The Wife Test by Betina Krahn Page A

asked his name as she removed his ripped shirt and unbuckled the mail underneath. As the pain subsided, he whispered, “Jean.”
    “I am sorry if this hurts you, Jean, but the wound must be cleaned or it will fester.” She set about using the cloths and water, then retrieved a packet of dried herbs from her chest and poured some over the wound before binding it tightly. Then she gave the fellow some watered wine and washed his forehead.
    “Sir Hugh says you thought the Sisters and I were maidens,” she said gently. “Why would you think such a thing, Jean? Did you not see our habits?”
    “He said … it was … disguise,” Jean rasped out.
    “Who said so?”
    “Le capitaine.”
    “You have a captain? You’re a soldier?” she asked. “In whose service?”
    The fellow closed his eyes and in the middle of shaking his head lost consciousness. She expelled a deep sigh and looked up to find Sir Hugh staring darkly at her.
    “That was certainly helpful,” he said irritably.
    “It was at least Christian,” she rejoined. “And I learned he’s a soldier and sent by someone to abduct us.”
    “Which we already knew.” When she showed surprise, he gestured to the discarded mail. “They wore armor beneath their rags, used well-made weapons, fought like seasoned soldiers, and at the end were ordered to ‘fall back.’ ”
    “This is absurd.” She pushed to her feet, frowning, and rolled her sleeves down. “Why would anyone wish to abduct us?” She glanced at the heavily loaded wagons. “Surely they would rather steal our dower goods.”
    “One would think so,” Hugh said tartly. “Any half-wit would prefer something more useful or at least more merchantable. Which raises the question of how they learned you were maids in disguise. Who knew of our plans?”
    “All of the Sisters knew we would wear habits. Several donated old garments. But who would they tell? They never see anyone from the outside wor—” She reconsidered that. “Well, there
are
several girls who come from the village each day to help in the kitchens. And the farmers who deliver grain and poultry and vegetables. The needy come to beg food at the kitchen door … oh, and tenants come to see the abbess for permission to cut a tree or build a new cottage, or to seek Sister Bernice’s healing herbs, or to ask the priest to christen a babe or bless a field for plant—”
    “So, in point of fact, the whole bloody shire probably knew!” He seemed to choke momentarily with frustration, then forced himself to calm. “Wonderful. Excellent. Now that the
how
of it is no longer a mystery, we can move on to the
why.”
He gave her a scorching look that started with her feet and worked upward to her reddening face. “Why in the internal blazes would anyone want to steal the likes of you?”
    She jerked back with a half-stifled gasp, then whirled and strode back to the tent, missing Sir Graham’s comment.
    “Do you have even the faintest notion of how big a jackass you are?”
    Chloe paused outside their makeshift quarters, her heart pounding and her bruised face throbbing. She forced herself to breathe deeply for a moment. As her inner turmoil subsided, she heard the others inside talking and dreaded the prospect of facing them just now. Shoving her hands up her sleeves, she began to walk the encampment. The men’s stares and occasional nods in her direction reminded her of Sir Hugh’s edict of silence, and she found herself looking toward the woods. A bit of silence might be exactly what she needed just now. She wouldn’t go far, just into the first few trees.
    Old Mattias spotted and stopped her. When she said she needed to visit the bushes, he insisted on escorting her.
    “No, no, you mustn’t trouble yourself. I won’t go far. Just into the trees.”
    The old warrior stood scowling after her uneasily.
    The waxing moon provided enough light for navigation, and she relished the soft “shushing” sound made by the tall grass as she