The Wretched of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood 1)

“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 quivering 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.