?”
His words cut her to the bone. Hadn’t that been exactly what she’d been doing by pretending to be her father writing the missives to the king?
“No more questions, Sir Adam. If we are going to the Feast of Fools, then let us be off.”
Glancing over her shoulder at the chest containing the missive, she figured she should go back and get it. But Adam’s words kept ringing in her ears and she couldn’t send it out today after what he’d just said. One more day wouldn’t make a difference, she decided, and closed the door behind them.
* * *
Adam escorted Eva to the Feast of Fools where almost everyone was dressed in colorful, odd clothes. Men were dressed as women and women as men. Many looked like jesters. Everyone drank heartily of not only ale and wine but also of brandy and whisky.
Adam was quite proud of the feast he dished up today because even that was in disguise. He served Leche Lumbard which was a pork loaf formed into what looked like a gigantic peapod. Then he made up a dish of veal that resembled a sturgeon. But his all-time favorite ever since he was a boy was the Trayne Roste. This consisted of dried fruits and nuts threaded together on a string. It was then dipped in a beer batter and fried up to look like entrails. It was a very tasty treat.
“Lady Eva, I see your father is here and also wearing a costume. He seems so happy today. Perhaps he would like to participate in the egg games.”
“His leg isn’t healed yet, Sir Adam. I’m afraid he cannot.”
“Nonsense. His chair has wheels,” said Adam. “And all he’ll have to do is balance an egg on a spoon as I wheel him to the other end of the great hall and back.”
He raced off to get the earl, leaving Eva standing there alone. Adam heard her protests from behind him, but he didn’t care. If he were going to get to the bottom of all this, he needed to talk to the earl. He purposely waited until Lady Barbara had walked away before he approached the man. The healer stood at his side with his hand on the back of the earl’s chair. It was parked in a corner of the great hall.
“Earl Cavendish, can I interest you in joining in on the egg game today?” Adam stopped a servant carrying a bowl of eggs and plucked one up, as well as a spoon from the bowl.
“Egg game? I would love to join.” The earl’s voice sounded slurred as if he was already well in his cups.
“Oh, I’m afraid he can’t,” protested the healer, stepping forward to try to stop him. But Adam stepped around the man and pushed the earl’s chair forward to join the line of others playing the game. The object was to race to the other side of the room and back, balancing an egg on a spoon. Whoever made it across the finish line first without dropping their egg was the winner.
“Sir Adam, release my father,” commanded Eva, rushing up behind him. Adam kept wheeling the earl forward until they reached the starting line. “Sir Adam my father will not be playing this foolish game. Do you hear me?”
“I told him that, my lady,” said the healer rushing after her, sounding very worried.
“Nonsense,” said Adam. “Your father wants to play. He told me so himself.”
“Healer, where is my grandmother?” asked Eva, urgency sounding in her tone. “She will put an end to this.”
“She took a trip to the garderobe, my lady,” said the healer. “Shall I go find her?”
“Don’t bother. The earl will be finished with the game before she returns.” Adam handed the spoon to the earl. “We’re up next, Earl. Take this spoon and I’ll balance the egg upon it.”
“Nay, he doesn’t want to play,” protested Eva.
“Yes, I do,” growled the earl.
Eva watched in horror as Adam handed her father the spoon. He held it out to her father’s right hand, but of course her father couldn’t take it.
“Here, take it,” said Adam, picking up the man’s hand and trying to put the spoon in it. When Adam realized the man couldn’t hold it, his eyes snapped up to Eva’s in question. She had to do something fast before everyone noticed he couldn’t move his sword arm.
“It’s an easy game, Father,” said Eva, rushing forward and snatching the spoon away from
Adam. “I think you’ll enjoy it.” She handed it to his left hand and her father took it. Then she reached out and retrieved the egg from Adam, balancing it on her father’s spoon.
Adam stared at her with an open mouth. He looked so ridiculous dressed like a milkmaid and wearing the mask that she almost laughed. “Well, Milkmaid Adam, are you going to stand here gawking all day or are you going to push my father in the race?”
“Aye,” replied Adam, clearing his throat and nodding his head. “Are you ready, Earl Cavendish?”
“I’m ready. Push me, wench! I want to win.”
“Wench?” Adam scowled at her father.
“Go on, Milkmaid,” said Eva with a chuckle, reaching out and straightening the lumps of clothes under his shirt that made up his breasts. Then she reached out and when no one was looking, she pinched him on the rear.
Adam jumped and lifted his mask, showing her his lusty stare. “Do that again but when we’re alone,” he told her in a low voice.
The Lord of Misrule who was in charge of the games called out and the race began between the earl and another knight dressed like a jester.
“Hold on to that egg, Earl,” said Adam, taking off at a run, pushing the man in his chair. He was neck and neck with the competition, but right at the end the knight dropped his egg and Adam went whizzing past with the earl, winning the race.
“I won!” called out the earl, making Eva’s heart swell with joy. Her father’s smile might be lopsided and his speech slurred, but he was happy for the first time in a long time.
“Father, you are the winner,” said Eva, rushing over to take the egg and give her father a big hug.
“Here is your prize, my lord.” Adam placed a silly-looking crown on the man’s head that was made from greenery and looked a lot like one of the kissing boughs if Eva wasn’t mistaken.
“Oh, look,” said Adam pointing to a wide but shallow bowl filled with liquid. It was set atop the trestle table and there were flames coming from it.
A Merry Medieval Christmas: Historical Romance Holiday Collection Page 7
