by Jeff Wheeler
Lia had no idea what to say, she was so dismayed by his gratitude. She had not suspected the maston sent to fetch Colvin would be another earl of the realm. Like Colvin, he had refused to say his name and reveal his identity. “I am grateful to meet you, Edmon,” she said, and it felt hollow. She felt filthy, unworthy of the look of kindness on his face.
He stood quickly then went to the tent flap. “I will tell Colvin you have awoken.” He parted the curtain and looked outside. “By Idumea, what is happening?” he said, almost to himself.
Lia pulled away the blankets and joined him at the entryway. She heard the voice before she saw the speaker. It was loud and strong and throbbed with emotion. Outside the pavilion, a hundred men clustered around a wagon. The speaker, an aging knight-maston, stood atop. His face was spattered with blood and grime, so much so that she could hardly make out any features except his dark hair, wavy and matted with sweat. A helmet nestled in the crook of his arm and his maston sword hung from a scabbard at his side. His voice was hoarse and raspy, and it reminded her of the Aldermaston.
“I am told by the king’s herald that many fell on the fields of Winterrowd this day. The numbering is now done. Bodies are being laid to rest in mother earth. In number, over eight thousand were killed from the king’s army.” A gasp and sigh went through the camp. “All the day long I have been plagued with questions. How many of our brothers have fallen? Do I know what happened to a lad carried away from the field in blood? How many who stood beneath our banner fell this day? I know that Trowbridge and Holland are still with the surgeons. Many of you sustained grave wounds today. But here it is, nearly dusk.” He looked up at the red-rimmed sky and swallowed his surging emotions. “By Idumea’s grace alone, there is none of ours fallen this day. Not one. I am…I am astonished beyond measure.”
Another rush of sentiment began to churn, but Demont held his hand high into the air. Lia saw the gray flecks in his hair above his ears, watched as the crowd fell silent. His lip trembled. “It is through the will of the Medium that we owe our victory. Let no man who was here this day declare otherwise. My brothers…the day is ours.”
Lia saw the tears tremble on his lashes, and she knew what he was thinking. His thoughts were choked with visions of Maseve and the battle his own father lost.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO:
Muirwood Abbey
Before midnight, two days later, they arrived at Muirwood on horseback. Lia had fallen asleep in the saddle again, her face pressed against Colvin’s back, while the village around Muirwood showed no signs of life. The gates of the abbey were closed. A few lamps flickered beyond soot-stained windows in the small huddle of buildings on High Street. The leaves from robust oaks sighed with the breezes.
Colvin approached the gate on horseback, and a porter was waiting there with a lantern. “The gates do not open until morning, my lord,” he said blearily.
“Tell the Aldermaston that…”
“He knows you are coming, Lord Price. I was to wait up for you. The Aldermaston left rooms for you at the Pilgrim Inn. Over yonder. Be ready then, in the morning, to present yourselves. You will be summoned when the gates open.”
“Thank you,” Colvin replied and tugged the reins to turn the stallion about. Edmon and several other horsemen followed to the inn.
“It did not take long to reach here,” Edmon said thoughtfully, then yawned. “Are you still going to hold a vigil for her?”
He stared at the inn, remembering vividly the last time he had come and who had rescued him. For a moment, he was prisoner to those memories. Wordlessly, he nodded.
“I will join you then. For her sake. She deserves the best room.” Edmon dismounted and helped steady her as Colvin slid off the stallion. He carried her up the stairs himself.
* * *
Lia awoke on the softest stuffed mattress, beneath the cleanest sheets, and resting amidst the plumpest pillows in the entire village. Warmth shimmered from the brazier. Lifting her head, she looked around and slowly recognized the room. There was the table where days before, the sheriff’s men had eaten the feast and fallen asleep while she rescued Colvin. The noise that had awakened her was the door as it butted open and in came a girl she recognized from that adventure, Bryn, carrying a long brown dress and fresh girdle. In the other hand, she carried a tray of bread and some white cheese.
“I am sent to help you,” Bryn said cheerily. “The Aldermaston’s steward just arrived from the tunnels. He is to take you back now, but we must clean you up first.”
Lia swung her legs over the side of the bed, squeezing the sheets and mattress, savoring their softness. “Am I alone? I do not even remember arriving last night.”
“Were you expecting mastons to sleep here with you all alone?” She set the tray on the table and crossed to the window and opened the shutters to peek outside. “Most slept in rooms down the hall. Two guard your door even now. The earl of Forshee, he stayed awake all night in the common room. So did the earl of Norris-York. We asked them if they were weary, and they said they were not. They are waiting in the kitchen for you now with Prestwich. Do you remember me? Can you not tell me your name still?”
Lia nodded. “Mine is Lia. I have not forgotten you, Bryn. Or what your family did for me.”
“Well, neither did the earl of Forshee,” she said smugly. “He rewarded us amply. Come over. I will brush your hair. It is a nest of snags. I can help you wash.”
Lia stopped by the window and looked out. Dawn touched the sky with pink and she could barely see the outline of the abbey against a sea of purple sky. Her heart thrilled. Bryn dragged a stool by the brazier, and Lia went to enjoy the warmth. There was a mirror nearby and what she saw in it revolted her. Turning away, she ate the warm bread while Bryn brushed the many tangles out of her hair, then gathered the mass into a thick bunch and brushed it even more vigorously. Lia’s garment was fit to be burned, and she was grateful that Bryn had brought one of her own dresses to wear. It was a little short and snug, but it fit her. She tied the pouch with the Cruciger orb to the girdle. Bryn lifted the hair and scrubbed her neck and ears with a towel and water from the basin near the brazier. Lia washed her face and hands. The water was warm and reminded her of the Leering stone in the Bearden Muir, when Colvin had helped her bathe. She paused at the memory, her heart fluttering. She was anxious to see him. And nervous. He had let her have the soft bed and had forsaken sleep. The thought made her glow inside.
When they were through, Lia returned to the mirror. She looked at herself closely. Her skin was darker than she thought it would be from her days in the sun. There were little cuts and scrapes all over her face and arms, especially a dark scab on the end of her chin from her fall on the hillside at Winterrowd. In the reflection, she saw the twine string around her neck and delicately withdrew the wedding band she had worn so long. She tucked it back in quickly when Bryn approached.
“What should I do with these?” she asked, carrying over the leather girdle, the gladius, the bracers, and the unstrung bow and quiver. Jon Hunter’s face flickered in her eyes at seeing the implements, and it made her heart throb with agony. Yes, she had returned safely to Muirwood, but he was dead in the Bearden Muir. For a moment, she could not speak, her voice too thick with emotion, too fragile to risk with words. She nearly wept, but forced herself not to.
“They must be returned to the abbey,” Lia said softly at last. “I will take them with me. Thank you.”
Darkness veiled the world, and Lia was anxious and wary about seeing the abbey again in the daylight. Yet there was sadness in her heart at the thought of leaving Colvin and Edmon, two soon-to-be earls who treated her as an equal. Clutching the implements she had rescued from Jon’s grave, she followed Bryn out of the room, glancing back at the bed one last time.
The soldiers guarding her room wore Demont’s colors, and they nodded to her respectfully as she passed them. Down the stairs they went, and images of Colvin’s fight sent pangs into her heart. She remembered Scarseth quiverin
g on the floor as Colvin took his birthright back, the knight-maston sword that had belonged to his father.
“The earl of Norris-York is handsome,” Bryn said. “He smiled at me when I gave him his breakfast. He is very handsome, is he not?”
“He is,” Lia said, but in her mind he was too pretty. Too amiable. In her estimation, Colvin was the more striking of the two.
Bryn opened the door into the kitchen, and both Colvin and Edmon stood as she entered. Prestwich the steward was there as well, enjoying a heel of bread dripping with honey. Gingerly, he rose to greet her and finished the bite. He was bald, except for some feathery hair along the crown. He was a short fellow, very deliberate, and used ponderous words.
“Welcome home to Muirwood, Lia,” he said warmly. It was genuine. He motioned for Bryn to shut the door, and she did. The family gathered near. She recognized each of them and her heart bubbled at seeing familiar faces again.
Prestwich gazed down at the floor, clasped his hands behind his back, then fixed the two knights with a sharp look. “The Aldermaston’s instructions are clear in this matter. Lord Colvin and Lord Edmon, he will meet you both this morning after the gates open. You may bring your retinue and enjoy the hospitality of the abbey. But the hospitality for you and your men will not extend beyond nightfall. This was only a leg of your journey. To dwell longer will raise suspicions as to why you truly came.”
He looked at them both pointedly, his jowls stern. “The Aldermaston will give you more instructions later. Again, you are his welcome guests today only. You must make your way to your next destination before sunset. Lia, you will come with me through the tunnel so as not to be seen entering with them.”
For a moment, she hesitated. Colvin stared at her, and she could not understand the look in his eyes. His jaw was clenched, but not as if he were mastering his temper. The mud was wiped clean, his face shaved and smooth, but the scars of the last few days were still evident. He looked as if he wanted to speak with her alone, but dared not demand it in front of everyone, least of all the Aldermaston’s steward.
“Come,” Prestwich said, waving her to him.
She started after Prestwich, approaching the ladder that led into the cellar with the gear in her arms.
“Lia.”
It was Colvin’s voice. She turned back and looked at him wonderingly as he drew near. His eyes were deep and penetrating. “I will not forget what you did for me, sister. Nor my promise to you.” He leaned closer and kissed her cheek lightly, just a quick brush of his lips, but it sent a tingle down to her toes. But before he withdrew, he whispered in her ear, “Whitsunday.”
At the implied request, she smiled at him, a smile that said many words she would not say in front of so many people. The Whitsunday festival was coming. Her first year to dance around the maypole. She nodded once, then followed Prestwich down the ladder, her heart afire with emotions. The thrill of being back home. The lingering warmth of his kiss on her cheek. What would Reome think – and all the other lavenders for that matter – on the day when a wretched danced with an earl? The thought of it was sweeter than treacle. She smiled at Colvin again before descending the ladder. He smiled back, pleased, and watched her disappear into the tunnels beneath the abbey grounds.
* * *
Prestwich ambled in silence during their journey through the secret tunnels. They did not enter through the abbey itself, but took a separate passageway that led into the manor. A Leering blocked the way, and Prestwich mumbled a word to it, which she could not hear. He turned back and looked at her. His voice was low and serious.
“The Aldermaston will never ask you to lie,” he said. “For your own good, however, he desires that others in the abbey believe that you never went to Winterrowd. Your companion, Sowe, has been in hiding since you left. Neither she nor you have been seen since the day you ran away. Whatever you speak of together, for I know you share certain secrets, we cannot prevent. But you must be guarded in whom you trust with that knowledge. Is that clear, child? The less others know, the better.”
“I will obey the Aldermaston’s wishes,” Lia said.
“I hope so,” he answered. “That has not always been easy for you.” Prestwich turned to the open Leering. Beyond was another cellar and a circle of light shone coming from the chamber above. Even from the distance to the ladder, Lia could hear Pasqua muttering under her breath.
“Fits and stones, she should be here by now! Where is that nasty Prestwich? He is taking his own sweet time. By the idle, I ought to…is that you? Prestwich, do you have her?”
“She is with me even now,” he replied and motioned for Lia to take the ladder first.
Lia’s heart was nearly bursting. She climbed up the ladder, setting down her burdens as she cleared the top, and Pasqua met her with a ferocious hug that crushed her breath away. Sowe was there also, tears gleaming in her eyes.
“Child, child, child, you are home again! Oh Lia – oh my dear Lia!” The hug was strong enough to squeeze tears from her eyes. “Oh Lia – thank Idumea. Thank Idumea you are safe!” She sobbed against Lia’s shoulder, squeezing her harder and harder. Lia was surprised by her reaction, at the violence of her feelings. Pasqua hugged her tightly, swaying back and forth. “Never leave us like that again, child. Please…you do not know my poor heart. How I have suffered for you. How I have worried about you.” She pressed Lia’s cheeks with her hands and kissed her head. “I nearly broke my leg trying to hunt after you!”
“She did,” Sowe said, tears spilling down her lashes. “And I had to nurse her.”
“Pasqua,” Lia said, then stopped, choking on the words. “Sowe.”
Pasqua took her hands next and kissed them. “No, child. No – let me speak. You cannot understand my heart. You cannot understand, because you are too young still. But some day, you will be a mother, and you will understand then. So be still. Let me speak. Let me say what I should have said all these years. I have loved you like a daughter, though I never told you.” Her hands clenched tightly. “As if you were my own daughter. My own flesh. When you left, and I had not told you, I thought as if the pain would kill me. Dear child – I have loved you since you were a babe. Since the day the Medium left you here. Thank Idumea you have come home. You are home, Lia. Your home. Sowe, your sister is back!” The other girl was pulled violently into the embrace. “I love you both, do you hear me? You are my daughters. My sweet daughters!”
Lia could not see for the tears blinding her eyes, but she hugged Pasqua and thought her heart would break with so much joy when Sowe joined them.
* * *
The Aldermaston greeted her with a smile of affection and then turned to shut the door behind her, leaving Pasqua and Sowe in the corridor beyond. “I will only be a moment with her,” he told them before sealing it closed.
He walked back to his stuffed chair and eased himself into it. A tome lay open on his desk, a sheepskin covering beneath it. Part of the page was written on. The other part was clean and unblemished by etchings. She recognized it as Maderos’ tome.
“Welcome home to Muirwood,” he said, his gravely voice so familiar.
“Thank you for allowing me to return, Aldermaston,” she whispered, uncertain where she stood in his eyes. The reunion with Pasqua and Sowe had altered her heart in some unimaginable way. Her feelings were like a stew kettle bubbling over. She could not stop fidgeting with her hands.
The Aldermaston leaned back in his chair, wincing with the effort. “I am pleased you made it back safely.”
She swallowed, her eyes stinging with tears again. “I did. But I am sorry about Jon Hunter. You do not know how sorry I am…”
He held up his hand and grimaced, as if the pain were still too raw for him as well. “What is done is done. I cannot hold you accountable for his death, Lia. That would be unfair. I sent him, so I alone bear that blame. So the abbey has need of a new hunter. I began seeking to rectify that concern when I received the earl of Forshee’s message. Do not burden yourself with it. It w
as all the Medium’s will, surely.” He brushed his eyes, whether from tears or dust, but she could see the pain in his expression. “It will be no greater miracle that brings us into another world to live forever with our dearest friends than that which has brought us into this one to live a lifetime with them. Or almost a lifetime. Therefore, we weep when they depart. But we will see them again in another world.” A tear ran down his cheek.
She struggled with her feelings for the old man. Never in her life had she seen him weep.
“Lia,” he said, then paused, trying to choose the right words. “You may think it was caprice which has prevented me from allowing you to be a learner at Muirwood. I am certain you have assigned any number of motives to my unwillingness. You may even suppose that because of what happened during your adventure to Winterrowd that I would allow you now.” He leaned back even further in his chair and brought his hands together in front of him, his fingertips touching. “I have motives as other men have. But in this thing, I act for your own best good. You must trust me, Lia. You must trust that what I do, I do for your own best good. I have felt this premonition since that night of the great storm. The night you stole a ring from my chamber. It was the night that I began to truly realize how strong you were with the Medium already.” He bent forward, his voice heavy with meaning. “While I am Aldermaston at Muirwood, you will not be a learner.”
