Eighteen
Early one morning a fewweeks after Thomas’s birthday, hoofbeats sounded outside the cottage, and Cullen whined and barked at the door.
My heart went cold, recalling hoofbeats outside the cruck house, ringing bridles, baying hounds, and a great wind battering at the door. Mairi spoke for me then, saying the rough fae outside could not take me from her, that she had claimed me for her own.
But this was no gloomy All Hallows. No winds howled outside, and it had been weeks since the last summer storm. My heart settled in my breast.
Thomas laced his boots in preparation to take his flocks out. I, still wearing only my underkirtle, stirred the porridge over the hearth. He and I exchanged glances.
It was early for visitors, and no one came to see us on horseback. My customers were too poor; it was rare we even had a short-sighted old ass tethered outside. But the hoofbeats slowed, and a whinny sounded as the horse came to a stop.
Thomas pulled his tunic down over his head then kissed me on the forehead. “Best get decent, love. Mayhap the King himself has heard of your healing powers and come to pay you a call.” For all his jesting, there was a graveness to his expression I had never seen before. I could not help but wonder: Had he been expecting company?
Why should he expect it?My memories flashed back to a letter, torn and found by Morven in the ashes of the hearth fire.
Thomas had never yet mentioned it to me.
I shrugged my kirtle on over my undergarments, tightening the lacing up the front. Surely someone had come to the wrong house, but if we had a notable guest, even an unintended one, I wanted to make a good impression. I was braiding my hair when there came a short, abrupt knock upon the door.
Cullen hung back, wary and ready to pounce.
“Easy boy,” said Thomas, catching a scruff of fur at the back of Cullen’s neck. “I think it’s no wolf, for they rarely knock.”
Wolf.I clutched my chest, envisioning a beast iridescent and monstrous large.Not the Dark Fool?
How long will thought of him continue to plague me thus?
Oblivious to my alarm, and laughing at his own joke, Thomas opened the door.
“Thomas de Lyne?” a deep voice asked.
“I have not been given that name.” His voice was flat with annoyance and, if one listened for it, a tinge of hurt. “They call me Thomas Shepherd.” He stepped back to let the man enter and tilted his head. “You look familiar to me. Have we met?”
“Ivor,” said the man. “His Grace’s herald?” He puffed his chest out as he said it, drawing the eye to his fine livery in the baron’s colors of gold and royal blue.
Not our typical visitor at all. He had come from the manor, Thomas’s home of birth.
I dropped into a curtsy, but Thomas put his hand on my arm, shaking his head. I straightened again.
Thomas frowned. “I did not expect the baron to send a man here. Lammas is nigh. Should he not be preparing for the harvest boon?”
Lammaswasnigh. It filled my blood with thrumming energy, like a swarm of bees surrounding a hive. Dreams of dancing, the ringing of bridles, the taste of forbidden fruit kept me up at night, and not even Thomas’s arms around me comforted me enough to stay asleep.
Faery called, louder than ever, for soon the Veil would thin.
But for the mortals, Lammas was a time of more earthly concerns. “Baron de Lyne is most preoccupied with the harvest boon,” said the herald. “He greatly resents having to do without my services at this time. But, apparently, you ignored the letter that was sent.”
The letter that was sent.
The letter that was thrown into the hearth fire.
Unread?
“Aye, there was a letter,” Thomas said. “From Margaret of Roxburgh. I took it for idle gossip and tossed it aside.”
Margaret of Roxburgh.I weighed the words in my head, sorted them as a beast does scent, whether it was predator or food. I could not tell. I knew only I misliked them, that they set my belly to churning and made my mouth taste of bitter grass. Struggling to keep my tone light, I asked, “Who is Margaret of Roxburgh?”
“The sheriff’s daughter,” said Thomas. “Lady-in-waiting to my fath—that is, the baron’s wife. I knew her long ago, but we have not spoken in some time.”
