The sound of voices came from a connecting room Isabel guessed to be the kitchen. Through the doorway, she discovered two women cutting up chickens, chatting steadily as they worked. They were so absorbed in their conversation about the arrival of Lord Chetwynd and his bride that they didn’t notice her for a minute. When they did, an embarrassed silence followed. Then they both curtsied in her direction.
“Good day,” she greeted them. “Something smells wonderful. Lord Chetwynd told me the best bread baked anywhere is to be found in this kitchen.”
The older woman beamed, and replied, “Good day, my lady. I’m Gertrude, and this here is Irma. What you smell is that very same bread Lord Chetwynd likes so much. Sit yourself down, my lady, and I’ll get you some, along with a bowl of Irma’s soup.”
Isabel smiled her appreciation, happy to be accepted into the warm intimacy of the kitchen. It was much like the kitchen where she had grown up, a place where the women of the household spent a great deal of time preparing meals. The large table in the middle of the room was high so the women could stand while they worked. Isabel sat on a tall stool at the end of the table to await her soup. The many baskets filled with vegetables sitting on the floor reminded her of what Chetwynd had said about the farmers and their crops. The fresh smell of the vegetables filled her senses.
Gertrude wore her abundant gray hair in a plait that circled her head. The color was the only clue as to her age, for her face was unlined and cheery. She served Isabel a tankard of ale with her soup. “I hope you slept well, my lady.”
“Very well indeed. I see by the sun that I’ve missed all of the morning and part of the afternoon.” Isabel remembered that she had not even undressed the night before. “Are you the women who helped me to my chamber?”
When they nodded, she continued, “I’m afraid I was too tired to be introduced. But I do thank you for leading me to a bed.”
Gertrude smiled again, and Irma, a young woman who couldn’t be more than fourteen years old, gave a hoot of laughter and said, “You dropped onto the bed like a tree felled in the woods, my lady. We didn’t do much.”
If the women were curious about why she had arrived at such an hour after riding all night, they didn’t show it. Instead they answered her questions about what they were preparing. When Isabel commented on the amount of food they were cooking, they informed her that the grape harvest was in progress, and there were workers to feed.
“It’s a very good year, my lady, and the grapes are weighing down the vines,” Gertrude said. “Tomorrow the workers will arrive early, and we’ll need food to feed the lot.”
By the time Chetwynd returned from a tour with his steward, he found Isabel kneading bread at the kitchen table. The women were chatting easily, and he was pleased at how quickly Isabel had made herself at home. Irma was the first to notice him watching them, and Gertrude followed her eyes and fell silent.
“Good day, my lord,” Isabel called cheerfully when she, too, noticed his presence. She hadn’t put on a head covering, and she brushed the hair from her forehead to see him better.
Dressed casually in what were clearly his country clothes, Chetwynd appeared relaxed. His tunic was longer than the one he wore riding and his boots of much softer leather.
When Chetwynd smiled at her and nodded to the other women, it was clear to Isabel that they must be acquainted. The women didn’t seem at all shy about having the lord of the manor in their kitchen.
Isabel was unaware of the flour that dusted her nose, but Chetwynd found the sight irresistible. “There’s some flour right here,” he said as he raised his hand to brush it away.
It was a surprisingly affectionate gesture that made Isabel’s eyes shine. Rather than dropping his hand, he moved it across her cheek and down to her neck. Irma giggled, and Gertrude turned to glare at the young woman. But neither Chetwynd nor Isabel seemed to notice.
There was a lump in her throat that Isabel had trouble dislodging. When she did manage to find her voice she said, “I’m afraid I slept late, my lord.”
“I’m glad you did. I asked that you not be disturbed. I haven’t been up long myself. Bosco, Gertrude’s husband, has been giving me a tour of the manor. The grapes are being picked, so it’s a busy time. If you wish, I could show you around.”
“I’d like that,” Isabel replied, removing the cloth that protected her dress from the flour.
Isabel was aware that the two women, who had previously pretended to be very busy with their chores, were watching them leave. Once outside, she asked, “What did you tell the people here about us?”
“Just that you are my wife and we are awaiting the arrival of your brother before proceeding to Aachen. I think Bosco wonders why we traveled through the night, but he is discreet. I gave them only the information they need to know.”
They walked toward the vineyard, and the climb down into the valley was gentle. Some of the vines were still heavy with fruit, and there was a large group of pickers just finishing their day. Baskets of the purple grapes were being carried to a wagon. Although it was early evening, the sun was still warm, and the pickers wore loose clothing. The long rows of vines seemed to go on forever.
“Can we sit for a spell?” Isabel asked, indicating a low stonewall on the edge of the vineyard.
“Of course. Are you still tired from last night’s journey?”
“A bit,” she admitted. “But mostly I want to take time to enjoy the view.”
Chetwynd followed her eyes, and was surprised at
