Three French Hens Read Free Page A

things. It was well known at Menton that Lady Christina paid little attention to the world around her unless it had something to do with her beloved books. Which was the reason Brinna was so startled when the girl suddenly tilted her head to the side, her deep blue eyes actually focusing for a moment as she gave a light laugh and murmured, “Look at the three of you. All huddled together with your heads cocked up. You look like three French hens at the arrival of the butcher. Except, of course, only two of you are from Normandy and therefore French. Still …”
    Brinna felt Joan stiffen beside her as an odd expression crossed over Christina’s face. But then it faded and her gaze slid around the room. “They have not brought your bath up yet? I shall see about that for you.” Turning, sheslid out of the room as quickly as she had entered, leaving the women sighing after her.
    “Why ye’ve made me as beautiful as yerself,” Brinna breathed in wonder as she was finally allowed to peer in the looking glass at herself.
    It was dawn of the morning after Brinna had stepped through the door of Lady Joan’s room as her temporary maid. The hours since then had been incredibly busy ones. While Sabrina had carried Joan’s message that she was too tired to dine with the others to the dinner table, Brinna had reported to the kitchens, informing Cook that the lady required her to sleep on the floor in front of her door in her room as her own maid usually did: She had then grabbed a quick bite to eat from the kitchen and spared a moment to assure herself that all was well with Aggie before preparing a trencher and delivering it to the lady, only to find her in the bath Lady Christina had had sent up. After tending her in the bath, then helping her out, Brinna had found herself ordered into the now-chill water.
    Ignoring her meal, Joan had seen to it that Brinna scrubbed herself from head to toe, then again, and yet again, until Brinna was sure that half of her skin had been taken off with the dirt. She had even insisted on scrubbing Brinna’s long tresses and rinsing them three times before allowing her to get out of the water. Once out, however, she had not been allowed to redon her “filthy peasant’s clothes,” but had been given one of Joan’s old shifts instead. They had dried their hair before the fire, brushing each other’s tresses by turn.
    The situation had become extremely odd for Brinna at that point as the boundary between lady and servant became blurred by Joan’s asking her about her childhood and life in service, then volunteering information abouther own life. To Brinna, the other girl’s life had sounded poor indeed. For while she had had everything wealth and privilege could buy, it did seem that Joan had been terribly lonely. Her mother had died while she was still a child and her father seemed always away on court business. This had left the girl in the care and company of the servants. Brinna may not have had the lovely clothes and jewels the other girl had, but she’d had Aggie, had always known she was loved, had always had the woman to run to with scraped knees or for a hug. From Joan’s descriptions of her childhood, she’d never had that. It seemed sad to Brinna. She actually felt sorry for the girl…. Until their hair was dry and the actual “lessons” began. Brinna quickly lost all sympathy for the little tyrant as the girl barked out orders, slapped her, smacked her, and prodded and poked her in an effort to get her to walk, talk, and hold her head “properly.” It was obvious that she was determined that this should work. It was also equally obvious to Brinna that it would not. Lady Sabrina had not helped with her snide comments and dark predictions once she had returned to the room. By the time dawn had rolled around, Brinna was positive that this was the most foolish thing she had ever agreed to….
    Until she saw herself in that looking glass. She had thought, on first looking into