The Ciphers of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood #2)(53)

“He appears to be making other arrangements,” Jon Tayt quipped. “Lady Deorwynn’s daughter. He needs money, and she has it. Maia has nothing but her pretty looks and her wits. I do not mean to insult you, lass, but that is the truth. You know he has no intention of becoming a maston, which is what you want from a husband. Perhaps the wise course would be to see what he does. From what you told me, he escaped in a hurry. He has no desire to be arrested under the Aldermaston’s authority. Wait for him to speak to you again. If he tries, I promise I will not let Argus bite him, though I am tempted.”

Suzenne shook her head. “He is still angry with Maia. What he believes about her is false.”

Jon Tayt shrugged. “A fool is born every minute. Most of them live. Whitsunday is almost upon us. The dice are being cast. This is no time to make foolish errors.”

Maia nodded to Jon Tayt and started to pace the room. She cleared her mind of all its troubles and tried to seek the Medium’s will. She paused by the fire and stared into the flames, her eyes meeting the red-hot eyes in the carved face of the Leering. There was no wood in the hearth. Nothing to consume. Yet the fire was real, just as water Leerings gave off real water. Such simple yet undeniable evidence of the Medium’s power. Why could Collier not see it?

She closed her eyes, drawing into herself, listening for the whispers from the Medium.

There was nothing.

Her emotions were in turmoil, but as she breathed deeply, they were slowly calming. The Aldermaston had taught her that she needed to be still, to be small within herself, to be open to the Medium’s guidance.

Still, there was nothing.

She opened her eyes and stared at the flames again, feeling the heat on her cheeks and smelling the soot and ash so near. She reasoned it out in her mind. Jon Tayt was right. It was political and likely personal suicide to give Collier her confession. She had not begged or pleaded with him. She had not tried to soothe him or stroke his vanity. She had merely wanted to be honest with him at last. To speak the truth, even if some of that truth would wound him.

She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the stone wall above the hearth. The stone was pulsing with warmth. She had betrayed him so many times. How could he ever trust her again?

She opened her eyes wide.

What better way to win his trust than to make herself vulnerable? To give him a weapon to hurt her with? He might use it as such. He had already injured her repeatedly with his words in the garden. Though they had been spoken in anger, justifiable anger, they had still hurt. Let him see her remorse in the letter she had written after coming to Muirwood. Let him know her for who she truly was, not the illusion. If he turned from her then, at least he would be turning from her.

Her resolve hardened. She turned away from the hearth, feeling some of the fire still in her eyes.

“Thank you both for your counsel,” she said. She had decided. She waited to see if the Medium would contradict her. She felt nothing but the iron of her determination. “Please bring my letter to Collier, Jon Tayt. Tonight. Right now.”

The hunter frowned. “How about I let him read it and then I make sure it is cast into the fire? That would be more cautious.”

She shook her head. “No. I want him to keep it. He is still my husband.”





An ancient Aldermaston once said this, which has helped me tame the feelings that offense inspires: When you are offended at any man’s fault, turn to yourself and study your own failings. Then you will forget your anger.

—Richard Syon, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey





CHAPTER NINETEEN




The Holk



The Aldermaston’s kitchen was frantic in preparation for Whitsunday. There were trays of sweet rolls, platters full to brimming with delights. The two kitchen helpers were dusted with flour and despite the long hours, they were both giddy with excitement for the upcoming festival. Every day brought news, wagons, and people from throughout the realm come to celebrate Whitsunday with the king. Beyond the abbey walls, tents were springing up like an army camp as hosts began to arrive.

“They have not put up the maypole yet,” Aloia said to Maia, scraping the side of a bowl with her spoon. Davi came and dipped her littlest finger into the bowl over the other girl’s shoulder to snitch a taste. “Davi!” Aloia whined.

“Of course they have not put up the maypole yet,” said the other girl. “It will be hung the day before. Oh, would that we were fourteen already! You know the maypole dance, do you not?” she asked Maia.

“I do,” Maia replied, smiling, yet her heart stung with pain. Lady Deorwynn had ensured that no one would ask her to dance on her first Whitsunday after coming of age. Now she dreaded the holiday for a different reason. If the Aldermaston did not declare her ready to take the maston test before Whitsunday, the change in Aldermastons might prevent her from taking the test at all.

“Did you see the lists?” Aloia asked Davi, rounding on her excitedly. “There will be jousting! The field is cleared and staked off so that no one can put a tent up near it. Owen said that Captain Carew was practicing there earlier today. He knocked down three knights. No one could unhorse him!”

“Do you know Captain Carew?” Davi asked Maia.

“Yes, I have met him before, but have not seen him for several years.”

“I asked Owen if he was handsome and he did not know what to say,” Aloia confided.