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Hugh had understood Da’s power better than she had, it seemed. Wind rattled the stable doors and she started around, but it was natural wind. She could smell rain, though none yet fell, could hear the clatter of bare branches outside as the storm’s breath, running before it, stirred the trees in anticipation of its coming. Hugh.

That suddenly, as if the name itself had magic, she shuddered, trembling violently, and caught the book against her chest as she fought back tears. She must not, could not, give in to the old fear. She had escaped him.Advertisement

“Eagle. Liath.”

She jerked, startled, and spun around, but it was too late. She had been run to ground, cornered, and cut off.

Rosvita had come after her.

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ROSVITA knew she would be damned for her curiosity, so she had given up trying to stop herself from succumbing to its lure.

She had blotted the fresh ink carefully and left the book open to dry, pushed back her chair, and risen to follow the young Eagle. Since the incident in the library at Quedlinhame, she had not been able to stop thinking about the young Eagle.

Once out in the courtyard she saw the young woman vanish into the stables, so she followed, tracking her to an empty stall where she sat alone in the gloom.

“Eagle. Liath.”

As soon as she spoke the words, she saw the object the girl clutched to her chest like a frightened child. It was a book. Surprised and puzzled, Rosvita acted before thinking. She stepped forward and plucked the book from the Eagle’s grasp. The girl gasped out loud and jumped up, but Rosvita had already retreated to the door and thus the Eagle had perforce to follow her outside as a starving dog slinks at the heels of a woman gnawing on a succulent rib of pork.

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“I beg you—” stuttered the girl, face washed gray with fear. She was of good height but so slender that she appeared frail.

At once, faced with such an expression of abject misery and terror, Rosvita relented. She handed back the book and yet, as the young woman locked the book under her left arm, immediately regretted her own act of generosity. The title was lost in the folds of the Eagle’s cloak. What on God’s earth did an Eagle mean by carrying a book? And what kind of book was it? But Rosvita was too wise to attempt a direct assault.

“I can’t help but wonder where a woman such as yourself learned to read Dariyan so fluently,” she said. “Are you church educated?”

The girl hesitated, her fine mouth turning down stubbornly. Then, with an effort, she smoothed her expression. Rosvita had studied faces for too many years not to recognize a person who wanted to remain unnoticed and unremarked—although how, with such a striking face, this young person thought she could remain unnoticed, Rosvita could not fathom.

“My da educated me,” she said at last.

“You mentioned him to Queen Mathilda, did you not? He was in the church?”

She shrugged, not wanting to answer.

“Perhaps he left the church after you were born,” suggested Rovita, trying to sound sympathetic, trying to worm her way past the wall the girl had thrown up. “Does he have kin? Do you know who your people are?”

“I have been told he has cousins at Bodfeld. But they disclaimed the kinship after—” She broke off.

That, Rosvita saw, was the girl’s weakness. Once begun, she would forget to stop. “After he acknowledged you as his child? Or had he already left the church?”

“I don’t know,” said the girl, a little rudely.

“I beg your pardon. But then, I was often told by my mother abbess that my curiosity is unpardonable.” Rosvita offered a smile. The girl almost smiled back, but did not. The fierce blue of her eyes, as brilliant as sapphires or the blue depths of fire, shone bright against her dusky skin. “Your mother?”

“Is dead. These many years.”

“And now Wolfhere has taken you on as his discipla. Perhaps you knew him before?”

“No, I didn’t—” She shook her head impatiently. “He took me into the Eagles. He saved me from—” She winched her right arm more tightly against her side, concealing the book.

Lady Above! Had she stolen it from the library at Quedlinhame?

It was time for the direct approach. “What book is that?”

Rosvita had never seen anyone look quite so fragile and terrified. Had the girl stolen it? Ought she to seek justice in this case, and force her to tell the truth—or was it better to be merciful and let her confess in due time?

“It—My da gave it to me,” the girl said at last, in a rush. “It’s the only thing I have left of him.” pqdm.com