The Blight of Muirwood (5 page)

It was Edmon’s voice. They had met at the battlefield of Winterrowd in Colvin’s tent. “…No, it is true! Do not laugh – it was the perfect depiction of stubbornness you could imagine. Picture this - the king’s council and there was Demont, red-faced and shouting…” He stopped suddenly, turning to the opening door.

Lia stood for a moment in utter shock. Edmon, the Earl of Norris-York, was telling stories in the kitchen –
her
kitchen – as if that were completely normal. There was Pasqua, grinning and serving up a bowl of tarterelles. Sowe and Bryn were hanging on his every word, their eyes lit by the lantern light.

Then she heard another voice as he emerged from the shadows beneath the loft. “Lia?”

There was Colvin.

It was too much. All eyes fastened to her standing in the doorway. Could they see her ravaged face in the shadows? She was completely overwhelmed. Colvin approached, wearing clothes elegant enough for a prince of the realm. His maston-sword was belted to his waist. She looked at his face as he approached, saw the little scar near his eyebrow and her blood began pounding inside her ears. Not tonight. Not like this! She was ashamed at her appearance, her muddy clothes, the rash and salve. She could not swallow. She could not breathe. She could not even think properly.

“Lia?” Edmon asked, straightening and then smiling. “Lia! You returned early!”

She slammed the door and started away, walking briskly then started to run, but she was so tired she only made it a few steps before walking again. The kitchen door opened and she heard his boots on the grass behind her. She was mortified beyond anything. This was worse than Reome’s teasing her about Duerden over and over. Worse than Getman’s contempt towards her and his grinning leers at Sowe. She kept walking as fast as she could, but he caught up with her before she made it around the corner of the kitchen into the shadows where the moon could not reveal her disfigurement.

“Lia, wait!”

His voice. She had starved to hear his voice again. For nearly a year, she had waited for him to return to Muirwood, to explain himself. To apologize. For weeks after Whitsunday, she had prepared little speeches in her mind. Not a single word from any of them came to her.

Fool, fool, fool!
she cursed herself. She was a hunter! She should have noticed the signs that something was different. Careless. So careless in her exhaustion. Stopping suddenly, she turned in time to see Colvin reaching out to grab her cloak.

“Do not touch me!” she screeched at him. She flung her cloak behind her, knowing it was still infected with the sap’s poison. She took two steps backwards and swallowed heavily, trying to find her voice through the humiliation. He stopped, stunned, his eyes widening with shock and hurt.

“Please…please do not touch me,” she said and groaned at herself.

His voice was stern. “Show me your face.”

She shook her head violently and backed away further. “Go. Please go.”

“What happened to your face?”

“I cannot see you. Not like this.”

“I do not care what you look like! You have seen me at my worst before.”

She said nothing.

“Can I see you tomorrow?”

She nodded lamely.

Pasqua’s voice bellowed from the doorway. “Lia! Child! Where are you! Lia?” She sounded frantic.

“We are guests at the Abbey,” Colvin announced. “There is so much I have to tell you. So much to explain. I am sorry, Lia. I truly am. I will see you tomorrow.”

He hesitated before leaving her, his hand slowly clenching and unclenching. She had seen that gesture so many times during their moments together. Then he turned and walked back to the kitchen, his voice low when he spoke to Pasqua. “She is around the corner. Edmon. We must go. Now.”

Lia crumpled and leaned against the kitchen wall, unable to stop tears from burning her eyes. She hated crying! She buried her face in her hands and wept, struggling to understand her feelings. For though she was embarrassed and humiliated and undone with tiredness and shock, yet Colvin had finally returned to Muirwood. He had come as he had promised. She was not prepared for how strong the relief would feel.

That he had not forgotten her after all.

Lia wrung water from her crinkly damp hair, regretting that its color was not as fashionable as Sowe’s as her friend began coaxing tangles out of it with a comb. It was always a battle taming her hair. Bryn brought over a tray of bread, cheese, nuts, and a cup of cider. Lia’s body was still wet from bathing, still stung from the scrubbing of the lye soap, but the spare dress was warm and soft and she felt less constricted without her hunter leathers, which were in a basket waiting for her to purge them the next morning. With a thought, she caused the Leering by the ovens to flare hotter, helping fight the evening chill. The other two glanced at the sudden spurt of flames, but were used to her doing it.

Lia ate quickly for she was starving. She looked up at Bryn and said between mouthfuls, “How long are they staying?”

Bryn did a bouncy step and a twirl. “A year. Maybe more. What Pasqua said is that we are to feed the Aldermaston’s guests until they leave. They are not going to eat at the learner kitchen. Since they will be staying at the manor, we are to prepare the food ourselves and let no stranger into the kitchen. Ever.” She stopped amidst another twirl. “With the battle won and the old king dead, should we be so worried? Sowe told me that the sheriff stole in here once and hurt you, Lia. Do you think something like that might happen again?”

Lia gulped down some of the sweet cider before replying. “You should always fasten the doors at night, Bryn, even if I am not back. I can always sleep elsewhere, and I know how hard it is waking up Sowe. Besides, there are still survivors from the king’s army wandering the Bearden Muir, living off the land. Martin and I have seen their tracks, but they have stayed away from the Abbey so far. Still…it is best to be cautious.” She wiped her mouth. “So explain this to me. How did Colvin and Edmon…”

“The
Earls
of Forshee and Norris-York,” Sowe said, interrupting her. “They have titles, Lia. You are supposed to use them.”

Lia snorted before continuing. “They came yesterday, unannounced, and said they would be staying at the Abbey for a year? You said they brought two young ladies with them?”

Bryn nodded and twirled again. She was always practicing her dancing since it was her first year to attend the Whitsunday festival and she wanted to be sure she had it memorized. “One is the Earl of Forshee’s sister. She’s a second year learner from an Abbey in the north. Not only is she Colvin’s…I mean the Earl of Forshee’s sister, she is also the companion of the Aldermaston’s secret guest – the niece of Garen Demont. The two earls are her protectors. Or maybe
more
than just protectors.”

Lia chewed on a handful of nuts, trying to understand what was going on. Pain from the comb made her gasp. “Ouch, Sowe!”

“I am trying to be gentle,” Sowe said, tugging another tangle loose.

“More than protectors?” Lia asked. “What do you mean?”

Bryn twirled again and skirted around the edge of a flagstone. Honestly, the girl could hardly hold still! “At the laundry, they say the girls are each
promised
to the earls. That the Earl of Norris-York is to marry the Earl of Forshee’s sister. That is so complicated. I hate using all those titles. Besides, they said we did not need to address them as nobles. Edmon is supposed to marry Colvin’s sister Marciana. And Colvin is supposed to marry Ellowyn Demont.”

For a moment, Lia’s heart raged with disbelief, but she stamped it down. He had delayed coming to Muirwood because he was out wooing a girl?

Bryn clearly did not see her burning face, for she kept on talking. “Reome says that Colvin is too old not to be married or at least promised to someone. She thinks that he should have found a wife before becoming a maston. Do you think he is too old? He is only nineteen. My father and mother did not marry until they were twenty and five and twenty.” She stopped and turned to Lia. “Tell Lia about the girl, Sowe. About Ellowyn!”

Lia sat still while Sowe finished with the comb. She had so many questions she wanted to ask, but only Colvin knew the answers she sought.

Sowe’s voice was soft. “She was a wretched, like us. The king kept her hidden in an Abbey since she was a baby and so she did not know who she was. The earls brought her out. Not many know her story. The Aldermaston said we should not tell anyone that she was raised a wretched. We should only say that she is the niece of Garen Demont and that she is to stay for a few seasons.”

The niece of Garen Demont. Questions like buzzing flies swarmed around and around in Lia’s mind. She had seen Garen Demont following the battle of Winterrowd. Graciously, he had given credit for his victory to the Medium and forbidden anyone to boast of the battle where none of his soldiers had been killed. Such a thing had never been heard of before. Afterwards, he had seized custody of the young king and became Protector of the Realm. Many of the earls and barons revolted against the change and refused to swear homage to the young king with Demont controlling him. Many did support him, so the kingdom was dangling between peace and civil war. Some defied Demont but there were others who had hated the old king and his ruthless acts. It was a tottering pile of dishes that could come crashing down. She remembered something the Aldermaston had told her.

“Finished,” Sowe mumbled and put away the comb.

Lia sat forward eagerly. “The Aldermaston said tonight that the Queen Dowager was coming to Muirwood. Did you…?” She stopped, seeing their surprised faces. “I guess you did not know that. She is coming for Whitsunday.”

Sowe looked serious. “The king’s widow? Why?”

There was so much happening so quickly. Lia rose and started pacing. “When I left, everything was its usual boring self. Now look at it all. I do not know whose side she is on, but I would guess she supports the side of her son. Colvin would know, if he will speak to me again after tonight,” she muttered. She wanted to talk to him desperately, to apologize for screaming at him and crying.

Sowe gave her a hug. “Lia, when they came, they both asked to see you right away. That should please you. The Earl of Forshee…Colvin…was very kind to me. He said that he still owed me a gift. You remember, for the time when I helped. You did most of the work. But he remembered his promise. I wonder…I wonder if he came all this way for a reason. That his sister is going to study here for the next year at least. He is a maston already, no longer a learner.”

Lia looked at her.

“You know…to teach you himself,” Sowe suggested.

The burning in Lia’s heart nearly choked her.

* * *

At dawn the next morning, Lia retired to the laundry to clean her gear. The water gushing from the Leering’s mouth was scalding hot, but Lia kept her mind on the heat and scrubbed at her leather tools using gloves and the wood ash soaps. She cleaned the sap-stained hunter equipment first – her girdle, bracers, shooting glove, quiver, scabbard – and then set them aside and bundled up the damp dress. She heard voices and footsteps approaching. Angry to be interrupted, she willed the Leering to stop. The eyes of the Leering cooled and the water ceased flowing.

The morning was cool and misty and the grounds were veiled. Martin was always up before dawn, and she did not want to miss the Aldermaston’s news, so she hurried to gather up her things as the lavenders approached, but the clutch of girls entered the roofed shelter before she could leave.

Reome had a way of scrutinizing with her eyes that made others feel mottled and ugly. With her voice, she could cut as efficiently as a fruit knife. “Look at your face, Lia,” she said with a tiny smirk. “What disease are you suffering from?” She clucked her tongue. “Right before Whitsunday too. How awful.”

Lia hefted the basket and tried to walk past without answering, but the other lavenders unfolded like a wall, blocking her path. They all had daggers for eyes and carried their wicker baskets in front of them.

“Let me through,” Lia said impatiently. “The Aldermaston is expecting me.”

“What happened to your face?” Reome asked, squinting and looking revolted and delighted at the same time.

“It is none of your concern. Let me pass.”

“Are you really so anxious to see the Aldermaston? I doubt it. The new guests must be luring you. Treasa says the Earl of Norris-York is the prettiest man in the Hundred. She has offered to help with his laundry and he accepted. The brooding one said he will not, that he would only trust you.”

“Me?” Lia asked, startled.

“Not you, specifically,” Reome said, and Lia could tell she was trying to draw out information from her. “Only that one of the Aldermaston’s girls would do it. You are still the Aldermaston’s girl, Lia. Are you not?” Her smile was sickeningly close to a leer.

Lia’s cheeks went hot, but she controlled her emotions. Reome was eighteen now. After Whitsunday, she would leave Muirwood and either marry the local blacksmith or have to find work in one of the bigger towns. She was a beautiful girl – would no doubt find little difficulty convincing a boy to marry her. But in Muirwood, and for most of her life, she had been seen as the most beautiful, the most desirable – until the last Whitsunday when Sowe had emerged and taken Reome’s place, without ever trying and without saying a mean-spirited word to anyone. The sudden attention had bolstered Sowe’s lacking confidence and her timidity shrank when she realized that boys would stumble over their tongues just to bid her hello. But unlike Reome, she had not used the situation to belittle others or set the lads fetching things for her or making other girls do her work for her. It was a festering sore to Reome, and Lia could see it pock-marking her soul.