The Ciphers of Muirwood (24 page)

“You do not know it?” Collier demanded of the room incredulously. “It is quite famous in my country.” He let go of Murer’s hands and turned around, looking across the assembled girls. His gaze settled on Maia. “Do any of you know the Volta?”

His words hung in the air for a moment, his blue eyes searing into hers, demanding that she rise and join him. His hand lifted and reached out to Maia, singling her out.

Unable to resist, Maia stood wordlessly and approached him, causing a chorus of bubbling gasps to escape from the girls assembled. A small hint of a smile flickered on his mouth, such that she could tell he was pleased she had not refused him. Maia’s heart skipped irregularly, and she silently prayed his scheme was not to humiliate her through the dance. Joanna resumed playing the tune, and Collier’s head kept time to the rhythm. When their hands met, his palms were so warm they almost burned.

“Like before,” he whispered, winking at her, and suddenly they were dancing around the chair. She dared not look at anyone else, for fear of stumbling and humiliating herself. Collier was a confident lead as he pulled her along in the intricate dance.

The Volta was similar to the galliard except it included a lift and a turn. She could feel the music swelling to that point, and the memory of soaring through the air in Collier’s arms felt as immediate as if it had only happened the previous night. Her legs lost all their tiredness and a spark of lovely giddiness filled her breast. They went around the next turn and then suddenly Collier’s hands seized her waist and lifted her high. She planted her hands on his shoulders and pushed, staring down at him, studying the grooves of his face, the scar just below his eye.

His eyes—they pulled her in, almost unwillingly, like shimmering whirlpools. She stared at him, recognizing a look of respect and admiration. There were yet other emotions there that surprised her—tenderness. Protectiveness. The twirl ended and she was back down on her feet, moving to the rhythm once more. It felt like they were flying.

They continued the dance around the chair. The whirling motion of her skirts followed as she swayed to the rhythm.

Then came the next turn. She was ready for it, almost hungering for it when he swept her up again, giving her the same thrill as if she were flying. She felt her hair sweep across her shoulders as she pressed against him, her heart beating wildly. Her mouth was dry, her skin tingling down to the balls of her feet. The turn ended and they swept around the imaginary maypole once more. Everything stilled and slowed and they were the only two creatures who existed in that moment, forgetting the hostile gazes that were surely bent on them.

He brought her down a little slower that time, and their hands fumbled a moment to join again before the next round. She gazed up at him, her feelings overwhelming, yet so vulnerable. She felt as if she were a little bird, cupped in his lean, firm hands—easy to crush and kill or tenderly caress. The sound of the music was overwhelmed by the feeling of her feet skipping, their hands entwined, her pulse whipping inside her bosom with feelings stronger than the dance.

And she suddenly realized, to her horror and dismay, that her feelings for Collier had changed significantly over these months. She startled herself by how deep they were. She cared for him. She ached for his esteem. She
loved
him. And yet she trembled in fear that he would cast her away, an unwanted impediment to his ambitions.

Something connected between their gazes. Could he read her thoughts? His expression swiftly altered from mirth to seriousness. From triumph to warmth. She felt his hands again on her hips, ready for the last twirl. His muscles hoisted her up even higher, his feet slowing and breaking the rhythm as he suspended her above him. Her arms felt weak as she pushed against his shoulders. Her chin dipped as she stared down at him, her hair tickling her cheeks as it veiled her gaze from the others in the room.

Her eyes entreated him pleadingly, her heart in her throat.

The final end of the turn completed and she hung there, poised like a bird on a breeze, and then he slowly let her down. He stared at her as well, his eyes unveiled only to her—filled with a mute plea for her to never betray him again.

I will not
, she responded silently, searing the unspoken promise into his eyes with her own.

The chords of music plucked to an end.

In the hush that followed, Maia could not bear to look at anyone else but Suzenne. The expression on her friend’s face was rife with emotion, her mouth parted as she stared in wonder, knowing—better than anyone else in the room—the state of Maia’s heart at that moment. That Maia had danced with her husband and no one knew it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Kranmir

C
ollier took Maia’s hands in his, bowing his head gallantly to her. “Truly, Lady Maia, you have made good use of your time here.” The look of scorn he shot at Murer finished the insult with a sting.

Lady Deorwynn was livid, her teeth bared into an almost wolflike snarl. She glared at Maia with red-hot hatred. “Out,” she said with no pretense of civility. “I believe you are wanted elsewhere, are . . . you . . .
not
?”

Before Maia could move, Collier increased his grip on her hand. “Yes, I believe you are right, Lady Deorwynn. She is wanted greatly elsewhere . . . in Dahomey, in fact.”

Gasps of surprise sounded behind her. Even Maia looked at Collier in astonishment. What was he proposing now?

“You have chosen
her
to wait on
my
daughter?” Lady Deorwynn retorted, utter
ly aghast at the notion. “Surely one of the other girls would be better suited. My husband will not—”

“You completely misunderstand me,” Collier rudely interrupted. Still holding Maia’s hand, he stepped closer to Lady Deorwynn, his jaw clenched in suppressed anger, the guise of the simpering suitor vanishing in a burst of flames. “Surely all can plainly see that Maia is the fairest woman in this room. And to Maia’s beauty, add grace, wisdom, and refined talents. She was born to be a queen in her own right and not just trained as a courtier. I
can see why you have so jealously hidden her from me, my lady.”

Lady Deorwynn’s face went scarlet with dawning realization. “You . . . all along . . . you came here for . . . for
her
?”

Murer’s composure finally cracked with the knowledge that this handsome king was not to be hers, but Maia’s. She covered her mouth and stormed tearfully from the room.

Collier inhaled deeply as he regarded Maia’s stepmother. His voice deepened to his richer, truer tone as he dropped all pretense of a heavy accent. “Lady Deorwynn, forgive me, but you are blind. Your power has waned. Maia and I were secretly married in Dahomey many months ago. I came to Comoros to reclaim my wife. And I am not departing these shores without her.” His lips quivered with rage as his eyes scorched the vain woman. “And you will
never
harm Maia again.” He gazed authoritatively at the stunned group of women. “Leave us,” he barked with a tone of command.

The room quickly began to empty, most of the women leaving in a fluster, and some, like the queen, leaving with a look of uttermost loathing. As the ladies hastily filed out, Collier bent his lips to Maia’s ear. “Not your friend.”

“Suzenne,” Maia called, stalling her. Suzenne looked around in surprise before coming forward, her brow knitting together in consternation and fear.

The Aldermaston’s wife lingered at the door and then closed it, leaving the three of them alone. The silence was immense. The two friends wordlessly regarded Collier, Maia in admiration and Suzenne in awe.

Collier’s aspect had changed suddenly to one of triumph and delight. “Oh my, I must admit . . . that was very satisfactory,” he chuckled, tugging softly on Maia’s arm and leading her over to the cushioned seat. “The look on her face. I will
always
cherish that memory. By Idumea’s hand, how I loathe that woman.” He smiled reassuringly at Suzenne and motioned for her to sit near Maia. “How do you fancy traveling to Dahomey, lass?” he asked her.

“What have you done, Collier?” Maia asked, still shocked at the sudden change in events.

“Nothing I had not planned to do earlier,” he said, arching his eyebrows. “I was saving the announcement for when your father arrived. I had this little speech prepared—” He shrugged modestly. “But when I saw how Deorwynn was treating you . . . when I saw her contempt and heard her excoriating words, I had to do something, my dove. No one insults the Queen of Dahomey. No one insults
my
wife.” He shook his head. “We may not agree on all matters, Maia, but we can assuredly agree that she is a serpentine vixen who thrives on spreading misery. How have you endured her all these years?”

Maia’s heart was bubbling with so many emotions she could hardly breathe. She stared at Collier with wonder, not knowing what to say first. “But you humiliated Murer . . .”

“Deliberately!” he crooned, pacing. He went to the lute and plucked a few notes from it. “It was delicious. I cannot feel bad about that, Maia. Do not even ask me to. I vindicated you.”

“I know,” she answered, “but you caused pain and grief. Murer . . . she really believed in the betrothal . . .”

He smirked and played an inharmonious chord. He winced and then fixed it. “Perhaps if they knew of my subtlety, they would have been better prepared. You remember my name . . . it is
Feint
Collier.” He sighed impatiently. “Murer was a necessary deception, of course. But you were my target all along.”

Maia was flattered that he had not been truly tempted to cast her aside; however, questions still persisted in her mind. “But what of our encounters in the garden?”

He wrinkled his brow. “What do you mean? I was completely, even brutally honest in the garden, Maia. I am still angry with you. I am not entirely certain how to make our marriage work.” He stood restlessly, and toyed with the lute. “We see things very differently, you and I. But sitting here, listening to that woman berate you, humiliate you—you, who are the rightful heir of this kingdom, and
she
, the usurper! Who is Murer compared with you? I confess that I wanted everyone to see that. Believe me, word of this will spread, and spread quickly. My mortal offense to Lady Deorwynn and her children . . . well, frankly the beauty of it is that it will only increase my popularity among your people! So, believe me, Maia, I have been planning this. I thought our dance would happen at Whitsunday, but it still can.” He plucked out a few more notes on the lute, smiling at her impishly.

Maia bit her lip, still whirling from the mercurial shifts of his mood. “What will you tell my father?” she persisted.

“That our marriage has already happened,” he stated, nodding to her. “I will probably have to summon the witnesses, and it may decrease the number of earldoms I had hoped to achieve from this visit. He will pay me less than what I deserve. But in the end, he needs an alliance with Dahomey. Brannon cannot survive the armada when it arrives. He needs me and he knows it.” He glanced back at Suzenne. “What do you require to join Maia in Dahomey, loyal friend that you are? I understand you may be . . . engaged?”

Suzenne looked down at her lap confusedly, and then back up at Collier. “I am, my lord.”

“Yes, to Dodleah Price. The landless son of Forshee.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “He would be welcome in my service, my lady. I could possibly . . . arrange”—he shrugged and frowned—“for lands and titles in Dahomey? If my lady so wishes it?” He winked at Maia, obviously relishing the role of benefactor.

Maia gasped, turning to Suzenne, and saw tears glittering in the young woman’s lashes. “Truly, my lord?”

Collier nodded. “Call for Dodd. Let us see how he feels about the matter. Jon Tayt speaks highly of him, and I respect his opinion.”

“I will at once!” Suzenne declared, flushing and beaming, and raced out of the room.

A knot had developed inside Maia’s chest, a weight that sat heavily. “I cannot possibly go with you to Dahomey,” she uttered softly.

His brow wrinkled. “Why ever not?” he asked. He sat down at the edge of her seat, forcing her to make room and bewildering her senses with his nearness. He reached out casually and tucked a wavy lock of dark hair behind her ear. His finger set off a shiver that traveled from neck to spine. Maia struggled to gather her wits and explain.

“I must face the maston test, as I wrote in my letter.”

“There are plenty of abbeys in Dahomey,” he reminded her. “In the past, the princes and princesses of the realms would come to Dochte Abbey to study. Take the maston test in my country, or any country you choose except for this one.”

Maia shook her head. “It
must
be Muirwood.”

He remained genuinely perplexed. “But why?”

She stared down at her hands but firmed her resolve and looked into his eyes, even though the depth of their color made it hard to stare at him. “There is a covenant that has been passed down in my Family. A covenant to restore Muirwood Abbey.”

“The abbey is built,” he said, confused. “It is small compared to some I have seen, but it is beautiful and functional. Deorwynn’s uncle is to be the new Aldermaston, I understand. Kranmir.”

Maia shook her in frustration. “Kranmir has no authority to be the new Aldermaston!”

Collier shrugged. “True, but it is all politics anyway. The politics
of Aldermastons is little different from that of the Dochte Mandar.”

“It is more than that! You must understand this. The full rites of the mastons have not been restored. You did not complete the maston test yourself, so you do not know of it, but the Apse Veil must still be reopened. In the past, mastons could travel between abbeys by using the Apse Veil. Now they cannot, and the dead are stuck in this realm.”

A look of sardonic doubt shadowed his face, but he said nothing.

“You do not believe me,” she said.

“Please finish,” he said, nodding to her to go on. “I do not argue about the High Seer’s authority to name her own people. The Dochte Mandar do the same. I just do not believe in Idumea and the dead needing to go there. The Apse Veil being closed means nothing to me.”

“But it
is
true! No one has crossed the Apse Veil in a hundred years. I know the beliefs of the Dochte Mandar. Walraven taught them to me. They believe they can commune with the dead and the dead are born again. That is a lie. Those who have died yearn to return to Idumea, but they are trapped here. Lia entrusted her posterity with restoring the rites at Muirwood. This will include the ability to cross between abbeys as well as the rites for the dead. My grandmother is the High Seer, and she is not powerful enough in the Medium to open the Apse Veil herself. The Medium has specifically given the burden to
me
.”

Collier sighed, nodding with a satisfied smile. “I see.”

“I do not think you do.”

“So these secret rites must be performed. Mastons can then travel hither and yon. Some visiting Idumea. Well, how wonderful Lia left
that
for you to do. No wonder you came here instead of Pry-Ree. It took a while for you to be discovered.” He tapped his mouth thoughtfully, then gave her that maddeningly handsome smirk of his. “So let me understand the implications of this situation. Your father is coming to throw down the authority of the Aldermastons . . . here, at Muirwood. Your grandmother has come to defy him. Did she bring, say, an army with her?”

“No,” Maia replied, her stomach churning.

“I thought not. I have been out with Captain Carew, and he has been exploring the defenses of the abbey. They are . . . how shall I put this . . . rather frail. Anyone can walk in or out, Maia. The Leerings are just stones. Some are imbued with power, I grant you, but they obey not just the mastons. How can your grandmother prevent Brannon from seizing Muirwood and throwing out Aldermaston Syon? You may not realize this, but your father plans to perform the investment ceremony himself, making himself in control of the maston order in Comoros. All the revenue the abbeys produce will be confiscated by the Crown. Undoubtedly, Brannon covets the wealth and power of the abbeys for himself, since he has already taken Augustin’s treasure, with Kranmir’s blessing, no less. And . . . might I add . . . no Medium intervened at Augustin.” He raised his eyebrows challengingly.

“I do not know what will happen,” Maia conceded, wincing. “But my grandmother plans to speak to him.”

He snorted impatiently. “Maia, see reason! Your sainted father has more ambition than . . . well, than me! It will take more than some
holy
scolding to change his mind. What is she going to do to stop him?”

Maia shook her head. “I do not know.”

“Maia.” He said her name in a gentler tone this time, laying his hand on her arm. “Sabine can do
nothing
to stop her son-in-law. Only force will convince Brannon . . . which is obviously not her intent.”

There was a soft knock on the door. Collier glanced up in irritation. The door opened to reveal Sabine and the Aldermaston’s wife. The High Seer nodded to the other woman, then entered alone.

Collier rose, his cheeks flushing. “I see the Family resemblance,” he said, nodding to her respectfully, but Maia could see the wariness in his eyes, in the subtle frown on his mouth. “Welcome, High Seer.”

“Welcome to Muirwood, Gideon,” she offered kindly, walking forward. “Word travels quickly in a small abbey. So you have acknowledged Maia as your wife?”

He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes, and bowed curtly. “I have. I was attempting to persuade her to accompany me back to Dahomey, but she claims there is unfinished business here at Muirwood. I hope to convince her that it is fruitless nonsense.”