The Wretched of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #1)

As she gave it to him the second time, the spindles behaved the same way, returning to their idle state and refused him. The writing vanished as well, as the groove etchings filled in. He paused, he scowled, he waited – nothing happened. “What is wrong with me?” he grumbled.

“Thankfully, this is not the only news we brought,” Lia said. “I should have said it first. The knight-maston who brought you to Muirwood came back. He knocked on the kitchen doors not long ago looking for you.”

He straightened, his expression shocked. “I am all amazement. Did he?”

Lia nodded, giving him a smile. “He eluded the sheriff’s men.”

“Where is he now? At the kitchen?”

“He said he would wait for you in the village. At the Pilgrim inn – it is the biggest one in town, on the main way not far from the abbey walls. He will be watching for you and will take you to Demont.”

Sowe held out the bundle. “We bundled some food for you,” she said in a voice so small a mouse might have whispered it.

Colvin accepted it and smoothed the top of the linen. “There is no doubt you will both earn a scolding for helping me. Were it possible, I would forbid Pasqua to scold either of you ever again. I heard enough of it hiding in the loft. I pity you.” He let out a pent-up breath. “My gratitude though exceeds my words. Think of what reward you desire. If it is within my power, I will grant it. You are both so very young, but before long, you will have repaid your debt to Muirwood. I will and shall honor my debt to you.”

Sowe blushed furiously and looked at her feet. Lia was not so shy.

“I know what I would ask for,” she said, squeezing the orb tightly.

“What is it?”

Lia could not help a blushing smile. “Sowe already knows what I want. Beyond any gift or treasure, I desire to learn to read.” She swallowed, building her courage, nurturing hope like sparks from drowsy ashes. “When I saw you…reading from the tomes…I was so jealous. I am always jealous of that craft. The Aldermaston refuses to let me learn. He has said…he has said more than once, that as long as he is the Aldermaston of Muirwood, he will not let me. Please, sir – I want it more than anything else.”

He studied her, his eyes deep with shadows, his face dispassionate. It was a heavy expression, as if he were weighing in his mind how much it would cost – and whether her service to him truly deserved such a princely sum. She held her breath. She held back her fears. She hoped in her heart, she yearned with her being, she stared at his face, wishing to scald him with her need.

He was silent. It was not an easy answer to give. Had he tossed out an answer with less than a thought, she would have doubted the sincerity of it. He was brooding over his answer – brooding over the request. It was not given lightly. Silence fell on the woods. Then for a moment, it seemed as if the world stood still and held its breath with her.

“You shall have it,” he whispered. “Even if I must teach you myself.”

Sowe gasped at the immensity of the promise.

It was the best day, the best moment, the best instant in Lia’s life. She would remember it all the rest of her days. Lia wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss his cheek, but she knew from her previous demonstrations of friendliness that he would shun it and detest her. The surge and storm of gratitude in her heart brought tears to her eyes, but she willed them not to fall. She must not cry in front of him. She must not show how much she was indebted to his kindness. He could have asked anything from her, and she would have done it, without flinching.

Barely able to get the words out, she whispered, “Thank you, sir. I thank you.”

He stood motionless and hard, like a waymarker himself. His mouth was terse, his expression grave. Then he dropped his hand to his belt and hooked his thumb there. He looked at Sowe and said somberly, “Leave us a moment.”

Sowe, nervous, backed down the road towards the Cider Orchard.

Lia drew closer, worried now that he had changed his mind.

“I pray I have not made a vain promise. I did not make it lightly, nor seek to cheapen it with excuses.” He stared down at his boots, then met her gaze. “As you know, I go to war. Should I fall…” he paused, choking for a moment, “Seek my steward. His name is Theobald. Tell him of the promise I made to you. If I do not live to fulfill it in person, he will do so on my behalf. Does that satisfy you?”