Unable to stop herself, Lia pulled the blade away from his throat. “Tell him to stay away from Muirwood. I will be watching for him.”
“No, child. He is watching you. And he will open the borders for the kishion to enter.”
* * *
“No maston can purchase his virtue too dear, for it is the only thing whose value must ever increase with the price it has cost. Our integrity is never worth so much as when we have parted with our all to keep it. Sadly, many will part with theirs for a trifle.”
- Gideon Penman of Muirwood Abbey
* * *
CHAPTER NINETEEN:
Irrevocare Sigil
For nearly seven years, Lia had carried in her bosom the memory of Jon Hunter arriving at the kitchen during the storm, sopping wet and splattered in mud, anxious to bring the Aldermaston a terrible message. She thought it strange how life had the tendency to repeat itself over and over, roles changing but the story being the same. At the cloister she had learned that the Aldermaston was in the kitchen, so she hurried there instead. She knew Colvin might be there and prepared to face him, but her fight with Pareigis’ knights lent her a strength she had never known before. The training had worked. Without help she had disarmed three enemies, each a man and much larger than her, and interrogated one of them for useful information. There was something satisfying in the act of pulling a man from his horse, or watching him go limp with a well-placed blow. In her mind, she could see Martin’s fierce clenched grin of approval.
As she stomped across the grounds to the kitchen, she imagined how wild she looked, all brown and gray with mud, her wild hair hanging in tangled clumps down her back. Her thoughts were spinning wildly with the events of the afternoon, like so many butterflies in a grove all dancing this way and that in the air, and she was unable to rein in any of them. She was haunted by the look of contempt in Colvin’s eyes as he spurned her. Another image – a Dahomeyjan knight leering at her. Yet another – Reome at the laundry, blocking her way and then something inside Lia cracked and she saw herself rushing the girl, stomping her foot and choking her in the water trough. Then sheriff Almaguer was in her thoughts, his eyes blazing silver as he whispered about her parentage, killed at the battle of Maseve. How she wished she had known back then all she had learned being a hunter.
Thunder boomed over the Abbey, making her want to laugh wildly as the memory of Jon Hunter stabbed her heart again. He was dead in the Bearden Muir because the Aldermaston had sent him to protect her. Each of her steps on the muddy grass brought painful memories. She looked up, the skies darkening with a storm-induced twilight, and there was Duerden leaning against the wall of the kitchen, shivering and soaked.
“Oh no,” she whispered. Already his head snapped up, hearing the noise of her approach and saw her. His face looked ashen with nervousness.
“Lia?” he asked tremulously, stepping towards her.
“I must speak to the Aldermaston,” she said brusquely. “I cannot talk to you now, Duerden.”
He looked crestfallen. “I…I see. Another time then, when you have a moment.” With a sigh, he stepped away from her path and started back towards the cloisters. She watched his wilting with a surge of remorse, but she could not…she would not want to listen to him at that moment, not with her wounded heart still bleeding.
“Lia?” he called after a moment, as her hands found the handle. She looked over her shoulder at him, amazed he had the audacity to ignore her polite warning. His mouth was drooping in a frown, but his eyebrows looked concerned. “Are you all right? Can I help you?”
She stood for a moment, surprised at his sensitivity. She had a wild urge to kiss his cheek and thank him, but she knew that would confuse him into thinking she felt more than she really did.
“Yes, Duerden, something happened. But this is a problem for the Aldermaston.” Again she was tempted to reveal more than she should. I left three men at the edge of the grounds. One of them may die because I might have hit him too hard. The Earl of Forshee, the man I love, was disgusted with me when I told him how I felt. I am soaked and wet and tired. And how are you this fine day?
“I will not keep you,” he said, biting his lip and wiping rain from his eyes, and then started back towards the cloister.
Lia swung open the kitchen door and entered. There was Pasqua, rubbing her shoulder with obvious pain and the Aldermaston leaning over her, speaking in low tones. Siara Healer was there was well, mixing up some powder in a pestle. Sowe and Brynn were busy making supper and both glanced over at her and stopped, gawking at her strange appearance. There was Edmon, lounging on a barrel, and he also rose when she entered.