Keturah and Lord Death by Martine Leavitt Read Free Book Online

of the stricken while those inside died of the plague or, worse, of starvation? How friend ran away from friend, lover from lover, mother from child?
    Surely not, I thought, shaking my head in disbelief and horror. Surely not Tide-by-Rood! And if so, what words could I use to persuade John Temsland to do something? I continued on my way, letting my scarf fall back a little and looking boldly about as I walked. I gazed at every man and squeezed the charm, but still the charm searched and searched.
    I headed toward the manor, but it seemed I was not the only one. The entire village, almost, was gathering at the manor. Gretta and Beatrice caught up with me and linked arms.
    “Are you coming to cheer on the men, Keturah?” Beatrice asked, flushed and panting for breath.
    “No, I am going to see John Temsland. I must speak with him.”
    “John Temsland? But he will not be seeing anyone,” Gretta said.
    “Today is the hunt—the hunt of the hart who lured you into the forest,” Beatrice said.
    “But I would not have him hunted!” I exclaimed, remembering his royal beauty.
    “You could not stop them,” Gretta said.
    “But I must try.” Now my errand was doubled—not only must I tell John Temsland what Lord Death had revealed to me, but I must beg him, or his father, to call offthe hunt. As I looked for the young lord, I also clutched the charm and plunged among the gathered men, seizing the opportunity to see which of them was my true love. The eye darted, flickering back and forth in my hand until I myself was jittery and the flesh of my arm crawled. The eye settled on no one.
    I looked at old and young, fair and plain, tall and small. I gazed at fat and thin, hairy and bald, rich and poor. Almost all the men of the village were there, though only those rich enough to own a horse would venture into the wood for the hunt. The rest cheered them on, made bets as to whose arrow would bring the stag down, and told my stories of the stag and how he had eluded hunters in the past. Seeing them so animated made me feel the importance of my original errand more acutely.
    Suddenly I saw Lord Temsland, though not his son, and I pushed through the crowd toward him. “My lord!” I called. “Please, my lord!”
    But before I could reach him, Lady Temsland came on a horse and spoke urgently to him.
    “A messenger!” I heard Lord Temsland exclaim. “But we’ve never had a messenger from the king, nor any visitor at all.”
    “Husband,” she said, “the hunt must wait. The king has sent his most trusted servant, Duke Morland, and I have persuaded him to take his midday meal with us. Come.” Without waiting, she spun her horse around, and Lord Temsland followed her.
    “Set traps for the hart!” Lord Temsland called as he rode away. Some men entered the wood to perform the task, but I sighed with relief as most of the men began to stream away toward the village, distracted from the hunt by a desire to see a messenger from the king. Somehow, in the press of people, I had missed John.
    I turned back to the wood, thinking that the young lord might yet be there, but instead Ben Marshall stood before me, tall and comely. “Keturah,” he said, “you are still pale. You have not fully recovered.”
    “I slept well,” I replied, and then realized the eye had stopped. No, not stopped, but slowed. It was rolling up and down in my hand as if it were taking Ben in, considering him from the top of his head down to his sod-stained boots.
    I felt myself blushing, as if it were I myself who was looking him up and down.
    “My, it is warm,” I said, though it was not. Stop, I told the eye in my mind. Stop. But it did not stop. It continued to slide in my hand, rolling up and down and side to side, as if it were trying to see around him, as if my true love might be standing behind Ben. It was all I could do not to squeeze the eye into stillness.
    “Are you planning what you will make for the cooking contest at the fair, Keturah?” he