The Wretched of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #1)

Lia shut her eyes and clenched them.

“What does the Aldermaston want us…what should we do? I did not think he would have had time to send anyone…you understand…to send someone so quickly. Usually it is Jon Hunter, as I said. This squire must be important or he is worried about violence if the gates burst. But can the Aldermaston save him outside the walls?”

“He is more important than you know,” Lia said, thinking furiously. “Where is Almaguer?”

“The sheriff…yes…well, after the arrest, he was alone with the prisoner for a time. Then he came out and took most of his men to the abbey. You can almost hear the shouting from the windows. There are horses and swords and it is a frightful affair. They are saying the king’s army is coming today or tomorrow. Do you think they will spare the village?”

Lia’s heart lurched at the thought. Shoving it aside, she pondered the imminent danger. There would not be much time to free Colvin. She went to the ladder and started up. “We must hurry.” As she entered the kitchen, she saw the littlest with the spoon sitting by a cradle, teasing a baby inside with the gooey end. The oldest daughter was rushing about, but she stopped when Lia emerged and looked at her eagerly. The boy was perched on a stool by the door, and he came near, pushing up his sleeves. The cook, the mother, Lia recognized. She had seen only glimpses of her before, at the Whitsun Fairs, selling meats and cheeses and bread to the passersby, while Pasqua delighted the crowds with her famous treats. What if the woman recognized her?

She looked up from her kneading bowl, glanced at Lia, and a strange expression came over her face.

Lia chose to act. “How many of the sheriff’s men are still here?”

Brant nodded vigorously. “I will find out.” And he flew from the kitchen like an arrow.

“I need a pouch – or a linen – some way to hide this,” she said next, cradling the orb in her palm.

The older sister rushed over to a coffer and knelt by it, sorting through the contents.

How was she going to get Colvin out of the Pilgrim? Some of the sheriff’s men would possibly recognize her. What could she do? She was only a wretched. What could she possibly do to save him? Frantic, fearing she would be too late, she quickly searched the kitchen, casting her gaze at the cauldrons in the pits, the spoons and pans dangling from hooks in a ceiling sconce. Breathing in through her nose, she inhaled the familiar smells and suddenly tears threatened her. After this, she would never be allowed back in Muirwood again. Anger and longing wrestled inside her chest.

“What can we do?” the man asked, his face quivering with fear. “If there was a way…I am not seeing it. My family – I cannot risk my family. The sheriff’s…don’t you see? The king is coming, they say. What can we…really then what can we do?”

Lia turned away from him, searching the walls, searching her memories for a thought, a suggestion, a way to solve the dilemma. Then it came – a pure clear thought like a rope thrown down to someone trapped in a well. What could a wretched do? What could someone who had grown up in an Abbey kitchen all her life do? What knowledge did she have that could save Colvin?

She knew it instantly. It would work. The Medium was helping her.

Turning, she faced the cook and her husband. “Soldiers are always hungry. If they rode in early, as you say, they are probably starving. Prepare a tray for them. Fill it. Bread, eggs, cheese, nuts, fruit, beans. You have a fatling roasting on a spit. Feed it to them.”

Her words caused action.

The cook was still gazing at Lia, but she said in a hurried voice, “Bryn, start on it. Hurry, girl, there is not much time. Use the bread over there – it is fresher. Don’t be sparing on the butter. I will cut the meat.”

Lia turned to the good man. “Do you have any cider in the cellar? You do? Get a keg, quickly!”

Food and drink aplenty. Honor to soldiers who represented the king’s sheriff. Lia approached the cook, hoping the woman did not recognize her yet. The tall woman turned, looking at her. Her eyes were worn and puffy, her hair long and dark and with long stands of silver interspersed. Part of her belly bulged, and Lia remembered seeing the baby in the crib and wondered how new and fresh it was to the world. The tray of food was the distraction. What she needed, she knew the Pilgrim must have in its stores.

“Where is your valerianum?” Lia asked in a soft voice. It was an herb Pasqua used when she could not fall asleep, or when someone else needed the remedy. Too much of it in her tea, and she overslept the next morning. Sometimes Lia wondered if she did it like that on purpose.

The cook started, her eyes widening as she realized what Lia had in mind. “Yes…but it is pungent…like cheese…they would taste it…”