A True and Perfect Knight by Rue Allyn Read Free Book Online

unappetizing meal whole.
    He stared at the blood-encrusted, semi-charred mass and reminded himself that he had eaten worse many times before. Haven swallowed a lump of revulsion. “One of your best efforts, Sutherland,” he uttered the false praise without a qualm. None of his men would say a word false or true. Haven knew that Sutherland needed encouragement before the man would ever achieve an edible meal.
    “Thankee, Sir Haven.” Sutherland stood waiting for Haven to try the bird.
    Haven looked up. All his men waited, expecting him to lead the way in this as in all things. So be it. He lifted the poultry to his lips and tore off a huge bite. The meat came away from the bone, dripping bright red juices. “Mmmm,” he managed to mumble as he chewed and chewed.
    Sutherland sat down at the opposite side of the fire, and the men began to eat. Before Haven could swallow the first stringy bite, Marie entered the circle of light. In her arms she carried a stack of flat bread. Behind her, Therese struggled into sight lugging a huge pot. A ladle hung from her belt and banged against her leg as she walked.
    The contents of the pot smelled like heaven.
    The women stopped in front of Haven. “Our lady wishes to share with you all the bounty that you and your men have provided.” Marie beamed the words and leaned forward, offering a round of flat bread.
    Haven nearly choked on his lumpy mouthful. What could he say? I hate food cooked in the French style. I prefer poorly cooked partridge to rabbit stew that smells lit for the saints. If he refused, his men would have to refuse. He looked around the fire. He had seen sterner looks on the faces of orphaned babes. Silently he reached out and took the bread.
    Marie curtsied and moved on to the next man. Therese approached. She set the pot down, dipped her ladle, and then held it ready over the pot.
    Haven thrust the bread forward with both hands. He watched thick brown sauce, great lumps of root vegetables and juicy cubes of meat drip from the ladle onto the bread. Therese dipped the ladle a second time and offered again. But Haven shook his head. He had already folded the bread around the stew and taken his first bite.
    It was delicious and totally unexpected.
    After Edward’s crusade to the Holy Lands, Haven had spent a month traveling to Paris and back on the king’s business. At every stop the food had been highly spiced and overcooked. Not burnt, just mushy. Nothing that a strong man could sink his teeth into.
    This stew was nothing like any French food Haven had experienced. Delicate herbs mixed into the bread accented the flavors of meat and vegetables alike. He wondered if Rene could be hired away from the widow. Mayhap it was time to change his policy about who did the cooking. Potatoes, other roots, even the onions were crisp. His tongue wanted to dance. The only other time he felt like this was in the early stages of bed play. He laughed aloud at the thought.
    Several of the men nearby jumped up, reaching for their weapons. Others swiveled their heads in his direction. Startled looks adorned their gravy-stained faces.
    “What’s the matter? May a man not laugh at a passing thought?”
    His men sat and looked away, all but Soames.
    “Why did they start so at my laughter?”
    Soames looked at his feet, then back up at Haven. “Sir, it’s just that…well, you have not…that is…”
    “Just what is it that I have not and is…?” Haven bellowed, suspecting what Soames feared to say.
    “You have not laughed, Sir Haven,” the man blurted. “Not since Roger Dreyford was convicted of treason.”
    “Enough.” Haven held up his hand, neither wanting nor needing the reminder. Roger was ever present in Haven’s thoughts. Silently he cursed the marriage that had changed his friend from loyal subject to traitor. “Finish your dinner and set the guard. I am going to sleep.”
    He turned his back on his men. Wrapping himself in the cloak that Watley had retrieved from the