The Scourge of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood 3)

Another man stepped in the way, one with hair as black as midnight and a wary look. “Who is this, Malcolm?”

“The captain is expecting her,” replied her escort.

“Do your work. I will take her from here.” He gazed at Lia with confusion and distrust.

“Sorry, sir. I must bring her to the captain.”

He spoke the words softly, almost too soft to hear, but Lia felt the spark of the Medium. The black-haired man started, looking confused, and then railed on the crew to get back to work. His gray-eyed gaze met hers and then he led her under the bulkhead into the narrow passage back to the captain’s quarters. He did not knock, only twisted the handle and pushed the door open.

“The Aldermaston will see you now,” he said, nodding to her.

Lia startled at the word, then gave him a thankful bow and proceeded. Upon opening the door, she saw the lushly furnished quarters and smelled the strong scents of breakfast lingering in the air. The captain was older, probably in his fifties, with streaks of gray in his reddish hair and beard.

Lower your hood.

Lia obeyed and entered the quarters, shutting the door behind her.

The noise drew his attention and his eyes lifted to her face. The effect of seeing her was unmistakable on his countenance. He paled instantly, his eyes widening with startled shock. His mouth parted silently, gaping. Sweeping the hat from his head, he crushed it against his leather tunic. She had never seen him before in her life, but he stared at her as if he had known her all the while.

Say nothing.

Lia stared at him, guardedly, feeling her hair fall about her shoulders as she shook it loose from the cowl.

“No,” he said with a moan, shaking his head. He rubbed his eyes, blinking furiously. There were tears glistening there. He wiped his mouth and beard, staring at her, struck by so many conflicting emotions that she pitied the haunted expressions. Never had she had such an encounter – been the source of so much distress at meeting a man for the first time.

Lia stared at him, waiting for him to speak.

His chest heaved with emotion, his face tortured with regrets. When he spoke, his voice was half-strangled. “How you do look…like…her.”

“Do you know who I am?” Lia asked.

He nodded slowly. His teeth were bared like a wolf’s. “How can I forget the face that has been my demon these many years.” His lips quivered, tense as leather stretched over drums. “By Sheol, look at you!” He swallowed and started to cough.

“I seek passage to Dahomey,” Lia said firmly. “You will bring me to Dochte Abbey.”

“The serpent’s lair,” he whispered. “What…seek you…amidst the Dochte Mandar?”

“My own errand,” she answered. “How do you know me?”

“I cannot say.”

She cocked her head, challenging him with her eyes.

His mouth twisted into a snarl. “For many years I have not been able to speak of it. My crew has changed, save one. He who brought you to me. Malcolm was the only one left.” The captain walked around the edge of his table and approached her. His breath stank of decay, but she willed herself not to flinch. She had gutted enough wild boar in the woods surrounding Muirwood not to lose her stomach so easily. His hand lifted to her cloud of wavy hair and he touched it gingerly, his eyes closing with a memory that obviously pained him. “My mouth must be silent on certain matters, lass. I cannot speak of them, for I am cursed by Sheol for what I did. Do you know who I am?”

Lia shook her head slowly, feeling the menace of his presence so near to her.

“My name is Tomas Aldermaston.” He sneered at her. “A jib, my lady. A mock. I was born in the northern Hundreds, a wretched of Dun Pharlain Abbey. After serving my time, I went amidst the shipbuilders of Dun Pharlain town on the mouth of Firth River. There I learned to be a crew. They called me Aldermaston instead of Tomas Crew because I was a wretched. But I learned the trade well. I served under several captains and had a gift for turning a profit. But the greatest profit I ever earned was arresting the king’s cousin on a voyage to Bridgestow. She was marrying a prince, you see, against the king’s wishes. We caught her cog easily enough and my men did their work well. We only killed the Evnissyen left to protect her. The rest…we spared.” His eyes bore into hers. “I shall never forget that lass. I shall never forget her, though I live to be a hundred and forty.” He turned away from her and walked back to the table, staggering as he did. His voice was muffled, but she could still hear him speak.

“I was paid two hundred crowns. Two hundred. A ransom greater than any I had earned. I would give every farthing of it back. I would give ten-fold back and drown in Sheol if I could bring back the tide and do it again.” He looked back at her, his eyes full of suffering. “She was held in Pent Tower for three years. She was kept from her husband for the first three years of their marriage.” His teeth chattered. “And she died in the birthing chamber. Snuffed out, like a golden wax taper.” With a sweep of his arm, he scattered everything off the table. Lia started as the sacks of coins, the tuns of spice, the flagons all crashed and spilled on the wooden floor. He slammed his fist down on the table, so hard she wondered if he broke his hand. Whirling at her, he approached again, his finger fixed in the air.