The Scourge of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood 3)

The girl’s eyes were wet and she hugged the Prince fiercely, protectively, and sobbed against his shoulder. He held her, pressing her close, smelling the scent of purple mint in her hair. He was grateful she could not see his face, at the storm of emotions that raged across his features as he clutched her. He had loved her since she was a child, loved her in abstraction for who she would become and his knowledge of what her character would be as a result of all her suffering. But squeezing this woman, this woman of flesh and blood, was deeper than an abstraction. He could already feel his heart throbbing with joy as well as looming sadness. What a contrast, he mused silently, loving the woman so strongly who would break your heart with her impending death. The pain of the thought was exquisite, a deep poignant shard that penetrated to his soul. The tighter she clung to him, the deeper the burr stabbed him.

When she had recovered from her tears, she pulled away and looked up at him, relief shining in her wet eyes.

“You were worried I would abandon you,” he said hoarsely, collecting a tear from her chin.

She shook her head. “No. I was more worried that I had heard the whisperings of the Medium incorrectly. I am relieved that I hearkened to them. That I trusted them.”

He smiled. “Well…I will offer you what relief that I can. You have suffered the ill will and opinion of the world long enough. When you leave Leigh Abbey, you will not return to Comoros again. You will spend the rest of your days in Pry-Ree, a queen-maston. It has been several generations since our people had one.” He cocked his head to the side, drinking in her face, her expression, the light he saw emanating from her countenance. The insidious whispers that she and her mother were hetaera were almost amusing if not so insulting. He would not see any marks of tattoos on her skin, or a brand on her shoulder to know the truth. Her very countenance radiated warmth and light and liveliness.

He was thoughtful as he asked her, “Do you know how they pronounce this Abbey in Pry-rian?”

She nodded confidently. “I do – for I have studied your mother tongue since I was thirteen. It sounds similar, but there is a different inflection. They would call it ‘Lia.’”

The Prince smiled as he felt the barb stab even deeper. “A beautiful name.”

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE:

Hillel

Lia was asleep almost before her head rested against the cushion of the pallet in the loft, and she slept deeply. The weariness had seeped into her bones and with little more than a flittering thought at Colvin, just lingering on the memory of his smile and the forcefulness of his arms wrapped around her, she slept and did not stir until Martin crept up the ladder and shook her shoulder. For a moment, everything was a blur, her mind still lost in the fog of sleep, his face foreign with the crisscross of tattoos, almost menacing. She blinked rapidly, hungering for more rest, but she noticed the slant of the light coming into the paddock and realized the day was ebbing fast.

“You should have woken me sooner,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

He shook his head sternly. “Best that you were not seen today. A retinue arrived from Vezins, bearing the tunic and badge of Dieyre. I did not see the man, but I understand that he and Forshee are enemies.”

Lia’s heart strained with worry. “Colvin,” she whispered.

Martin gazed at her sternly. “Focus on your task, lass. Not on his. Dieyre was looking for you. His men were asking if a flax-haired lass had been seen. One without tattoos and carried a blade. It was wise when you arrived as you did, before the other stablehands were here. I have waited until they all left to drink their cups of cider. Now we can go, but keep your hood up. Here – some food. You must be hungry.”

She was and she took the meat pie gratefully and devoured it. The spices were different than what she was used to, but it was still tasty and satisfied her hunger. He also produced some nuts, a wedge of cheese, and a half-eaten piece of bread.

After she finished the meal, she followed him down the paddock ladder and they left together through the rear, heading back to the hidden garden she had emerged from at dawn. The weariness was replaced by strength. They walked stiffly together, listening keenly for the rowdy sounds of onlookers and passersby.

“You know more about what will happen than you can say,” Lia said, seeing how deliberately quiet he was.

“Aye, lass.” His face was stern, his blue eyes narrowed.

“Is it because of the binding? Is that what keeps you from telling me?”

He glanced backward to see if they were being followed. “It is and it is not. I do not know everything that will happen. Or what order it will happen in. What I was told was very sharp at times, and very curious at other times. It has been a great many years which has faded my memory. I know the most important points. But some of it I expected to happen at Muirwood Abbey and it did not. Maybe it will happen here.”