By Honor Bound Read Online Free

Mathilde had been a strange and mysterious girl who refused to speak of her past or the father of her child. But Cook had liked her from the first moment she had come to the château, infant still at the breast, begging for work in exchange for merely a place to sleep and something to eat. Cook had taken the chance and importuned the mistress and had never been sorry. Mathilde had not only been diligent, hardworking, and quick-witted but also graceful and lovely to look at, a ray of sunshine even through all the gray days of winter. And how she had loved that child! Always hugging and kissing her, teaching her in every spare moment.
    An audible sob escaped Cook’s lips, and Honneure’s attention was captured at last. She had never been able to ignore a creature in pain, animal or human, and Cook’s distress finally penetrated the layers of her terrible grief. She looked up and tentatively reached out to touch the back of Cook’s hand.
    “Are … are you all right?”
    “Am I all right? Oh … child.” Cook drew a ragged breath and fought back the urge to sit down and weep. “Of course I’m all right. Here now. Drink your tea. I have something to tell you.”
    Only a vague curiosity stirred within Honneure’s breast. She sipped at the scalding liquid and inhaled the steam rising from its surface.
    Cook cleared her throat. “I want you to know the mistress has been very concerned about you. We all have,” she added sincerely. “This … this isn’t the best place for a child without … well, without a parent.”
    “But it’s where I live.”
    Cook silently cursed the fates that had put her in this position. “Yes, dear, it has been your home. But with your mother … gone … there’s no one here to really look after you. Do you understand?”
    Honneure did not understand. Although she hadn’t thought about it until this moment, she knew she could look after herself. She would take over her mother’s duties, as she had done so frequently of late. She was able to work. She would go on as before. Wouldn’t she? Honneure slowly shook her head. “No, I don’t understand.”
    “Oh, dear.” Cook sighed. “I’m sorry, child. I’ll speak more plainly. You … you’re …” Cook swallowed. “You’re going to leave Amboise.”
    Thin slivers of fear pierced the armor of Honneure’s grief. “Leave Amboise?”
    “Madame Choiseul has found a very fine place for you,” Cook said quickly. “It’s called Chenonceau. The mistress there is a friend of Madame’s and a kindly woman. There’s a family who works for her there, in the kitchen and stables. You will live with them and work for Madame Dupin, the mistress of Chenonceau.”
    Cook smiled as if this was something Honneure should be grateful for. Somewhere deep within her she supposed she should be. But it was not reality. She had never been farther than the village of Amboise at the foot of the château. She had known no other home than the small chamber she had shared with her mother. She had known no other world than the one her mother had created for her.
    But her mother was gone. Her world had shattered.
    Honneure went to a place beyond fear. Even her grief no longer seemed to enwrap her. She felt naked and alone, as if she stood on the edge of a precipice and could not see what lay below. Yet she must jump and trust she would not die on hidden rocks.
    “Did you hear me?” Cook said, worried by the child’s pale, drawn features. “Did you understand, Honneure?”
    This time she nodded. She understood very well. She no longer had a mother or a home. She was at the mercy of a world she could barely even comprehend.
    For the first time since her mother had died, Honneure prayed. She prayed God would take her too.

    Honneure sat on her pallet in the small, chilly room and hugged her pitiful bundle. It contained all her worldly possessions that were not on her back: a change of linen, a cotton smock she wore in summer, and a comb. Her stomach