Gone. Every coin she had ever saved. The bag of treasure the knight had brought her. And even worse, the sheriff’s medallion. They were gone. She reached into the hole, confirming the emptiness with her own fingers.
The thought sent a spear of disbelief through her. Pain and shock linked arms. It was the worst feeling of her life. Worse than fear or sorrow or the dread of impending punishment. It hurt with a frenzy when she realized what she had done. She had sent Colvin to the Pilgrim into a trap.
* * *
The man that brought Colvin to the Abbey kitchen was not a knight or a maston. He was, in fact, a wretched himself – a wretched who had also been raised at Muirwood but fled before his obligation to serve was fulfilled. He knew the abbey grounds as well as Lia and could walk in the mist without getting turned around or lost. That was a key reason why his services were so valuable to the sheriff of Mendenhall. Lia would not have remembered him, for she was very young when he abandoned his debt and the abbey. But others would have recognized his expression, the tilt of his head, the way he smoothed people’s feelings with clever words. Or his inability to resist thieving. With a little bit of skill and flexibility, he could climb part of the rounded stone bulwarks near the doorway on either side of the kitchen doors, and from that vantage point, see inside the kitchen from the glass panels embedded into the door. From that vantage, he had watched where Lia kept her treasures. Not only did it cost him nothing to win back the sheriff’s amulet, but he had also laid claim to the rest of her coins. It panged what little shreds of conscience he had left, but in the larger context, he was doing her a favor. A harsh lesson would teach her the rest of her life not to trust the strangers of the world. Lessons he had learned in a thousand cruel ways.
He glanced down at the twisting vines and leaves that made up the shape of the amulet. There was something about it that attracted him. It was unique. It was a secret worth a great deal to the right people, he was sure. Did he really want to tell Almaguer he had found it after he lost it to the girl? After all, the girl could have given it to the Aldermaston – or even better – was wearing it herself. Had he not noticed a bit of twine around her neck? Was there another path he could take, a way to turn the situation around yet again and earn even more profit? The nameless squire had carried embarrassingly few coins, though his knight-maston sword would fetch a good price in the local market, especially if it was sold while he was put to death in the village square for treason. Some fool would play handsomely for it in the frenzy of passion that accompanied executions. Was there a way to get more coin from the lad prior to his punishment? Perhaps an offer to deliver words to a loved one after the sheriff seized him? The sound of clinking coins stoked his imagination. There had to be a way. And since the lad had never seen his face, he would not know who he was dealing so treacherously with him.
He slipped the amulet into a secret pocket and patted it lightly.
He wondered how much the Aldermaston’s good name would be tarnished. Would Muirwood Abbey be shamed with the unraveling of the Winterrowd plot? If that happened, it was worth all the treasure in his bag. Unable to help it, he started to chuckle. It had the makings of a merry day.
* * *
It was hard for Lia to breathe. The feelings that smote inside her were too much to bear. Guilt – a horrible guilt for her unwitting betrayal. Fury – searing, scalding, ravaging fury at the thief who deceived her. How glibly he had done it. His words had achieved their every intention. By making her think that he was trusting her, she had unknowingly trusted him all the more. It was all so very clear. She hated herself for being fooled so easily. She was a fool. No matter that the thief was older than her and cunning as a serpent. Her own cunning had probably surprised him. He was the one who sent the sheriff to the Muirwood kitchens and only blind luck had prevented Almaguer from reaching the Aldermaston’s kitchen first instead of the learner kitchen. If that had happened, Colvin would have been caught in their midst – and she an accomplice.
She had been so sure of herself, so sure that she would be able to outwit them all. With trembling hands and tears dangling from her lashes, she whisked the dirt and spilled seeds into a pile. Truth was painful. Her own greed had hastened the deception. The desire to read had driven her for as long as she could remember. She stopped, seeing the look in Colvin’s eyes as he promised to help her achieve that dream. The memory caused so much pain, she had to stop and cough loudly to keep Pasqua ignorant of the sobs that threatened to completely break open. How could she have been so blind? What was there to do? Colvin was on horseback. The village lay beyond the abbey walls. He was probably at the inn already.