The Blight of Muirwood (9 page)

“I was not sure how I would feel meeting you,” Lia answered, overwhelmed with emotions. She kept her own voice low. “I thought, before the battle, that I might have to find you and tell you of your brother’s death. That would not have been a pleasant introduction. It makes me grateful to the Medium that it did not happen that way.”

“I agree! Colvin did tell me that you are adept with the Medium. Another secret I will keep hidden. Poor Ellowyn – she is so frightened of it. There was a Leering at the laundry where she served.” Her eyes glittered wickedly. “Colvin hates it when I call them that, but it is far more fitting than
gargouelle
. Why use a Dahomeyjan word when we are so far from that country? Some learners at her Abbey used to torment the laundry girls by making it spew water while they were washing clothes. And you know how fear hampers the Medium. Poor girl. I wish it had been you instead, Lia. I would have loved being your companion, your friend while you learned. But Ellowyn is a sweet girl. You will like her. She is shy, like Sowe. But you will help me draw her out?”

“Of course. You are not afraid? Of those who hate her Family?”

Her smile was infectious. “I do not fear, Lia. It does no good. First, my brother is a wickedly good swordsman. He trains every day, never satisfied with himself. Secondly, Muirwood has two hunters instead of one. And thirdly, one of my gifts of the Medium is the gift of warning. I have a sense for trouble before it happens. It is true. When I was a little girl, I was playing in the gardens. Two shepherd boys who worked our estate thought it would be silly if they tripped my ankles with their crooks. In my mind, I could hear their thoughts and felt them sneaking up on me though I could not see them. When I glanced back and caught them in the act, I ran screaming to my brother.”

“Did he lose his temper?” Lia asked, eager to hear the story.
This is dangerous,
she thought.
Marciana can tell me stories of his childhood!

“He was all of twelve years old, but he acted like he was one and twenty. He warned those shepherd boys. He always warns first. You like hearing stories about him? Good! There are many he would not want me to tell you. And you must tell me your stories, Lia. I want to hear them. I want to know you better. I am jealous of Sowe that she knows so much about you, but she is too loyal to you to share anything interesting. From what Pasqua has said, you were a very naughty child. But you and I are alike, I think. I hope we can be friends?”

“Lia! It is almost gone!” Pasqua said. “Hurry over lasses, or you will miss it.”

“Here I am, stealing all your attention when you are probably starving. Come over and eat. We have the Aldermaston’s permission to be with you.”

Lia joined the others and Edmon approached gallantly with a spoon for her. “It must be excruciating torture for you to live in a kitchen like this with such an excellent cook. And she has taught you all her secrets, has she?”

“It has been a year, but I have not forgotten them all yet,” Lia said, tasting the Fool and enjoying it. It was always a favorite of hers. “You should try her sambocade too, Edmon. That will make you drool on yourself.”

“Posh, lass. Do not be making any promises to him for me,” Pasqua said. “When Whitsunday comes, he will get his chance to taste it all. If he can stop dancing, that is.”

Edmon rubbed his hands together. “I must be a fool, but I have always enjoyed ring dances like the maypole one they do here. It never took much coaxing to get me to try it. And with such lovely partners as all of you make, it would have to be a tempting display of desserts to draw me away.” He bowed his head dramatically to each of them, smiling like a blazing candle. “I hope you will all save a dance for me. You included, Pasqua.”

“Me? Dance on Whitsunday?” Pasqua chided, beaming at the handsome young man. “When pigs fly, lad. When pigs fly. But I will save you some sambocade for the kind words.”

His gallantry reminded Lia of what Astrid warned her of earlier. “I would like to see the look on Getman’s face when you ask Sowe,” Lia said softly after another spoonful.

Sowe’s eyebrows crinkled and she looked at Lia curiously.

“Who is Getman?” Edmon asked.

“He is the blacksmith helper,” Bryn said. “Strong as an ox, but he is rude and jealous. Everyone is afraid of him except for Lia and Sowe. Lia hates him…well, maybe that is too strong, but she cannot abide his company, and everyone knows he dotes on Sowe.”

“He does?” Edmon asked, appraising Sowe again. “And you consider him as well-mannered as a surgeon’s leech?”

Sowe grinned and they all laughed.

“He is that obnoxious then?” Edmon said. “Well, if dancing with you will spite him, I will gladly risk his enmity. Even if he is as strong as an ox. Probably reeks like one as well.”

Lia liked Edmon immensely. He had a boyish charm that was disarming. “It will definitely thwart his plans. You see, Astrid told me today that Getman promised he would thrash anyone who dances with Sowe except for him.”

Edmon glowered. “Did he now? Well, that is no surprise considering Sowe’s great beauty,” another bow to her, “But surely only a knave would deprive his fellows like this. Where can I find the great boor? I think Colvin and I will have to kill him. Or at least cut off an arm or a leg. Could he still work as a blacksmith with a stump, do you think?” He performed the impression of a man with a gimp and had everyone roaring with laughter. Except for Colvin, who constrained his expression to a smirk and said nothing. When Ellowyn noticed that he was not laughing, she stopped too.

“I for one, will not be intimidated,” Edmon declared, gazing at Sowe. “Let him bluster, but he will not deprive me of the opportunity of dancing with you on Whitsunday. Unless you would rather I not dance with you.” His eyes grew more serious, more focused, as if willing her to say the words.

A little smile came on Sowe’s mouth. “I would like that,” she said, then looked down at the bowl, her cheeks flushing.

“I have witnesses then to your consent. You will vouch for me, Ciana? Ellowyn? Lia? Bryn? What a selfish oaf, claiming you for his own.”

“Pasqua,” Marciana said. “Lia needs to eat something. Where was that plate you were saving for her?”

“I had forgotten, child. It is over by the oven. No, the other corner. Edmon, stop torturing the poor girl with flattery and fetch a sack of flour from the loft as I asked you when you arrived. Be quick lad, it is getting late and I must escort you back to the manor house soon.”

Marciana tugged on Lia’s arm and led her to the oven. “You must be starving but I do not want to waste a moment with you. There is your meal.” As they approached the oven, Lia saw the Leering near it and felt a prickle from the Medium. The eyes glowed red, giving off heat into the oven. She had not done it and glanced at Marciana.

“Not as impressive as what you can do,” she whispered, seeing Lia’s look.

Lia took the bread, looking over her shoulder at Sowe and then at Colvin who was talking softly to Ellowyn. “Colvin taught me so very much,” she answered, memories flooding her. “You are lucky to have him as a brother.”

“Instead of Edmon?” Marciana asked wryly. She gave Lia a knowing look. “Who is handsome and gallant, but…how can I say this tactfully…he is also very shallow. His moods flit from this to that so quickly. Colvin is steady. That is what I admire in him. Poor girl, he already has Sowe dazzled. Warn her when we are gone. He means well, but he craves attention. He is uncomfortable unless everyone is laughing at something he has said, or unless the pretty girls are blushing and dizzy with giddiness. He knows he is handsome, poor devil. Warn Sowe about him, Lia.”

“Warn her?” Lia said, grabbing some fruit from the plate. “He would never do anything dishonorable would he?”

“He is not dangerous or vicious,” Marciana said, rolling her eyes. “No more than any man is. He would never dishonor her. How can I put this? As Colvin has always told me, we are slow to believe that which if believed would hurt our feelings. He would never deliberately
try
and make her love him and then scorn her. But he may do it inadvertently. Warn her of that. He pretends more than he feels. Having spent a year with him, I have grown weary of his little gallantries. Sowe will probably be as well after she is gorged on them as I have. Look at how she reacted a few moments ago. Whether they give or refuse, it delights a woman just the same to have been asked. She was delighted. You could see it on her face as well as I could.”

Lia looked at Marciana probingly. “You observe people.”

Marciana offered a twisted smile. “I ignore most people. But there are some I pay close attention to. Having been born in a Family under such circumstances as I was, you cannot blame me. My mother died giving me my life. Ellowyn and I have that in common. My father never married again, he loved her so much. That is the kind of love I want. The kind I want for my brother. So you see, my gift of observation, if I have any, is only about those who toy and flirt and scheme and envy and stumble in a thousand ways to fall in love. And in the last two nights of being here, I have seen all the subtle clues that exist in Sowe. Warn her, Lia. He is a knight-maston and an earl. But he is also a man with a heart and is easily distracted by beauty. And she
is
a beauty.”

Marciana gazed at Sowe for a moment, then turned back to Lia who took another bite from the bread. She nearly choked on it when Marciana said, “So who is this boy you care about – the one you had promised to dance with last Whitsunday! When you were lost in the swamp, Colvin told me you regretted that you would miss the maypole dance because of this boy. What is his name? Is he a learner? Do you still like him?”

The only people Lia had ever truly been jealous of during her life were those who came to Muirwood to learn how to read and engrave. The embodiment of that jealousy became Ellowyn Demont. She was like an uncertain dancer at the maypole, watching and imitating everyone else, but always a skip and a twirl too late – one so preoccupied with getting the moves right that the shuffling steps could not be referred to as dancing. Lia’s thoughts were cruel and she recognized that. The problem was she could not help herself. The deeper problem lay in the fact that she was jealous of Ellowyn for another reason as well. The nub of it – Colvin’s constant attention to her.

When he was wounded and hid in the kitchen, they had argued about Lia’s outspokenness and her ability to keep secrets. Colvin had praised Sowe’s shyness and reserve as qualities worth admiring. She remembered the conversation vividly. Ellowyn was that kind of girl. The deference Colvin paid to the Demont girl was obvious, tender, and – truthfully – infuriatingly sensitive. Every time she watched them together, it made her ill. The feeling was so strong that sometimes she wondered if she needed valerianum tea to calm her stomach. She understood the emotion. It was jealousy and it tormented her.

For example, after a visitor arrived from nearby Wells Abbey, Lia was commanded by the Aldermaston to speak to Ailsa Cook about a meal. She spied Colvin and Ellowyn together near the laundry, deep in conversation. Colvin looked animated, his hands gesturing. Ellowyn was completely engrossed, taking in his every word as if they were honey. The feeling in Lia’s chest was so powerful, so painful, she went another way, afraid she would be noticed, that the Medium would betray her thoughts to him. How humiliating that would be!

The evenings in the kitchen were especially difficult, and she found herself coming back later and later. The talking and laughing were enjoyable. But it was as if her private domain had been intruded upon, that the kitchen was no longer her refuge but theirs. Every night, Marciana wheedled more information from her. Every night she did everything she could not to stare at Colvin too much, to keep Marciana from suspecting that something was wrong. Sowe and Bryn had grown closer over the year, making Lia feel as if her place was usurped. The depth and intensity of her feelings were so strong she began worrying that the Medium would stop working for her altogether.

A week passed since Martin had left. She missed him and his surly advice, his bluff manners. He was always practical, always one to force an issue, never hide from it. He would cut to the quick. What was tormenting her? What was it that truly bothered her? She pondered the question, seeing Martin’s scrunched up eyebrows, the angry jut of his jaw. Was it that Colvin was treating Ellowyn with respect when he had treated her so angrily? Did she fear he was forming an attachment to the girl? Was that it? That they would marry? The nagging thoughts were subtle – quick to dodge her attempts at confining them so easily. It was not knowing
Colvin’s
thoughts that bothered her. Was she seeing too much in his deference to Ellowyn? Was his politeness no more than that? In the Cider Orchard, she had assumed he felt contempt for the girl. But his manners belied any trace of it. How she wished the Medium would let her see into his mind again!

“Lia, wait up!”

She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she had not seen Duerden’s approach from the duck pond. He hefted his tome in one hand and arranged the flap of his leather bag so he could stuff it inside. He had grown in a year, but still barely came up to her nose.

“Hello, Duerden,” she said, slowing her pace so he could join her.

“I was…hoping I would find you about today,” he said, bringing the bag strap around his shoulder. “I can see you are in a hurry. I will walk with you. I do not want to keep you from your duties.”