“He is not dangerous or vicious,” Marciana said, rolling her eyes. “No more than any man is. He would never dishonor her. How can I put this? As Colvin has always told me, we are slow to believe that which if believed would hurt our feelings. He would never deliberately try and make her love him and then scorn her. But he may do it inadvertently. Warn her of that. He pretends more than he feels. Having spent a year with him, I have grown weary of his little gallantries. Sowe will probably be as well after she is gorged on them as I have. Look at how she reacted a few moments ago. Whether they give or refuse, it delights a woman just the same to have been asked. She was delighted. You could see it on her face as well as I could.”
Lia looked at Marciana probingly. “You observe people.”
Marciana offered a twisted smile. “I ignore most people. But there are some I pay close attention to. Having been born in a Family under such circumstances as I was, you cannot blame me. My mother died giving me my life. Ellowyn and I have that in common. My father never married again, he loved her so much. That is the kind of love I want. The kind I want for my brother. So you see, my gift of observation, if I have any, is only about those who toy and flirt and scheme and envy and stumble in a thousand ways to fall in love. And in the last two nights of being here, I have seen all the subtle clues that exist in Sowe. Warn her, Lia. He is a knight-maston and an earl. But he is also a man with a heart and is easily distracted by beauty. And she is a beauty.”
Marciana gazed at Sowe for a moment, then turned back to Lia who took another bite from the bread. She nearly choked on it when Marciana said, “So who is this boy you care about – the one you had promised to dance with last Whitsunday! When you were lost in the swamp, Colvin told me you regretted that you would miss the maypole dance because of this boy. What is his name? Is he a learner? Do you still like him?”
CHAPTER EIGHT:
Jealous
The only people Lia had ever truly been jealous of during her life were those who came to Muirwood to learn how to read and engrave. The embodiment of that jealousy became Ellowyn Demont. She was like an uncertain dancer at the maypole, watching and imitating everyone else, but always a skip and a twirl too late – one so preoccupied with getting the moves right that the shuffling steps could not be referred to as dancing. Lia’s thoughts were cruel and she recognized that. The problem was she could not help herself. The deeper problem lay in the fact that she was jealous of Ellowyn for another reason as well. The nub of it – Colvin’s constant attention to her.
When he was wounded and hid in the kitchen, they had argued about Lia’s outspokenness and her ability to keep secrets. Colvin had praised Sowe’s shyness and reserve as qualities worth admiring. She remembered the conversation vividly. Ellowyn was that kind of girl. The deference Colvin paid to the Demont girl was obvious, tender, and – truthfully – infuriatingly sensitive. Every time she watched them together, it made her ill. The feeling was so strong that sometimes she wondered if she needed valerianum tea to calm her stomach. She understood the emotion. It was jealousy and it tormented her.
For example, after a visitor arrived from nearby Wells Abbey, Lia was commanded by the Aldermaston to speak to Ailsa Cook about a meal. She spied Colvin and Ellowyn together near the laundry, deep in conversation. Colvin looked animated, his hands gesturing. Ellowyn was completely engrossed, taking in his every word as if they were honey. The feeling in Lia’s chest was so powerful, so painful, she went another way, afraid she would be noticed, that the Medium would betray her thoughts to him. How humiliating that would be!
The evenings in the kitchen were especially difficult, and she found herself coming back later and later. The talking and laughing were enjoyable. But it was as if her private domain had been intruded upon, that the kitchen was no longer her refuge but theirs. Every night, Marciana wheedled more information from her. Every night she did everything she could not to stare at Colvin too much, to keep Marciana from suspecting that something was wrong. Sowe and Bryn had grown closer over the year, making Lia feel as if her place was usurped. The depth and intensity of her feelings were so strong she began worrying that the Medium would stop working for her altogether.
A week passed since Martin had left. She missed him and his surly advice, his bluff manners. He was always practical, always one to force an issue, never hide from it. He would cut to the quick. What was tormenting her? What was it that truly bothered her? She pondered the question, seeing Martin’s scrunched up eyebrows, the angry jut of his jaw. Was it that Colvin was treating Ellowyn with respect when he had treated her so angrily? Did she fear he was forming an attachment to the girl? Was that it? That they would marry? The nagging thoughts were subtle – quick to dodge her attempts at confining them so easily. It was not knowing Colvin’s thoughts that bothered her. Was she seeing too much in his deference to Ellowyn? Was his politeness no more than that? In the Cider Orchard, she had assumed he felt contempt for the girl. But his manners belied any trace of it. How she wished the Medium would let her see into his mind again!