wrongfully accused in medieval England |

The Duchess entered her parlor, and stood in the entrance. “My word. Who pray tell, are you?”

Bronwyn fidgeted. She knew not where she was exactly, only that one moment she was working in the castle kitchens at Lincoln Castle, and the next moment, she was here.

She gazed about the room. Strange furnishings, yet of brightly coloured materials, silks and such rich fabrics, she’d never seen the like of before. But the grand woman who stood in the entrance had spoken, and she hadn’t understood a word the woman had said.

The duchess repeated her question.

Bronwyn gave a hasty curtsey, poorly done, and bowed her head meekly. “Forgive me, mistress, but I know not where I am. Where are we?”

The duchess cocked her head a moment. “My dear girl…” She clapped her hands and began to speak in a different tongue. “If I am not mistaken, you are speaking an old tongue, what we today would call ‘MIddle English’, I believe.”

Bronwyn’s eyes lit up. “Yes, mistress. You’re right. But where I am?”

“You’re in my parlor. How did you get here? Did the servants let you in?”

Bronwyn dropped her gaze. “I am a servant, mistress. I’m sorry, I don’t know. I was in the castle kitchen before, and then suddenly I was here. I know not how, or why.”

“Well you look famished, and I am parched. Sit, and we’ll have a spot of tea.”

Bronwyn swallowed. Sit, with a lady? “Mistress, you are most kind, but—”

“But nothing. Sit down and join me. I insist. I long for diverting conversation and you look as if you have a story to tell. Please.” The duchess gave her a pointed look.

Bronwyn sat but instantly jumped up again.

“What is wrong?” the duchess asked.

“Nothing. It’s just… The cushion. It’s so… soft.”

The duchess laughed and pulled the bell for a servant. When one entered a moment later, she said, “We’ll have tea. And whatever scones or biscuits the cook has ready, please.”

Once they were alone, Bronwyn sat, very carefully perched at the edge of the extremely comfortable sofa cushion, and faced her new acquaintance.

“I am the Duchess of Haverford. And you are?”

“Bronwyn Blakenhale, of Lincoln, mistress.”

“And what year is it, pray tell?” the duchess asked.

Bronwyn cocked her head. “Why, it’s the year eleven hundred and forty-one of course.”

“Indeed. Well. Whilst we wait for tea, do tell me your story.”

A moment later, tea arrived, and Bronwyn needed no further urging.

“My Papa and I were in the market when a man came, a nobleman, and he placed an order for bread rolls.”

“Bread?”

“We are bakers, mistress. He wanted an expensive order. Pandemain, nice bread rolls for dinner at the castle.”

“Pandemain?”

“Made from a white flour, we sift the flour two to three times and use more expensive flour than the cheap brown. The nobles like it,” Bronwyn said.

“My word. You do not shy away from giving your opinion, do you?”

Bronwyn took that moment to sip her tea, watching her hostess closely. She said, “But… after that, trouble happened.”

The duchess paused, her cup halfway to her lips. “Oh? What? You burnt the bread?” she teased.

Bronwyn shook her head. “No, mistress. Worse. When we brought them to the castle, I spied a man messing with them, and I raised a fuss but no one believed me. Then a cook got sick, the nobleman who ordered the rolls died, and—”

“Oh my word.” The duchess set down her tea. “Do you mean to say your bread rolls killed someone?”

“Yes.” Bronwyn met the duchess’s eyes. “Poison. But it was not our fault. We weren’t trying to kill anyone.”

“So what happened?”

“The king and queen demanded to see us. They imprisoned my Papa and sent me to work in the kitchens. Now I have to solve this and find out who it was who really poisoned our rolls.”

“Surely someone else can do that. What can you possibly do?”

“I can cook, and look around, and talk to people. And bring my Papa food in prison. I have to find out who is behind this. If I don’t, they’ll hang him.”

“Oh my dear girl.” She rose. “I can feel our time together grows short. Do visit me again for tea, sometime. And best of luck.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” Bronwyn rose and tried to curtsey, but was awkward, all limbs and unfamiliar footing. Her face turned pink.

“And do practice that. It may help if you work with more aristocrats.” The duchess said.

“Yes, Mistress. Farewell.” Bronwyn stepped into the shadows.

As the duchess opened the curtains of her parlor more to let the light in, Bronwyn was gone.

Read more about the murder mystery in Winter’s Poison!

Winter’s Poison

E.L. Johnson

Bronwyn Blakenhale’s world is about to turn upside down. A young baker who wants a bit of independence from her simple life in twelfth-century Lincoln, she gets involved in courtly politics when an expensive order for bread rolls leaves one man dead at the king’s table, and all fingers point at her and her father.

With her father imprisoned for a crime he did not commit, Bronwyn is tasked by the queen to find out who poisoned the rolls and likely meant to kill the royal family. But with her father surrounded by men loyal to the opposing empress, spies afoot in the castle, and a poisoner on the loose, Bronwyn’s time is short. Now, if only she didn’t have young men like the squire Rupert to distract her.

Rupert Bothwell, the squire of a knight, has a friendly smile for everyone, including a beautiful lady at court who admires him, but he insists on walking Bronwyn home at night. Is he just being chivalrous or is there something more? But Bronwyn has more to deal with, as a childhood friend steps in to help her family’s bakery and makes it clear he doesn’t want her friendship, but her heart.

From feuding factions and turncoat knights at court to castle prisons and an invading army on the horizon, Bronwyn must find the killer and prove her father’s innocence—or lose all that she holds dear. In a world dominated by intrigue and murder, Bronwyn might just surprise everyone and prove that she is no ordinary baker.

https://www.amazon.com/Winters-Poison-Medieval-Historical-Mystery-ebook/dp/B0DTWVCYT5?ref_=ast_author_mpb