Keturah and Lord Death by Martine Leavitt Read Free Book Online Page A

asked. He said it flirtatiously, as if those were courting words.
    “Oh, yes. Of course,” I said, and blushed again for my lie. Slow was good, I thought, thinking of the eye. Or at least hopeful. The eye needed only time, though time was, alas, in short supply.
    “Come to the manor with me, and let us see the messenger from the king,” Ben said.
    We walked, and he talked of everyday things, and speculated upon the marvel of a visit from the king’s messenger. I wondered at how mundane his concerns would seem to him if only he knew what I knew.
    Through it all, the eye kept rolling. Perhaps it was not working properly, and would not until Soor Lily’s price was paid. Or would it not stop for Ben because one had to be Best Cook to marry him? I scarcely heard a word Ben said after that, so busy was I with thoughts of finding a foolproof way to win Best Cook. If only I had more time!
    I looked up at the sky to see how much more day I had.
    How had the sun, which moved so slowly when I was doing chores or waiting for the common fire, become a swooping bird of prey? I shadowed my eyes with my hand to look at it, my enemy, and in that moment I knew how to secure the prize of Best Cook for myself.
    Ben was saying something about Farmer Dan and holy water, but I interrupted him.
    “I must go!” I said. “Goodbye!” And I gathered my skirts to run.
    “Keturah ...,” he called after me.
    “I have a plan,” I called back, “to win me Best Cook!”
    Along the way, Gretta and Beatrice intercepted me. “Do you go to find John Temsland, Keturah?” Beatrice asked as they matched their strides to mine.
    “First I must go to Lord Temsland’s kitchen,” I said.
    “His kitchen?” Gretta exclaimed.
    “But why are you going to the kitchen, Keturah?” Beatrice asked.
    “To obtain a lemon.”
    Both Beatrice and Gretta stopped. “A lemon?” they asked at the same time.
    “A lemon,” I said, continuing briskly.” ‘Tis a fruit, dears. Grandfather spoke of it once, after he went to the king’s court with Lord Temsland.”
    “A lemon!”
    “They say it is as yellow as the sun,” I said.
    “We know that,” Gretta said, “but...”
    “And more sour than a crabapple.” My plan was becoming clearer to me as I spoke. “Yet with it I could make a dish that would cause Ben Marshall to forget all other dishes, a dish that would cause him to forget all other foods and all other women. It will make me the Best Cook of the fair, and he will ask me to marry him, and I will say yes.” I looked at my friends and smiled.” ‘Tis said the queen has lemon in her tea at Easter and Christmas. I am hoping Cook has one.”
    “So your true love is—Ben Marshall?” Beatrice ventured.
    “Yes,” I said, “or at least the charm gives me hope that it is so. I shall do all in my power to love him. With all my heart. Undyingly.”
    “Then we shall come with you,” Gretta said.
    Once at the manor kitchen, I knocked, and old Cook came to the door. “Who is it, then?” she asked, peering at me. She was so farsighted she could not tell a face. She could smell, though. “Must be the Reeve girl. Much gossip about you today. You still smell like the forest. And Beatrice and Gretta are never far behind. Thank heavens you’ve all come.”
    “Cook, we cannot stay.”
    “You must stay.” As she spoke she herded us into the kitchen. “I have the aches today, and it is today of all days the lord receives a messenger of the king. Dinner must be ready, and it must be fine.”
    “But Cook,” I said, “I came only to fetch a lemon.”
    Cook stopped. “A what?”
    “A lemon, Cook, so that she can win Best Cook at the fair,” said Beatrice. “So that Ben Marshall will marry her, so that—” Gretta nudged Beatrice, and she fell silent.
    Cook laughed. Her teeth were all brown but strong. “A lemon!” she said to me. “Is that all, child? Well, let me check the larders for a stray one. But they are very dear. If I give you a lemon,