The Wretched of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #1)

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.”

Lia’s heart fluttered. Her stomach went sour. She remembered the knight’s warning. If Almaguer comes, do your best to hide him.

As innocently as she could, she asked, “How many shall we cook for, my lord?”

“Tell Pasqua that the retinue is at least twenty men.”

“What does retinue mean?” she asked.

“They are those who owe a noble lord their allegiance. They do his bidding and travel with him. There will be many mouths to feed. I know that Whitsunday is approaching, and she will be loathe to relinquish her stores. If you must, send her to me to discuss it. They should be given our hospitality.”

The sound of footsteps came running down the hall, and the page opened it. His name was Astrid, and he delivered messages for the Aldermaston throughout the grounds. He was ten.

“Riders from the village, Aldermaston!” he gasped “We told them you would greet them in person in due time, but they…they would not wait. My lord, they are riding their mounts on the grounds instead of walking them! One of them asked me… he demanded to know where the kitchen was.”

The Aldermaston surged to his feet, his face livid with anger. “Take me now.”

Lia experienced a sudden bristling rush of panic. Her ears burned hot, her stomach twisting like one of Reome’s wet garments. Her knees became shaky. She nearly dragged the hot pan off the serving table accidentally. It could only mean one thing.

The possibility was now real.

The king’s men had come to search the abbey. What if they were already at the kitchen doors? What if she was too late?





CHAPTER EIGHT:


The Cider Orchard