The Wretched of Muirwood

His eyebrows were knotted with anger and he looked at her as if she were a fool – as if his every action should be obvious. “It is inconvenient knowing that my fate and my life is in the hands of a wretched who cannot keep quiet. Your friend is quiet. I find her courtesy and deference admirable. You talk too much for someone who says she keeps secrets.”

Lia wanted to laugh and she did, under her breath. “Sowe is quiet because she is shy, especially around boys. She hardly says two words when the Aldermaston comes.”

“I would say that is a proper token of respect.”

“Then you fear that I will spill your secret? That I might stumble and it will come blurting out of my mouth? Is that it?”

His eyes were earnest, and something in his mouth was defiant. “I do not fear it, but yes.”

Her fingers were thick with dough, and she scraped them clean on her apron. She scooped up the bud of dough and began shaping it. Part of her crinkly hair dropped in her face, and she brushed it away with the back of her hand.

“I am not like the girls that gossip in the laundry,” she said. “Maybe that is what you are used to.”

“It has been my experience that females in general cannot keep secrets. My life depends on your ability to keep mine.”

“But I am not like that. You may believe me or not, but I have kept a secret of this abbey for years. A secret that the Aldermaston has forbidden anyone to know. You could trust me with your name, and I would tell no one. Not even the Aldermaston.”

His mouth tightened. Was he starting to believe her, or did he still doubt?

“I cannot trust anyone like that,” he said softly. “Except my sister.”

Lia shrugged. “At least you have a sister. You had better climb up to the loft. Pasqua will be here soon.”

He nodded, scooping the last of the porridge with his spoon and took the bread and honey with him. Pausing at the ladder, he looked at her.

“The shirt – thank you for troubling yourself to wash it.”

“It was no trouble.” She turned back to the dough and set it in a bowl, sprinkling flour on it. “I am thirteen. My nameday is a fortnight from now so I will soon be fourteen. So you do not have to wonder any more. Hopefully, if all goes well, your knight-maston friend will come for you tomorrow. ” And then you will leave us, she thought with satisfaction. He truly was insufferable.

“I hope so,” he said and climbed the ladder, disappearing into the tangle of vats, pumpkins, sacks, and jars.

“As do I,” she whispered as she walked to the main door and raised the crossbar. Pasqua arrived shortly after.

* * *

Dawn was cold, bringing a soupy fog to the grounds. With Sowe working again, the chores were nearly done when the pear tart was finished baking. Pasqua asked Lia to carry it to the Aldermaston while it was still hot. Donning her cloak, she set off the short distance to the manor, tortured by the aroma from the tart. It smelled fragrantly of cinnamon and nutmeg, and she broke off a little crumb around the edge to taste it. She entered the manor from the rear, scuffing her shoes on the rush-matting to keep from tracking mud across the tiles and went to the Aldermaston’s study. Normally it was quiet there, but it was abuzz with commotion.

Lia knocked on the door and opened it, spying the Aldermaston in conference with his elderly steward, Prestwich, who was bald except for a fringe of snowy white hair, and Jon Hunter, who was explaining something to them both.

“I was thorough. No markings on the bridle or on the saddle or saddle bags. No coat of arms, no signet. No maston symbols either, but that is not surprising considering the murders. The saddle was of such quality as you would expect from a knight…or squire.”

The Aldermaston leaned back in his chair, motioning Lia to enter and directing her to the serving table. With his other hand, he gave a little motion which meant that Jon Hunter should stop talking. He was very good at that, Lia noticed. The Aldermaston’s hands were gnarled with hard work, the skin purple with veins, but there was still strength in those hands, and a feeling of authority.

“Thank you, Lia. Come here, child.”

She obeyed, trying not to look at Jon, or else she might start giggling. She was tempted to get him in trouble by saying she already knew about the horse and they could go on talking.

He squinted at her, then rubbed an earlobe that had several gray hairs poking from it. “I have a message for you to give to Pasqua. Please pay attention.”

Lia stood still, listening.

“We are expecting guests. Emissaries from the king arrived in the village last night. They stayed at the Swan, not the Pilgrim. Pasqua will care about a detail like that, so do not leave it out. I have been told that they will come to the abbey. I received no warning about this visit, so apologize to her that she was not given time to prepare.”