Reome’s voice was far from excited. In fact, to Lia’s ear, she sounded frightened. “But you said…”
“Lambeth,” he said firmly. He put his hand on her cheek – a gesture too familiar for such an occasion. “I know you are worried about what the smithy will say. There are many smithies in Comoros. He will follow you. Five marks is more that he will earn hammering shoes on horses.” His voice dropped even lower. “You would both be wise to leave Muirwood before the Queen Dowager returns. Leave at once. There is a good lass. Ah, Lia. I have been meaning to speak with you.”
At the mention of the name, Reome stiffened with surprise and shock and whirled. Her eyes were red from crying. Her hands were tangled together, as if she were wringing her own fingers instead of the soiled garments she was used to. The look she gave Lia and Sowe was mottled with hatred and shame. Her face went white and she curtsied to Dieyre and then rushed away, wiping her eyes.
Dieyre ignored her and left the laundry with a bold stride. He bowed gallantly to both girls. “My, you are fair,” he said to Sowe, bowing twice to her. “No wonder Reome hates you so much. Has the Aldermaston finally let you out of the kitchen? What, is he dead?”
Lia gave him a burning look and he held up his hand. “A jest. Only a jest. I have seen this fair girl at mealtime only. Never been able to coax a word out of her yet, though I try. The other girl, Brynn, is quite chatty. But Sowe keeps her secrets hidden behind those blue eyes. Ah, she is blushing now!”
“You are contemptible,” Lia said, stepping in front of Sowe. “Who let you on the grounds?”
“That shows a lack of hospitality and a greater lack of tact,” he replied. “In my Hundred, a servant could be whipped for disprecting her betters in such a way.”
“We are not in your Hundred,” Lia countered. “Answer the question.”
“I rode in on my horse,” he replied, folding his arms.
“Through the gate?”
He shook his head. “Hardly. I rode to the top of yonder hill – the fat one over there.” He pointed to the Tor. “From that vantage, I saw a path onto the grounds behind the walls. I will have you know that I did get lost momentarily in the woods but found my way again. And so here am I. Surely you will not consider imprisoning me?”
Lia looked at him in wonderment.
“You are wondering how I made it past the Leerings,” he said. “Since I am not intending anyone any harm they merely scowled at me. That or they are, after all, only bits of carved rock with angry faces.” His mouth twitched with a smile.
“You have violated the Aldermaston’s hospitality,” Lia said. “He will decide what to do with you.”
“I put myself under his authority and guidance,” Dieyre replied. “I am not a maston and cannot claim the privilege of sanctuary here. But I request it all the same.”
Lia was not sure what to think. Was Dieyre’s change of heart sincere? Could he be sincere about anything? “You will have to appear before the Aldermaston then and petition him in person. He is ailing, as you know, and needs to rest. It may be some time before he will see you.”
Another unconscious smile twitched. “It would amaze you how patient I can be.”
Lia frowned, bothered by his words and some deeper meaning. It was as if the word he meant to have said was stubborn instead of patient. “Why were you speaking with Reome Lavender?”
“Is that any of your affair?”
“Let me be the judge of that. She was crying.”
“That seems to be a curse most women are afflicted with.”
Lia waited patiently, staring at him. Silence seemed to work best in those situations.
“There was a misunderstanding last night at the maypole dance. With a local smithy who has been carrying a torch for the girl. Completed besotted with her, you see. Did not take it in a friendly way when I earned a kiss.” He held up his hands. “He was acting a bit possessive and the cider had definitely gotten the best of his wits. I am sure you saw more than one broken cask on the green. One had his head in it. Two of his friends tried to help him and ended up wearing wooden crowns as well.” He smirked. “The lad is a fool if he thinks she will pass up my offer in favor of his paltry one. Ask the villagers. I am sure you will. They saw it.”
Lia suspected there was much more to the story. But this was not the time or the place to learn it. “Go to the manor house and ask for Prestwich.”
“The balding, aging fellow with a sour spleen?” he asked derisively.