“Ranulf,” she whispered as she pulled him toward the bed. And he knew himself in love with her.

CHAPTER 14

––––––––

The orchards had become her favorite place to escape the demands of her new role as Lady Morency. It was nearly always quiet among the trees, just the low hum of passing bees and the very distant noise of the castle. At first she found respite among the plums, but they grew heavy and would be harvested now. Hugh Wisbech asked her how much of the fruit should be preserved whole and in jams, how much made into wine, and if she should like some of the freshly picked plums served in sauces and if so, with which meats?

Gwenllian had stared blankly at this, then mumbled something about how they should do as had been done in years past, before fleeing to the apple trees. All the fruit there was pleasantly small and green and hard, and she wouldn’t have to know what to do with it for some weeks.

For four days now, she had spent at least half her hours in desperate uncertainty. Each day, she visited the kitchens and looked on mutely as she tried to remember long-forgotten lessons about how to properly salt the meat or brine the fish. Every servant there, even to the young girl whose sole task was to carry pails of water, seemed to know what they were doing far better than did the mistress who was supposed to watch over their tasks. Instead of instructing or overseeing their labor, she only spoke cordially with the cook about what was in season and what would be served. Whatever the cook had planned always sounded reasonable, and so Gwenllian agreed and moved on to the herb house with relief.

It was only in the herb house that she felt sure of herself. Even in a woman’s dress, with the white scarf pulled securely over her hair, she felt at ease so long as there was a medicine to brew or a hurt to be eased. In there, she did not need to know how many yards of linen may be made with a given amount of flax. Among the plants and potions, there were no fighting men silently expecting that she prove her place among them, no delicate balance to be struck, no constant effort. Only an hour ago she had stood with a sheaf of leaves from a St. John’s plant, spreading them to dry and reflecting that, in this place at least, she began to feel perfectly at home for the first time in her life.